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Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Epilogue

April 2

Simon

Waking up in Baz’s bed is too soft to describe.  Technically, I’m sure his bed is no softer than my own, but now there’s another level of soft, one that goes beyond a physical body-soft.  Soft like my entire soul is encased in cotton fluff. Heart-soft.

“Baz?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, just smiles a little, and his sleepy smile has my heart skipping.  “Simon?”

Crowley, just hearing him say my name, and in a voice still heavy with sleep, is enough to have me swooning a little.

           “It’s April second.”

           “Yes it is.”

           “Do you still love me?”

           Baz pulls me closer and when he speaks his lips brush my forehead.  “Today, tomorrow, every day after that.”

           His shirt is my new favourite smell and I bury my nose in it.  “It’s funny, if you think about it?”

           “Hm?”

           “We both told the truth yesterday,” I muse.  “We pranked each other every day except April Fool’s Day.”

           He chuckles deep within his throat.  “We really are pathetic.”

           “Guess that makes us both April Fools, huh?”

           “Speak for yourself, love,” he laughs, and I’m so gone.

Baz

“So,” Simon murmurs after a few more moments of silent heaven, “is the game over?”

           I shrug with one shoulder.  “Who won?”

           “Me.”

           “Really?” I raise an eyebrow.  “How?”

           “I’ve got you wrapped in my wings, Baz, it doesn’t get much better than this.”

           “I dunno,” I grin, “I think I definitely won.”

           Simon scoffs.  “As if.”

           “I’m wrapped in your wings.”

           “Well, I finally get to touch your hair.”

           “I can make you blush without even trying.”

           “I can shut you up by kissing you.”

           “Oh yeah?” I pull back far enough to meet his eye. “Care to demonstrate?”

           He’s laughing as he obliges me, kissing me gently like his lips are still sore from the seemingly endless kissing last night. I don’t remember having the strength to pull away long enough to climb back inside the room, or to change into our nightclothes, but at some point it must have happened.  Between toothpaste kisses and disbelieving grins.  I’d been a little afraid to suggest sharing a bed (I thought it might scare him away), but he’d climbed in beside me like he fit there, like the spot had been meant for him all along.  I don’t think we ever stopped kissing, just fell into place and stayed there until the dizziness turned into dreams.

           “Crowley,” I mumble against his lips, soft like rose petals.

           “What?”

           “Aleister Crowley.”

           He giggles.  “What, Baz?”

           “Do you still love me?”

           His eyes are a different blue every time I look at them, like the sky.  Right now they’re the horizon just after the orange leaks out of the sunrise.

           Simon kisses my forehead.  “Today…”

           Kisses my nose.  “Tomorrow…”

           Kisses my mouth, deep and long.  “Every day after that.”

           I’m so gone.

           “I’m living a charmed life.”