It slips out accidentally the first time.
Being with Baz is incredible— he’s like a damn explosion of force and strength and sheer animal magnitude, and fuck is it sexy— but sometimes my mind wanders. I’m only human (well, mostly human).
Like, most of the time I’m focused on where his tongue is and what it’s doing, but sometimes the thought of tongues brings to mind other things. Like scones. And then I think about dinner or tea or whatever meal is next.
I think it’s pretty good actually. Like there’s extra space in my brain now that I’m not so hyper-aware of every single touch and whether or not I’m doing everything right. I’m more relaxed, which both Baz and I are very happy about.
Anyway, I didn’t mean for it to happen. But here I am, watching Baz in a particularly compromising position, and the glint in his eyes when he looks up at me, burning and flashing with intensity, makes me think about when I used to watch him on the pitch.
When Baz was making a particularly expert football play, his eyes always had a sort of mad gleam in them then— he was fucking fast, and ruthless. Vampire speed helped, but mostly it was just him .
So, I’m thinking about one time when I was sitting at a game with Gareth, and when Baz made an especially good shot, Gareth yelled out: “GO TYRANNUS!”
I should know better. Everyone knows not to call him that. I mean, Baz absolutely obliterated Gareth in a crushing verbal roast later that day after the match.
But it just slips out.
“Go, Tyrannus,” I choke out in a half whisper.
The second time is on purpose.
The first time yielded some… favorable results and we didn’t leave bed for hours so I plan to make this one count. (Baz did chew me out for calling him that, but he did it with the faintest blush on his cheeks so I know he didn’t really mean it.)
This time, I’ve made a whole plan to seduce Baz. Not that I really need to — Baz is gagging for it anytime he walks in the door most days. Now that I’m more comfortable with, you know, sex stuff, he’s more than willing to participate.
But he has to be open-minded tonight. I picked up his favorite takeaway, made sure we had plenty of blood in the freezer, and washed our sheets. Clean sheets really get Baz going.
Baz is just finishing his dinner when I decide to make my move. Which is, of course, to ridicule him.
“Still haven’t learned how to use chopsticks?”
Baz throws an ill-used chopstick at my head. I catch it. Wicked sharp reflexes come in handy in situations where Baz wants to throw things at me. It happens more than I care to admit.
“Say that again once you’ve learned how to use a napkin,” he says sharply, but betrays his tone by reaching up to gently wipe something off my chin with his thumb.
I catch his hand in mine before he drops it and I lift it to my mouth. I suck his thumb into my mouth, tasting the sauce that I’d previously had on my chin.
“Disgusting, Snow,” Baz says. But he doesn’t make any attempt to move so it must not be that disgusting.
I let his hand (and subsequently his thumb) go, but the taste of him (and garlic) still lingers in my mouth.
Baz’s eyes are a bit wide when I lean back and that’s how I know I’ve got him right where I want. He’s got half a dumpling in his fingers and I push it out of his hand so it drops onto the plastic takeaway bag. Baz looks offended just before I press my mouth onto his.
He lets me do it, gladly responding and (hopefully) wiping off his hands on his trousers before tangling them into my hair. (Truly, I’ve had worse things in my hair so I’m not that worried.) From the way Baz is kissing me right now, I’m thinking the takeaway did its job. Time for the main event — the clean sheets.
I tug away from his mouth and stand up, holding my hand out to him.
If I was a bit smoother than I am, I would have said something cool like, “Join me, babe,” but I’m clearly not cool and instead mumble out, “Right, um— C’mon.”
Standing up to join me, Baz takes my hand and lets me lead him to the bedroom, pinching my arse when I turn around. He’ll never miss an opportunity to touch my arse.
Baz raises his eyebrows at me when he sees the clean sheets. “Prepping for something?”
But with the way his breathing catches, I can tell he’s excited about it. So am I.
I waste no more time and grab his arm, pulling him to the bed and immediately climbing on top of him, straddling his hips.
Before I can stumble over my words in an attempt to be sexy again, Baz has his fingers digging into the back of my neck and his mouth clumsily pressed against mine. He must be really into it — he’s never clumsy about anything.
I suppose it has been a while.
I kiss Baz leisurely at first, letting him sort of take the lead on how fast and how deep he wants it. When he’s continuously licking into my mouth and moaning softly, I change tactics and kiss him harder.
I shift my hips a bit so I’m pressed against him firmly and he groans loudly.
Pulling away from his mouth, I start to kiss down the side of his jaw and neck, sucking and biting whenever he’s getting too quiet for my liking. I can’t exactly leave hickeys on Baz (vampire healing and whatever), but I can make him squirm.
“Snow,” he whispers when I focus in on one spot.
Bastard. Can’t even call me Simon when we’re in bed together and I’m clearly about to— well, you know.
I suck harder on his neck and carefully grind my hips against him in response, hoping to get what I want out of it.
I slide one hand down from where I’d been holding myself up above him and I slide it under his shirt, scratching my fingers gently over his stomach and starting to rub it just the way he likes.
“ Oh, Simon,” he whispers.
There it is.
This is my chance. He just said my name, it’s only fair that I say his in return. I’m a bit nervous, but when I pull my mouth away from his neck just enough to moan, “Oh, Tyrannus, ” in his ear, Baz reacts so well that I’m no longer nervous.
In fact, I really don’t have time to be worried. Baz has me flipped over on the bed within seconds and kisses me with passion I haven’t seen from him since the first time I called him that in bed.
We’re both spent within minutes and Baz cuddles into my chest once he’s cleaned us up.
“Stop doing that,” he whispers half-heartedly.
“Doing what?” I ask innocently.
Baz doesn’t answer, but I can feel his smile against my shoulder.
After that, I was fully convinced of the power of a good ‘Tyrannus’ when done right. But I knew it couldn’t be overused. I had to be delicate — something people rarely accuse me of being. I looked for a way to ever-so-subtly drop it in whenever we found ourselves in a particularly compromising position, but the moment never felt right.
The perfect opportunity came on a bloody Facebook ad, of all things. “Wow your friends and impress your lovers,” the bold font read, underneath an image of customizable pants that said things like “IF FOUND, RETURN TO RACHEL” and “GRADE A TALLYWACKER.”
I clicked on the website and immediately shelled out 40 pounds plus shipping for a pair of bright red pants that read “PROPERTY OF TYRANNUS” in a posh-looking font right across the arse.
I wait impatiently for them to arrive, and I finally get them on an otherwise quiet evening. Baz is reading in the living room, and he very nearly blushes when I come out of our bedroom, starkers except for those ridiculous red pants. He clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Bit warm, are you, Snow?”
“I feel great, actually,” I say, really laying it on thick. I walk slowly into the kitchen, Baz watching my every step. He puts down his book when I bend over to pick up a pen that I’d dropped (an actual clumsy moment, not a seduction technique).
“Simon, what is the… Baz’s voice trails off as he stares at my arse. He clears his throat again, which seems a bit redundant. “A bit ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“Well, if you disapprove,” I say slowly. “I can take them off.”
He looks up at me and our eyes lock. “Keep them on for now,” he says, his voice suddenly confident, and crosses the distance between us in three long strides.
The novelty of the pants has probably worn out at this point, but they’re actually very comfortable and I keep wearing them. (I wear them around the house just in case Baz will notice.)
I’m wearing them today and my arse has never looked this good in these joggers.
Baz is doing the dishes and I keep craning my neck around to check on him.
Baz is very good at a lot of things. Most things, I would say. Magic, school, beating me at board games, getting blood out of fabric, etc. He’s not good at household chores. (Who can blame him? He grew up with a family maid. No need to learn how to do his own laundry.)
And thus, I’m always wondering when he’s going to break the dishwasher or flood the kitchen. He’s so far doing alright.
But then there’s a shout from behind me and I jump up. Baz turns to face me, almost completely soaked from the collar down. “What the fuck?” he demands.
I slap a hand to my mouth so I don’t laugh.
Baz glares at me. “This isn’t worth it. I’m calling a cleaning service.”
That sobers me up a bit. “Baz,” I start. “I can just do it.” I’m not letting him waste money on a silly thing like dishes.
“No—” he says immediately. “I can do it. Just— spoons,” he says, holding up a large spoon helplessly.
Despite how hilariously sad this whole scenario is, Baz’s shirt is sticking to his chest and it’s distracting me from the conversation at hand. I step over to the sink and take the spoon from him.
“You can’t wash spoons at full water pressure,” I explain, setting the spoon back down in the sink. “Because of their shape—”
“Are you attempting to mansplain spoons to me, Snow?”
I flush and my eyes get caught on Baz’s chest again. “No,” I mumble. I consider staying here to finish the dishes (since they’re basically the one thing that I’m good at), but Baz looks so distraught that I think it would hurt his pride if I did them for him.
He sighs and picks at the hem of his wet shirt. “I’ll go change.”
“How about,” I say, reaching over to stop his hand. “I just do it for you.”
Baz raises an eyebrow at me (like he does when I’m trying to be sexy and it isn’t working), but lets me push his hand out of the way in order to grasp at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, reluctantly lifting his arms so it doesn’t get caught.
It makes a sort of funny squelching noise in the process but once it’s off, I place my hands on Baz’s stomach and he shuts his eyes at the touch. I rub my hands along Baz’s damp skin and press my face into his neck, starting to kiss it softly. I press at his hips and push him up against the counter (that’s still sort of wet from where the spoon disaster happened) so I have better leverage to kiss him.
He’s pliant underneath me and lets his head drop back so I can kiss across the center of his throat and bite at jaw.
The wet slide of my hands against Baz’s hips shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. I don’t think Baz is liking it as much as I am.
I drop my hands down to his waistband and start to undo the button on his jeans. Wet jeans. Another thing that shouldn’t be sexy but I’m sort of thrilled at the feeling of the fabric against my palms. I slide down the zipper and drop to my knees in front of Baz. I relish running my hands down his thighs and pulling a shaky breath from my boyfriend as I do so. I drag the fabric down his hips and to his knees. Even the front of his pants are a bit wet. Oh, actually, that’s— well.
I smirk up at Baz.
He looks down at me, his mouth parted and his eyes wide.
“Are you ready for this wicked blowie, Tyrannus?”
And, boy, do I get the reaction that I want.
second to last chapter! a reminder to all: this is a joke. but also, we're having so much fun writing it so it's really not a joke. simon and baz deserve to have weird sex okay
The memory of that particular evening lingers in my mind for the rest of the week. I keep finding myself getting distracted all through my lectures and work.
It doesn’t help that Baz has had a particularly busy week himself, so I’ve barely seen him since that night. I’ve been getting in late from my shifts at the aquarium and he’s leaving early, so we just have four overlapping hours or so sleeping next to each other. My dreams are causing me to wake up all hot and bothered.
Finally, Friday evening rolls around, and we both have the night off. I get home first, and busy myself readying the apartment— and myself— for a good time. I even cook a downright delicious pasta dish that Baz adores. (Another thing Baz is bad at: I’m definitely the cook in this relationship)
I’m stirring the pasta on the stove, blaring SexyBack (it really gets me going) when Baz walks through the door. I can picture the scene he’s walking into, so I don’t hold back from milking it a little bit, wiggling my hips to the pounding base and throwing the tie of my stained apron over my shoulder sexily. It slips off and falls into the pot of pasta, and I watch as little speckles of tomato sauce fling onto the counter, the walls, and my face.
I turn around slowly to see Baz smirking at me, one eyebrow raised, but the spark in his eyes is a bit too full of affection for his customary expression of disdain to be very convincing.
I think about apologizing sincerely or giving him some big pleading eyes, but I decide to just own it.
“C’mere and have a taste,” I try, wiggling my hips once more. He rolls his eyes, but obediently drops his backpack by the door and slowly crosses the entryway into the kitchen, stopping just a hair’s distance away from me.
I love seeing him like this— still all buttoned up from the day, neat emerald blazer hanging perfectly over his crisp white button-down, which is still stiff and wrinkle-free. But little parts of him are coming undone all the same. I blink up at him, my eyes focusing on the few strands of his slicked back hair that have fallen loose across his forehead. He’s breathing more heavily than usual, and his stare is fixed on the tomato sauce that’s still dripping down my cheek.
“Hello, Tyrannus,” I whisper, and then he’s off. Baz leans in the last centimeter between us to lick the sauce off my cheek delicately, as he reaches around to squeeze my arse and then snake his hands under my shirt up the length of my torso. My soiled apron still hangs between us, and I pull it off.
As Baz starts to yank my shirt over my head, I put my hands on his briefly to pause his actions. “Wait— Baz— pasta now or later?” I ask. I look meaningfully at the pot on the stove, meat sauce simmering away.
“What?” Baz is panting slightly. “Later, Snow.”
Ah, well. Love endures sacrifice.
hello everyone welcome back to Thots with Thots with lauren and dana
here's the last chapter! we finally earned that E rating lol. thanks so much for reading and making fun of these idiots with us <3
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“Baz—” I choke out. We’re panting heavily, limbs haphazardly strewn across limbs. He grunts in response.
“Your elbow is digging into me.”
Baz turns to face me quickly, a mad glint in his eyes.
“No, you wanker, not in a good way.”
“Oh,” Baz backs off a bit, moving his elbow from where it was embedded in my ribs and settling himself over me again, his elbows safely not in my lower intestines. “Sorry.”
I kiss him. “It’s fine,” I say against him. “Just— er, get back to it, please.”
“Right away, my darling,” Baz says sarcastically, holding himself up on his knees and adjusting where he’s still inside me.
I’m jostled back and forth a bit and I giggle.
“What?” Baz demands, seeming upset that I laughed at him.
“Nothing,” I try to say, leaning up to get him to kiss me. “Just— kiss me. C’mere.”
Baz agrees, but only after he’s started to dig his fingers into my side, tickling me.
I shout and wiggle in his touch. “Stop! Baz! ”
He doesn’t stop his assault and despite the fact that I’m thrashing around in an attempt to get out of his hold, he’s still inside me and he keeps accidentally hitting my prostate which is making this all the more embarrassing.
“Baz!” I shout again, whining and laughing.
He finally relents, stilling his hands on my hips. “Don’t laugh at me, then,” he mutters, thrusting into me, giving me absolutely no time to breathe between giggles and then moans.
“Who knew you were — ah! — so sensitive about being — fuck! — mocked!”
Baz doesn’t say anything else but he ducks his head to press it into my neck so I think he’s embarrassed. He’s sucking hickies into my skin so I sort of forget about it.
He goes back to what he was doing before — taking me apart with thrusts of his hips.
My tail whips up and smacks Baz in the armpit.
Baz makes an undignified sound of pain and stops moving. “Keep your body parts to yourself, Snow,” he sneers.
I take things into my own hands and wrap myself around Baz and move along him, ignoring his condemnation of my tail. I carefully wind my tail around Baz’s thigh so as to not do that again.
Finally, he goes back to what we’re really here for.
After a moment, when I’m close to losing my mind in pleasure, he moans, “Say it, Simon.” And slows to a stop.
I groan, digging my nails into Baz’s shoulders and squirming against him. How dare he stop moving when I was just right there .
“What?” I breathe, actually opening my eyes to figure out why he’s stopping all of a sudden.
Baz’s eyes are lustful and cloudy. It’s well sexy and a little intimidating. “You know what,” he whispers, giving me a particularly pointed thrust and causing my eyes to roll back in my head.
“Baz,” I whine, holding onto him tightly and trying to grind against him. Stupid Baz and his vampire strength keep me at bay, not letting me move. He ducks his head into the crook of my neck and kisses me there.
I do know what he wants me to say, but I like being a brat, especially when he’s not fucking me properly.
“Say it.” He’s moving again, now, and I’m so— so fucking— oh, fuck—
“ Tyrannus. ”
I’ve never seen Baz more affected in my entire life.
Safe to say we both end up in a heap on top of each other, sticky chests and all.
We lie like that for a few minutes, our breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. Baz is stroking my back, and my tail is now tucked around his ankle.
I wait what I consider to be a suitable amount of time before I ask, “What do you want for dinner?” I don’t exactly want to leave this position, but the last bit of exertion has me feeling pretty hungry.
Baz scoffs, but then leans forward to place a quick kiss on my nose. “Thinking about food already, are you? Not ready for another round yet?” he teases. His fingers make their way to my arse and he squeezes.
I push myself up onto my forearms and look at him coyly (well, as coyly as I can manage). “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I would be all for it, but I thought you might need a little sustenance first, Tyrannus .”
His fingers stop their movement. We look at each other for a moment, and I wince.
“Yep, well, that’s over, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yes, it does appear that it’s completely ruined now, doesn’t it?”
“Dammit,” I sigh, resting my head on Baz’s chest again. “It was fun while it lasted. Maybe I should give Gareth a ring and see if he wants to come cheer you on at your next pick up football game, that could get it going again.”
Baz shoots me an absolutely murderous look and I burst out laughing. “Alright, love. ‘Baz’ it is, then.”