Chamber by Chamber // Snowbaz

My Love

COC #8: Endearment Terms

Simon is very much done with Baz calling him Snow... and Baz is plenty okay with that.

~ Let's be honest, I would just melt if anybody ever called me 'my love'. *Sigh*. So fluffy. Enjoy! ~

"Oh for Christs' sake, Baz!" I only swear like a Normal when I'm particularly angry (especially at Baz), and right now I'm fuming. (Once again- because of Baz.) I was already having a fucking bad day and then I get back to our rooms and he starts in on me right away! He seemed particularly feisty today; commenting on bloody everything wrong with me. (My hair, my clothes, my personality.) And it wouldn't have been so bad if every other fucking word out of his mouth wasn't condescendingly saying Snow.

Well, Snow, I wouldn't expect you to get it. Too half witted for your own good, Snow. Blimey, Snow, can you ever manage to look even half decent? Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow. Baz's voice was sarcastic and tight, laced with his usual venom. But after seven years of sharing a room (a home) with the git, I would expect him to at least have the common decency to not call me by my last name! (My middle name?) Even though he's a cruel tit, a complete numpty and an all-around areshole of an enemy... the least he can do for me on this terrible day is call me by my proper name.

"What, Snow? Something got your knickers in a twist?" He rolls his eyes as he lays back on his bed, eyeing me to make sure I don't explode. (I'm already almost to that point- he should be bracing for bloody impact.)

"You, Baz. Always you!" I take a deep breath and turn around to face him. He's standing up too, now. "Why can't you just call me by my proper name?" He scoffs. (Him and that infuriating scoff and his fucking raised eyebrows.)

"Snow is your proper name, Snow." He's speaking calmly, as though he was talking to a child, but I can hear irritation and frustration behind every word.

"Crowley, Baz, you're just so- I would rather be, Jesus fucking Christ you tit, why can't you-" I pull at the roots of my hair and then press my palms to my eyes and take a deep breath. (For what feels like the umpteenth time today.) "Merlin, Baz I would rather have you call me pet names than call me Sn-" I stop abruptly in the middle of my sentence as I look at Baz's face to see a slow smirk crawling on his face. "Oh no..." I whisper, realizing what I've just done.

He looks thoughtful as he says, "Oh, is that so?" I vigorously shake my head no, but once Baz sets his mind on something, there's no turning back. What in the bloody hell have I done? Baz takes a step closer to me... and then a step closer. I can feel his breath whisper across my face as I look into his grey eyes- much like pavement on a rainy day. I feel my own breath hitch. "I can make that happen, love..." I want to scream. In a good way or bad, I'm not quite sure, but I decide not to think about it at the moment. (The only thing I'm thinking about is staying upright.) (It's quite difficult.)

"Baz, I-"

"Yes, babe?" He has a shit-eating grin taking up half his features. The look might be lovely if it weren't so... unsettling at the moment.

"You can just call me Snow; really, I overreacted-" He brings a cold finger up to my lips to shush me. Since I can't seem to form many coherent things, I stay quiet.

"Why ruin the fun, pumpkin?" My voice gets caught in my throat and I feel my heart jump when he pulls away, moving back to his bed. I follow suit, moving to mine own. He spells the lights off and gets under his sheets, telling me that the conversation is over. I can only hope that he's done by tomorrow. "Night, hot stuff." His voice wavers like he was nervous about saying it. My head is spinning.

I sigh defeatedly. "G'night, Basil." He scoffs in response, but not as unkindly as he was only a moment ago. I fall asleep hoping against all hopes that he stops this tomorrow. (Part of me wants him to carry on- although I might explode if he does.)

...

The next morning, I wake, my hair sticking up all over the place. Before I can even get out of bed, I see Baz fixing his tie in the mirror. I freeze, remembering the events of last night. Baz catches my eye in the mirror and sneers. I growl back, and we go on about our mornings as though nothing has changed. But right before Baz goes out the door to breakfast, he stops and looks at me.

Gruffly and with malice in his voice, he says, "Unfortunately, I'll see you later, Sn-" He pauses, a revelation passing his features. He grins. "My love." My love. My love. I've been called my love by a vampire. By my enemy. By a bloke. By T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch. My love. Damn it all to hell if that isn't the best term of endearment that there is.

Before Baz can get out the door, I run at him, shoving him against the wall. "The anathema-" Baz starts. (It's funny how even though we hate each other we'll remind each other about the anathema.) I shake my head, looking at him in the eyes. (His lovely, lovely grey eyes.) His breath is shaking (much like mine) and Crowley his hair is falling in waves around his face. He looks caught off guard and out of his element.

"Say it again," I spit at him. "I fucking dare you," My nose is bumping into his and I can feel the magic radiating off me in waves.

"Say wh-"

"You know what, you insufferable bastard. I. Dare. You." It's like he's looking into my soul. (My eyes bore into his as well, so perhaps it's even.) It's as though we're fighting with our eyes. He pauses for a long time, so I take a moment to inhale his scent of cedar and bergamot. It's like he's debating whether to say it or not. Say it, I silently beg. Just say it.

"I'll see you later... my love." I can feel his words whisper across my lips with his. I close the gap between us, swallowing up his terms of endearment with my mouth. I push against him so hard that I'm not sure I don't hurt him. (Will the Anathema kick me out for this kind of hurt?) He pushes back with equal fervor, nipping at me and exploring my mouth like it's a cave and he's the explorer. We take in gasping breaths between desperate kisses. My love. His words ring in my ears. (I s'pose this means I'm gay, or at least just a bit... I'll think about that later.)

I slow the kiss so that it's softer- like we have all the time in the world. Still, he moans against me when I tug at his hair. I swipe at every part of his mouth like I can transfer the words from his mouth into my heart- into my soul. I kiss the lips that said the words like they can run straight down my throat and into me. I kiss his throat that made the sounds that made the words. Like the loveliest of those sounds can somehow be transferred to me. My love.

I kiss him everywhere (and he lets me), hoping to transfer just a little bit of him to a little bit of me. I snog him like he himself is made of the words. All that he is (and all that he was, I s'pose) is my love. I want all of him...

All of my love.