Simon Lewis/Jace Wayland Rating: G, Word Count: 1561 Fluff, Valentine’s Day, Established Relationship, POV Jace ♥ Read on AO3
For Jimon Week Day 2: Valentine’s Day
Jace loves going a round with the punching bag. He gets
to do all the hitting, and he doesn’t need
to think. He just lets his muscle memory do its thing, while his mind clears
itself of any pent-up aggression and frustration.
should watch you train more often. This is a good look on you.’
Jace smiles and huffs out a laugh. ‘Red and smelling?’ he asks, turning to his boyfriend.
half-naked and sweaty,’ Simon
grins. He pushes off the wall he’d been
leaning against and is instantly by Jace’s side.
Jace leans in for a kiss, closing his eyes when Simon’s hands slide into his hair.
gross!’ Simon whines. He pulls his
hand out of Jace’s hair. ‘I changed my mind. Being sweaty is
disgusting, please take a shower.’
Jace opens his eyes to Simon grabbing the sweatshirt that’s lying next to Jace’s water bottle, and wiping his hands
Here,’ Simon throws him the shirt. ‘To wipe that smug look off your face.’
Jace pulls on the shirt, and Simon tosses him the water
bottle next, just a little faster than necessary. Jace winks when he catches it
plans for tonight?’ Simon asks.
‘It’s pretty quiet out. Just standard
patrols, and I’m not assigned to any of
them, so no. You wanna go do something?’
‘That’s why I came by,’ Simon says. There’s a smile on his lips, but Jace can’t help but think it’s just a little bit too bright.
@shinodita requested for “snowbaz + 5″, so here you go ;) (espero que te guste
Pairing(s): Simon Snow/Baz Pitch
Prompt(s): 5. Hungry
But the real eroticism of Simon Snow is, like the devil himself, in the details – the moles on his right cheek hiding in a bath of red skin, blue eyes heavy with lust, bronze curls tangled between Baz’s dark fingers, lips parted in invitation. Which Baz eagerly accepts. Fucking delicious.
Word count: 1.1k
Tags: NSFW, hate sex, hand jobs, fluff
There are certain things at Watford that shouldn’t be allowed, Baz thinks. Like the merwolves. Or the Mage’s moustache. Or fucking boaters.
Or Simon Snow looking like that.
He’s just got out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel—thank Crowley for small mercies—hanging askew on Simon’s hips, leaving so little to the imagination from Baz’s sight on the bed. (Not that he’s staring, or anything.) He looks like he’s stepped straight out of a fucking porn movie, instead of the bathroom.
Snow stuffs a scone into his mouth, crumbs falling from the corners of his lips. (Trust Snow to have a reservoir of food to eat at 1 am on a Friday night.) His Adam’s Apple—double capital letter, because one alone isn’t enough to make it justice—bobs up and down his throat as he swallows. No bloody person should have the right to look like that.