Archive of Our Own ^beta

 “Are you wearing eyeliner? Is that makeup smeared on my sheets?!” Simon’s voice sounds comically roughs he leans over my shoulder in between thrusts. I groan. 

“Ughh, yes. Now—shut—up” it ends up coming out without much venom because Simon takes it upon himself to punctuate my thoughts with hard, shallow, thrusts into me. 

“Ughhnn,” I shove my face back into the pillow and grip the sheets tighter, doing my best to bring my heels into Simon’s ass to encourage him. 

“Fuck!” Circe, what is he doing to me? I curse like a Normal now, too?

“Am I hurting you?” 

“No.” I’m so out of breath I can scarcely manage to say anything at all. 

“Wait, Baz. Are you crying?” Simon stills his hips and leans over me again, inadvertently taking a different angle. I moan agin, stifling it into the pillow. Simon starts to pull out and my hands move lightning fast to stop him. 

“No! Simon, you’re not hurting me, please. Please, don’t stop,” I think one of us will die if you do. 

“Baz…” Simon’s fingers gently brush my cheek, and I can see that they come away smudged with black—maybe I should have gone with waterproof. 

I wrench my face around to look at him. His face is contorted with concern and confusion. 

“Snow…Simon. It's good tears. Happy.”

“Good?” Snow bites his lip. 

“Yes,” Merlin, yes. 

“Maybe we should switch, so I can see you and I won’t—“

“No, No—I mean, we can but please Simon, this position is…” trying to explain to your boyfriend (whose dick is currently inside you!) that he’s found your prostate and doesn’t even know it is…

“Oh!” I smile in spite of myself, feeling a swallow strain against my contorted neck. “So it's good?” 

“Yes. So good.” I hold his gaze for a moment longer. “Simon, I need you to fuck me into this mattress like I’m paying you to. Or like its the only thing that will save Watford from a perfectly innocent dragon—“

“Hey!” 

“—or whatever it is that gets you off. Pull my hair, have me pull your tail, slap my ass, just please do—“ but I don’t even get to finish my sentence before Snow is shoving my head down and snapping his hips so viciously I see starts. (But I always see stars with Simon, don’t I?)

“Ughh…Ssss” I dont even have to make a choice between his names because I cant get more than the first consonant out anyway. Simon winds one hand in my hair and the other grips firmly to my hip. I choke on my next moan as he leans over me again, putting his mouth so close to my ear I can feel the heat on his lips. 

“It's you.”

All I manage is another strangled moan.

“You're what gets me off, Baz.” 

And that’s it. I’m gone. I’m spilling onto the sheets and onto my stomach and on to—when did Snow’s hand get there? I’m scarcely done making my string of embarrassing moans, cries (grunts, groans, whatever) when I feel Simon’s thighs tense and his breathing shifts into his nose and I know he’s close, so close, and I can feel his breath tickling at all the tiniest hairs on my face, the ones I didn’t even know I had, and then he’s gone. I know it. And I feel it, inside me. Changing the sensation of having Simon inside me. And part of me wishes he would keep going, just so I can keep feeling him, wondering at how I can still be getting to know new parts of him all the time…but the other part of me wants us to stay here for as long as possible. Simon, wet and spent inside of me, the sheets fucking ruined with cum and mascara and sweat and spit and lube and tears. Simon kisses my shoulder before I turn my head and languidly kiss him back. His hands are both on my shoulders now and he rubs them lightly. I release the sheets from my death grip and reach up to hold his face. It's awkward and I try to turn into him but we’re still so entangled I end up laughing into the side of his chin instead. His goofy, ridiculous, perfect hair flops over his forehead and he gives me one of those obnoxious smirks. He pulls out and lets me roll onto my back. He stares down at me, tenderly brushing my hair back from my face and parting his lips just so slightly. I drape my arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to me. His hands stay in my hair—lightly now, not the yank it was before. Before, when I asked for it. When I told him to. (Who is Simon Snow turning me into? What is fucking Simon Snow turning me into?) (Someone who gets fucked apparently.)

I can feel his sticky, soft cock on my thigh now and if I’m honest, the desire to stay forever this sticky has worn off. 

“We need a shower,” I kiss his nose. 

“And you need to wash the sheets. What a mess you made.” Simon clicks his tongue at me and I realize he rolled me right onto my own wet spot—should I have expected anything less? 

“There are spells for that.” 

“Nah…I think you’re getting too comfortable in this position, need to humble you.” 

“What position? Your cock in my ass or telling you what I want?” Simon narrows his eyes and considers his answer before giving me a sly smirk and rolling off me, but not before giving my hair a small tug. 

I stare at the ceiling, feeling the coolness of the air now that Simon isn’t pressed again me. And smelling the air…Crowley if I thought Simon smelled like sex before…its a struggle to convince myself that everyone on the whole block doesn't know what just happened in here. I can feel Simon’s cum leaking out of me, and mine drying on my stomach. The crusty traces of mascara on my cheeks. And the clamy, congealing mess beneath my spine.

Maybe I will stay here for a while.