Work Text:
Fall 2021
SIMON
Baz has had a long bloody week.
That's what he tells me every evening when he gets home, when I ask him about his day. "Bloody long day, bloody long week."
It's finally Friday. I almost wouldn't've known if he hadn't said so this morning. "Thank snakes it's finally fucking Friday."
I'll show him a fucking Friday, because we've not had a shag all week, either. He's been too knackered, and that's fine and all, but I've been spoiling for it for days now. And it's not like he has to wake up early tomorrow...
Maybe he's been spoiling for it, too. Hopefully.
I mean, I'm hoping he'll at least like what's on offer.
I'm all kitted out in an apron and tight pants (his tight pants) and nothing else. I've got a plug up my arse because I really, really don't have the patience for prep-work tonight. And, like, if he's not convinced by me being close to starkers, I'm hoping that'll do it.
Also I'm making shepherd's pie for dinner.
I glance at the clock as I slide the pie into the oven. Baz should be home any second now—
Yep. I can hear him outside the front door.
Then—
Fuck, then…
I wonder if I’ll ever get tired of looking at Baz. Seems impossible, really, especially with him looking like this.
He’s been student-teaching this term—it’s part of his doctoral programme and also probably why he’s so knackered—and he looks well professorial. Pressed, fitted trousers. Navy blue jumper with a pale pink shirt underneath. A hint of a burgundy tie with tiny pink flowers peeking out at his collar. His long dark hair’s knotted at the back of his head.
He just looks so fucking smart. (I mean, he is so fucking smart.) And hot.
So hot.
(I still get hot thinking about him in a pair of black horn-rims.) (Like, I’ve considered getting him some just for the aesthetic.)
I feel like there’s a nonzero number of students in his classes with pent-up hot teacher fantasies. I sure as fuck would if I were his student…
Reminds me of that one song by The Police—whatsit?—“Don’t Stand So Close to Me.”
Sometimes when he looks like this I just want to play that song, knock him down into a chair, and, like…give him a lap dance, I guess. Fuck him proper, if we weren’t in public.
Probably I’d need to be trolleyed first, and probably I’d be embarrassed, afterward, like that time I pole-danced for him in that nightclub. To “Teeth.”
Fucking hell, I really try not to think about that. Baz likes to remind me of it every time I think I’ve finally forgotten, the wanker. Penny, too, when she wants to hold something against me (good-naturedly and all). It’s her favourite bit of cannon fodder.
“Hey, love,” he says as he sets his bag down on one of the barstools. I don’t think he’s really seen me yet. (Well, the elevated bar counter’s hiding my lower half, but I feel like he should’ve noticed I’m shirtless by now.)
“Hey,” I say. “How was your day, then?”
Baz breathes in deep. “Bloody long .”
“‘S Friday, at least.” I shrug. Also I’m trying to use my mind to will him to look.
He’s making his way ‘round the bar now. “Thank snakes for—” He stops when he sees me—finally sees me properly. His mouth quirks up on one side as he says, “—that,” and crosses his arms. “What’s this, Snow?”
I shrug again. “Thought we could...y’know. Celebrate?”
He cocks one eyebrow at me. “I see.”
“Do you?”
He's really drinking me in, now, and he’s not even seen the back of me yet. “I think I do.”
I walk up to him and pull him to me by the hips. “And I think you’re overdressed, yeah?”
His grey eyes land on my lips, and then he’s wrapping his arms around me, leaning in, his hands on my arse—
“Are these my pants, Snow?” He pulls at the waistband then snaps it back. It makes me jump (in a really good, I-really-need-a-shag way).
“Yeah,” I tell him, even though he already knows the answer. I push my hips forward, and pull his closer, and fucking hell, I’ve needed this. I’ve been practically burning up for it, which sounds well dramatic but here we are.
I tug at the hem of his jumper.
“What, here?” Baz says. (I’ve already got it bunched up to his armpits.)
“Yeah, arms up.”
He lifts an eyebrow (and his arms). I don’t think I’ve ever pulled a jumper off him so fast.
BAZ
Simon Snow looks like a snack.
Simon Snow always looks like a snack, though this one was especially sweet to come home to. I’m not even bothered that he’s just thrown my jumper to the floor (though I’d’ve preferred it draped over a chair, at least; Simon Snow is an animal).
He takes me by the tie and pulls until his mouth is on mine. I let him kiss me, let him open my mouth with his tongue, let it slide warm and wet against mine…
Simon’s fingers are working at the knot of my tie as mine work at the knot of his apron. (He never wears an apron; it’s not unusual to come home to him in a t-shirt and joggers covered in flour.) (Perhaps he should wear one more often. I like the feel of it coming undone under my fingertips.) (I want to feel him coming undone under my fingertips.)
He’s already hard. He’s been hard since the first time he pulled our hips flush, and he’s reaching for my mouth messily with his, pawing at my buttons and grumbling against my lips when they don’t immediately come undone. (Simon Snow doesn’t have the patience to properly undress me, it seems.)
He growls. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, and then he’s reaching for my trousers instead. The clasp of my belt clatters open beneath his hands, and I look down between us to watch as he pulls at my buttons and flies. I can see him sucking on his bottom lip as he gets his hands inside my waistband, as he pushes my trousers down over the swell of my arse, as they fall to the floor and pool around my ankles.
I do him a kindness and toe my brogues off myself, and when I look back up, he’s already divested himself of his apron.
“Good,” he breathes. “Yeah, that’s. Fucking hell.”
SIMON
Baz is stood here in his button-up shirt (wrinkled at the tails where they were tucked into his trousers), a halfway loosened tie, burgundy socks, and pants. Which I can’t see at the moment, considering the tails, but I know they’re there because I’ve not pulled them off him yet. (Also because the last time Baz didn’t wear pants was probably 2016. The week we started fucking.)
He’s bloody gorgeous.
And reaching for his shirt buttons, the twat.
“Don’t take it off,” I say, and I sound desperate, but I don’t bloody care. (I am desperate. I’ve been wearing a plug up my arse for hours waiting for this wanker to come home; of course I’m fucking desperate.)
Baz just cocks an eyebrow at me.
I pull him back to me and shove my tongue into his mouth before he can say something sarcastic. (Not that it wouldn’t turn me on, but.) Then I take his bottom lip between my teeth and hook my fingers in the waistband of his pants. They’re tighter than the sort of pants I wear (except today, I mean, considering) and they don’t just fall off him when I get them down his thighs.
I let go of his lip and drop to my knees, which isn’t terribly comfortable on a tile floor but I don’t bloody care. I pull his pants the rest of the way down his legs with one hand and lift his shirttails with the other and fucking hell, I’ve seen his cock more times that I can count at this point but it still makes me suck on my bottom lip every fucking time.
Baz is still trying to step out of his pants when I swallow him down.
“Crowley, Snow,” he says, because I think I almost made him trip over his own pants. (It’s alright, he’s got one hand on the counter and one in my hair, now.)
I bob my head and flick my eyes up to look at his face. Fuck, I want him. I’m not sure how yet, exactly. I’ve not thought that far ahead, but I can’t help but moan around his cock when I think of him bending me over the counter and railing me from behind. My arse twitches around the plug ( his plug) at the thought.
Fuck. I reach down and palm myself through my pants (his pants) and he moans up above me. Probably he’s watching me touch myself while I suck him off…
I flatten my tongue beneath his crown, right in the spot that always drives him mad, then pull off and stand back up. I push my pants down as I get back to my feet, and Baz watches with fire behind his eyes. Good.
Baz is pushing me back against the counter before I have a chance to pull him to me. The granite’s cold against my arse, and I jump. But then Baz is kissing me as he slips his hands between my skin and the counter and I forget to care (his hands aren’t quite as cold as granite).
We’re pushing at each other, and pulling at each other, and his prick keeps rubbing against mine and fuck —
I break away from his mouth long enough to say, “I want you to fuck me. Just—”
He shuts me up with his mouth. Then he’s pulling me in closer, hitching one of my legs around one of his to spread me open, just a bit. Dipping his fingers down into the cleft of my arse to—
He lets go of my lips. “Snow,” he says.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with blown pupils and one arched eyebrow.
“Is that my plug?”
BAZ
Apparently wearing my pants wasn’t enough. Apparently Simon Snow has been covertly wearing my plug up his arse for...how long? Clearly this encounter was more premeditated on his part than previously believed...
“Um?” He’s grinning at me. A lopsided, lovely grin that would make me want to rip his clothes off if he were wearing any. “Yeah. Figured I’d get a head start.”
I press against the base of the plug—my plug—and Simon shudders and clenches around it. “Did you?” His breath catches as I take hold of it and start to pull. “How long have you been wearing it?”
“Dunno,” he breathes. “Two hours? Three?”
I bring my lips to his ear and whisper, “You were so desperate for my cock,” as I slowly slide the plug down, and down, and down, “that you waited for me with my plug up your arse for three hours?”
I can hear him swallowing his showy swallow every time I place emphasis on a word. He’s fisting the fabric of my shirt when the toy finally slips free of him.
Shit, there’s nowhere to put it. Leave it to Snow to stick a plug up his arse with no forethought on where to set it aside once its job was done…
He pulls back from where his head’s been resting on my shoulder. “Stop thinking,” he says, and he plucks it from me and drops it into the kitchen sink.
Well. I suppose that’s one way to do it.
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I forget the absurdity of it all. It’s good. So good. We’ve not touched liked this all week, not kissed like this all week. All it’s been for me is marking assignments and writing my own essays, buried in books and schoolwork…
This feels like coming home more than stepping through our front door ever could. Simon’s lips on mine. His body pressed against mine. I can feel the heat of him seeping through the fabric of my shirt. (If it were up to me, I’d’ve taken it off by now to feel his skin against mine. Though I do understand the appeal of fucking while partially clothed, and there’s clearly something about this that’s turning him on.)
He’s humming into my mouth, and I can hear his heartbeat picking up, feel his blood flowing through his veins, keeping him alive, alive, alive as his chin moves up and down against mine, as he takes my face in his warm hands and tilts my face where he wants it.
I smooth my palms along his back, down into the cleft of his arse until my fingers are brushing his rim. Simon moans as I move the tip of my forefinger back and forth against him. There’s a bit of lube there, from the plug, but it isn’t enough by any means.
I let go of his mouth. “Need more lube, love.”
Simon huffs and pulls back to look at me. "First of all, you're a mage. Could use a spell. Second." He pushes past me, and I watch him—and his perfect arse, Crowley—as he opens one of the cupboards. He lets it slam shut, and when he turns back around, he’s holding a bottle of lube.
“Honestly, Snow,” I start, but I have to admit I’m too turned on by his eagerness—his preparedness—to really think of a clever insult.
He’s already upending the bottle into his palm as he crosses the kitchen back to me, already wrapping one warm, wet hand around my length and stroking me slick. He sets the bottle aside, and I lean back against the counter as he gives me a few generous, slow tugs…
Aleister Crowley.
I really am living a charmed life.
SIMON
Baz is looking at me from under his lashes, his lips parted as I pump my fist over his cock one more time. Just the way he’s looking at me makes me pull my bottom lip into my mouth and suck at my scar.
Fucking hell.
I pat the counter behind him. “Sit.”
Baz pushes himself off the counter where he’s been leaning and eyes it with one raised brow. (Of course he does.) “We’ve a perfectly lovely bed, you know.”
“Oh, come on, Baz. It’ll be fun—”
“This is granite, Snow. It’ll be hard on my arse—”
“Again, you’re a mage.” I huff. “C’mon, love.”
“Fine. But only because you’re giving me that look, you absolute nightmare.”
I grin at him. “You want it.”
“I want you,” he says. He’s staring over my shoulder. “Hand us that towel, Snow. Granite’s cold, too.”
“You’ll slip,” I say, because I’m not planning on going easy on him once he’s up there.
Baz levels me with a look. “You keep telling me I’m a mage,” he says, walking back around the bar to where he left his bag. When he comes back, he’s got his wand in his hand. “Give us the towel.”
I grab the tea towel hung on the oven door and toss it to him. He catches it, smooths it against the countertop, and casts a Stay Put. (He adds a cushioning spell, too, the toff.) He looks at me and cocks an eyebrow before he sets his wand well out of the way.
“Right,” I say. “Now sit.”
Baz rolls his eyes at me. But then he turns his back to the counter and lifts himself up. Sits. Leans back against the bar and watches me.
I move up between his legs and run my hands up his thighs until my fingers brush the hem of his shirt. I undo the bottom few buttons and part the shirttails, partly so I can get a good look at his prick, and partly so it doesn’t get in my way. (His shirt, I mean. Not his prick.)
Fuck, maybe I’ve not thought this through. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Fuck it.
I clamber up next to him.
Baz just looks amused. “What’s your plan, Snow?”
“Shut up,” I say, and next thing I know I’m stood on our counter, next to Baz. Looking down at him. The arsehole’s smirking up at me. “Shut up—fuck…” He's taken me into his cold mouth, and I have to grab onto him so I don't lose my balance.
This wasn't part of the plan. I mean, I didn’t mean for him to suck me off, but obviously I’m not complaining about it.
I groan, and press my fingers against the back of his head, and for a moment I almost forget why I’m up here. Baz is cupping my bollocks in his palm, and bobbing his head, and humming around me, and fuck—
“Stop,” I say, because I’ll come if he’s not careful. (Another reason I wanted him inside me tonight: he’s better at lasting longer than I am, if we’ve gone without for a few days. I’d probably be instantly done for if I fucked him right now.)
He pulls off with a pop.
“Sorry, love. Just—”
“Snow, what the fuck—”
I’ve swung one leg over him, my feet bracketing his hips on the counter, my arse in his face. (I don’t really think he minds, considering his hands are already on it.)
“Shut up and let me ride you, you arsehole,” I tell him over my shoulder.
He shuts up and holds onto my hips as I struggle to seat myself in his lap without falling to the floor. I’ve got my feet planted firmly against the counter, bracing myself back on my hands. Probably I look ridiculous—
“There are much simpler ways we could’ve accomplished this, you know—”
“Shut up and hold your cock for me.” (I’m rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me do it.)
“Crowley, Snow,” he says, but he lets go of my hip and holds his cock in place for me to sink down onto it.
I do.
I’ve needed to all day—all week, if I’m being honest—but especially since he took the plug out. It’s good to have something filling me again. To have him filling me. It’s so good that I groan before he’s even fully inside me.
Baz is groaning, too, his face burying into the side of my neck from behind.
“Fuck,” I breathe, because I can feel the bulge of his fangs through his lips...
I should've had a wank earlier. I mean, I did, this morning. But that's too long ago to matter now. Now it just feels like this probably isn't going to last very long.
I guess that's fine. It's not like he has to get up early tomorrow. I've got him right where I want him, and he'll be here with me all night. I've a mind to fuck him into our mattress later, to drive into him until he screams my name and spills all over his perfect, pale belly.
Probably I can make him scream this way, too. Or at least moan into my ear while I ride him.
Or into my mouth…
I turn my head and catch his lips with mine as I start to rock my hips. They're fuller than usual, his lips, his fangs pushing against them from the inside. (I'm always careful now, when we kiss like this. At least to a point. One scar on your lip's enough, Baz always says.)
Baz was right. The granite is hard. Hard to find purchase, anyway. Maybe the whole reverse-cowboy-on-the-counter thing wasn't my best idea, but it sounds hot. Probably looks hot, too. (I should've pulled his mirror out here so I could watch.)
I spread my feet apart a little more and plant them again. I'm taking him deep, probably as deep as I can, or close enough. There's an mmph against my lips as I find my balance and start to grind down again, and I have to let go of his mouth just to fucking breathe as his cock brushes against my prostate. Heat bursts inside my belly, and I'm gasping, swearing, and fuck, fuck, fuck.
I'm moving faster, chasing that feeling, and Baz is smoothing his hands over my chest, my belly. My chest again. He knows I love the feel of his rough palms against my nipples, and it's practically setting me on fire from the inside. Baz is always bloody setting me on fire…
"Is that good, Snow?" he purrs in my ear.
"Fuck, I…" My cock is slapping against my belly with my movement, and I can already feel it leaking precome. Baz isn't touching me there, and I want him to, but if he does it'll be over too soon…
He probably knows. Baz always fucking knows.
He brings his hands up to my chest again and lets his palms ghost over my nipples, and when he pinches them I can't help the groan that rips out of me. I grind down against him harder, faster...
"You like fucking yourself on me," Baz says. It isn't a question.
He knows the answer to that, too, but I give it to him anyway. "Fuck, yeah."
BAZ
Simon Snow is riding me like our lives depend on it.
Well. His life, and whatever it is I've got.
I'm not sure it's terribly comfortable for him. He's contorted, bracing himself back on his hands and feet.
He's moaning, though, and his cock is leaking precome, and he's clenching around me, and fuck, but it's a lovely view.
I start to match his rhythm, rocking up as he grinds down, and he throws his head back against my shoulder with a whine. He whines again when I squeeze his breast with one hand and reach down to cup his bollocks with the other.
"That's right, Snow. Fuck me."
Simon's breath shudders at my words, his heart rate picking up just the slightest bit. I can feel it beating around my cock, hear it hammering in his chest. I've not had blood yet today, and Crowley he smells good, like sweat, and sex, and brown butter. I want to plunge my fangs into the meat of his shoulder and let his blood flow hot and sweet into my mouth…
He hasn't asked me to. Simon always asks me before I bite him, or gives me some other indication. He hasn't, so I settle for trailing open-mouthed kisses along the side of his throat instead. His body twitches against mine at my touch, and he gasps, bringing one hand up off of the counter to press against the back of my head instead.
I flatten my tongue against his neck and give him one long, slow lick. A gentle nip at his earlobe. Then, "What were you thinking about all day?"
"You," he gasps. "Fuck."
I chuckle against his ear. "That much is obvious."
His breath is heaving, the muscles in his thighs straining as he moves. I let go of his bollocks to smooth my palm along one leg instead, to feel the tension beneath his skin. I watch as he moves on top of me, his cock hitting his belly with each desperate thrust of his hips. I want to wrap a hand around him and bring him off. I want him in my mouth, writhing as I work him with my tongue. I want him inside me, growling as his come spills hot into me…
I want to fuck him until he cries my name, until I've wrung every last ounce of pleasure from his body. I want his mouth hanging open as he gasps beneath me, as he squirms beneath me…
I tell him so. I tell him everything, the heat in my belly growing hotter with every choked fuck yeah that falls from his lips.
"Your vocabulary is astounding tonight," I tease. (I can't help it.)
"Fuck you," he pants, then, "I have to…" He's slowing down, trying to catch his breath. "Fuck, my legs…"
"On your back, then," I tell him.
He's panting as he lifts himself off of me. I have to help him to the floor so he doesn't collapse. (Though I must admit the idea of Simon Snow swooning from fucking me too hard is more than appealing.)
He turns in my arms and kisses me messily, hungrily, so hard I almost worry about him slicing his lip on my fangs again. (It's a bloody miracle he's not done it again since that first time.)
I kiss him back into the counter, then I help lift him back onto it, onto my cushioned towel. (Honestly. We should've just fucked in the bed.) His eyes are hooded as he lies back and looks up at me.
"Spread your legs," I tell him.
He does, and I take him by the thighs to pull him closer to me.
SIMON
Baz is teasing my hole with the head of his cock, and it feels so fucking good I really can't be mad about it.
"You didn't answer me," he says. He's looking at me with blown pupils, and his shirt and tie are wrinkled from my body leaning against them. I want to reach for his tie and pull him on top of me, but fuck, what he's doing feels good.
I bring one hand down to cup my bollocks while I press myself up into my palm. "Hm?"
"I asked what you were thinking about all day while I was gone." He starts to push forward, just enough so that his crown starts to sink into me, but then he pulls back. "Did you get yourself off?"
I nod at him and spread my legs wider. "Yeah. After you left this morning."
"Hm." He presses up against me again, and I can feel the precome leaking from his prick when he does. It makes my own cock twitch beneath my palm.
Baz picks up my other hand and presses a kiss into my wrist, right at my pulsepoint. "What did you think about?" he asks.
"This," I tell him. "You inside me."
"Good," he says. Then he surges forward, and I cry out, and fuck, it's always so fucking good.
He's thrusting into me hard, spreading my legs further apart with his hands, lighting me up from the inside with every press of his hips. "Touch yourself while I fuck you," he says.
I do.
"Come on, Snow," he says. "Come on, Simon."
My hand is pumping over my cock, and I'm trying to rock into Baz's thrusts, to take him deeper, and deeper, and deeper. "Fuck!" It's a breathy yell when he grazes that spot inside me, the one that makes me feel like I'm about to go off in a really, really good way…
"That's right, love," Baz says, and I'm whimpering. Gasping. Moaning. "Wrap your legs around me."
I do, and he takes me by the hips and pulls me closer to him. I can feel my legs starting to shake where they’re hitched ‘round his waist.
Baz’s hair’s started to fall out of its knot. There’re bits of it framing his face, and he looks lovely. So lovely. Dangerous, too, with his fangs threatening to push out over his lips. Fucking feral, almost, but tender, somehow.
He’s watching me, watching my face. Watching me touch myself. Looking down between us where he’s fucking into me. I can hear his breath shaking.
Then his eyes fall closed, and his head tilts back, his mouth falling open, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck—
I choke on a gasp.
And then I’m coming apart.
BAZ
Simon’s hips lift against mine, and then he’s growling, moaning my name as he comes thick and hot and splattering over his belly.
I keep moving, keep drawing his pleasure from him as he rides out his orgasm, as he bucks and writhes against me. He’s clenching so hot and hard around me, and then…
“Baz,” he sighs. “Come on, love. C’mon.”
I tighten my grip on his hips, and my mouth falls open wider, and my breath catches in my throat as I near the crest. I’m so close—
“Simon—”
“C’mon.”
“Simon—”
“Fuck yeah, love. C’mon. Come for me. Oh, fuck...”
It’s looking at him that does me in. He’s lying there, curls tousled, cheeks flushed, his belly covered in his own pleasure. His legs still wrapped around me…
I crash into him, and he moans, and I break.
“Fuck yeah,” he says again as I pulse into him; as I gasp Simon, Simon, Simon; as I come, and come, my orgasm shuddering through me in waves of warm, blessed relief.
Simon unwraps his legs from around me slowly and lets them hang against the cupboards as I pull out.
“What're you,” he starts to ask as I bend over him, then, “oh…” as I lick some of his come from his belly. I flick my eyes up and watch him watching me as I do it. His breath is heaving beneath my tongue as he comes down from the high, as he melts into the counter.
I lick one last, long line up his belly until I'm draped over him, circling my tongue around one nipple, nipping at it gently with my teeth. (My regular teeth; my fangs have gone.) Simon shudders and arches his chest up against my mouth, then, "C'mere."
I do, his mouth opening under mine as I press my body down into his. He moans at the taste of himself as his tongue slides warm against mine. His legs are hanging loosely on either side of my hips, one of his feet stroking up the back of one of my thighs.
It makes me laugh against his lips.
"Mm. Love you," he says, his lips catching on mine as he murmurs the words.
"Love you too, you animal," I tell him.
"Need to move. Something's digging into my back…"
"And whose fault is that?" I pull back to look at him. "You're the one who wanted to play Twister on my cock. On bloody granite."
"Shut the fuck up. You liked it."
I did like it. Of course I fucking did.
I give him another kiss, a little slip of the tongue, and then I stand so he can sit up. He pulls me closer by the hips until my knees are touching the cupboards, his hands wandering until he's got a firm grip on my arse.
His eyes give me a once-over. "You shouldn't be allowed to look like this," he says.
I cock an eyebrow at him. "Like what? Well-fucked?"
"No. I mean. You do. But no." One of his hands lets go of my arse to motion at me instead. "All of this. Sort of...I dunno. Makes me wanna tie you to the bed with one of your fancy ties and shag you senseless."
I lift my other eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. Or like. You could do me. Tie me up and talk to me in your professor voice."
"You're ridiculous."
He shrugs. "You're hot."
I lean in and press a kiss to the mole on the side of his neck. "It smells lovely in here, by the way," I tell him as I work my way up behind his ear.
"Mm." His hands have wandered up beneath my shirt to stroke over my back. "Shepherd's pie."
Fuck, but that sounds good.