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Chapter Text

SIMON

It all started when I'd come back from a last minute mission for the Mage. I'd been gone for a day and a night and another day- missing six full meals for the trouble.

I got back late enough at night that dinner was over, but Baz was still out (probably hunting.) I'd had nothing to eat and felt like I was slowly losing my mind. I didn’t know where the entrance to the kitchens was back then, and I felt so faint I wouldn’t have been able to drag myself down the steps of the tower anyway.

(I had the same claustrophobic felling that I always got during summers in care. That gnawing hunger and nauseous feeling all the way to the deepest pit of my stomach. It made me feel so small, like I could physically feel myself wasting away.)

I'd gone looking for my emergency stash of mint aero bars and instead found a sour cherry scone in one of my desk drawers. There wasn’t anything else, Baz hadn’t left a single chocolate bar for me. A single scone wasn't nearly enough but it would have to do for the time being. I remember my hands were shaking with hunger.

I sat down cross legged right there in front of the desk, holding the scone in my lap. Taking deeps breaths only made the nausea worse, so I pointed my wand and tried to concentrate on the scone.

"Supersize!"

Bloody hell, I thought as I felt a tingling sensation in my pants. I dropped the scone, hurriedly pulled down my trousers and pants and-

Oh fuck.

-----

It takes a lot of magic to perform permanent body modifications. And usually they require an upkeep cost. I don't know anyone with enough magic to modify anything significant about themselves and manage to keep it that way. Even Baz probably only has enough magic to erase a couple of pimples or change his hair colour- he definitely couldn't do something like this.

Which is why I figured it would wear off after a little bit. I was too afraid of causing permanent damage trying to unspell it, and I was too embarrassed to ask Penny about it.

(No one would believe it was an accident. But it was. I wasn't unhappy with my dick- I've never seen any others, but I'm pretty sure mine was fine. And even if it hadn’t been it wasn't like I would have done anything about it.)

But it wasn't a priority so I just kind of- left it. I was pretty sure it would wear off anyway. And it's not like it affected me in any way, so it wasn't a problem.

But then I started dating Agatha, and I wondered if maybe I should get it checked out. But it's kind of hard to book an appointment with a magickal doctor to talk about your dick when you're dating his daughter and also sit across the table from him at Christmas dinner.

Honestly though, it didn't really affect us, me and Agatha. A couple of times in the middle of a heated snog we'd fumble around, but only once did I ever get down to my pants and kind of- pressed up against her leg. She'd pulled away immediately, looking down at me. The look on her face said very clearly 'Nope, not that.'

So I guess that was something we didn't do.

I didn't let myself even think about it. I had so much else on my plate- defeating the humdrum, figuring out what Baz was up to- and I didn't have time to sit down and think about why my girlfriend and I hadn't shagged.

(Or why the fact that we hadn't didn't really bother me at all.)

And after we broke up, well it didn’t seem like it would be much of a problem after that.

Chapter Text

BAZ

I don't know why Snow comes to watch the football practices. I mean, I have theories, but no actual idea if any of them are correct. He's not a good player, he doesn't seem to actually enjoy himself, and he never pays attention to what's going on. Only to me.

But this time coach Mac decided we needed a sub so we could scrimmage and lo and behold, guess who we had available sitting right there?

In all honesty, it wasn't my finest hour. But I can never pass up the opportunity to show Snow exactly how talentless and pathetic he is. (It's good for him, honestly. He spends his life listening to people waxing and waning about how amazing he is, how powerful- I'm doing him a favour by reminding him that while he might have more magic than the rest of us, it doesn't necessarily make him better. In fact, it might make him worse really, considering how pants he is at controlling any of it.)

Coach Mac had to physically separate us when our fists got involved.

Practice sort of ends itself after that.

Snow and I get lectured about teamwork, leadership, and a bunch of other rubbish for so long that by the time we get to the locker rooms the only shower left is the weird one with a single curtain and two back to back showerheads.

("It's an accessible stall", Rhys told me once. He's the only one who ever uses it, probably because it's the only one with space enough for his shower chair. "Sorry mate", I told him, "I didn't realize that being in a wheelchair made you twice as dirty as the rest of us.")

Snow practically pushes me aside and runs into the stall before I can pummel him.

I check the clock. That little condescension from coach Mac is going to make me late for my violin lesson. I consider going back up the showering in our room, but it seems a waste of time to go all the way back up there, only to come back down again. (Besides, I planned for this. I brought all my stuff with me- my violin case is stacked neatly in my locker and my toiletries are in my travel bag.)

In addition, when Snow tackled me to the ground itching for a fight, he hadn't hesitated due to the rain. I was and am covered head to toe in mud, and I can only imagine the faces of the janitorial staff (as well as the pain caused by my own standards of cleanliness) if I drag this mess all over the school and up to my room.

I sigh. I wish I hadn't left my wand back up in the bloody tower.

"Snow," I hiss at him through the curtain, "I need to get to practice. Hurry up and get out of there!"

"Fuck off," he says.

"Snow!" I try again.

He ignores me.

I wait, but all the showers are still running. Trust the entire population of straight men in this school to begin caring about their personal hygiene all at once, and only when it most inconveniences me.

I'd rather stake myself on the front lawn than share a shower with Snow. (Actually, I'd stake myself on the front lawn if it meant being able to share a shower with a willing Snow, one who wanted to be there, with me.)

Fuck it.

I push through the curtain and throw my stuff down next to Snow's on the bench. I ignore his pants, sitting on top of his pile of dirty clothing.

(I just saw Simon Snow's used pants. This is a terrible idea, but I can't back down now.)

"Baz, wha-" he starts turning, but I look at the ceiling and push him back facing the tile wall. It's another terrible idea, the skin of his shoulder is warm and slick under my palm. And I can't even enjoy it properly because I'm encroaching on his space, and am toeing the line of sexual harassment as it is. It's a shame that wanking to this memory will be completely off limits.

"Don't turn around," I say, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. "If you weren't such a stubborn arse we wouldn't be in this situation at all. For once in your life let us get through this with a shred of dignity."

I can hear him swallow. I ignore it and turn on the second shower head, staring directly at the wall in front of me. When he doesn't say anything else I let myself relax as much as I'm able to, and focus on taking deep breaths.

It's unnaturally silent in the stall. I can hear the sound of the water hitting the tile, the sounds Snow makes as he moves around- and the whole thing is already driving me crazy.

This was the worst idea I’ve ever had.

SIMON

I probably should have left the stall when Baz told me to. There was no need for me to stay in here once I'd rinsed all the mud off- it was only stubbornness that kept me under the water.

And now Baz is in here, sharing a shower with me. I should have known that Baz Pitch would never back down.

It's uncomfortable between us (as usual) and he's breathing heavier than normal. I can hear it, faintly, over the sound of the water. Vaguely I can hear the others talking, walking around the rest of the changing area and getting ready to leave. I can't leave an obviously occupied stall while they're still there.

(What would other people think?)

I hear the snap of a bottle opening, then I smell the familiar scent of cedar and bergamot.

I turn around and-

Mistake. That was a mistake.

But I can't make myself look away.

The long line of Baz's back is mesmerizing, drops of water and suds clinging to him. And then-

That arse.

I've never once thought about another bloke's arse before- and now I'm not entirely sure why. Obviously I should be paying more attention. (Do all bloke's arses look like that? They can't- surely I'd have noticed. Baz is already unfairly handsome, surely his arse is the gold standard.)

I’m so distracted by the sight that it takes me awhile to notice I’m getting hard.

I turn back to stare at the tiles and hope that Baz is too engrossed in washing his hair to notice.

BAZ

I can hear Snow behind me, breathing heavily. I can smell him too- school issued soap and the sweet browned butter scent of his blood. Something's worked him up, because his blood pressure's up and I can hear the erratic pounding of his heart, louder than normal.

He might be getting ready to hit me again.

I give in and take a peek over my shoulder. (It's not because I'm perving on him. I'm just making sure I'm not about to be caught unawares and ambushed from behind. The last thing I need is to get caught in a wet, slippery, naked wrestle with Simon Snow. Could you imagine? I don't think my undead heart would be able to handle it.)

He's leaned over, with one hand on the tile of the wall. His eyes are shut tight, and it looks like he's in pain. (I am- in pain that is. Every moment being so close to him is painful. This is worse because it's warm, the air is steamy, and it smells like him.)

Then, I see it- and I stop breathing.

SIMON

It's more difficult than usual to ignore my stiffy, and it takes longer for it to go away, even when I wrench the tap to the coldest setting.

The last thing I need is for Baz to catch me in our tandem shower with a boner. I'd die of shame.

For someone who was so insistent on being in a hurry Baz doesn't make any effort to make his shower a quick one- by the time I talk my cock down and leave the stall he's still there, staring blankly at the wall, shampoo still in his hair.

He's a strange bloke- I wonder what he's plotting.

BAZ

I don't sleep that night. Or the night after.

On the third night I go to the nurse and beg for a sleeping concoction, telling her I'm having intrusive thoughts. She asks me what about.

"Exams," I tell her.

The next morning Miss Possibelf pulls me aside after class. "I don't know what to tell you Basil. You're top of the class. Surely exams shouldn't be causing you this much anxiety. Maybe you need help?"

I nod.

She's right, I do need help.

I need help finding a way to forget about Simon Snow's enormous cock.

-----

Simon Snow's cock haunts my thoughts for weeks until I decide it's all in my head. The problem, I tell myself, is that I didn't really get a good look. (Of course I didn't. I felt too guilty about intruding on his personal space to enjoy the view properly.)

(And what a view it was.)

Of course, the problem remains- how to get another look. I decide to just… go with what worked the first time. Get him nice and wet so I can ogle him (albeit through wet fabric this time.)

It’s genius.

"We should go swimming," I announce to Dev and Niall the next afternoon at lunch.

"It's fifteen degrees, mate."

Fuck.

"You're right, but I need to practice my weatherization spells."

Dev pauses, "your weatherization spells are flawless. What are you on?"

"I'm just nervous about exams," I tell him. They decline the offer, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need their help anyway.

It's easy to lure the boy wonder to the lake. Too easy, he's lucky that for once my plotting has much less to do with causing him harm, and more to do with finally being able to get off properly.

I purposefully ignore him all day, avoiding eye contact and verbal jabs. Then I make sure Snow sees me put my swim trunks and towel into a bag.

"What are you doing? What are you plotting?"

"I'm going to practice my weatherization spells at the lake," I tell him.

"Why? It's barely gone spring, and your weatherization spells are already good."

"I'm nervous about exams," I say as pointedly as I can, giving him a look. Hopefully he'll read something into it.

I run so I can get there before he shows up. It's fucking freezing. I spell the water, but the lake is so big it doesn't do much.

I start doing laps just so I don't freeze my bollocks off while I wait for him.

SIMON

I think Baz has finally gone off the deep end (literally.)

I'm sitting on a rock next to the lake, watching him do laps. He's never swam in the lake before. (On purpose. Once, in third year, I'd pushed him in and he'd had to swim then. Then he'd pulled me in and I'd almost drowned.) He must be up to something.

I take off my boot and dip my toe into the lake. He must have spelled it, but it's still freezing. He must be frozen, he's always cold even at the best of times.

I wonder what he's up to.

He's stopped sleeping, I've noticed. I saw the bottle of "Goodnight, sleep tight!" in the trash in the loo this morning while I was looking through it for anything suspicious (nothing out of the ordinary except that bottle. Although Baz has been going through more tissue than normal. The trash gets magicked away every morning, and our wastebasket was already half full of tissue. Maybe he's sick?)

(He won't get any better if he's spending his time swimming in a freezing lake.)

I heard Miss Possibelf telling him he needs to see someone about his anxiety over exams. That's new too, Baz usually takes school seriously, but he doesn't ever worry about exams- his motto is come prepared, which he does by doing consistent revision over the course of the year.

He shouldn't be losing sleep over exams. He must be lying.

He's up to something.

"Snow," I startle, he's grabbed onto the side of the bank. I didn't realize he was so close. I move my boot so he doesn't drip on it. "Get in."

His lips are blue, and the words are a little warbly.

"No thanks," I tell him, "you sure you wanna stay in there?"

"Get in!"

"No." I tell him again.

"Snow," his voice is a warning. Then the edge of the bank crumbles under his weight and he falls back in in a cloud of dirt.

I'm off the rock and at the edge of the water before I've even thought about getting up.

I reach into the lake and grip what I think is his arm. Fuck, it's so fucking cold.

He's heavy, but I pull him from the water, dragging him out and laying him on the grass. He's shivering, teeth chattering- and greyer than normal.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, rubbing along his arms with my hands. He's so cold, colder than death. I grab his wand but his teeth are chattering too much to cast anything properly. Instead I towel him down roughly and shuck my sweater, pulling it over his head.

"I think that's enough swimming for one day," I tell him, grabbing the rest of his stuff and pulling him back towards the school.

I feel guilty for noticing it later, but his wet swim trunks hug his arse perfectly as I follow him up the stairs into Mummer's.

BAZ

We're partnered in Elocution, although not by choice. (His choice, of course I would choose to be partnered with Snow. I'm already so far ahead in the class I don't need the practice time. And I'd much rather spend it staring at him.)

We're supposed to be practicing vanishing spells.

I think Snow is trying to vanish my notes- he's staring at them with intent.

Meanwhile, I am trying (and failing) to ignore how he's sitting- facing me, legs wide apart. I'd always assumed it was part of his arrogance, the whole man-spreading. Taking up as much space as he possibly could, just to parallel the amount of attention he demands.

But now I know better. Now I know it's not arrogance, but practicality. That Snow needs to sit with his legs spread wide to make room for his massive cock.

I shouldn't be thinking about this in class (or staring. The staring is becoming a problem. I hadn't been able to sleep last night, which is par the course now, and instead I'd spent it staring at him in the dark, hoping against hope that he'd kick off his blankets, and maybe I could glimpse-)

"Baz," he says sharply, and I freeze. I've been gripping my wand (my actual wand, the magic one) and murmuring under my breath, pretending to practice. "Where did my pants go?"

I stare at him in horror.

Then he starts laughing, and kicks his foot up- his sock is missing. "The look on your face! You looked like you were about to die!"

I don't say anything. My heart is still frozen in terror. Instead I just get up and leave the room.

SIMON

It's not like Baz to not retaliate after a prank. And I've got to admit, I got him really good. The look on his face was nothing short of pure horror. I was sure he'd start balling me out for that- but instead he just… left the room entirely.

Now class is over, and he still hasn't come back for his things.

I start packing away his stuff, and finally get to look at his notes. They're almost blank. They look more like the kinds of notes I'd take than anything I've ever seen Baz write. (He's got a system. He divides the page into three parts, a section for notes, a section for vocabulary and footnotes, and a section for questions. They're always neat, orderly, and his handwriting is so perfect it looks like a font. I know them well, I often sneak into his bag and Copy, paste! them instead of trying to make sense of my own.)

I take his stuff and tell Penny I'll catch up with her later.

Then I duck into the nearest alcove and start rooting through his bag. Immediately I notice it's messier than normal. He has four (4!?) crumpled receipts at the bottom of his bag. I smooth them out and take note: one for five boxes of tissues, one for an expensive moisturizer (I check- it's his normal brand. Nothing new.) The third is for three bottles of lubricant (I check again, also his usual brand, but usually he only buys one at a time. This makes it officially suspicious) and one for a return- but it's smudged and faded so I can't make out what it's for. Fuck.

He never keeps trash in his bag. Something must be distracting him.

When I get back to the room he's sitting on his bed, staring out the window. Football practice started five minutes ago. He runs out the door when I tell him, doubling back to grab his kit.

Something is very, very wrong with him. And whenever something is wrong with Baz, that doesn't bode well for me. (He always lashes out at me when there's something bothering him. I'll admit, I'm usually the one that starts our fights but whenever something's bothering him he's more volatile than I am. So whatever is going on with him cannot be good news for me.)

I need to figure out what’s wrong with him.

BAZ

I wait until Snow drags himself back in time for curfew, then I spell the room while he's getting ready for bed in the ensuite. "It's getting hot in herre!"

"Did you say something?" he says, opening the door and sticking his head out. I ignore him. He narrows his eyes at me like he knows I'm up to no good.

He flicks the lights off and gets in bed. Then, I wait. The room gradually starts getting warmer, which is lovely (even when I have to start shucking some of my blankets, I'm still grateful for the extra warmth.) Soon it's a bit too warm and humid, and I'm forced to remove my sleeping shirt lest I sweat right through it. I begin to consider maybe reversing the spell.

Just as I reach for my wand Snow kicks off his blanket all at once and sits up in bed.

"What the hell is going on?" he growls, while peeling his shirt off.

Immediately I decide to let the counter spell wait a bit and see where this goes.

(The light's still off so I take the opportunity to stare while he can't see me watching him.)

"What have you done?" he frowns at me. "Is this your way of retaliating for earlier today?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Snow." He gets up and tries to open the window, but the room is so humid that it's jammed shut. "Fuck," he crosses the room and tries the door, but it won't budge either. He turns on me and frowns.

"Fix it, whatever you did."

"I didn't do anything. And I certainly don't take orders from you." There's a bead of sweat dripping down his neck. It takes every single thread of my self-restraint not to knock him back onto his bed and lick it off him.

"Baz," he growls, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath. A sweaty, shirtless Snow growling my name. I can't believe I made this happen.

I'm a genius.

He throws himself at me before I can stop him. For a moment I'm worried the anathema is going to kick us both out, but nothing happens as he knocks me over to the cold stone floor. He pushes me against it, and I moan at the cool stone against the skin of my back.

He stops immediately, hands curled around my wrists. I wish I could take everything back, from the spell to that completely humiliating noise.

But he doesn't get off me.

(It's torture, honestly. He needs to make up his mind- get off me, or get me off.)

He's got one of his legs pressed between mine, his pelvis pressed against my leg. If he was hard I'd be able to feel him. (I could reach down now and grab his arse. Pull him tighter to me, let him ride my leg. Then I could feel that enormous cock fattening against me, and let every inch-)

"Baz?"

Aleister- fucking- Crowley.

I push him off me and run into the ensuite. It's hot in here too, and the fucking door won't close properly because of it.

I ignore it and just get into the shower, trousers and all. I wrench it to the coldest setting (which I am entirely unfamiliar with despite having showered in here countless times) and rest my forehead against the tiles.

SIMON

I'm laying facedown on the floor of the room (our room). The stone is cold and a relief against the heat. I'm tempted to summon the Sword of Mages to hack the door down (since the fucking thing won't open on its own) but it's too hot to move.

I'm hot all over.

I was hot, I've been hot since whatever the fuck Baz did to the room. But now it's worse.

The sound Baz made as I pushed him to the floor is playing on a constant loop in my mind. So is thinking about the warmth of his skin. (I've punched him enough to know he's not usually like that. That it's the infernal heat that's done that, but I can't make myself forget the way it felt.)

The way he'd pressed his hips just so against mine.

I close my eyes and whack my head against the floor once, twice, three times.

I’m attracted to Baz.

I've known this for weeks now, since the showers. (Maybe even since before. It was surprising, yes, and shocking. But once I thought it over I just kind of accepted the whole thing really. Baz is objectively attractive- it's not really debatable. It's not surprising that my body would react to having him under me.)

(What is surprising is his reaction to being under me. That I don't understand. The way he'd pressed against me, the way I'd felt his hands shaking and briefly-)

I wish he'd just punched me earlier in class. This is a fucked up way of getting one over me, if that's what this is about. It's a lot easier to deal with a broken nose than it is to get the feeling of him against me, and the sound of his voice, out of my head.

I'm still there on the floor between our beds when Baz gets out of the shower. He sticks his head out of the ensuite, but he mustn't see me on the floor because he darts into the room, his sopping silky pyjamas clinging to every inch of him (Holy buggering Merlin) before grabbing his wand and spelling himself dry. He jumps a little when he notices me, and runs back into the ensuite, slamming the door shut behind him.

At least the infernal heat has finally broken.

I groan as I finally get up and tip myself back into bed. It's still too hot to put my shirt back on, and I lay on my side, staring at the wall blankly until I hear the sound of the ensuite opening slowly and Baz getting ready for bed.

I wait until I hear his breaths even out (it takes longer than usual- a lot longer), but even then I don't sleep.

BAZ

I stayed in the shower for so long the spell has broken by the time I get out. I'm going to need to deep condition my hair every day for a week to get rid of the damage I've put it through today.

And I still haven't properly seen his cock.

(He was supposed to get naked- or mostly naked anyway- last night. Supposed to peel his sweaty clothing from his sweaty golden body so I could watch him glisten and fan himself in the moonlight. So I could finally, maybe, satisfy my curiosity once and for all and think about something else for a change.)

I sit in class and ignore the professors, and instead think of a hundred different ways I can get Snow to take his clothing off. Every single one of my plans is completely bonkers.

This is mental, I think to myself when I catch myself following him into the communal loo after class one day. Surely I have something better to do than perving on Snow? I force myself to leave, and then to go out to the pitch. I take out my frustration on the ball, doing drills until curfew. Then I go to feed.

When I get back to the room I ignore him, and spend the night trying to breathe evenly and staring at the ceiling.

SIMON

I decide I need a little space to sort through- everything. (It's been a lot.)

He's still a jumpy, neurotic mess, but he doesn't do anything to overtly harm me during the week. He follows me around (which is a change from our normal arrangement which freaks me out) and then just as I start to go a little crazy, he stops altogether.

It gives me some space to breathe, but more importantly it makes me suspicious again.

I decide I need more information to figure out exactly what he's been up to. I wait until Wednesday to go through his laptop. Wednesdays are my prime day for looking through his things, because he has football and violin lessons back to back. He leaves before dinner and doesn't get back until late.

I almost enjoy going through his laptop. Everything is neatly organized, so it makes it easy to find something out of place. It's always quick, and it makes me feel competent.

I know something is wrong when I notice the folder labelled school work hidden deep in his documents… and it's enormous. Baz is a huge nerd, but even he can't turn our class material into this much stuff.

I was right- I think to myself as I open up the folder and select a file at random. He's been up to something.

The video starts- and I shut the laptop and jump away from it almost immediately. I pace the room for a bit, biting at my cheeks. Then I open it up again and mute it.

I end up watching the whole video (because I need to know what it's about. Know thy enemy.)

At first, I wonder if it's a joke. Maybe he expected me to find this.

So I watch another.

And another.

And then I'm certain- Baz is mocking me.

I don't make eye contact with Baz when he gets back. Which is just as well because he usually prefers to ignore me in the room as well.

I stare at the ceiling and pointedly think about the magickal words assignment I haven't finished yet. The one that Baz has probably already written four drafts of. The one that's saved in his "Year Eight" folder, sitting right on his desktop.

I wish I had only looked through the Year Eight folder. Then I could have stolen his essay and had fewer things to worry about.

I'll admit, it actually hurts a little (a lot, actually.) I've had a rough go of it the past few weeks. Realizing I'm attracted to him, admitting it to myself, trying to figure out what he's been up to.

And now he's making jokes about my dick.

(It all makes sense. This all started after the showers. Fuck, I should have just gotten out when he told me to. Instead he's getting revenge by… I'm not entirely sure, actually. By making me concerned about him? Making me realize I'm attracted to him? By putting me in situations where my dick becomes the punchline? I feel like everything that's happened in the last couple of weeks is related, somehow, but I don't have enough information to discover exactly how.)

(Also It shouldn't matter what Baz thinks. It doesn't matter. But even though he thinks I'm a disgrace to magic it's still embarrassing for him to know I fucked up a spell so badly that I basically disfigured myself. Or even worse, that he thinks I did it on purpose because I was insecure or lacking in the first place. He'd never believe that it was an accident, that my dick was fine. I don't know why it's so important to me what Baz thinks about my dick but it is. It's important.)

I should just tell him we should call a truce. That my dick is off-limits. Something.

The next morning I wake up and all my trousers have been replaced with trackies. Normally this would be an improvement, but they're all a size too snug and ride up at the ankles.

Fuck it.

I don't know how to spell them back. I could spell them bigger, but Baz is observant- he would know that I did it because I was embarrassed to wear them as is.

(I am. They're way too clingy- definitely not school appropriate.)

The thought of spelling them bigger doesn't sit well with me though. I'm not sure why, but then I realize- because it would kind of be like accepting defeat. Like admitting that his taunting has gotten under my skin. (Which it has, but I don't want him to actually know it.)

So instead I grit my teeth and hold my head up high as I leave the room.

BAZ

Because my entire life is a joke, instead of spelling them back to normal after I'd gotten a glance Snow just… starts wearing the trackies everywhere.

(The fact that none of the professors have called him out on it and told him to revert to the mandatory uniform just shows how unbelievably biased the staff are towards him. He gets away with so much just because of who he is. It's sickening.)

I may be the stupidest person in this school.

I thought that if I could get a glimpse of the outline of his cock in the trackies I'd be able to get over it. Just finally tell myself once and for all that what I saw in the showers was true, and that I'm not going mental.

(I've gotten a good look. So has everyone in the whole school, probably. Which, thinking about it, makes me want to tear out my hair and stamp my feet. I have no idea why I let myself give in to this plan- it was moronic, and I'm a moron. And now I'm sitting in class- in front of him, so I can't even enjoy the view- just seething.)

Trust Snow to take everything way too far. I shouldn't be surprised.

I spend the next few days on edge, gritting my teeth as I try to ignore him. But he's everywhere in those infernal trousers.

(They're completely and utterly indecent. Every time he sits down and they stretch taut over his thighs I can't decide what I want more- to rip them off him or rub my face against his crotch. It's humiliating and it's not even made any better knowing that I'm the only person privy to these thoughts. I'm embarrassed at myself, at my lack of control, at how Simon Snow has managed to so completely and utterly take over my mind by doing something as mundane as wearing ill-fitting trousers.)

I'm a fucking moron is what I am.

He’s barely stepped into the room after class and my eyes are already on him.

(I’m pathetic.)

Of course he notices right away.

"Enough!" he yells. "You've had your laugh, alright? I already know what a joke I am- but this is too far. Leave my dick alone."

I blink up at him, confused but hoping it doesn’t show.

"Look, I know you've been having a laugh- but it was an accident. My dick was fine, I didn't do it on purpose! So unless you're going to help me unspell it or something- just lay off. Choose something else to rag on about. And change all my bloody trousers back to normal!"

I have a million thoughts all at once.

(He said something about a spell. Does he mean he spelled his cock to be enormous? That shouldn’t even be possible, but I don’t doubt that this nightmare somehow managed it. He’s an idiot if he thinks I’d help unspell it though. You don’t need to be an art collector to know not to stick your finger through the canvas of a Caravaggio.)

I decide to start with the thought that confuses me most.

"You think- you think I'm laughing at your cock?"

There is a list of things I want to do to Simon Snow's cock (there is also a list of things I want it to do to me). Laughing at it is definitely not something I've ever thought of doing.

(Choking on it is- near the very top, in fact.)

"What? Why else would you be doing all this?" he gestures vaguely. "The trackies, that thing in the room the other night, the videos-"

I make a mortified sound I wish I could take back the moment it comes out of my mouth. It's too much to wish that he didn't hear it. He frowns at me, and I can practically smell his brain overheating as he tries to make the connections…

I watch him get it all at once, his eyes opening wide and his mouth dropping open.

"You- that-"

I can feel myself flushing but I refuse to look away from him. I'm not the one who's apparently guilty of looking through another bloke's porn. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

(But I am- sweet, merciful Morgana I am. Because now that he knows how badly I want it, he's going to be nothing but insufferable. I don't know what will be worse- the immediate disgust or the inevitable pity.)

He's still opening and closing his mouth, tripping over his words, but I refuse to back down. Interestingly enough, there's a ruddy flush travelling up neck to his cheeks as he stares.

But before he can get the words out, he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

SIMON

I go down to the kitchens and make four sandwiches out of leftover roast beef. Then I drink three glasses of milk and start on a couple of scones.

(I can't think when I'm hungry. And I really need to think right now.)

I was so sure Baz was doing this all to mess with me. To taunt me. But that doesn't really make sense.

(He doesn't know about the spell. He couldn't have. I've never told anyone- and it's never been an issue before.)

Which means…

I don't know what it means.

Except-

I recognized the look on his face tonight. The flush (he wasn't as pink as he usually is after a game, but that was definitely a flush.) And that look on his face- that looked exactly how I felt the night I had him under me, the night he spelled the room blisteringly hot.

The night he jumped into the shower in his pyjamas and had to come back out into the room with them plastered to his body.

And then there was the porn.

I know I shouldn't have watched it, but I was curious. I was honestly surprised he had porn on his laptop, even though I know he wanks. (He keeps a bottle of lube stashed in the ensuite behind a bunch of his fancy hair products. I found it when I went looking for hair gel while getting ready for our fourth year formal. It's fancy and smells like cherries. It's good quality too, I use it sometimes when he gets on my nerves more than usual.)

I thought he had put the videos there as a joke, knowing that I would find them if I ever went through his laptop.

(It doesn't make sense, but most of the things Baz does doesn't make sense to me anyway. Who am I to say what makes sense and what doesn't in his mind.)

All things considered- I've behaved like a lunatic recently.

But then again… so has he.

I pour myself another glass of milk and frown.

The showers, the lake, the anxiety, the porn…

It's been a rough couple of weeks for me since I realized that I'm attracted to him- that I want him.

'You think- you think I'm laughing at your cock?' he'd said.

Maybe, just maybe- Baz has been acting so weird because he's realized he wants me too.

BAZ

I spend the time he's gone deleting all the videos. (Good riddance.)

I'm trying to decide if I should go to Dev and Niall's room and beg them to let me sleep on the floor. Or maybe go hide out in the catacombs for a couple of days.

Long enough for this whole thing to blow over.

I don't know why I didn't take the out he offered me. It made absolutely no sense, but if Snow was convinced I've spent the last few weeks taunting him over his (enormous) cock, I should have played along.

But then the look on his face…

Fuck, the idea of pretending, even for a moment that that (gorgeous, magnificent) cock was a joke, well I couldn't do it. It would be fucking blasphemous. (It's divine, is what it is. There's no way around it.)

I haven't yet decided what I'm going to do when he gets back to the room.

When the door opens, I'm still lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

He looks at me, frowning. Then he closes the door and leans against it. He starts chewing on his lip.

I don't dare let myself imagine what he's going to say.

SIMON

I don't really know what to say.

I know I want him, and by now I'm pretty sure he wants me too.

But still- it's Baz. I can hardly barge into the room and just tell him that I've decided that we should stop being enemies and just- snog instead. Or shag. Maybe both, actually.

Only- that's kind of what all the tension between us right now is about. Maybe it's what the tension between us has always been about. And maybe why the Anathema didn't kick me out the other night when I pushed him to the ground in frustration. Because while I was frustrated, I was also itching to get my hands on him. (I thought because I was spoiling for a fight- but maybe…maybe we'd be better off getting physical in a different sense.)

"I don't want to fight," I tell him, holding up my hands.

"We're always fighting," he snaps.

"Yeah, but I don't want to do that anymore. We should stop that."

"As if you can put aside your animosity so easily,”

"Yeah, I can. You're not that bad, you're just a dick. And a bully. But you're not any worse than that really.”

"Hardly. If I’m so harmless I don’t see why you’d spend all your time stalking me, going through my things-”

"Yeah, probably because I'm completely obsessed with you.”

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it. It looks a lot better this way.

"Look, nothing has changed just because you think you figured out-”

"I don't care about that. I mean- yeah okay, I do- but that's not what this is about. Or, entirely, anyway. I want to spend time with you. Maybe I could date you if you'll let me."

He sneers worse than ever. This was a terrible idea.

"You want to date me?" He sounds so incredulous that I’m offended. I have no idea what’s so crazy about my idea- it’s not like we spend much time with anyone else anyway.

"You don't need to be such a wanker about it," I say, flushing. "And- I don’t have a car and I can't drive, so you'd need to drive us if we went anywhere… and I guess we'd have to do it on the weekends because of curfew… but why not?"

He makes a sound like choking. "Why not?" he repeats weakly. It doesn't sound like a good thing.

"I already spend all my time following you around and thinking about you. Might as well actually spend time together. Let's go see a film or something. Or… you're probably still worried about exams, right? We could…" I make a face, "study together, I guess."

"You want to study with me?"

"Not really, and honestly I don't really think you need to- but I think we should spend time together and if that's what you're going to do I could just- do it too. I guess.”

He's frowning, giving me that look he gives me right before he's about to attack.

"Snow," he growls, "we are not going to study together."

And then he gets up and pushes me flat against the back of the door.

It’s a little weird at first (he doesn’t seem like he knows what he’s doing), but we’re both enthusiastic enough to make it work. Baz is a fast learner, and it isn’t long until he has me groaning into his mouth, pulling him closer by his belt loops and pressing every inch of myself against him. He’s unyielding, hard and solid against me, and it’s so exciting and new that I feel dizzy.

"So… a film tomorrow night then?" I finally ask when he pulls away from me to breathe.

"Absolutely not," he says, and I feel my face fall. "We're going to stay up here all night, and then once I'm done with you, you're going to go stuff your face in the kitchens, then come back up here and we're going to do it all over again."

"Oh," I say, flushing deeper, that molten feeling in my gut squirming tight.

"Will that be a problem?" he practically purrs. I swallow hard as I feel his cold hands pushing up the front of my shirt.

"No," I say honestly, shaking my head. "That sounds good."

"Good, Snow. Now take off these ridiculous trousers."

BAZ

It’s a bad idea, full stop.

But I’ve thought of nothing else for weeks. Nothing but Simon Snow’s gorgeous cock.

Sure, we can go to the cinema sometime and snog in the back row. I’d enjoy it even. But I’ll be staked if I let that get in the way of what I really want. And what I want is to get my hands (and my mouth- and every other part of me) on him.

The second I step away from him he starts fumbling, pulling his trousers down. He wobbles a little as he forgoes the buttons on his shirt and starts pulling it over his head instead, getting caught and struggling.

The shirt gets tossed to the distant corner of the room, soon followed by his cross.

It’s disgusting how excited I am at his eagerness.

I wait until he’s standing there in his pants, looking excited but uncertain before I start undressing myself. I watch his eyes follow my hands as I undo the buttons on my cuffs and then the front of my shirt.

(His long, showy swallow as I shrug out of the shirt is even better than I imagined it would be. So many of my fantasies have involved Simon Snow ogling me as I get undressed for him.)

I catch his gaze as I start walking back towards my bed. My undead heart flutters as he starts crowding me against the edge of it.

I want to kiss him again, but I need to feel him against me more, so I work on undoing my belt buckle and getting my trousers off instead (Gracefully. Unlike Snow.)

His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as I tug them down and step out of them, and I preen.

We’re left standing face to face in just our pants. I can’t stop looking at him (at the bulge in his pants, at the moles and freckles scattered across his golden skin…)

“Fuck Baz,” he breathes, then tackles me onto the bed.

Everything is good. The pressure of him holding me down, his warm (so warm) skin under my hands, the press and pull as we move against each other.

I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. I know what I want but I don’t have any idea how to get there. But for now it’s enough to suck on his tongue and swallow the sounds he makes against my mouth.

Soon, breathing is an issue and I pull away and nose at his neck. It’s warm, and smells so much like him it makes me ache in my pants. I lick a long stripe up it and he moans, tilting his head back and giving me better access. I want to sink my teeth into him, into soft plush skin- flip him over, hold him down and just take, take, take.

Instead I press an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse and pull away.

“Snow,” his pupils are blown, those average blue eyes almost completely swallow up by black. “I want to blow you.”

He groans, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.

“Say it again.”

I consider refusing, but that won’t help me get what I want. What I need.

“Simon, I need to suck your cock. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” I sneer at him, but he’s already flipped us over, spreading his legs and making room for me between them.

I take my time, savouring it.

I kiss my way up his thighs, breathing in the scent of him. It would be embarrassing if I didn’t already know he’s equally as obsessed with me.

Watching his cock twitch in his pants as I lave my tongue over his hipbone makes what little blood there is in me boil, and finally I give in, lowering my head and running my cheek along the length of it.

I moan almost as loudly as he does. Aleister fucking Crowley, it feels so good, so right to have my face in his lap. Exactly where I belong.

I look up at him as I lick long and slow from root to tip. It’s torture, being so close and not quite there. It must be torture for him too, because he chokes back a whine and pushes his hips into my tongue. I don’t relent, licking long stripes until his pants are nice and wet and he’s panting, head thrown back and muscles in his neck stretched tight under his skin.

(I won’t bite him, I won’t- but he’s never been so tempting- stretched out in front of me, making such delicious sounds as I tease him.)

“Baz,” he grunts, and grinds against my face.

For the first time in my life I listen to him, and peel off his pants.

The sound I make when I first see his cock- properly that is- is the most humiliating sound anyone in the history of the human species has ever made.

It’s nothing short of glorious- curved, prominently veined, and obscenely out of proportion with the rest of him. It’s beyond lewd, the sheer size of him. It’s too much, everything about Simon Snow is too much- and I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my entire life.

I can feel my own cock leaking in my pants as I stare at him.

I run my tongue along my teeth to make sure my fangs haven’t popped. (He’s flushed and excited underneath me, stretched out on display like he’s daring me to eat him. I wouldn’t be surprised if my traitorous body decided he looked enough like prey to feast on him.)

Once I’m assured that they’re safely tucked away, I don’t hesitate before I begin my frenzied worship- I am already on my knees, after all.

The sounds Snow makes as I tongue at his crown make me grunt and palm at myself clumsily as I try to focus. Soon the burden of splitting my attention is too much to bear, and I lay down properly between his legs, sliding my hands under his arse to push his hips up to my greedy mouth.

The stretch in my lips as I take him down is enough to be uncomfortable, but I haven’t waited this long only to give up right before I get what I want. He’s making these pained noises underneath me, clutching at the sheets on either side of his hips as I slowly slide down his length. It’s an effort to breathe, but if I had to choose between Simon Snow’s glorious cock and oxygen right now, I would gladly suffocate.

I’m barely half way when Snow gives up all semblance of control and slides his hands into my hair, tugging as he tries to nudge himself deeper. I moan around him and he grunts and swears, tugging harder as he uses my mouth and throat.

I’m dizzy, delirious, the only thing tethering me to this moment the tentative thrusts of Snow’s hips against my face, the slide of his cock down my throat, the stretch in my lips.

“Holy fuck, shit. Jesus, Baz.”

I’m so worked up that his Normal swearing does nothing but make me whine and rut against the mattress. I should be disgusted at myself, but I’m too blissed out to give a fuck.

It’s over too soon. The beat of blood in him quickens, and he starts moving his hips faster, chasing the feeling. I want to pull him back from the edge, draw it all out only to bring him back, but I’m too greedy to give up any part of him. Instead I push myself down even further, swallowing around him- desperate for anything he’ll give me.

“Baz, oh shit. Baz!” He tugs my hair as he comes down my throat. I moan, eager and selfish as I try to swallow everything.

When I start gagging, he tugs me off while I hiss and struggle. “Fuck, Baz.” he says, reaching out and wiping some of his come from the corner of my mouth. I bare my teeth at him and shrug out of his grip, promptly returning my face to his lap where I lick him clean slowly, savouring the taste of him.

(It’s salty. And bitter. But because it’s Snow’s come, I make sure to lick up everything.)

When I’m done I look back up at him.

He looks wrecked, face ruddy and flushed, golden skin shining with sweat. Even his impressive cock is down and out for now, flaccid and soft against his thigh.

I should have cast something on him, candle in the wind probably.

“Jesus, Baz.” He has an arm flung over his eyes, and he’s still breathing heavily. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking.

SIMON

It’s a good thing I don’t make a habit of thinking things through because I have no idea what to make of what just happened.

I’ve heard some of the older boys in the care homes brag about getting head- but never in my life would I have guessed it would be like that.

(Is it usually like that? That was… I don’t have the words. How does anyone ever get anything done if that’s what sex is like? And not even proper sex- just a blowjob. I can’t imagine how blindingly good sex must be if it’s anything better than that.)

Maybe it’s different when it’s with another boy? In the care homes all the older boys would compare stories about the girls they were sleeping with- but I can’t imagine any girl (and definitely not Agatha) having even a fraction of the enthusiasm Baz had.

(The way he’d had his eyes closed the whole time, groaning into my skin like he’d been the one being worked to the brink of madness.)

The skin at the tops of my thighs is slightly raw, chafed from his stubble. I rub my palms across the sensitive skin and the slight burn makes something in me throb, a physical reminder of what just happened. Proof that he’d wanted me so badly, he’d pressed his face as close to me as he possibly could- and it still wasn’t close enough.

“Move over,” Baz commands, and I groan unintentionally at the rasp of his voice.

(I made him sound like that. With my cock.)

He drops down next to me, and I pull him into my arms, kissing him at once. He tastes bitter (I guess that’s what come tastes like), but it’s still new and exciting to kiss him.

I can’t believe he’s still wearing his pants. I was aching by the time he took me in his mouth- I can’t even imagine how he must be feeling. He slaps my hands away as I reach for him, and I look up at him- he’s frowning.

I’m so confused.

“I want to get you off,” I tell him. Merlin, do I ever. The idea of perfectly composed Baz Pitch, a writhing, moaning mess because of me- I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.

(Or maybe I have, and that’s what all this tension between us has always been about. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I need to get my hands on him, right now. Also, the fact that he’s still wearing his pants is unbelievably stupid. He needs to be naked, the sooner the better.)

“You need to go down to the kitchens, I assume you’re dying to stuff yourself considering we’ve missed dinner.”

“Have we?”

I honestly hadn’t noticed.

I’m tempted to just… stay. The sandwiches weren’t that long ago. But maybe he needs a minute. (Maybe he wants to brush his teeth or something but doesn’t want to insult me by getting up and doing right away. Actually, that makes no sense, Baz never worries about insulting me and I doubt that’ll ever change.)

I get up and start putting my uniform back on reluctantly.

I hope I’m making the right choice.

I’m lacing up my shoes when Baz gets up and heads to the ensuite. As I’m heading out the door I hear the shower turn on.

Immediately I’m conflicted.

I never thought I’d chose anything over food, but knowing that Baz is in there- naked and aroused- well it makes for a tough choice.

I hope he doesn’t wank in there without me.

(I kind of want to stick my head in and tell him to wait for me- but it’s not really any of my business what he does when I’m not around. I have enough self-awareness to realize that’s never mattered before, but this feels different than everything else, somehow.)

I go down to the kitchens and sneak some more roast beef. I also find some Yorkshire puddings and leftover potatoes. I usually eat quickly to maximize the opportunity, but this is fast even by my standards. I want to bring something back up to him, but I’ve still actually never seen him eat before. Instead of making up a plate I take a couple of apples and bring them back to Mummers.

He’s already out of the ensuite by the time I get back, stretched out on his bed in only a towel. I swallow audibly as I shut the door behind me. I lean against it, and watch greedily as a drip of water from his damp hair slips down his neck and pools in the space of his collarbone.

I wish I knew whether I’m allowed to touch him now.

I want to.

“Come here,” he says finally.

I drop the apples on my bed and stumble over my feet in my hurry to get to him.

It’s just as exciting kissing him as it was the first time.

He pulls me onto the bed with him, and I kick my shoes off and pull him closer.

He unbuttons my shirt slowly, kissing every bit of skin as he exposes it. I close my eyes and sigh. It feels- intimate. Tender. I’m surprised, but very, very pleased.

Then he pushes me back against the pillows and tugs my trousers and pants off quickly, the complete opposite of the slow divestment of my shirt.

“This seems familiar,” I pant at the ceiling as he drags the tip of his tongue through my slit before leaning down and mouthing at my bollocks.

“Shhh, Snow,” he admonishes me lazily, before kissing up and down my shaft. “So big,” he murmurs, rubbing his rough cheek against my inner thigh while he drags the flat of his tongue up and down my erection.

I tug him back up when it becomes obvious he’s too distracted to move things along on his own. It’s fine, flattering even, but I need to touch him too. “Can I take this off?” I ask him, thumbing at the edge of his towel. The look he gives me is the one I recognize from countless fights, arguments. It still gets my blood rushing, only now in a different way. A better one.

I take my time with him because I’m trying to be patient enough for both of us. I lick long and slow up his neck as I run my hands all over him, feeling him press against my leg as I smooth my hands over his arse above the towel.

Soon the wait is unbearable, and I can’t help but look down, peeling the towel from his hips and throwing it to the floor. His cock is pretty- if it’s possible for a bloke’s cock to be that. It’s just like the rest of him- long and sculpted, and a pretty shade of pink.

(I’d always thought the sight of another bloke’s cock would be intimidating- but the only thing I think when I see Baz’s is just how much I like it. How much it suits him.)

I tear my gaze away from his cock and press our bodies tightly together, kissing him and licking into his mouth as I rub my erection against his hip. He groans into my mouth, grabbing handfuls of my arse as I rut against him.

We’re both hard and leaking, and the whole thing is a wet, warm mess. It’s brilliant.

“Fuck me, Snow.”

He flushes a little as he says it, but he looks determined.

I shouldn’t question him (I don’t want to question him. I want to be buried in him more than anything, but I don’t want to- I can’t- hurt him. Not like this. Probably not ever again, honestly.)

He turns over, and the sight of that arse is everything I remembered it to be and more. He’s barely had time to settle on his front before I have my hands on it- and Merlin, I’ve never felt anything better.

He moans as I roughly paw at him. I try to be gentle, but I’m out of my mind with want. I’m so desperate I’m almost choking on it. I’ve never felt this way about anything, anyone. I don’t know how to control it- all I can do is give in, and squeeze at him roughly, trying to feel everything.

He reaches out and grabs a bottle of lube from under his pillow, tossing it over his shoulder to me.

The smell of cherries is comforting and familiar as I slick up my fingers and watch him. He reaches back, holding himself open for me, eager and shameless- it makes me ache.

Honestly, I don’t have much of an idea of what I’m doing- or at least I didn’t until I watched all those videos on his laptop. I’m probably an expert now.

I rub my fingers together to warm up the lube and then I’m reaching down, running my index finger between his cheeks and around his rim. I wish I could watch his face, but the angle isn’t great- instead I can hear him making little whining noises into the pillow.

He’s so soft here, so sensitive. I circle his rim and watch his skin twitch under my touch. It makes my stomach clench violently, and I can’t look away.

“Oh!” he exclaims as I slide my finger into him. He sounds surprised. I shuffle forwards so I can reach him better and I let my other hand rub soothingly against his lower back as I let him get used to the sensation.

It doesn’t take long before he’s rocking back onto my finger. I pull back and add more lube, then press back in, faster this time. He raises his hips into my touch, resting on his elbows. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen- Baz Pitch face down and arse up, eager and pliant under my touch.

I lean over him and pull my finger out, pressing back in with two, spreading them to try and work him open. He tenses and grunts when I press against what must be his prostate, and I make sure to do it again and again until he’s a shivering mess on the bed.

It doesn’t take me long to realize that this is never going to work. He’s still so tight and I’ve already got two fingers in him.

(I also can’t believe how disappointed I am to realize that. Like I didn’t really know how badly I wanted to stick my cock in him until I realized it’s not going to happen tonight- or Merlin, maybe ever.)

“Snow,” he pants, pressing back onto my fingers, making us both groan, “another.”

“Uh- it’s not going to fit.” I tell him, sounding hoarse. I don’t know whether I mean my cock or a third finger- but it’s true all the same. He’s wet and stretched so tight around my fingers, it’s an effort to pull them apart to try and scissor him open.

He moves around under me and I’m about to pull away and give him some space when he tosses his wand over his shoulder at me.

“Uh.” I have no idea what to do with this. “I have no idea what to do with this,” I tell him honestly. He already knows I’m always five steps behind him, this shouldn’t surprise him.

“There’s a spell-”

“To stretch your arse?” I say, sounding embarrassingly shrill. I clear my throat, “how do you know that?” I ask before I can stop myself.

The look he gives me over his shoulder makes me wish I’d never asked.

“Loosen up,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. The tips of his ears are pink, and he won’t meet my eyes.

I’ve never known him to be embarrassed at anything, but he’s also never been arse up in bed with me before either.

I grab his wand with my empty hand and then pull my fingers free. I hold him open and stare, feeling like a bit of a tit as I try to concentrate on his arse. This must be the stupidest idea he’s ever had.

“Loosen up!” I tell his arse, feeling ridiculous.

Immediately Baz bursts into hysterical laughter below me, and for a moment I almost convince myself again that this was all a ruse to make fun of me. Merlin I’m such an idiot. No bloke wants to be laughed at in bed, I should have known better than to-

“You idiot,” he says, still laughing. “I think you mucked it up, as usual, you absolute moron. Giddiness is not a known effect of the spell.”

The tone of voice takes away the sting of the words. I guess I would prefer to have him laugh in bed than cry or something.

“Can I?” he nods, still chuckling as he settles back down on his elbows.

My cock throbs as I press my fingers back in. He’s right- it did work. I pull back and add more lube and fit in a third finger. He moans loudly into the pillow, then laughs as I pull out and slide the tips of my fingers around his rim before pushing back in.

“Baz,” I hiss, and he giggles, wiggling his arse. “Stay still,” I tell him, spreading my fingers inside him slowly. I don’t want to hurt him, but he’s shifting underneath me, pressing back into me, squirming and giggling. “Enough!” I tell him, slapping his arse cheek.

He moans so loudly I almost pull away from him in surprise.

At least he’s not laughing any more.

I don’t think I hit him that hard, but there’s a splotchy pink mark on his cheek where I struck him. I take my free hand and rub it soothingly, and Baz puts his face into the pillow and whines.

“More, Snow, more-!”

I pinch over the pink mark as I shove my fingers as deep as they’ll go. Baz makes a sound that sounds like choking before panting, humping eagerly against my hand.

“Yeah, gonna get you nice and loose,” I tell him, realizing how stupid I sound as I spread my fingers, rubbing against his walls almost desperately.

“It’s so much,” he pants, and I pull back immediately. He hisses at me at once, kicking me in the shin as he squirms on the bed. “Don’t you dare. Get back in me you nightmare, get me ready for your big cock.”

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I’m going lose it all over his arse before I’m even done fingering him open. I might sound like a right tit in bed, but Baz sounds so good it ought to be illegal.

(He should always sound like this.)

He’s an impatient thing. “I’m ready,” he says shortly, and my cock twitches. I’ve been neglecting it as I fingered him open, and now I can’t ignore how I’ve been leaking everywhere. I pull my fingers out and slap my cock against his pinkened cheek. He gasps, back tensing, and I do it again so I can appreciate his reaction properly.

“Turn over,” I tell him, rubbing the small of his back, “I want to see your face.”

He’s barely flushed, but his hair is a tousled mess. He looks so lovely. He lifts his hips as I reach over and shove a pillow underneath them.

He spreads his legs as I crawl in between them. I can’t believe this is happening. I slick myself up as he watches, mouth hanging open as I settle between his thighs.

“Tell me if it hurts and we’ll stop.” I tell him, gripping myself and rubbing the head of my cock against his swollen rim.

He bares his teeth at me, and I just roll my eyes. He’s such a drama queen, I don’t know why I expected anything less from him just because we’re shagging now.

He groans long and low as I ease the tip into him. I go slowly, slower than I want- my entire body screaming at me to go faster and give it all to him. I rub at his hip soothingly as I pause, muscles trembling with the effort of holding myself back. “Are you okay?” He swallows shakily and nods.

He’s not very convincing.

“I’m going-” I start, pulling back. I groan when I feel Baz’s heel digging into the small of my back.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he growls, “I expect you to fuck me good and proper.”

“Greedy brat,” I grunt, but I follow the press of his heel and continue pushing in. He’s tensing, hissing incoherent sounds as I fuck him open. His body is pulling away, pushing towards me like it can’t decide what it wants. I reach down and run a slick finger around his stretched rim and he whines- he’s almost unbearably tight. “You need to relax if you want it,” I huff at him.

“The spell,” he gasps out, “you could-”

“No, just relax” I tell him. I’ve learned from my mistakes, I’ll never cast a spell so close to my cock again. And he feels so good, there isn’t any reason I can think of to pull out unless he tells me to. “You’re going to take it all- and you’re going to like it.”

He sobs beneath me and I wonder if I took it too far. But then he grips the base of his cock tight and grits his teeth, and I realize I’ve done something very very right.

There’s a hot flash of pride that bleeds through me, and it gives me the courage to press even more deeply into Baz, who chokes back a sound before reaching up and gripping at my biceps. He must be tapping into his super strength, because I can feel the ache of bruises forming under his fingertips. It should be a turn off- but knowing that he’s so strong, that he could push me off him any time he wanted- it makes me huff out a breath and continue, rocking into him as he squirms underneath me.

It’s torture. The very best kind. It takes so long to completely seat myself in him that I’m almost undone by the time my bollocks press against his arse.

I lean over and kiss him, pushing my tongue in his mouth- desperate to get inside him in every way possible. “Okay?” I ask, pulling back a little and pressing our foreheads together. His mouth is hanging open and his brow is creased. I’m hesitating, but then he clenches around me and I hiss in both surprise and pleasure.

“Just fuck me, Snow.”

“Gonna give it to you,” I threaten, holding hard to his hip before I nudge forward cautiously, watching the long line of his body underneath me as he continues panting and thrashing against the sheets. What we’re doing can barely be called fucking- I’m pretty much just grinding myself into his arse- but Baz is going wild beneath me as I press myself into him over and over.

It’s blindingly good- he’s so tight, and the sounds he makes as he moves his hips and impales himself make me grit my teeth and tense to hold myself back.

I had no idea anything could feel this good.

“Simon,” his voice is weak, straining. “Simon- god, fuck- please, I can’t- just…”

I lean down, resting one forearm across his sternum as I reach down with my messy hand and roughly palm at him. The angle isn’t great, and I can’t quite keep the tempo with my hips, but he throws his head back on the pillow and continues babbling nonsense anyway.

I finally get a slick grip on him, and he shoves himself up into my fist and down onto my cock in a frenzy. It’s tempting to sit back and let him do all the work, but I can feel my magic sparking through my veins, coming off me in waves that smell like sticky smoke, and I need to come before I burst with it- and I need him to be right there with me.

(He’d never let me hear the end of it if I came before he did.)

He’s loud as I grip his cock tighter, squeezing the head and twisting my fist around him on the downstroke. “Shhh…” I tell him, taking the piss a little as I reach up with my free hand and hook my thumb around the reddened corner of his lip.

He wastes no time sucking it into his mouth, running his tongue along the pad of my thumb.

“Fuck- Baz,”

It’s sensory overload. His wet tongue on my sensitive finger. The scratch of his cheek against the palm of my hand. His tight, slick hole straining around my cock. The smooth slide of our sweaty bodies as we press together. I jerk him faster, thrusting into him roughly as I feel that steady pulse of pleasure in my gut flaring.

“I’m gonna come soon,” I grit, shoving as deep as I can, “gonna come in you.”

Predictable as always, Baz beats me to it, never one to lose a competition. He tightens almost to the point of pain, as I lick at his neck and try to push myself deeper, clumsily tugging at his cock at he tenses and tightens.

My thumb is still in his mouth, and the sound he makes around it is humiliating, and one I know I’ll remember for a long, long time.

Only when he starts shifting underneath me, body loose and overstimulated do I give in, grabbing tight to his hips and holding him in place as I growl and finally let myself come.

BAZ

He wastes no time in collapsing on top of me, a sweaty, limp heap. He’s breathing wetly against my neck as he shivers with aftershocks.

It wasn’t the teeth rattling, rough shag I’d always fantasized about- it was so much better. Even my worst (best) imaginings hadn’t been able to prepare me for the almost unbearable stretch of Snow’s cock- the endless drag of it inside me as he’d fucked me. The sweet concern and burning desperation as he’d tried to decide how much I could take, how much he could give.

I’m completely shaken, but I take a moment to thank every deity I can name that Agatha Wellbelove had been a horse girl through and through in the end. Nothing could convince me now that she hadn’t taken one look at Snow’s enormous cock and decided right then and there to decline one ride in pursuit of another.

I’m so lucky I’ve always fucking hated riding.

He stirs against me and I try to decide if I’m allowed to hold him.

(I think so. I’m almost entirely sure of it. But I don’t want to be the one to start that first, just on the off chance that-)

He rolls off me so quickly I startle, and grabs at my arse, pulling me open.

“Snow,” I growl at him, trying to bat him away, “you unashamed, perverted-”

“Are you okay?” he asks, ignoring me. He reaches out and gently presses against my swollen rim with a finger. It stings and I hiss a little, but I don’t move away from his touch. He looks up at me, frowning, before sliding his whole finger in. I let my head fall back against the pillows and let out a vile sound. I feel dizzy, like I can’t quite get enough air.

He pauses for a beat, and I manage to tilt my head to look at him. His head is cocked to the side, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he stares at where we’re joined. Something in me flares weakly at the sight of him. Then he nods and pulls his finger out (accompanied by an embarrassing rush of fluid), and curls up on the bed, tugging me to him and brushing my hair off my neck with his messy hand.

(He’s fucking gross is what he is.)

“We should do that again,” he says. (I agree.)

“That would be acceptable,” I tell him. He nods, yawning.

“Let’s go see a film tomorrow night,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“I don’t have a car here.”

“We’ll take the train.”

I sneer. I am not the kind of person who takes public transportation.

“We could just… spend the day in bed,” I offer, then wince, having shown my hand.

“I promise to take you to bed right after,” he says, bringing my hand up to his mouth and kissing my wrist. “Let me take you out first.”

I wrinkle my nose, but even I don’t know why I keep refusing him. I want to go out and see a film with him. Hold his hand in line, snog in the back row.

But I’ve loved him for a long time, and I need to know what he wants.

“This is not a game,” I tell him, yanking my hand free of his and jabbing my finger into his chest.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, yawning again. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, closing his eyes and tucking me under his chin, “even if it was, I always play for keeps.”

I frown. What a stupid thing to say. For someone who can barely use his words, he always manages to string together the most cryptic and stupidest ones.

“Sleep now, go out with me tomorrow. We can figure the rest out later,” he breathes, reaching down and rubbing my stomach. Every part of me relaxes into the touch, and suddenly I am very, very tired.

And although I hate taking advice from Snow, I decide to follow his lead for once, and let myself fall asleep in his arms.

He’s right after all- we can figure the rest out later.