Baz is still looking at him like he's his next drink. His gray eyes shining from the alcohol and, if he had fed at all recently, Simon supposes his face would have been flushed too. He wouldn't know; it's not like he's had so much experience with alcohol. Simon doesn't know what he's thinking. If Penny were here, she would probably interrogate him and figure out why Baz allowed his phone to die. Because he wouldn't just hang up on them, Simon knows that for sure. He doesn't know what Baz is thinking. What was he thinking, getting all cozied up to a vampire? (Maybe he isn't the best person to be asking that question, though, seeing as he himself got cozied up next to a vampire against all recommendations.) (Agatha is probably the best person to be asking those questions, if only they knew where she was.)
They're walking down the strip to our hotel, Baz's arm over Simon's shoulders genially. To any vampire onlooker, maybe they would pass as an adoring human under the suave vampire's thrall. Little do they know just how entranced Simon is with Baz on a daily basis. And not because of any vampire thrall, Simon doesn't even know if that's real, but just because he's Baz.
Baz's fangs are out; Simon can't stop looking at them. His mouth is slightly open, like he can barely control his facial muscles, and Simon can see the gleaming, sharp fangs peeking out. He knows vampire fangs are sharp. He can't help but wonder...
"What does it feel like to get bitten by a vampire?" He's more so asking himself, not Baz. At least, he doesn't expect Baz to answer in his current state. Baz can barely move in the right direction, he's so drunk and thirsty. Simon's never seen him this desperate, with no clear place to put his desperation. His breath is hot on Simon's neck. In Las Vegas, the dark does not bring promise of cool weather. It's still pretty warm, from the climate and the bright lights from all the shops they pass. Baz's hand is cool, his breath is hot.
But then Baz answers: "Like death. Like fire. Burning hot pain, like nothing I've ever felt before. Or since. I think that's part of the curse. No pain can ever compare to that day."
It's more than Simon's ever heard from him about that day, besides the clinical run down of the events that took place. Baz was only five years old, and he lost his mother and became a monster. Well, not in Simon's eyes. Simon used to be destroying the world of magic, killing other magical creatures at the drop of a hat, and nobody ever (intentionally) called him a monster. He was the Mage's tool in his crazed plan for a magical revolution. Baz doesn't even kill people, even though he's in the number one vampire city in the world, and an older vampire was crooning in his ear to take a bite. Irritation guts Simon's stomach at the memory of Lamb leaning into Baz like they fit together. Like they were made for each other. Simon isn't naive enough to think he and Baz were necessarily destined for each other (isn't that why they need to break up?) but his self-esteem isn't low enough to think Baz and Lamb were perfect together.
"Sorry," Simon says, and before Baz can look at him with those sad eyes, adds, "for bringing it up."
"I'd answer all your questions," Baz says, eyes drooping. He's nuzzling into Simon's neck now, and it's affecting how they walk, but they're almost at the hotel, so he's not going to stop him. It's been a while since they've been like this, especially in public, so he isn't inclined to stop him, really.
Baz once thought I smelled delicious. He can't help himself. "Would you ever bite me?" He asks quietly, under his breath, so nobody else but Baz would hear. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking in a city full of vampires with super hearing.
Baz fully stops then, and Simon stops too. He doesn't want to drag him the rest of the way like a corpse, not when there are still vampires all around them ready to pounce on the opportunity to take advantage. Even now they're all starting to turn their heads and stare at them, those who aren't preoccupied with their own Normals, of course.
Simon realizes being clumsily pulled toward a building before he can stop it, put them both back on track for the hotel. Does Baz have super speed too? His back hits a concrete wall. His wings take the brunt of the pain. Did Baz forget he still has them, even if they're invisible? He scowls, ready to tell him off for it. Baz's arms cage him in. Baz is taller than him; he's kind of hunched over to make eye contact with Simon. His fangs are shiny with spit. Simon isn't scowling anymore; he's desperately trying to think of the saddest thing he can conceive of so he doesn't get hard. They don't play rough like this. It's one of the many surprises of dating Baz Pitch. He thought, after a whole childhood of punches and pushing and shin-kicking, that the only way they would know how to touch each other was with violence. (Maybe that's why they're not working out— Baz is normal, and Simon thinks the only way to love is with his fists.)
He leans in, mouth open to reveal the sharp, white points of his teeth, and just before he touches Simon's neck, he starts to laugh.
"Maybe if you asked nicely," Baz says, still giggly. He's drunk. Simon almost forgot, in the heat of the moment. He rolls his eyes.
Simon knows he can look intimidating if he squares off his body, tightens his jaw, intensifies his glare. He does all this to Baz now, who hardly seems to notice that the slight shift in position now puts his thigh up against Simon. He hardly seems to notice anything but Simon's eyes or his lips. If he isn't already aware that now is not the time, this might be mistaken for some kind of foreplay. Why does his mind always go there right now? He's taking this seriously, this situation, this whole damn vacation/rescue mission.
Baz's eyes darken, and not in a sexy way. In a depressing way. In a way Simon hasn't really seen since that Christmas last year, in the fiery forest near the Pitch family home, when he had to convince Baz not to let himself be charred to a crisp. "I wouldn't actually hurt you. I don't think I could. Even when I really wanted to. I thought you would kill me."
Simon pushes his hand against his chest, and Baz moves easily. It's an admission of love so profound that he doesn't know what to do with it. Isn't this what he wanted when he asked the question? Shouldn't this clear up all their feelings for each other? Baz would never hurt him. Not even if he really wants to. Simon resolves himself; that's why he needs to be the one to break up with him. He's too fucked up, and Baz deserves better than him. He deserves better than someone who only wants to get off the couch when he gets to kill something. Simon was always meant to be a weapon, and without magic, he was barely even that.
He could be a sword until Baz realizes he doesn't need one anymore. He can protect them, make the difficult decisions, and kill anyone and anything threatening his friends. And then Baz will sheathe him, put him in an attic to collect dust, and live amongst his kind.
Maybe that's their destiny. Simon will go wherever he's needed until he isn't needed anymore.
They're quiet for the rest of the walk to the hotel, as they hold each other up. Penny lets them into the hotel room.