If You Must

All That We Are Is Thoughtful

Simon

I tell Baz about the cake on the drive home. We've been at Penny's for several hours, and after a few glasses of champagne each (not nearly enough to get plastered on-- we all have too much work to do to be bothered with hangovers) and a few subsequent hours full of long, deep conversations, we decided it was time for Baz and I to go home.

I tell him as we're sitting at a red light. I'm actually starting to get a bit worried; it's been nearly half a minute, and Baz still hasn't responded.

"...Baz? What are you thinking?" I ask tentatively, craning to try and catch a glimpse of his face through the shadows. Without looking away from the changing stoplight, Baz reaches over and takes my hand.

"I'm thinking about how we're going to go about the whole 'magic lessons' thing tomorrow," He glances briefly at me before looking back at the road. "I mean, if you're able to conjure an entire cake, you might be more powerful than we thought. Food magic--"

"Isn't possible, I know. Penny told me." Baz nods, squeezing my hand.

"Right. Well, no matter what you do tomorrow, we'll figure it out, yeah? Because that's what you and I do best." I smile and bring his hand up to my lips, brushing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Yeah. Sherlock bloody Holmes and John bloody Watson, you and me," I reply, teasing, earning a chuckle out of Baz. "What time are we gonna start in the morning?" Baz arches one perfect, dark eyebrow.

"Anytime, I should think. Why do you ask?" I grin and keep kissing his hand, still barely brushing my lips across his skin.

"No reason..." (Lies). I keep kissing the pale skin of his hand. Long fingers, soft palm, delicate wrist. Baz laughs darkly.

"There you go again, Simon. Distracting the driver. Kiss me when we're at home," He teases back, that deep voice a purr in the back of his throat. The hair on the back of my neck stands up at that voice.

I smirk at him.

"Then drive faster."

He does.