If You Must

All That We Are Is Kissing

Simon

The hotel room door (we booked the royal suite at Claridge's, and it's the poshest place I've ever set foot in) has barely shut behind us before my lips find Baz's skin. I kiss along his jaw, down his neck, to his collarbone, pulling off his suit coat as I go. Baz arches his neck, his hands burying themselves in my hair.

"Simon," he breathes, his voice raspy. I pull away to look at him. His eyes pour into mine before flitting down to my lips and back up again. "Kiss me," he whispers.

I do.

I kiss him, pushing him backwards, backwards. My hands push through the gaps between his shirt buttons, undoing them, running along the smooth skin underneath. Baz shivers, melting into the touch. Button by button, I undo his shirt until it hangs loose and useless over his shoulders. All the while we are travelling backwards. Which might be a problem because there are so many damn rooms in this suite. But I don't care where we end up, because Baz's mouth is open and warm and needy against mine and I've never wanted him more badly in my entire life (which is saying something).

We end up in the dining room, and I don't care. I pin Baz against the table so he's flat on his back and I am above him, still kissing him. His shirt has fallen off somewhere along the way, and his chest is smooth and pale and perfect, rising and falling with his quick breaths. Breaking away from his mouth, I trail my lips down his jaw to his neck. I drag my teeth along the skin there, grinning when Baz makes a small noise. His hands are at my shirt, now, as I kiss the column of his neck, undoing the buttons until the material falls away. Then his hands are on my chest and my lips find his collarbone once more, leaving occasional marks as they travel down, down from his throat.

"Basilton," I murmur, pushing magic into the word. "Basilton, Basilton, Basilton." His name hardly needs magic-- it is magic, all on its own. Beneath me, Baz whines, arching his back and tugging at my hair. My hands are at his waist now, my lips moving slowly along his chest and stomach, tracing the outline of his ribs.

"You are such... a fucking... tease," Baz breathes heavily. I laugh against his skin.

"Are you in a hurry, Basilton?" I goad, dragging my tongue along his sternum just to prove his point. His breath hitches in his chest satisfyingly.

"A bit," He gasps, making a fresh peal of laughter escape my lips.

"Lucky for you, we've got allllll night." I kiss down his stomach as I speak. Baz's hands are like vices in my hair, but I don't mind in the slightest. He could do anything to me tonight and I wouldn't give a damn.

"Bastard." Baz is laughing now, too, between heavy breaths. It's incredibly fucking sexy. I grin, stopping in my advance down his stomach, letting my lips hover just above his pale skin.

"I mean, I could stop if you wanted me to," I tease, tracing a finger along Baz's chest.

Baz looks at me, silver fire burning behind his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Do what you will to me, Simon Grimm-Pitch, but don't you dare stop," he grins, and I feel myself falling in love with him all over again. "Aleister Crowley, don't ever stop."

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The boys are getting heckin ~steamy~

I hope my attempt at writing a love scene wasn't too awful-- I haven't written one like this in a while, and I'm a bit rusty. Hope you all enjoyed it!

One more chapter to guess the true identity of Dave Tortcow, the Magickal DJ! I'll announce the winner when I post the playlist chapter :)

In other news, I'm working a lot this week, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the final chapter and the playlist. Hopefully before the weekend!

Yours,

-Lefty