Title: Stagnation

Fandom: Simon Snow Trilogy
Pairing: Basilton Grimm-Pitch/Simon Snow

Rating: PG
-13
Length: 1058 Words
Notes: Spoilers for both "Carry On" and "Wayward Son." Set immediately after the last scene in "Wayward Son."
Summary: Simon knows that he isn’t enough for his boyfriend and Baz has this nagging notion that he’s far too much for Simon.

Simon knows that he isn’t enough for a guy like Baz.

Even after that they’ve been through together, from the tragedy at Watford with the Mage to their hellish road trip across the States, Simon still doesn’t feel up to the standards his boyfriend must hold him to. Baz is from an entirely different world; one of secrets, darkness, and designer clothes that he’d never be able to pull off.

It’s his own damn fault for being born into such shit and squalor to begin with, he reasons. He had numerous chances to improve his fortunes but now that his magic is gone and the Mage’s influence spent as well, he’s just another nobody.

Baz has this nagging notion that he’s far too much for Simon.

On second thought, isn’t he just a bit much for anyone?

A vampire and a mage, some mockery of nature’s intended design, is what he is. Highborn filth that skulks around alleyways and tombs in search of his next meal. Someone who struts around as if the world owes them something because Fate played a cruel trick on them.

Resting bitch face, he heard some wait staff at a diner in the States say.

He and Simon couldn’t be further from each other, and yet, he adores the other man. Perhaps that what attracted him to the little imp to begin with? Simon being everything that he isn’t and wishes he were.

They lie in bed together at some cheap motel along the highway, having survived the Mage, were-creatures, and Next Blood, and wondering what trouble could possibly be brewing at Watford now. Penny shouts something from the next room and Baz tightens his grasp around Simon’s waist, not ready to let go just quite yet.

“Snow,” he whispers into his boyfriend’s fluffy mane. “Are you awake?”

Simon’s shoulders tense and his wings flinch a bit around them. He cracks an eye open and grimaces, “I am now.”

Baz smiles sympathetically. “Bunce is calling for us.”

A low buzz reverberates from the nightstand by their bed, but Baz ignores the alarm set on his mobile in favor of drawing his boyfriend closer.

“We don’t have to get up right away,” he says in a low voice. “We could stay this way a while if you’d like.”

Biting his bottom lip, Simon lifts his gaze towards Baz and murmurs, “T-There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I – “

“Can it wait?” Baz interrupts him with a sharp exhale. “Perhaps after we get back to Watford and assess the situation there?”

Sighing, Simon smiles a little and nods. “Sorry. We have a lot on our minds as is.”

“No, it’s not that,” Baz says softly and strokes his hair. “I just want to enjoy what little intimacy and time alone we have together before things get hectic again. That’s all.”

Bugger, Simon curses himself for having such insipid resolve. I have to tell him.

Baz pulls him flush against his own body and has his lips on Simon’s before he can get another word of doubt in edgewise. Their kiss burns and their bodies still ache from fresh wounds, but that doesn’t stop Baz from overindulging. He pushes past Simon’s teeth with tongue and fang, drowning whatever doubt remains as he steals the very life’s breath from Simon. Their legs entwine and he can feel the need press between them, so he moves to straddle Simon and continue their kissing, holding that precious face between his palms as he works against Simon’s lips once more. His hips grind down on his boyfriend’s pelvis and the friction become nigh unbearable.

“We’re going to miss check-in, you two! Get up!”

With an exasperated sigh, Baz tears himself away from Simon and throws a nasty glower over his shoulder towards the door. He gnashes his teeth and growls, “That woman is absolutely insufferable sometimes.”

Simon gasps, trying to catch his breath. “Wouldn’t do to keep her or Agatha waiting, either. Penny isn’t pretty when she’s on the war path.”

“Hmph. One would think the fight burned out of her after that close call with Next Blood, but…” Baz’s voice trails off once he turns his attentions to the man beneath him. “Speaking of burned, you look a little flushed, Snow.”

“Cute,” Simon grunts and tries to sit upright. “Do you mind?”

Baz climbs off of him and back onto the mattress. When Simon moves to stand up, he catches him by the wrist and pulls him back into bed. He holds Simon by the shoulders and has to lean down a bit to stare into those eyes of his, all bleary and watered-down.

“Promise me,” he whispers between them. “We’ll make it through this together, whatever awaits us in Watford.”

Simon’s chest is heavy and his heart isn’t there, but he agrees all the same because no one says no to Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

“Promise,” he says in a hushed voice. “But beyond that?”

Baz smiles wryly and bumps his forehead against Simon’s. “We’ll just have to improvise.”

Simon blinks a few times. “You? Improvise?”

“A technique I learned from a true Master,” Baz says with a wink and a quick press of his lips to Simon’s head afterwards. “Just leave the critical thinking to me, will you? Trust me. Can you do that?”

Does he know? Simon panics just a little and tries to keep his tail from twitching nervously.His shoulders slump in Baz’s grasp and he surrenders with a huff.

“All right, all right,” he mutters and nods.

Baz smiles wider. “Oh, and no more heroics. I’ll not have you dying on me prematurely.”

Flashbacks of the battle with Next Blood come rushing into Simon’s head like a manic film reel spinning off its wheel. He starts to rethink a few of the doubts he woke up with, but before he has a chance to reconcile with any of them, Baz is already getting off the bed.

“Come on,” he gestures with an outstretched hand. “Can’t keep the girls waiting.”

Unfulfilled by both his own doubts and their interrupted tryst, Simon accepts defeat and the stagnation of playing along for the time being. He takes Baz’s hand and climbs out of bed, following him across the room to the wardrobe so that they could get dressed.

Never enough, he tells himself. Never too much, either.