If You Must

All That We Are Is Powerful

Simon

"Alright," Baz says, dropping our bag of snacks and water on the loamy ground of the clearing, "let's see what you can do."

We stayed in bed most of the morning, sleeping and cuddling and generally enjoying the warm sun streaming in through our window. Then, after a quick shower and bacon butties (not at the same time), he drove us out to these woods. Right now we're standing in a clearing, the sunlight dappling our skin with gold. Baz looks especially beautiful in this light. Gold and silver and dark and light all at once. I've never known a Mage who looked more Magickal than he does.

"Where should I start?" I ask. I've no idea what I'm doing-- he's supposed to be the one with the plan. If nothing else, nearly twelve years of knowing each other has taught us that.

Baz faces me, standing five metres away with his hands on his (perfect) bony hips. I managed to convince him to tie his hair back today. It suits him. Brings out the grey in his eyes and the sharp curves of his cheekbones.

"Try doing an actual spell. Something easy like 'Up and At 'Em!'." Nodding, I focus my attention on the small pile of pine needles stacked in front of me. Clearing my throat and awkwardly raising my hand, I do as Baz says.

"'Up and At 'Em!'" I command. Immediately the pine needles begin to shiver. One by one, they stand upright, then begin to march in an orderly little circle. I watch, mesmirised by the whole process. Despite Baz's claim that it's an easy spell, I don't think I've ever been able to properly cast an Up and At 'Em. That is, until now.

I look back at Baz. He's got this slight little smile on his lips as he watches my pine needles fall back to the ground.

"What now?" I ask. Baz's eyes meet mine, and I can tell he's thinking. Baz is one of the few people I know who has an actual, honest-to-god 'I'm thinking' face (to be fair, he claims I have one, too).

"Try doing something... impossible," he says at last. I blink, confused.

"How do you mean?" Baz crosses his arms loosely, still looking frightfully pensive.

"Like with the cake. You know that silver watch that I hate?" My brow furrows. It's just like Baz the be as fucking enigmatic as humanly (vampirishly?) possible.

"The one the Minotaur gave you after the Leavers Ball?"

"Yes. I want you to try and summon it?" Realisation finally dawns on me as I process what he's asking. I have to suppress a laugh.

"Like in Harry Freaking Potter?" Baz grins, grey eyes sparkling.

"Like in Harry Freaking Potter," he confirms. Smiling like an idiot, I close my eyes, concentrating on a mental image of that stupid watch. Hooking a loop of magic around it and pulling it towards me (I'm a magical fucking cowboy)(a magical gay cowboy).

At first nothing happens. I open my eyes, Baz opens his mouth. And then something knocks heavily against my hand before falling dramatically to the ground. Swearing loudly, I look down.

The watch lies there next to the pine needles.

"Aleister fucking Crowley," I breathe. My eyes feel impossibly wide, and I can't get my mouth to stop hanging open.

"Simon..." Baz whispers, like he's half afraid of what will happen if he talks at full volume, "Is there nothing you can't do?"

Holy freaking shit.