into my arms
simon gets his sandwiches and snowbaz goes stargazing
a/n: thank you to @bazwearsjeans for the beta!! and to @andonewillbringhisfall for organizing the leavers ball!! (sorry this is late lol) from now until july 31st i will be posting every wednesday so track the tag #egfics to see new fics ^__^
Baz finally got us some sandwiches. Well, he got me some sandwiches. He’d sat and talked with Cook Pritchard while I’d scarfed down about four. I suspect he didn’t want to eat in front of her; I understand all of that now. I understand Baz now. Well, as much as he’ll let me. Which is more than he used to, really. It helps that I pay attention; that I think about him. Not that I didn’t think about him before, I just think differently now. About him. About us.
Once Baz had decided I’d eaten enough, he’d bid Cook Pritchard good night and all but dragged me out the door and onto the Great Lawn. Which is where we are now. The Great Lawn. Stretched out under the stars, lying side by side. I can feel my wings digging into my back, but I barely notice as Baz takes my hand and rests it over his heart. I can feel it thumping steadily under my hand, a familiar feeling. Whenever we’ve shared a bed–which isn’t often–I like to sleep with my ear to his chest. He laughs at me for it, but it’s soothing. He’s soothing. It’s strange to think that.
My hand is rising and falling as with every breath Baz takes, and I feel it hitch when I start to move my hand. Just slowly–down and up–barely reaching his stomach. When my fingers finally brush across his ab muscles, they’re tense, like he’s preparing for an attack. “Someone could walk out,” he whispers, and I laugh.
“Haven’t I established that I don’t care?”
Baz just shakes his head and smiles indulgently. His smile grows wider when I roll over until I’ve nearly got him pinned underneath me. Baz’s hair is slicked back, but a piece has fallen out. It makes me want to free all the strands, so I do. He grunts in surprise as I slide my fingers through his silky hair, loving the way it feels in my hands. I tug gently, and Baz’s eyes widen. I do it, and grin when he groans.
“Snow,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “what are you doing?” Instead of answering, he ducks his head down and slams his mouth into mine. It’s just as much of an assault as before, but I’m used to it by now. I’m not used to this side of Snow, though. Tonight he’s clingy, all roving hands and cheeky smiles. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m bloody well not going to question it, now am I?
Snow lets go of my hair and brushes his fingers past my neck. They’re warm, as usual, and the difference in temperature makes me gasp. He takes advantage of my open mouth, shoving his tongue into my mouth and catching me by surprise. (Good surprise. Always a good surprise.) He tastes a bit like roast beef, and instead of being a turn off, it just makes my mouth water. I’m so hungry.
I put my hands on Snow’s chest and shove, hard. Instead of rolling off me, he just sits up on his knees, towering above me with a knee on either side of my thighs. I can barely see him in the moonlight, but his hair is tousled and his lips look kiss-swollen. He’s panting heavily and I want nothing more than to grab him by the collar and pull him back down to me, except I’m afraid.
“What the hell, Baz?” Simon asks, trying to catch his breath. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to admit I’m afraid of hurting him. I try to subtly run my tongue along my teeth, hoping Simon won’t notice. That would be even more of a buzzkill. I don’t feel my fangs, I don’t even feel them beginning to pop out, and now I feel a bit silly. How Simon notices my faint flush in the dark, I have no idea, but he reaches out and strokes my cheek softly.
“You aren’t going to hurt me.” He sounds so certain that I almost want to believe him. Maybe I do believe him.
“Snow…” I say. “Simon…” But I don’t get to finish, because his lips are on mine and somehow his hands have made it to the collar of my shirt. His fingers linger at the top button.
“Is this okay?” I nod. Normally I would chastise him for getting my suit dirty, but it’s like something strange has come over me. Simon revealing his insecurities broke open something inside of me, something soft and delicate that I don’t recognise. Something that apparently wants my boyfriend to undress me right here on the Great Lawn.
As if reading my mind, Simon snorts. “I don’t want to get you starkers. Just–” He unbuttons the top two buttons and drops his head, kissing, and sucking at my neck until it feels like I’m melting. One of his hands slips back into my hair, and the other one starts to sneak down my chest until his fingers begin to creep under the hem of my shirt.
Crowley, is this what dying feels like? Every nerve in my body is on fire; Snow is attacking from all sides and I’m completely helpless under him. I’m convinced this is all I can bear when he starts grinding against my thigh. My hips jolt, nearly throwing him off of me, and then everything stops. The hands. The kissing. The grinding.
I groan. “Why did you stop?”
“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, sounding nervous.
“Merlin, yes,” I exhale. Simon still looks nervous, and his eyes keep darting in the direction of the ball. The one that’ll be ending soon. Oh. Oh. “We don’t have to keep going,” I say, trying to hide the regret in my words. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“Don’t be daft. Of course I want to keep going…just…shouldn’t we be getting back? Won’t people be wondering where we are?”
“No,” I say, thinking of my bed back in our old room; of all my old fantasies. Of pressing Simon into the mattress. “No, I have a better Idea.”
Baz’s voice promises something exciting, and the hand on my waist keeps dipping lower and lower. It brushes my arse, and I stiffen, but he’s only reaching for my tail. “So you don’t trip,” he murmurs, smooth as silk. Bullshit, I want to say back, but I’m too intrigued to argue. I let him guide me across the lawn, trying to hide how nervous I am. Where is he taking me? I must seem worried, because he stops walking.
Or maybe it’s because we’re here. In front of Mummer’s House. “Baz?” I ask, and he smirks at me. It starts to falter when I don’t answer back, and his hand drops from my back.
“We don’t have to,” he says apologetically, “I just thought…”
“I know,” I say, reaching for him, grabbing his upper arms and stroking them soothingly. “I know,” I repeat, “and it’s okay. I want to.”
He looks up at this, squints as he studies my face to gauge whether I’m serious. I am. I hadn’t thought I’d want to go back to our old room, but now that I’m here, it sounds perfect. I let my arms drop as I wait for his answer.
“Okay,” Baz says, sounding relieved. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go then.” He smiles as I take his outstretched hand, and we climb the stairs. Together, for the first time ever.
Side by side.