BITE - a snowbaz fanfiction

12

 "Baz?" Simon whispers gently. "Do you want me to go with you when you— when you hunt?"

Truthfully, I would say yes. I'm terrified.

But does a Pitch ever accept help?

Well. I'm only half-Pitch, and I'm gay and a vampire, so I might as well not be included in the family name. All's to say, my family, in general, is not for me.

I still compensate my confidence with an unspoken yes, a look in my eyes that says it all. Simon nods, walks away to the living room, then turns around again, a quick glance at me.

Poor love, he's worried.

I'm worried, too.

I follow him into the living room and sit on the sofa with my legs folded underneath my bottom. "Simon."

"Yeah."

"Mum hasn't shown up since. Frankly, I'm pretty sure she disappeared or something after she . . ." My voice trails off. "Anyway, uh, I think we'll be all right, yeah?"

He hesitates, then nods.

I pat the cushion beside me, beckoning him over. Simon shuffles towards me from behind and springs himself over the back, hopping down beside me.

I pull him closer to me, him lying on my stomach, my legs on each side of him. I gently massage his shoulders until I feel his muscles relax, then I just hold him with me, just hold him tightly.

"We'll be alright."

"Don't watch me," I say in a low voice, turning my back away from Snow.

He snaps his wings down, and a cloud of dirt billows into the air. "You've drunk from my own neck, Basil."

I bare my fangs at him, but his face is telling me there's nothing I can do to challenge him, so I close my mouth once again.

I sit down against a tree and sink my array of sharp teeth into a poor little rabbit. Once I get that first taste of richness, it's hard to not drain the animal to its carcass in a second. So I try to take my time, I try to be calm, because I've been on the verge of breaking down ever since I've been outside.

I don't notice Simon until he's right beside me, gazing intently at me. He's silent until he watches me drop the corpse beside me. (It wasn't enough.)

"How do you— how do you know you're immortal?" he asks curiously like a schoolboy.

"I don't, not really, I guess," I speak through muffled teeth. "S'what I've heard."

"So you're, like, immune to diseases and old age, but not fire?"

"I wasn't ever given a handbook on vampires after I was Turned," I snap at him.

I lower my eyes to the ground, but he pushes my chin up again, forcing me to look into his fierce pale blue gaze.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he says quietly.

I stare down his neck, not daring to look in his eyes, his stupidly beautiful eyes.

I'm silent.

"Look at me."

I do.

He leans his head closer to me and presses our foreheads together, still not breaking eye contact with me.

"I get it, all right?" he says.

I push him away from me. "You— you don't get it, don't say that," I mutter. "You don't get it," I repeat.

He doesn't come back, he stays where he is, fallen back on the ground.

There's a painful look on his face that makes me almost regret what I said. I regret everything I say to him that makes him look so distraught like that.

But I've never learned how to apologize, because I never thought anyone really deserved an apology.

"Basilton," he whispers.

"Snow."

(The difference, not only in the tones, but in the names we call each other. Me, by my first and full name, Snow by his last name.)

"I'm— I didn't mean— I'm sorry."

(That's what he always says. 'I'm sorry.' His first attempt to fix things.)

(It always works, too.)

"No, don't— don't do that, okay? Stop being sorry, it's not even you," I say, my volume growing.

And, well, that's when he crawls back toward me, so close to me that his breath is tickling my nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, a smirk forming on his lips.

Then he grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me the small distance from my lips to his.

I almost expect him to pull back away from me in fear of cutting his tongue, or even just from my breath, but he seems to sink into it even more.

Before I can stop myself, my head lurches forward and I bite his bottom lip, pulling away in horror when I see the trickle of blood from his mouth.

His mouth is hanging open, he's surprised—I push his chin up and shut his mouth, willing myself not to bite.

"Simon—" I stop.

His bottom lip is tucked behind his teeth, and he's letting out short breaths through his nose, eyes half-lidded.

And he's leering at me.

He tips his head back and exposes his entire neck with this smug expression on his face.

(He hasn't worn his cross since—)

(It's annoying as hell.)

"S—stop," I say weakly.

(I might as well have not drained that rabbit—it's doing nothing to fill me anymore.)

"I don't want to hurt you," I say, my pitch rising.

"It doesn't hurt."

The droplet of blood is leaning dangerously over the edge of his lip, taunting me. Simon sees me eyeing the liquid, and he wipes it away with his thumb.

Then he's pushing that same thumb up against my lip, and it's all I can do to not jump at the blood right below my nose.

"It doesn't hurt," he repeats.

I push his hand away. "I won't be able to stop."

He leans closer to me and stares dead into my eyes. "I trust you."

He bites his tongue, hard.

Then he pulls me towards him again into a sloppy kiss, but this time, not only is there that heart-skipping tickle of his tongue touching my own, but there's also this heavenly metallic tang of fresh blood in my mouth.

I'm becoming addicted to this blood that Simon so rarely gives me, but when he does, he really gives it. He doesn't just let me take it, he gives it to me, all that he can give.

I've got every night with you, Simon Snow.