Simon turns over in the bed and I resist the urge to reach out.
His wings are gently folded up behind him and I want to run my hands over them - over him , but touching him right after he purposefully turned away from me seems dangerous. I tuck my hand under my cheek instead and watch Simon’s shoulder and waist rise and fall with his breathing.
I hadn’t said anything that could have provoked him to be upset with me - truly, I’d just been looking at him. I’ve spent what feels like ninety-five percent of my life staring at Simon Snow but, this time, he was allowing me. Until he turned around. Now I’m only left with the image of his face in my mind - his soft eyes and long eyelashes and the mole above his left eye and the skittish habit of not looking at me dead-on for too long.
He’d turned around when I reached out to touch his jaw. I’d barely rubbed my fingers along his skin when his eyes had snapped back towards me. He’d smiled at me like he was about to do something terrible and then moved his face out of my touch, turning around, his back to me.
I just barely slide my body along the bed so I’m a bit closer to him. Against my better judgment, I reach one hand out and gently run it along the edge of his wing, just carefully testing if he’s alright with me touching him. I can see him shudder. He doesn’t move away from it so I take my time running my fingers along each ridge in his wing, relishing in the tremors and sighs I draw out of him in the process.
Simon has had an unusual relationship with touch for his whole life. He grew up being jostled around in homes with other young boys, never treated with a loving touch or care. He spent all of his childhood at Watford getting in fights with me (and others) and steaming inside of his own skin, quick to violence and anger when touched or poked at. The few times I saw him hugged by Penelope or Agatha, he tensed and only responded after confirming the good intention behind it. Even with me, after almost a year of being together, he still has an aversion to any touch that he doesn’t initiate. He’s tried to explain it to me before but got frustrated when he couldn’t put it into words.
Either way, I’ve done my best to be understanding and caring - at a distance if that’s what he needs. I’ll always be here.
Once my hand has migrated along Simon’s wing to where it connects into his back, he turns back around, a soft blush settled on his downright pinchable cheeks.
“Hey,” I say softly, letting my hand fall against the bed.
He grunts quietly. (How very Simon of him).
I don’t say anything else, but I don’t need to. He drops his hand to the mattress so he can grab onto mine softly, threading our fingers together and giving me a soft squeeze. He brings our joined hands up to his mouth and kisses our interlocked fingers lightly.
I sigh softly. He’s warm.
Simon uses his grip on my hand to pull me into him. “May I?” he asks softly, eyes flicking down to my mouth.
“Of course,” I breathe. “Always. Yes.”
Simon kisses me before I can continue speaking. I make a Herculean effort not to sink my fangs into him the moment that he’s in contact with me. It doesn’t help that Simon’s a bloody good kisser. His mouth works together with his nose and chin to completely enchant me, strip away all my worries, and take me apart with the simple motion of his tongue.
I keep my fingers entangled in Simon’s but start to run my thumb over the top of his, running my tongue over his lips in the same pattern. Simon nips at my top lip and I groan quietly. I can smell his heartbeat. (I’m not sure how but I can feel it clear as anything. It’s filling my nose and my mouth and my chest).
Simon lets go of my hand and gently pushes at my shoulder so I’m on my back and he’s leaning over me. He’s making these pleasant sighing noises that I’m certainly used to but that still thrill me every time they vibrate through my mouth. I crane my neck up so I can kiss along his jaw and suck on the skin softly. Simon’s breathing stutters and he whines when I scrape my teeth against his neck. I spend so long just under his chin that the back of my neck starts to hurt but I don’t dare move. Simon is whimpering with abandon and digging his nails into my shoulder. I’ll stay here for the rest of my poor, undead life if it means I can keep his pulse under my mouth. If it means I can keep him under my mouth.
“ Baz ,” Simon whispers and I almost pull back to make sure everything’s alright but his grip tightens on my shoulder and I smirk, knowing he likes what I’m doing.
Simon Snow, a boy who is absolutely horrid at communicating with words in any other aspect of his life, is very loud in bed. He whimpers and groans and mumbles my name as well as an army of expletives with complete disregard to who will hear him. (I love it so much. I love him so much).
I continue pressing my face down his neck until I’m sucking at his collarbones but Simon quickly shifts all of his weight onto one arm so he can grab the side of my face and pull me up to kiss him. His hand shifts around to the back of my head and carefully leans into me so his hand hits the pillow and I can rest my neck. The comfort of my neck is the last thing on my mind - the first thing being Simon’s teeth catching on my bottom lip and tugging at it until I release a soft whine.
I press my hands against Simon’s chest carefully.
He tenses under my hands.
I tug my hands back and Simon whispers, “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I say against his mouth. I drop my hands down onto the bed and grab onto the sheets. (He starts doing this wonderful thing with his tongue so I can’t really focus on anything but).
Simon pulls away from me a moment later and looks away from me. “I-” he says. “Can I ask for you to-” he pauses, shifting himself so he’s straddling my hips. He tongues the corner of his mouth and then places his hands over my wrists against the sheets. “Can you keep your hands here? Just- just for a bit.”
I take in a shaky breath and nod. “Yes,” I say quietly. Truly, I’d do anything for him, and holding my hands down while my boyfriend puts his tongue into my mouth is a scenario I can handle. “Just kiss me,” I add, craning my neck up.
He smiles (Crowley, he’s fucking beautiful) and leans back down to my mouth. It’s soft and warm and when I lick into his mouth, he sucks quickly on my tongue and I try not to pass out from pleasure. He bites at my bottom lip and I instinctively press my hips up into his. He lets out a whine and pushes down onto me.
I want to touch him so badly - I want to grab onto his hips and run my hands over his shoulders and dig my fingers into his hair. Instead, I turn my hands so I can grip the sheets harder and give myself something to tug on when Simon starts slowly grinding on me.
I hum when he runs his hands over the top of my chest. He’s never this relaxed when I’m touching him, but right now, this is good for him, and I’m happy to deliver.
“Simon,” I murmur, rolling my hips into him.
“I know,” he says, wrapping his hands around my waist and lifting up by kneeling over me, the insides of his thighs just barely pressing against my hips. (Thinking about his thighs is making my fangs threaten to pop).
He tucks the tips of his fingers into the waistband of my pants and leans down to kiss me again. His fingers are agonizingly still against my cool skin and I twist my hips as an attempt to get him to touch me. He doesn’t. He just kisses me and remains blissfully unaware of how good he smells and how much I’m trying not to bite down and drain him.
I jolt in surprise when Simon’s tail wraps around my ankle and Simon laughs at me softly, pulling away from my mouth.
I roll my eyes. “Control yourself, Snow,” I say.
“No, you,” he says, grinding into me.
I shut my eyes when I feel how hard he is against me. “Great argument.”
Simon doesn’t say anything else but he presses his face into my neck, kissing and sucking softly just along my pulse point. He bites down and I grunt, pushing my head further back onto the pillow. As much as I want to just relax into this - relax into Simon - I’m incredibly aware of how tightly I’m clenching the sheets. I don’t dare betray Simon’s trust by touching him when he doesn’t want me to.
He slides his hands down the tops of my clothed thighs and squeezes softly. With a quick glance up to my mouth and then to my eyes, he quirks his eyebrows up questioningly. I nod, shifting my hips up so he can tug off my pants.
Simon’s cheeks flush prettily as he presses back further so he’s hovering above one of my thighs, his warm fingers brushing over my hips and just under the curve of my stomach. He nervously flicks his eyes down to where our thighs are connected and then back up to my face.
“Simon,” I say. “You don’t have to.”
Crowley, I want him to.
He nods and stays agonizingly still for what feels like minutes but is probably twenty seconds. His fingers twitch against my stomach.
“Love?” I prompt, instinctively letting go of the sheets and lifting them up to hover just next to his forearms.
Simon grunts. “It’s alright,” he says. “I want this.”
He sounds sure.
“I’ll keep my hands here,” I say, letting them fall back down on the bed. It’s still a sacrifice I’m willing to make for Simon being on top of me. For being near me and touching me like this.
His cheeks are still pink when he slowly wraps his hand around the base of my cock. It’s dry and rough and delicious. His hand is calloused and when he brushes his thumb over the tip, my eyes roll into the back of my head. I’ve died (a second time?) and the sinful pleasure of Simon’s hand on me is sending me to the depths of the beyond. That’s dramatic, but Crowley , he’s good at this.
“ Simon ,” I mumble, keeping my hips pressed against the bed, ignoring the burning need to thrust up into his grip. I breathe through my nose and open my eyes again.
Simon’s biting at his bottom lip and his jaw is clenched (so I can tell he’s concentrated) as he runs his hand along me, grinding himself down against my thigh at the same time. It’s fucking Heaven (Or Hell? Now’s likely not the time to have a crisis about what kind of afterlife awaits me when I pass away from my boyfriend giving me a handjob).
His palm that’s not preoccupied with my dick starts to slide up and down my hip, leaving trails of flame in his wake. Everywhere that he touches me burns in the best way possible. Simon’s head ducks down closer to mine and I feel my fangs threaten to pop when the smell of his hair mixes with the ever-present scent of his blood. I will my fangs to stay fucking put and focus my attention back to Simon’s hand on me when I’m sure I’m not in danger of biting my boyfriend.
My grip on the sheets starts to hurt.
I dig my heels into the bed for leverage and follow Simon’s hand with my hips. He’s still absentmindedly rocking against my thigh but most of his attention is on me.
It’s good. It’s really good. I tell him.
“ Fuck ,” I whisper, not even sure if he can hear me. I feel like I’m barely breathing. “That’s so good, darling.”
Simon blushes in response and he quirks his eyebrows up. “Really?” he asks.
He digs his nails into my hip with his free hand and I gasp out a laugh. “Yes,” I say. “Of course, you moron.”
He takes a shaky breath and presses his hand along me again, drawing an involuntary whine out of my throat. He’s utterly and easily taking me apart with just the hastening motion of his hand and I’m at his mercy, drowning in a sea of more, yes, fuck, Simon, please .
“ Simon ,” I gasp when he does something wonderful with his thumb. “Fuck, do that again.”
He does and my hand shoots away from the bed but before it can find purchase in Simon’s hair (where I really want it to be), my brain catches up with my impulse and I freeze. Simon stops his hand and I whine quietly. He looks at where my hand has frozen up by his face. The hand that’s pressed against my hip lets me go and he carefully wraps it around my wrist, pulling my hand up and placing it in his hair.
I let out a sigh that I wasn’t aware I was holding onto. I carefully flex my fingers in his hair before pressing them into his curls and tugging gently at the roots. Simon’s eyes shut and he groans lightly in pleasure.
Before I can ask him, Simon mumbles, “It’s okay. I’m sure.”
He starts to jerk me off again before I can pry. The second he’s touching me, I’m whispering, “Fuck, Simon, I’m-”
“Don’t,” he says, his eyes flashing with a playful air. He grinds himself into my leg with more fervor now, whines and gaspy breaths falling from his lips as he continues to get me off.
My eyes are watering with the strain of not bursting right on the spot but I’m going to obey Simon if it’s the last thing I do. I tighten my grip on his hair and shut my eyes, moaning out Simon’s name.
“Baz-” he chokes out, his hips rocking back and forth against my thigh faster. “I’m almost- please, please , touch me-”
He doesn’t have to ask twice. I let go of the sheets with my free hand and lick my palm. Even though the angle’s awkward, I reach into his pants and wrap my fingers around his cock, quickly jerking him off.
I take in as much of him as I can as he comes. His eyes shut and he holds his breath, his pulse hammering through my head as he comes into my hand, hips jolting forward sporadically. He’s dramatic and showy when he comes. Just like he is in every other aspect of his life. Some of his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and I slide my hand out of his hair to push the curls back.
His hand is still wrapped around me but unmoving and I feel like I’m going to pass away at any moment. My entire body is throbbing with anticipation but I wait for Simon to come down, his eyes slowly opening and his chest starting to heave less. His breathing slows to a more normal rate and then- fuck , he’s moving his hand again and it’s good it’s good it’s great it’s-
“ Fuck ,” I moan when my orgasm hits me, washing over me in waves of pleasure as Simon continues to touch me, coaxing me through the high and making me gasp when I’m too sensitive. I know my fangs have popped and I can feel Simon looking at them but I couldn’t care less right now.
He lets go of me and I’m too dazed to stop him from grabbing a random shirt that’s hanging on the side of the bedframe and using it to clean us up. I know he knows I have a wand and a knack for casting “ Clean as a whistle ” but I think he likes to do things without magic a lot of the time. Which is fine with me (as long as it wasn’t my shirt).
“Okay?” I ask as Simon clambers off of my thigh and lies down practically on top of me, half of his torso covering mine. He wraps his arm around my waist and pins his hand between my lower back and the mattress. He’s warm and sweaty and smells like sex and life. I abruptly hope that vampires do have immortality just so I can stay here forever.
Simon hums in response and he kisses my collarbone. He lets me rest a hand on his back just where his wing connects. My other hand tangles itself in his hair and we stay there until Simon is too touch-stimulated. It’s enough for me.