[because I never can resist the magic prompts: 1.2k of zimbits (pg) for @omgcp-tropechallenge]
Jack kisses Eric, and he --
He gets his first kiss, and he can feel the warmth of Jack's body against his, the softness of Jack's lips and the callouses on his hands, smell his cologne, and deep down, where his magic lives, he clenches up tight. Now's not the time to lose his grip on it and blow out the town's power grid.
After -- Jack leaves. Jack leaves and texts him what feels like only a moment later, and Eric reads his words, reads that --
His magic rises fast and undeniable in him, passes through him and out of him, and Eric's embraced in leathery wings for a split second, hot sulfur-y breath ghosting over his head and ruffling his hair. Then Simon pushes away with a laugh that ends in a whoop, and he phases through the wall and outside before Eric can rein him back in. Eric should. He should -- but this is why Simon exists. He's the manifestation of Eric's magic, wild and free but ultimately harmless. The safest way for him to expend magic before he blows a fuse and accidentally does some damage.
Eric laughs too, giddy because Jack can't wait to kiss him again, and stumbles to the window, watches Simon somersaulting through the air in joy, unseen by anyone but Eric.
...
Back when his mother's family got serious about teaching Eric Magic 101, Great-aunt Samantha cupped his face and looked into his eyes for a long moment. He'd barely been six, and she kept looking and looking, making him squirm under her regard, his fingers sparking white-hot against her skin when he reached up to touch her wrists to make her stop.
"Oh, my darling," she'd laughed while shaking out her hands, "you are holding one heck of a tiger by the tail."
Turns out, she was right. Only it was more of a dragon than tiger.