AN: Everyone who loves the vampires with ticklish necks trope come get y’all juice! This one is so cute & flustering, poor Baz doesn’t know what to do with himself!
Baz really hated Simon sometimes. For years he hated him because he loved him so much, right now he hated him because he was being horribly mean. The thing was that Baz had a deathly ticklish neck, ironic seeing as he was a vampire. A fact that Simon loved to rub in his face. He wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't the worst thing ever. And Simon's teasing really didn't help the situation.
Simon was kissing and nibbling his neck, relishing in every gasp and shriek he elicited. Baz was trapped in a sweet hell: showered with tickly affection.
"Si-Sihi- Sihihimom plehehease! Ihit tihihickles!" he whined, hiding his cherry red blush in his boyfriend's shoulder.
"Does it? I had no idea based on your hysterical giggles," he mused smugly. He cupped either side of Baz's face, fluttering his fingers along the sides of his neck. Simon was holding him still so that he couldn't scrunch his neck, and it tickled like all hell. Baz snorted loudly and his hand immediately flew up to cover his mouth.
"Aww but I wanna hear every single giggle, snort and squeal you make. And I wanna see that pretty smile and those sharp fangs," Simon teased in his ear, sending an unbeatable shiver down his spine.
"Crowley Snow, you're kihihilling mehehe," he whined, drumming his legs on the couch.
"What's the matter? Is the big bad vampire too ticklish on his neck?" he cooed condescendingly. That threw him for a loop. On one hand, it was true and Simon might grant him mercy if he admitted it, but on the other his pride didn't want to face the facts and he was left stuttering.
"Ye- Yes- no! I mean no!" Simon chuckled at him, scratching lightly right over the bite mark on his neck, and Baz was thrown into hysterics.
Simon was laughing almost as hard as he was. He wiped away a tear of mirth from his cheek, staring down at a very flustered Bazilton Grimm Pitch. He leaned in, cuddling close to him as he regained his breath.
"You're sooo cute when I tickle you," Simon spoke into his skin. Baz scrunched just neck, a wide grin on his face as he pushes Simon away.
"Oh stop, you're an absolute fiend. I have other spots you know," he complained, tousled hair hiding pink cheeks.
"Yeah, but this one's my favorite," he said, mouthing at his throat and sending him into another bout of giggles. And then Simon blew a raspberry, and all hope was lost.
A/N: You can tell a lot about a person from their Smash Bros character pick. Also, this fic is less gaming and more giggling. Enjoy!
When Bunce first suggests that they play video games, Baz is excited. His Switch had made it into his bag when he was packing for the weekend at the Bunce’s, and he’d been hoping that there would be an opportunity to pull it out. He doesn’t have many party games, because he usually has to play by himself – his sisters are too young to join in, and besides, he wouldn’t want them to anyway. But he got a couple, for Christmas, mostly online stuff that he can play with Simon when they’re long-distance.
What Baz didn’t realize, however, that Simon and Bunce – er, Penelope, he supposes – actually play a lot of video games together. Penelope’s got a whole shelf of party games, and she knows just the ones that are good for three players (probably from when Agatha was still around, Baz thinks). Simon’s got an opinion on all of them, and Baz wonders how many hours of playing together they’ve got under their belts. Playing without him. He’s got a lot to catch up on.
Baz also didn’t realize that they were so physical. Not in a romantic way, or anything, it’s just… Baz feels honored when Simon so much as holds his hand. It’s small touches still, with them. Shy thumbs rubbing over knuckles, a kiss to the cheek here and there. But Simon and Penelope, they’ve got a long history together. Of sleepovers, squished backseat car rides, of crawling into one another’s personal space. They’re always pushing and prodding, riling each other up, and Baz… well, he’s not part of it. Not yet. He guesses he could be, someday, and who knows? Maybe that would be nice. But for now, he’s glad he didn’t sit in the middle of the couch; there’s too much touching.
“You’re cheating!” Penelope shouts. On the screen, Dark Samus narrowly avoids death by grabbing the edge of the platform and hauling herself back up.
“Don’t need to,” Simon replies cheekily, rolling directly into her as Sonic and sending her flying again. Penelope sticks her tongue out at him, and Simon digs a playful elbow into her ribs. On the other side of the couch, Baz directs Kirby to float above the action, trying to fly (literally) under the radar. Simon had made fun of him for picking Kirby, but honestly, what better choice for a brooding queer vampire than the little pink blob.
“He’s basic,” Simon had insisted.
“He’s friend-shaped,” Baz had hissed back, smiling when Simon rolled his eyes playfully. Baz had shown him, though, when he’d won the last two games by repeatedly flying to the top of the level and attacking down with the spiky box. Point: Basilton Pitch. This game, however, Simon and Penelope have been going at each other – in more ways than one.
“You suck at this,” Simon crows, laughing when Penelope shoves him. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me fall off the platform!”
“Good!”
Simon tries to shove her back, but she’s ready. Instead of thumping his shoulder into her side, Penelope dodges so he lands fully in her lap with a little noise of shock, his skull barely missing a collision with Baz’s chin.
“Shit!” Baz gasps, jerking out of the way and reaching to pause the game.
“Sorry!” Simon calls, cutting himself off with a yelp as Penelope, with practiced precision, shoves his torso off her knees and onto the floor. Somehow, and maybe this is from years of performing this exact routine, Simon manages to catch her legs in his grip on the way down, and Penelope tumbles after him with a shriek. They roll, once, and Penelope lands on top, sitting on Simon’s stomach. He’s pushing at her hands, laughing hard, and Baz cranes his neck a little to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend’s smile. Baz isn’t really sure what’s going on, to be honest, but if it makes Simon smile like that, it’s gotta be worth it.
Then, Simon lets out a high-pitched sound that makes Baz jump. “What’re you…” Baz starts, then stops when he sees Penelope’s hands on Simon’s stomach, fingers burrowing into his sides. “Oh.”
The scuffle on the floor is revitalized by this new development. Baz can’t see his boyfriend’s face, but his laughter is quite literally speaking volumes. Simon can’t seem to decide between fight and flight, but a series of squeezes along his sides tips the scales decidedly to the latter. He arches his back, breathless, and squirms enough that he flips over onto his front, kicking and shrieking. He curls into a particularly cruel jab to his ribs, and Baz catches a glimpse of his face.
His nose scrunches up when he giggles. Baz has never noticed that before.
“Si’s stupid ticklish,” Penelope grins, raising her voice to be heard over Simon’s squeaks of laughter. His heels are scrabbling on the floor, one fist is thumping weakly on Penelope’s leg, and Baz can feel his cheeks stretching into a fond smile. Crowley, he thinks. I’m getting soft.
“Baz, help,” Simon gasps, stretching out a hand to try to grab his boyfriend’s ankle. He almost gets a grip, too, but Baz chuckles and lifts his leg out of reach.
“Nice try,” he teases, just as Penelope shoves a hand into Simon’s exposed underarm and he jerks that elbow to his side with a squeal.
“D’you give?” she says, curls falling into her face with the effort of keeping Simon in her arms and in one piece, but he’s already nodding frantically.
“Give! Give!” he wheezes, and her hands retract. Simon’s cheeks are red as apples, and he’s got both arms wrapped firmly around his stomach, still giggling. He’s probably going to feel this in his abs tomorrow; Crowley knows that Baz usually does when he laughs like that.
Penelope’s nice enough to prop Simon up against the couch, and he leans his head on Baz’s knee. Baz runs a hand through his honey-colored hair, and Simon scoots closer and kisses his knee through his jeans. Soft bastard. Penelope wrinkles her nose.
“You guys are so much.”
Simon rolls his eyes, hugging Baz’s calf. “I’m recovering.”
“Recovering from cheating, you moron,” Penelope snorts. She folds her arms like Baz always used to see her do, back when he thought she was just an uppity nobody, nothing more than a competitor for his top spot in the class ranking. Now, Baz thinks about her rolling over the thick wood floors at Watford with Simon, both of them laughing hysterically. He thinks about Simon, which is not unusual in and of itself. But he thinks about how in about eight years of knowing him – making it his priority to know him – he never found out that Simon is ticklish. He thinks about all the other little bits of Simon Snow that he doesn’t know. In retrospect, there’s probably a lot. The thought makes him a little sad, but also a little excited. All the time in the world to find them out.
He’s yanked from his thoughts by the last question he expected to hear.
“Are you ticklish, Baz?” Penelope grins up at the vampire, her tongue between her teeth. Baz can feel the heat, what little there is, rise in his cheeks.
“I – um…”
“That’s a yes!” Penelope laughs, but Simon’s moving in front of Baz protectively (as protectively as he can while still on the floor).
“Leave him alone,” he shouts, playfully pretending to hold out the Sword of Mages. “You’ll not harm this boy in my presence!”
“He’s a creature of darkness,” Penelope sighs, pretending to be exasperated. She shoots Baz a quick look, probably checking if ‘creature of darkness’ is offensive, but Baz has both hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. Simon grins and raises his fake sword.
“The power of the Sword of Mages commands – EEP!”
The poke that Penelope lands in Simon’s underarm sends him about a foot in the air. Penelope and Baz both burst out laughing as Simon’s cheeks color again.
“That’s not fair!” he cries, huddling further into Baz’s knees. In a moment of sudden boldness, Baz leans forward and curls a hand over Simon’s neck. He’s rewarded by a shiver and a delightful squeak. “Not you too!”
“Come on, you don’t really mind,” Penelope scoffs, trying to wrangle Simon’s ankle while avoiding being kicked (without much success). “If you actually minded, you wouldn’t cheat at video games.”
“I didn’t cheat,” Simon protests. “It’s not my fault you’re bad at video games!” Baz notices with some level of amusement that he doesn’t deny the other part of Penelope’s accusation. Information for later, he supposes.
“Besides,” Simon continues, “I doubt vampires can even be ticklish.”
Baz feels his breath catch in his throat. He’d kind of thought he’d managed to skate past that conversation scot-free. Penelope’s already wrinkling her nose.
“Nonsense. Did all our vampire research in sixth year teach you nothing? Vampires have heightened senses; I bet that means he’s extra ticklish.”
“Well, I—” Baz begins, but Simon cuts him off with a roll of his eyes.
“He’s all broody and plotting, Penny. Arch-nemeses aren’t ticklish – even if they don’t turn out to be as evil as you thought,” he amends, pressing another quick kiss to Baz’s knee. “Anyway, I think I’d know if my own boyfriend was ticklish.”
I didn’t know that you were, Baz thinks, but decides to keep that to himself. “I think we’ve proven that I was doing significantly less plotting than you originally thought, love.”
“Ah-HAH!” Penny cries, pointing an accusing finger. “He admits it!”
“I didn’t admit it…” Baz sighs. He half-expects another rebuttal from Simon, but his boyfriend is turning to look at him curiously.
“Are you ticklish, love?”
Baz freezes for a second under the pressure of two sets of eyes on him, then, after a few breaths, gives a small shrug. “I, um. I don’t really know.”
“Probably when I was a baby or something. But not that I can remember.”
Simon thunks his forehead against his boyfriend’s thigh, wrapping both arms around his leg. “Aw. That’s actually kind of sad.”
“S’not sad,” Baz mumbles with a roll of his eyes. Honestly, until now, it hasn’t been something he’s missed in any meaningful way. But seeing Simon and Penelope rolling around like that, laughing, so close…
There’s a new gleam in Penelope’s eye, and she hops back on to her spot on the couch right next to Baz. “Science experiment?”
“Oh…” His eyes dart to Simon. Despite his inexperience, something in Baz’s gut is telling him to run for his life. Simon’s gazing back at him, grinning, maybe a little mischievous – maybe a little encouraging? “I mean…”
“We don’t have to,” Simon jumps in. “If you don’t want to.” Crowley, sometimes Simon could be almost painfully cute.
Feeling shy, of all things, is something that Baz isn’t very accustomed to, but it’s there in his chest when he shrugs again. “I don’t mind if you want to try. Can’t promise it’ll be very fun, though.”
Penelope grins and scoots closer, hovering wiggling fingers over his side. Anticipation, nervousness, and some kind of strange glee mix in Baz’s stomach, and he curls away from the potential threat – just as a hand, Simon’s, squeezes just above his knee. He jumps and inhales sharply, which makes Penelope’s eyes light up.
“On the contrary,” she says, and two cleverly placed fingers make contact with Baz’s side. Another jump. “I think this will be very fun.”
Okay, so somewhere between first year and now there had been some sort of miscalculation.
Baz doesn’t really have time to dwell on it properly, but surely there was a moment between meeting eleven-year-old Simon Snow in the attic room of Mummers and being here, on Penelope Bunce’s couch, where he could have made some sort of tactical move – a spell, perhaps, or a well-planned murder of some kind, if it came to it – that would have avoided him ending up face-down in a pillow, screeching for his life as evil fingers crawl their way over every sensitive spot that he never knew he had.
Somebody’s snuck their way into his underarms, significantly reducing his flailing by keeping his arms firmly stuck to his sides. Somebody else – Penelope, he’s pretty sure – got a grip around one of his knees, and if Baz makes it out of this, she’s as good as dead. He tries to kick, once, but Penelope is quick to abandon his knees in favor of grabbing his ankle. He yanks it back out of her grip before she can do anything with that new acquisition, though, and resolves not to try that again, for fear of what might happen if he does.
The fingers in his underarms move down to his ribs, eliciting huffing giggles that the pillow is doing little to muffle, before jumping suddenly up to his neck. Baz shrieks, flipping off the couch with a hidden well of vampire super-strength that results in him landing unceremoniously on the floor.
When he pushes the hair out of his eyes, breathing hard, Simon and Penelope are… they’re laughing at him.
“Okay,” Penelope manages between giggles. “I think you’re ticklish.”
“Understatement,” Baz grumbles, climbing back into his seat, but he can’t keep the lingering smile off his face. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Doesn’t have to be fair,” Penelope teases back.
“I didn’t know—”
“About your neck?”
Baz snaps his jaw closed, instinctively hitching his shoulders up to his ears. “Shut up.”
“Isn’t that kind of ironic, a vampire with a ticklish neck—”
“I said shut up,” he says in his best vampire growl, but it honestly comes out more like a squeak. Penelope laughs, and she sounds sort of… fond. Baz snorts, straightening out his shirt in an effort to find something to do with his hands. Well. Even if she’s not totally innocent, it’s not like she was the one who went for a weak spot. That was…
He catches Simon’s eye, and he’s beaming, absolutely glowing like Baz has never seen. He quirks an eyebrow. “All right, love?”
Simon’s smile widens. “You’re adorable,” he breathes, and his eyes are sparkling.
Baz feels suddenly too warm, and shifts his weight uncomfortably. “M’not—”
Penelope, for her part, pretends to gag. “Okay, enough simping – hey!” She’s cut off when Simon pinches up her side, making her squeal.
Baz laughs at that, and it sounds almost too-loud in the small living room, but Simon joins in. Penelope recovers quickly, flipping Simon off, which only makes him laugh harder. Baz reaches over and tickles over her neck, shy, but she grabs his wrist before she even starts giggling.
“Okay, that’s not gonna fly anymore—”
He’s back under attack again, flushed and breathless and laughing harder than he ever has before, but it’s not as torturous as he thought it would be. Actually, come to think of it, none of this is; touching, laughing, bonding with his friends? None of this is anywhere near as scary as he’d thought.
A/N: Based on this prompt sent in by @happyandticklish!! Includes a reference to my previous Simon Snow fic. Enjoy!
The smooth cool of the stone against his shoulder blades nearly steals the breath from Baz’s lungs. Do vampires have lungs? No, wait, bad question. He definitely has lungs. Do vampires need to breathe? Maybe… Based on that time in fifth year that he got the worst cold of his life, he would definitely argue that he needs to breathe. In, like, a court of law. If it ever came up.
“You’re distracted.”
More breaths. “No, I’m not.”
Simon’s smile is protagonistically dazzling. Is that a word? Baz would argue that that’s a word.
“You are. You’re doing that thing with your lip.”
“I don’t do a thing with my lip,” Baz retorts, biting his lip.
“There! That thing,” Simon laughs. “You do that when you’re distracted.”
“Shut up.” Baz grabs his boyfriend’s elbows and pulls him in for a kiss, deliciously warm and sweet. One of Simon’s knees knocks against a broom, but he grabs it before it tips all the way over. Their eyes meet, a combination of glee, adrenaline, and anxiety.
“You’re gonna get us caught,” Baz breathes, but Simon’s smile is back, bright as ever. (Baz would spend another year in that smelly numpty coffin for Simon’s smile.)
“Only if I’m not careful,” he replies, stretching up on his toes to press a kiss to the tip of Baz’s nose. “And I’m always careful.”
Baz scoffs. “You’re never careful.”
Simon shrugs, running a gentle hand down the sleeve of his boyfriend’s football uniform. “Your practice doesn’t start for an hour. Nobody’s poking around the supply closet at a time like this.”
“Still,” Baz insists, and god, having Simon so close and not kissing him is like torture. “We should make the most of it.”
Simon hums his agreement, taking Baz’s cold hand in his warm one, and finally closes the distance between them again. His lips are so soft, Baz thinks in disbelief. He could kiss them for years and never get over it.
He tucks a hand along the small of Simon’s back, gripping the back of his sweater in a vague attempt to ground himself. Baz can feel the edge of Simon’s mouth quirk up, pleased with this development, and Simon presses his boyfriend further against the back wall of the closet. The cold stone against the back of his neck sends chills down Baz’s spine.
“Pushy,” he breathes into Simon’s hair, and Simon laughs again.
“Self-assured,” he corrects teasingly, and moves to kiss down Baz’s jaw. Okay. Okay, this is okay. When they first started dating, Baz made a personal point of trying to kiss every freckle and mole on Simon’s body (and there’s a lot.) But Simon’s never kissed him anywhere but his face, except maybe his fingers once or twice. Simon hasn’t seemed like the exploratory type. Except…
“This okay?” Simon whispers into his ear, and Baz stifles a shiver.
“Yeah.” Okay. Let’s see how this goes.
The kisses, soft and light as a butterfly’s wings, move slowly but steadily down Baz’s jaw, brushing along nearly invisible stubble. Baz closes his eyes, clutching loosely at Simon’s sweater with both hands, until suddenly his grip tightens. Simon’s lips have moved to press against his neck, moving easily down the pale, thin stretch of skin, and oh god, Baz has anticipated a lot of problems, but this was never one of them. He shudders, and the gentle touch pauses.
“Still okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Baz manages.
Simon pulls away, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t sound okay. You alright, love?”
Baz takes another breath – yes, he’s absolutely certain he needs them now – and swallows. Something about the combination of the situation and the pet name is making what little blood he has in his face rise to the surface. “Peachy. Just… be careful.”
Simon’s cocky grin is back. “I’m always careful.” With that, his mouth is back on Baz’s skin, and Baz’s fingers are practically woven into the wool on his boyfriend’s back. He tries to steady his breathing, but he feels a wave of goosebumps wash down his arms. Simon’s leaving a trail of kisses down the edge of his throat, and fuck him if that’s not the most adorable but the most unbearable –
“Baz.” Baz opens his eyes. Simon’s expression is unreadable. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”
“Lie? I’m not lying.”
“We’re boyfriends. We shouldn’t lie to each other.”
“I…” Baz knits his aristocratic brow together, confused. “But I’m not lying.”
“You absolutely are,” Simon insists stubbornly, and he sounds cross, but there’s something behind his voice that Baz can’t place. “You told me, straight up, that Pitches aren’t ticklish.”
Fuck. “I’m not. Er – we’re not.”
“Then why,” Simon continues, leaning tantalizingly close to Baz’s lips, “do you tense up when I do this?” He ducks into the crook of his boyfriend’s collarbone and plants a series of quick, sloppy kisses that practically set Baz’s skin on fire. Baz gasps, flinching away from the electric sensation – but not before a well-placed brush of skin on skin elicits a strangled noise.
Their eyes meet. Simon’s grin has a new edge to it, something a little further on the wrong side of evil. Baz gulps. And he used to accuse me of plotting.
“You’re ticklish.”
“N—maybe.”
“More than maybe,” Simon teases, taking the back of Baz’s neck in his hands in a move that would normally be followed by a welcomed kiss, but in this case is accompanied by more devious kisses. Baz can feel laughter bubbling in his chest, clawing for release in the back of his throat. Fucking Simon Snow and his stupid cute –
Fingers are prodding at his middle, through his football uniform, and Baz sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Giggles, fucking giggles, are leaking out despite his best efforts. He curls up into the wall, shaking apart with the quietest laughter he can muster.
“Shit!”
The addition of teeth was unanticipated, and Baz practically jumps out of his skin. This time the strangled noise sounds more like a squeal. Simon pulls back again, thank god, but his eyes are dancing with mischief.
“The vampire can’t handle a neck bite?”
“Shut up,” Baz chokes, but he’s giggling too hard to make more than a token effort to squirm away from Simon’s touches. “You’re g-gonna get us caught.”
“I think you’re gonna get us caught, love,” Simon retorts, and his fingertips brush a spot on Baz’s waist that makes the vampire clap a hand over his mouth to muffle a shriek. “Don’t vampires have superpowers for situations like these? Super strength, and all that?”
“I-I’m nohohot…” Baz’s genius reply is lost to laughter as the fingers that had been dancing around his waist prod more firmly into his stomach. Not being tickled for nearly thirteen years really makes a vampire forget how to defend himself, he thinks. His arms are practically useless, swatting at Simon’s hands with all the strength of limp noodles, and his legs seem to have lost the ability to do anything but shake and lower him slowly to the floor of the supply closet. Cruelly, the tickling follows, digging into his ribs in a way that has Baz falling over himself in shivering, hysterical laughter.
“You know,” Simon says, casual as anything, as he methodically breaks Baz into tiny pieces, “if I’d found this out when we were still mortal enemies, I think I would’ve been a lot less afraid of you.”
“Fuhuhucking… f-fear this!” Baz growls, gathering enough strength to dig a hand into Simon’s side. With a yelp, Simon Snow, the Mage’s Heir, stumbles backwards, kicks open the closet door, and trips over his own feet to land in a heap in the hallway. He groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows and peering back into the darkness of the closet. Baz is sitting on the ground, leaning against a bucket, holding his stomach and laughing his head off. (Which, upon further thought, would be very dangerous for a vampire.)
“Your f-face,” Baz sputters, unable to determine how much of his laughter is at Simon falling, and how much is just leftover giddiness from the tickle attack. Simon wrinkles his nose, then starts giggling too, punctuated with the little snorts that Baz loves.
“I can’t believe you’re ticklish,” Simon repeats, and Baz gives him a little kick in the foot.
“Shut up.”
“On your neck, that’s so ironic –”
“Snow,” Baz says calmly. “If you tell anyone about this, even – no, especially Bunce, I’m going to tickle you until you forget your name.”
Simon snickers and pretends to zip his lips closed. “It’s safe with me. It’s going in the box of secret Baz traits with ‘vampire’ and ‘little spoon.’”
Baz rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet, offering his boyfriend a hand up. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Love you too,” Simon grins, clasping his wrist with Baz’s and standing up just in time to give the vampire a sneaky pinch to the waist. Baz chokes, startled, and recovers to watch Simon take off cackling down the hall. Crowley, that boy will be the end of him.
