His bed smelled like him. Baz pushed Simon deeper into his pillows, separating their lips only long enough to reach inside Snow's trousers. Simon tried and failed to stifle the noise he let out, something between a groan and a grunt and a keen.
"Crawley, Snow," Baz said, partly because he was so used to mocking him that it came without thought, and partly because he couldn't not comment on the loveliness of what he held in his hand.
Snow's eyelids fluttered closed, and as Baz worked him in his hand, he seemed to forget everything else that had been progressing.
"You know," Baz said, when it was clear that Snow had given up any sort of attempt at functioning, "this would be easier if you're naked."
Snow's eyes opened, and he gave a drunken sort of nod. "Yeah," he said, as if Baz had proposed a brilliant idea rather than basic physics. He struggled to push down his trousers and briefs, kicking them onto the floor. Baz helped him with his shirt, taking his own off after. As he slipped out of his trousers, he felt Snow staring at him where he stood in his briefs.
"You don't..." Snow started to say, before trailing off in his usual tongue-tied way. "You look normal. I always thought..."
Because Baz changed in the bathroom, Simon had evidently landed on the conclusion that Baz was horribly disfigured.
"Normal," Baz repeated flatly. "Your way with compliments is really quite extraordinary."
Snow blushed. "I mean..." He waved a hand in Baz's general direction. "You're obviously perfect. You know that."
It was true. Baz didn't notice anymore when people complimented him. Strangers on the street remarking on his face, strangers in his bed remarking on his body... All of it blurred together.
But hearing it from Snow was something different. It had the odd effect of making Baz's cheeks warm, and making him want to look away. Baz hadn't thought he'd had enough blood to rush anywhere, much less his face.
"There's something you should know," Baz said. Everything in him wanted to look elsewhere than at Snow, but he was a Pitch. He wouldn't resort to bashful shoulder-rubbing. "I don't... The blood thing makes it difficult to..."
He hated how he was stumbling for words. He was worse than Simon. He started again. "I haven't fed for a while. When I'm hungry, my body conserves blood for important things. Getting off isn't one of them."
Simon looked confused. "What do you... Oh," he said, understanding dawning on his face. He looked more embarrassed than Baz was. "You mean, you can't...?"
"Get hard? Most likely not. It shouldn't change things for you," Baz added, wanting Snow to stop looking at him like that. "Considering that you'll top. I just thought you should know in advance."
"I'll top?" Snow repeated. "Wait. We're having sex?"
Baz arched an eyebrow. He gave a deliberate look around them, to what they'd just been doing. "We haven't exactly been playing checkers."
"I know, I just thought... Agatha made me wait for months. I just assumed we'd fool around or something to begin with. Work up to it."
"If you want to stick to hand jobs and over-the-trousers grinding, by all means. I'm not going to force you."
"No! I mean, I obviously want to," Snow said. He gave a slight glance down, indicating his raging erection as proof. "I just..." His expression lifted as he looked at Baz. "Really?"
Baz felt himself smile. Simon looked like nothing more than a kid who was just told he got to open his Christmas presents a day early.
"Welcome to the world of gay sex," he said, and moved forward to take Simon again in his hand.
Over the seven years and three months that Baz had slept in the same room as Simon, he had overheard him wanking forty-seven times. Always after Simon thought Baz was asleep. Always with him curled toward the wall beneath the blankets, his hand racing in a mindless sprint to completion. It was soundless except for the rustle of fabric, the hitching of Snow's breath toward the end. Faster and faster until a sudden tight silence, a few moments that suspended for ages in Baz's mind. The careful shifting afterward as Snow went to dispose of the tissue in the bathroom.
It was a special kind of torture, the kind that kept Baz lying awake at night begging please, please, please, never sure if he meant please yes or please no. The whole thing never lasted more than a few minutes. Baz held his breath through it all. He didn't trust himself to breathe for risk of missing a sound. Sometimes, Snow would let out a sigh at the end, hardly more than an exhale. Nine times, to be exact, mostly in their fourth year. Twice, Snow had finished on his stomach, flipping over to grind his last urgent strokes against his mattress. Once, on February twenty-second of their fifth year, Snow had used lotion. The slick of wet palm against skin, the sloppy sound of friction combined with Snow's shallow, escalating breaths, had been more than Baz could bear.
He had thrown back his comforter and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Hunched over the toilet, he barely had time to take hold of himself before he came in gasping shudders. It was that night he learned that even if he hadn't just fed, he could get hard enough to come.
When he returned to bed, Snow was pretending to be asleep. Baz never heard him use lotion again.
Every time it made him ache, the thoughtless speed of it, dry and without relish. A thousand times Baz had imagined slipping out of bed, crawling in behind Simon and saying, "No no, this is how," replacing his hand with his own. Slow, savoring strokes. The deliciousness of drawn out pleasure.
But tonight, now that Baz finally had Simon in his hand, in his very bed, Baz could do nothing but drop to his knees.
He didn’t like giving blowjobs. They took too much concentration to keep his fangs from popping. Feeling blood rush beneath the surface of tauntingly thin skin, sensing it swell inside his mouth while not being able to bite, to taste, gave Baz such a desperate hunger that it made him feel savage with helplessness. But this excruciating temptation made his salivary glands work overtime, and Baz cared very much about making Simon Snow's cock slippery as soon as possible.
Snow barely realized what was happening before Baz had him in his mouth, his tongue tracing up the underside vein. Pulsing, racing blood, flooding through tissue and capillaries and Baz was pulling back, not quite sure if he could keep his fangs withdrawn. He breathed, half gasping with the effort of maintaining control, and realized that Simon's fingers had clutched onto his hair. Saliva flooded his mouth, and Baz dipped his head to take Simon between his lips again, just long enough to make sure he was properly coated.
"Baz," Simon said. His hand twisted clumsily in Baz's hair "Are you—" he dug his head back into the pillow. "Are you sure this is safe?"
Baz lifted his head, and shook it as he climbed up to kiss Snow. He had heard vampire saliva had some anesthetic properties, and he wanted Snow as relaxed as possible for this next part. "It's not," he said, finding Snow's lips. "But I consider it poor etiquette to cast spells on another person's genitals, and I wanted you wet." Sensing Snow's brow furrow, he added, "For when you fuck me."
He positioned Snow flat on his back. Slipping off his briefs, Baz crawled on top of him, matching up their hips. He felt Simon's hands find his hipbones.
"Crawley," Simon breathed. He tried sitting up, sliding his hands higher up Baz's back.
"No," Baz said, pushing him back flat. He didn't want Simon Snow's swan neck anywhere near his incisors.
With a minimal amount of fumbling, Baz managed to position Simon at his entrance and slide down.
Baz sucked in his breath, teeth catching his bottom lip as his eyes pressed shut. He heard Simon swear. He felt Simon's hands climbing his back again as the other boy sat up, the way his knees lifted tilting Baz's hips, sliding their connection deeper.
"Fuck," Simon breathed, the word falling against Baz's collarbone. He shifted beneath him, resettling Baz's weight, his hands coming to clutch onto his ass cheeks. Baz couldn't agree more. He tangled his fingers in the back of Simon's hair, and found it already damp and curling with sweat. Baz lowered his head to smell him, because Snow had always smelled delicious, and Baz had always been weak.
"Yes, please," he said, looping his arms around Simon's shoulders.
Simon Snow couldn't keep a pace if his life depended on it. His hips were jerky, searching, alternating between unsure and overly eager. One moment he was stuttering and holding himself back, and he next he was surging ahead.
Baz had to clutch around Simon's neck for balance, their chests sliding sloppily against each other, his lips brushing against Simon's shoulder, his throat. He kissed, because he had to, and that became sucking, his tongue flicking to test the tautness of the skin beneath.
"Baz," Simon said. "This feels..."
Dangerous was left unsaid.
Baz nodded, drunk from the smell of him, from the salt and heat of his skin. Snow was right. He climbed off, not sure if he was absorbing Snow's clumsiness or if he was just that stupid with lust.
"Behind me," he said, positioning them both on their sides. He felt Snow's nose press against the nape of his neck, and how he slid his bent elbow beneath Baz's head for a pillow. Simon slipped his other arm around Baz's rib cage, pulling him closer, his palm coming to rest flat atop Baz's heart. Somehow, Baz could tell Simon had done so on purpose, that he was feeling for the beat of his blood. When Simon buried his nose more deeply in Baz's hair, his hips giving another awkward surge forward, Baz knew he had found the feel of his heartbeat, as weak as it was.
Baz didn't know if the fact that Snow cared whether he had a heartbeat made him angry or resentful or so in love with him that his mind couldn't process it.
It's yours, he thought stupidly, accepting Snow's clumsy movements, savoring every short, hot breath that Simon huffed against his nape. What's left of my half-beating heart is yours.
"Is this okay?" Snow breathed. His voice was low against Baz's ear, out of breath and huskier than Baz had heard it. "I can't tell if I'm..."
If it were someone else, he'd be asking about the speed or whether his angle was catching the right spot. But this was Snow, so Baz knew what he meant. Baz swallowed, and nodded so Snow could feel it. "No," he said. "You're not hurting me."
Snow nodded and kept stumbling ahead. In terms of technique, it wasn't the worst sex Baz had had, but it was pretty damn close. No rhythm. No sense of his angles. No finesse or work with his hands.
But Baz knew that for the rest of his ambiguously eternal life, this would the best sex would ever feel.
With one hand, he looped his arm behind Snow's head, fingers lacing in his hair as he held his head pressed against his shoulder where it was. With the other, Baz led Snow's hand lower to the place between his legs. It was rare, for Baz to be hard like this. He didn't want to waste this opportunity for Simon's hands to be on him.
He knew Simon couldn't manage two rhythms at once, so he set the pace of their hands at the same rough pattern as Snow's hips. His hand clasped Snow's, guiding the other boy's grip.
"Okay," Baz breathed, closing his eyes. Tension coiled in his lower stomach. "Okay."
It helped, him setting the rhythm with his hand. Simon's hips begin to follow. Baz slowly began to meet him, pressing back as Simon pushed forward. "Okay," he breathed out again. He licked his lips, and found his breathing heavy, his head feeling light from the lack of blood.
He was hard. Really hard. His balls were tight. He might be able to do this.
"Don't stop," he exhaled, arching back into Simon to better the angle. "Don't stop."
"Baz," Simon said, as if the word was dragged out of him.
Simon's breath in heavy pants against his skin. Baz felt him shake his head. "I'm going to come," he breathed.
"Not yet." Please, not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
"Simon please." Baz tightened his grip around Simon's hand, increasing the pressure as he dragged the tension up and down. "Not yet."
Simon sucked in his breath. "You can't say my name like that. Fuck." Baz felt him squeeze his eyes shut against the skin of his shoulder. "Goddamn it."
He shifted his position.
"Right there," Baz said, choking back a gasp. "Crawley Simon, there."
He batted Simon's hand away so he could use his own, control the pressure the way he wanted.
Simon didn't listen. He surged over him, his weight shifting, stomach muscles shuddering as he stumbled into his orgasm. His hips jerked, pressing harder into Baz, and the gasping noises he let out sounded like pleasure elevated to the point of pain.
It was those noises that sent Baz over the edge. Later, he would be embarrassed by the way he groaned, curving his back, trying to fuck his own hand through his climax while at the same time drag Simon deeper inside.
He came down to the feel of kisses being pressed across his shoulders, his back, his nape.
"I'm sorry," Simon was saying, catching his breath. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it—"
Baz twisted, reaching to catch Simon's apologies with his lips, to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him so hard against him they felt like one person instead of two.
Simon let him, only for a second, before more kisses, more breathless apologies scattered across Baz's cheeks and collarbone.
Baz tried to quiet him with a hand over his lips, forgetting his hand was covered in come, and Simon was pressing kisses onto his fingers as well. He licked thoughtlessly before he realized what he was doing.
"So weird," Simon breathed out, making a small face before finding Baz's lips again. Baz could taste himself on Simon's tongue. Don't bite.
"Simon," Baz managed, and "Simon" again, when the first time didn't work.
He caught Simon's face with his clean hand. "Simon," he said, staring into his eyes, and finally Simon seemed to calm down.
He exhaled. He let his head drop onto Baz's chest. "Holy hell," he said. He breathed out again, and Baz felt a shiver run through him.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke, or moved. Then Simon said, "I don't think I'll ever be able to have sex with a girl again."
He said it with such sincerity that Baz couldn't help but laugh.
Simon pulled back. He was smiling, but his voice wasn't playful when he said, "I'm serious. Baz, that was... You are incredible. Amazing."
The earnestness with which Simon said it made Baz feel oddly shy. Embarrassed. He didn't know what to say. The feeling of being speechless was not one he was used to.
He wanted to play it off as nothing, but it meant something that Simon thought as much. It meant everything.
Baz refused to give in to the urge to look away.
Simon shifted. His smile faded, and he used his hand to slide Baz's hair away from his face. He tucked stray hair behind his ear.
"And beautiful," he said. "I was always so jealous of how beautiful you are."
At that, Baz lost the battle with himself. He looked away. He swallowed. The idea of Simon Snow being jealous of him over anything was a new absurdity.
He felt Simon's weight back on his body, his head resting again on Baz's chest.
"I'm so sweaty," Simon breathed. "Gross."
"It's not," Baz said, finally finding his words. He placed his hand on Simon's back, smoothing it across the spanse of shining muscle. "I like it."
"I think if you combined both of our body temperatures right now, we'd be a normal person."
And that, of course, got them both thinking of how Baz was a vampire.
After a stretch of silence, Simon spoke, not moving his cheek from Baz's chest.
"I thought you said you couldn't... You know."
"I feel like if you're old enough to have sex, you should be able to use the vocabulary," Baz said. He was beginning to feel a bit more like himself. And sore. A sore, sated, deliriously happy version of himself.
He had just had sex with Simon snow. And came. And Simon had said he was amazing. And beautiful. And Simon was lying across his chest like this was natural.
He could feel Simon get flustered, search for words. "You know what I mean," Simon finally said.
Baz took pity on him. He found himself playing with the damp hair at the back of Simon's neck. He smoothed sweat-slicked strands off Simon's forehead.
"I can't," he said. "Not normally. Not if its been this long since I've eaten. I wouldn't get used to it."
Only then did it occur to Baz that maybe he could get used to it. Maybe this would be just how sex with Simon Snow was. But the reckless optimism of the thought was too much, and he shoved it down. For good measure, he added, "And this whole coming at the exact same time thing. That's not real life either. I wouldn't get used to any of that."
Simon looked up at him. "Are you hungry now?"
Baz nearly rolled his eyes. "Well, now I am," he said. "Now I'm thinking about it."
"Have you ever fed on a human?"
And, amazingly, Baz felt his cock twitch at the question. Mention the possibility of blood and suddenly Baz had enough of it to get hard again right after he'd come. He wondered if Simon felt his response.
"Why?" he said, arching his brow so Simon knew he was teasing. "You offering yourself?"
"No," Simon said quickly. He flushed, which only made Baz's problems worse. He imagined dragging his fangs across the heated skin, the satisfying sinking down of the puncture, fluid swelling in a florid burst in his mouth. His tastebuds watered imagining the metallic tang.
He shifted, dislodging Simon from on top of him as he sat up. He sighed.
Simon sat up beside him. "I'm sorry," he said. His hand found Baz's wrist. "I shouldn't have—"
"Don't apologize." Baz cut him off. "It's not your fault." He slid to the side of the bed and stood up. He combed his fingers back through his hair, holding it away from his face, eyes closed as he focused on his breath. What he was mentally repeating to himself was so simple that it should have been comical. Food is separate from sex. Food is separate from sex.
He dropped his arms as he forced his muscles to relax, and opened his eyes to find Simon staring at him.
Simon gave him a lopsided half smile, shaking his head. "If you hadn't changed in the bathroom all those years, I would have become gay a lot sooner. Crawley, Baz."
Baz smiled back at him. He shrugged, still experiencing that weird sense of happy embarrassment. "You're not gay, Snow. At best, you're bi."
"If you say so."
"Or you're hopelessly straight, and I've managed to seduce you to the dark side with my irresistible wiles and implausibly perfect ass."
"That's it." Snow smiled, and stood. He came to stand in front of Baz, sliding his hands down his waist to rest his hands over his ass cheeks, and squeeze. He dipped his head to press a kiss below Baz's ear. "It's almost entirely your ass."
Baz closed his eyes, titling his head to the side to allow Snow's lips more room as they trailed down his neck. "Which is quite pleasantly sore now, thanks to you."
Snow smiled against his skin. "I'm sorry," he said, and Baz wanted to start counting the number of times Simon apologized. "I feel like it's going to take me a while to get the hang of this. I have no idea what I'm doing. Hopefully I'll get better."
Baz pulled back. "Simon," he said. "I don't want to say this because you have an inflated enough ego as it is, but you know that that was the best sex I've ever had." Simon turned his head away again, embarrassed, and Baz had to use a finger on his chin to force him to look back. "No comparison," Baz said, staring stubbornly into his eyes. "What you did...The way you made me feel...I've never experienced anything like that." He let out a breath, and hated that it came out shaky. "That's the closest to alive I've felt in a long time."
He waited for Simon to nod before letting his jaw go. Simon swallowed. Baz kissed him. Not deeply; the bob of his Adam's Apple made Baz ache to catch it with his teeth. Just a brushing of lips. Baz pulled back before Simon could coax him to respond, before Baz forgot his food versus sex mantra.
Their foreheads rested together, their breath mingling between their barely parted lips.
And because Baz was in a post-sex haze, and because Snow felt so strong and vulnerable against him, and the moment so delicate, and most of all, because it was so all-consumingly true, Baz whispered, "I've been in love with you for a very long time."
Simon didn't say anything. He found Baz's hand with his own, and squeezed, and didn't look away.