If You Must

All That We Are Is Deviant

Author's Note:

Hey guys, quick note!

there's a bit of innuendo in this one (a very, very, small bit. Like, so minuscule I really don't even have to write this note), so if you're uncomfortable with that, you can just skip this chapter. I promise you won't miss any important plot developments if you do :)

-Lefty

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Simon

Baz closes the door to our flat by pushing my back against it. I grin, waiting for him to kiss me. Wanting-- really, really wanting-- him to kiss me.

The bastard doesn't.

Instead, he runs a thumb over my lips, his face only inches from mine. At this distance, if I focus on one feature everything else sort of blurs. I like him this close-- with all his sharp edges blurred and softened a bit. Within close proximity of my lips.

At first he's looking at me, smirking, gauging my reaction. Then he takes my hand. He kisses my knuckles. My palm. My wrist. His lips are soft and it feels amazing but I need him to kiss me. Because I love kissing Baz-- he's good at it.

With a growl of frustration, I cup his face in my hands, making him look at me. I don't take my hands away once he's straightened up. A smirk tugs at those teasing grey-pink lips. The tosser. He knows perfectly well that he's driving me insane.

"Baz--" My voice is somewhere between a growl and a hoarse whisper, "Kiss me."

He does. And a thrill shoots through my stomach.

At first it's almost hesitant, his warm breath fanning across my mouth, lips barely brushing mine. And then his hands wrap around my waist, tugging me closer, and his lips press hot against mine, kissing me like there's nothing in the entire world he'd rather be doing. My fingers push through that soft, shampoo-commercial hair, bunching at the back of his head. I feel Baz grin against my mouth in response.

Encouraged, I do something I've never done before. Without even really thinking about it, I send a sort of... caress of magic up the side of his leg to his hip. Baz freezes a moment, pulling away just far enough to talk (albeit rather breathlessly).

"Was that...?"

"Magic," I affirm. Baz grins deviantly, pushing his fingers through my hair with one hand, pulling me closer against his chest with the other.

"It felt nice..." he purrs, "...do it again?" In answer, I press my mouth to his again, sending more tendrils of magic snaking along his legs and arms and torso.

"Can I try something?" I breathe through the kiss. Baz nods.

"Anything." Aleister Crowley, he's terribly fucking sexy when his voice is all breathless like that.

I raise up on tiptoe, bringing my lips up close to his ear, and whisper,

"Basilton Grimm-Pitch." I push magic into his name, letting the words settle smooth and golden into the air we're sharing. Baz lets out a small, surprised (though not unpleasantly so) sound, his hands tightening around my waist.

"Fucking hell," he gasps.

"You okay?" I ask, concern for what I've just done settling like a brick in my stomach. In reply, Baz smirks, laughing a little. The worry eases, giving way to a laugh of my own.

"Better than okay. Aleister fucking Crowley, Si, that felt like you poured... I dunno, stardust into me or something. And like you tied a string behind my navel and yanked." I grin, pressing my lips against the long column of his neck.

"What was it like?" I ask against his skin. Baz cranes his neck so his lips are close to my ear-- just as mine were moments ago.

"Follow me and I'll show you."

I do. Follow him.

Fuck, I'd follow him to the ends of the earth. Farther. I'd follow Basilton Grimm-Pitch to places no human being has ever set foot in before. And this is only the bedroom.