BITE - a snowbaz fanfiction

6

I've only shared a bed with Simon once before.

That was right after the Mage died, when all he could do was cling to me and drink tea and cry and sleep.

He slept on top of me last night, his hands on my hips, his chin on my chest.

I open my eyes.

Snow is asleep.

(That's all right.)

The sheets are pooled around his bare back, covering both of us from the waist down.

(They're quite low on his hips.)

(Crowley, his hips, he's perfect.)

I lift the hand that's already around his lower back, below his wings, and I rub slow circles on his side, on his warm, bronze skin. The sun is gleaming on his skin, like light waves billowing over his beauty.

Everything about him is perfect.

Simon Snow, my chosen one.

He scoots up higher on top of me, hair in my face, then he moans softly into my neck. I bring my hand up to his neck and stroke his mess of curls through my fingers.

These are the moments when I don't believe my luck.

I sigh into his head and close my eyes, still rubbing his back, still twirling his hair.

"Baz," Snow whispers. "I'm awake."

His wings unfold and span out the size of my bed, blanketing over us.

I stop rubbing his back.

"No, don't— don't stop, yeah? It's . . . nice," he says, pushing his face into my neck.

I smile and wrap both my arms around his chest, one on the crook of his back, the other below the back of his neck. I rub circles with my thumb on his spine, and he sighs.

"Simon?"

"Yeah."

(I was going to ask if he's wearing any clothes, because Mordelia will be storming into my room at any second, but honestly? I don't care.)

(Also, he's on top of me, so I'm fairly sure the question's already answered.)

(Don't even ask.)

(All I'm saying is that he's quite—)

"Mon amour," I murmur nearly silently, then, "I love you, Simon."

And then.

"I love you," he whispers almost silently.

(Because he didn't say it back last night.)

(He was too busy snogging—)

Snow pushes himself up on his elbows, leans over my face, and kisses my lips softly, slowly, perfectly.

It's not a deep kiss, just a light, lovely touch, but it's so magical and wonderful that it's possibly better than anything more intense than this kiss.

He pulls his lips away from me and holds himself high above me, his hands on each side of me. He's not looking at me.

I push my hands against his chest and rub with my thumbs. "Snow?"

He looks at me again. "Basil, it's the Veil, I can feel it. It's not . . . it's not so thick anymore, it's . . ."

He stops.

Takes a sharp breath in.

"Opening," he whispers.

And then that familiar gust of wind is here again, but this time, I can already see the faint outline of Mother.

I'm pushing Snow down, covering us with the sheets, hiding.

"Basil," she says.

I don't answer.

"Basilton," she says again.

Snow shivers in my arms.

"My son, my boy," she says to herself. "Who is this Chosen One?"

I lift the covers over our heads.

"Mum," I whisper.

"The Veil is crumbling, and I will come through. Must be cast out," she cries.

"But he's happy, Natasha, he's alive, alive," another voice whispers.

Simon's eyes widen.

"Look, he loves my rosebud boy, my son, look."

"Rose— rosebud boy?" Snow stutters.

"I wish I could see you, my son, but you will never cross the fog," the other woman says.

"Vampires, vampires!" Mother snarls.

Vampire s?

"Two vampire boys, Lucy! They must be cast out!"

"What?" Simon yells.

"Two?" I whisper.

Is Simon a vampire?

One that doesn't drink blood?

"He is my boy, my son," Lucy argues.

"Not my child," Mother snarls. "My son is dead."

And then they're gone.

Just . . .

Gone.

And I'm left here with a terrified Snow and a terrified self that really needs a drink.

"Baz?" Simon whispers. "Are you— are you all right?"

"I need to go hunt," I say through bared fangs, pulling a shirt on hastily.

Snow is giving me a look that says 'I don't have enough blood to give you.'

I put my hand on his shoulder. "And I also need to get us out of this house."

He juts his chin out and swallows. "You're coming back?"

I nod.

He drops his head. "It's been weeks."

(I'm sorry I never messaged you back.)

(I'm sorry I left you.)

(I should have never left you, Simon.)
I don't say anything for a while.

"Baz?"

"I'll be back in an hour, Simon." I stand up and shuffle to the door. "Then we'll go home."