Watford Tales

At the Top of Mummer's Hall

Baz

After the Coven meeting and the horrible blow out with Father, I ended up spending the night at Fiona's, eating lavender shortbread and drinking vodka on ice. I woke up on her sofa with a headache and a hard on, thinking of Simon. Fiona took me out to this posh restaurant she likes for a big breakfast and then drove me back to school. She didn't have much to say to me. I'm not sure whether she agrees with Father or not. I don't think she approves of Simon very much, though probably for different reasons than Father.

When I finally get up to our room, Simon's on his bed. He looks like he's been waiting for me. Suddenly I'm nervous, really nervous. My breath catches and then I can't seem to let it out. The half hard on I've had all day, thinking about him, is suddenly pushing against my flies. Crowley, he looks hot. I catch a whiff of smoke and brimstone, and I know he's as nervous as I am.

"Baz," he says, his voice tense.

"Snow," I say, licking my lips. They feel dry, chapped.

"Call me Simon," he says and he's across the room, bending his head into me, his lips are on mine, and that's it. I'm lost, completely gone, his hand on the back of my neck, his breath hot in my face, and there is nothing, nothing I can do. The last week without him, of wanting, wanting, of fighting with Father, meeting with the Coven, half truths and missing him, are all jumbling around in my head. His arms are snaking around my waist, his hips are locking into mine. I hear his breathing, hot and fast and I can feel his cock, pressing into my stomach. There isn't enough oxygen in the room and it's all I can do to stay on my feet.

"Simon," I breath at last and I kiss the mole on his neck.

He pulls me over to his bed and pushes me down. He lays on top of me and for a long time there is just that. Just the pressure of him on me, his mouth on mine, our tongues reaching hungrily towards each other and it's good, so good, except eventually, of course, we both want more. It's obvious, something has to happen and now I'm nervous again. My palms are sweaty and there's a weird buzzing in my head.

"Maybe I really am gay, " Simon says. He rolls off me so we're side by side, facing each other and he pushes his hand against my flies. And then I'm reaching for him and we're touching each other through our trousers and I think I might come soon. I know I'm close. With a huge effort, the most difficult thing I have ever done, I pull my mouth away from his, roll my hips so I'm no longer thrusting against him, and I manage to croak out "Simon, we have to stop."

"Am I doing it wrong?" he says, looking at me worriedly. "It seemed....all right."

"It's not that. It's just.....I'm scared."

"You're scared?" Now he sounds confused. "Why are you scared?" He gives me a grin, suddenly. "I thought this was your area."

"No, it's not.....that. It's just I.....I might bite," I choke out. It's my worst fear. But I really don't know. I've never been in this situation. Not that I'm about to tell him that.

He looks at me. A certain look I know well. Like if I push him, he'll just push back. "Open your mouth," he demands. I do, and he peers at my teeth. "They're not popped now," he says, and bends to kiss me again.

"But Simon," I hiss. I push him back, my hand against his sternum. I really am scared.

"Well you haven't ever, have you?" he counters, his gaze steady. "Bitten anyone."

"I.....Fuck, I don't know! I've never been.....Like this....with anyone." So much for not letting him know, then, that it's my first time.

He grins again. One up on him then. "How about when you wank?" he asks. "Do they pop then? Your fangs?"