Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

25. Mummers House

AN: Just a short chapter to keep people happy :-D

Baz

We won the game. 2-1. I scored the tie breaker towards the end of the last half. I feel euphoric but mostly I just feel like slapping Snow senseless. This game could have been his big break. A chance for him to showcase his abilities to Coach Mac. Instead he kept staring off into space like a dumfounded child. He was thinking about us. I know that. In a way it's reassuring that I distract him so severely. But you'd think he'd have the common sense to hide it. I did. Well, maybe that's not a fair comparison, I'm good at pretending.

We pack our stuff up that afternoon. The Watford team farewells the Binevenagh players at the main gate as they pile onto the bus. I'm not one for making any more friends than I need. Or one for the Irish. Shannon and Orla both give Snow a kiss on the cheek and his face goes bright red. He gives them a small wave goodbye as he picks up his duffel bag.

 I sit at the back of the bus with Niall again. I'm mad at Snow. I just want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him and tell him to get a grip. But by the look on his face, leaning against the foggy window of the shuttle bus I can tell he's kicking himself for the way he acted this morning, so I don't bring it up.

We don't sit next to each other on the plane either. The whole team is spaced apart across the whole flight as if the school board booked it last minute. I pull out my Magick Words homework. I don't want to think about Snow and I until we're back in our room. Which we share. Just us...

Crowley, and now we're snogging. Are we snogging? Or did we just snog, full stop? Distract myself. Oh, would you look at that, Dissapatti peribunt, according to my textbook is a powerful invisibility spell for fluent Latin speakers. Maybe I could try it out on Snow and I and whisk us away to some  remote village in Switzerland where we could live out the rest of our days kissing and no one would ask any questions. I have a feeling Magick Words homework isn't easing my mind.

As the bus back from the airport rolls through the lush green paddocks of the English countryside I tell myself I can't push Snow away anymore. When we get back to our room, I'm having a serious chat with him. We need figure out some ground rules. I'm not just going to get back up there and give him the cold shoulder like I always do. I want this.

The bus pulls up at the Watford gates. I watch Snow cautiously, trying not to eager at the sight of him or eager to follow him. He keeps about fifty paces ahead of me as he stomps across the gravel with his big clumsy feet. 

The turrets of our room looms menacingly over the top of Mummers house. The sound of Snow's footsteps on the stone-steps ahead of me bring a blissful sense of comfort along with a keen excitement to be alone with him again. I catch up to him fast. Making it to the door seconds after he does (Long legs).

I whip our door open.

"Snow," I say. My voice loud and desperate in the quiet room.

He's setting his bag down at the end of his unmade bed (Gromit, typical).

"Baz," he says, looking up at me where I stand rigid in front of the open door.

"Listen, I think we need to talk about the weekend. It's just I don't know where to go fro-"

The 'so are we a thing?' conversation is happily interrupted  by the warm touch of Simon Snow's mouth on mine. The door slams shut behind me as his left hand connects to the wooden panelling, and his right lays flat on my chest pushing me back against the door.

Fuck it. We'll talk later. I sigh into his lips and I feel him smile against my mouth. I smile back. I've dreamed of this. Kissing Snow in our room. 

I bring my hands up to his cheeks and kiss him back hard. He runs his hands through my hair and rests them there. More, more, more. Just a bit more. I spy the two moles below his left ear and kiss them with far more vigour than last night. My hands leave his cheeks and find there way to the bottom of his t-shirt. They drift up his chest and at the tips of my fingers I can feel the slight bumps where I know lie more moles. When my hands are right at his pecs, a sharp shooting pain hits the side of my finger.

"Ah! Crowley!" I yell, pulling my hands out of his shirt. A metallic tang grows in my saliva glands and I feel and ache in my gums where my fangs retreat.

Snow looks startled, and out of breath. "Oh, shit. It must have been my cross."

He pulls his hands from my hair sheepishly then frantically unhooks the necklaces and throws it to the ground. Then he reaches for me again.

"Wait," I say. Putting a hand to his chest to stop him. "I need to drink. It's almost a day and I'm afraid I might..."

"Bite me?" Snow offers.

"Yeah."

"Oh," he says. "Okay."

"I'll be back in an hour. Then we'll talk. And I mean talk. Don't try and snog me again." 

Gently I push Snow away and peel my back off the door and leave. As I descend the stairs I hear him yell out to me.

"As if you didn't like it!"

I smile. Big, and dumb and childlike because he can't see me. The feeling of my hands on his chest runs through my mind. And then, rats, rats are running through my mind. I'm fucking hungry? (thirsty? I don't know, both?) I practically run to the Catacombs. I'm planning to drain three of them, have a  quick debrief on the Simon/Baz situation, then kiss him all night long until my lips turn blue. Bluer than then they already are as a member of the undead.