Chapter Text
Simon
I can’t stop kissing Baz. I’ve kissed him until my mouth was sore, and kept coming back for more—and he seems to like it, because he lets himself melt into my arms whenever I pull him close. I pull him close in the mornings when we’re getting ready, and kiss him so hard that we’re both rumpled and late for breakfast. I pull him close in between classes, surprising him from doorways and niches in the wall—I kiss him up against columns and tapestries, walls and windows, and I’m always pulling him closer. I don’t have to pull him close in the bed, but I do anyway—I can’t be too close, I’d hold him so tight that I’d pull him into me, if I could.
I’m starving for him, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get enough.
Baz
Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.
Whatever this is doesn’t feel real to me; it’s delicate, and if I don’t hold it in my cupped hands so, so carefully, it might all blow away on the first brisk puff of wind. As gently as I’m inclined to handle this development, I’m learning not to handle Snow himself as though he were fragile. Snow puts his whole body into it when he kisses me, and if I were alive I’d probably be covered in bruises from his manhandling. I don’t think I’d mind.
We sleep comfortably entwined in each other’s limbs now, without any of the uncomfortable negotiations we used to undergo. Every time Snow wraps himself around my body, my heart swells to capacity and breaks all over again. I love him with my entire being, and I have for a long time. I don’t know what I’m going to do when this spell finally breaks.
Simon
The first night after we kissed, I spooned myself around Baz and revelled in letting myself breathe in his scent. He smelled like sun-warmed wood and citrus, and it was all so familiar and brand new all at once. It was the first time I’d let myself admit that I like the smell of him—more than like it.
“Snow. Are you licking me?” he’d asked. And Merlin help me, I was.
“Kind of feel like you should call me Simon after we just spent the entire evening making out, but I might not care anymore,” I’d replied. Then, because I was finally able to think beyond how much I wanted to kiss Baz (but only barely), I’d asked, “Why do you think the spell didn’t work on Penny?”
He’d sighed. I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t know the answer, or didn’t like the question. Or both. “I don’t know, Snow,” he’d said, rolling over in my arms so that he was on his back. I’d tucked my head under his chin and closed my eyes.
Baz
I’ve just left Elocution, where I spent the final five minutes of class insulting Snow’s (entirely adequate) performance. I’m settling in for an afternoon’s revision in the library, when a freckled hand shoots out from the stacks to pull me in by my necktie. “C’mere, prick,” Snow growls, shoving me up against the bookshelves and attempting to drag me down for a kiss. He’s three inches shorter than me, so I decide to make him work for it.
“Do you want something, Snow? Some of us have studying to do.”
He narrows his eyes at me and grinds his jaw—it’s disgustingly attractive. I knock his chin up with my knuckles and lean down, giving him what he wants. I can’t help smiling against Simon’s mouth while he struggles to deepen the kiss. He’s a man unhinged, a force unleashed. He’s clinging to my biceps and driving me into the books. I’m going to have the spines of City of Gargoyles and Smite, Slay, Love imprinted on my shoulders at this rate. Hmph.
***
Simon
“Snow, what are you doing now?”
I knew Baz was going to make a fuss. ”I’m stretching. I always stretch before falling asleep.”
“We’ve been sharing this bed long enough that I think I’d recall you stretching your great heavy limbs over the entire space.”
I lean up on one elbow as much as the spell will allow, making sure I keep one leg and arm slung over Baz’s body. “I’ve been being considerate. But now that we’re…you know.” He gives me an unimpressed look. I try again. “You know.”
“I do not, Snow.”
“Hmm, I’d better show you,” I say, pulling him in and burying my face in his neck.
“Yes, I think you’d best.”
***
Baz
“Snow.”
He snuggles in closer and yawns. “What?”
“About earlier. I don’t know if I like that your idea of familiarity is being inconsiderate.”
Simon groans and pushes his nose against my chest. “Was my stretching really that bad?”
I smirk. “No, it was rather cute, actually.”
“Aargh, you’re the worst.”
I am. But Simon rolls on top of me, laughing and kissing my face, and I quickly forget to feel even the least bit sorry.
***
Simon
I may have improved in my classes now that I’m getting more sleep, but my eighth year spell is still doing my head in. I think some part of me never expected to make it this far—not to the end of my school days, not to proper adulthood. I’ve barely let myself think beyond the present at all, and now it’s all coming to an end.
Baz is sitting on the floor when I enter the room, leaning against his wardrobe with his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He’s chewing one end of his pencil while he goes over his notes, but he puts his work aside when he sees me. He draws his knees up and pats one, so I crawl between them and sit with my back against his chest, turning my face into his neck and planting a kiss beneath his jaw. “Hey, babe,” I sigh.
Baz pushes my face away with the heel of his palm. “That’s extraordinarily stupid,” he scoffs. I roll my eyes as he begins carding his fingers through my hair. My curls aren’t nearly as silky as his hair; they snag in places. I don’t mind. Baz nuzzles my ear so that I feel his chin move when he asks, “Where have you been all afternoon, you muppet?”
I shrug—my shoulder bumps Baz’s nose. “Sorry,” I mutter, then, “I was practising my sword work in the Wavering Woods. I was thinking.”
“About what?” I shrug again, more carefully this time. “Snow.” Baz takes my chin and turns my face toward his, then runs the pad of his thumb over the crease between my eyes. “What’s eating at you?”
It’s a bit of a struggle to turn around so that I’m kneeling between his legs—I can’t believe how safe it feels, being this close—and rest my palms on his chest. I let my forehead drop to his. He feels so good. I tell him so. “Ever since I cast the spell, I feel so grounded when we touch,” I murmur. Baz’s muscles tense up beneath my hands.
I’m trying to find his mouth, but suddenly he’s not having it. “The spell,” he says flatly.
Does Baz not feel our connection too? I frown at him. “I thought you—”
“You thought I what, Snow? Fell under your little spell and all of a sudden, you’re irresistible to me?” He shoves me on my arse as he stands up and sneers down at me. “The Chosen One always gets his way.”
What? “Baz!” I can’t believe the look he’s giving me. How the hell have I messed this up so soon? I try to grab for his wrist, but he’s too quick for me. Baz steps back, then almost seems to relent. “I don’t want to fight,” I say softly.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to fight you, Snow. Not in any real way.” Then he turns and leaves.
Baz
It was pointless to run away from Snow, and childish besides. I just couldn’t bear the sight of him looking like a kicked puppy. Of course it was the spell making him want to be near me; he never really believed in us. As much as I tried to prepare myself for this moment, it still hurts more than I could have guessed. I come back to the room to sleep, because I don’t know what else to do—nothing else feels right anymore. When I get in the bed, Snow curls around my spine—he can’t help it. “Baz, I’m sorry.” The spell wouldn’t let him move away from me even if he wanted to. He exhales, and his hot breath gusts over the nape of my neck. (Mouth-breather.) “I’ve been worried about my eighth year spell, that’s all.”
Ah, yes. That’s what started this mess in the first place. “I’ll help you with your spell, Snow.” He grunts as if surprised. I don’t know why. When it comes to him, my pride is a distant memory. “All you had to do was ask.”
His arms are wrapped around my waist, and he squeezes me tighter now. He tries to kiss my jaw, just beneath my ear, and I shake my head so that my hair gets in his face. “Don’t,” I whisper. I’m weak, or I’d make him roll onto his back so we could lie next to each other, staring at the ceiling like we did on those first nights. Crowley, I’d leave the room entirely and just sleep in the library.
Simon sighs and drops his face to my shoulder. In spite of how my heart is aching, his body is still the closest to home I’ve ever felt. Once I close my eyes, I drift into a dreamless sleep.
***
“Your technique is abysmal, Snow.” He hasn’t worked out a new spell yet, so I’ve been trying to teach him to elevate his casting in general. He’s been waving his wand around like he’s a mad conductor, and not for the first time, I feel the urge to cover my head. He’s going to take it off if he’s not careful—by brute force if not magical mishap. Gripping his wrist, I demonstrate a smooth twist, but he resists.
“I’m not like you, Baz,” he whines. Truer words were never spoke. “I’m not graceful. I’m, I’m—”
“A helliphant in a crystal ball shop. A thornocerous in—”
“All right, geez!”
I smirk. Snow’s red-faced frustration is truly a sight to behold. If his attraction to me weren’t caused by the spell, there’s so many things I’d love to do with him in a state like this. His shirt is untucked and has ridden up just enough to show a sliver of his waist—he has just the barest beginning of love handles—and I lose track of all sensible thought.
”You cast it, then,” he says, jutting out his chin.
“Very well.” I turn my attention to the teapot on his desk. “You’re getting warmer!” Despite the thin tendril of steam that begins floating from the spout, Snow presses his palm to the side of the teapot anyway. I roll my eyes when he snatches his hand back and shakes it off—he’s exactly the sort of numpty who tests a plate after the server tells him it’s hot.
“Hmph!” he grunts, scowling. I wish I could kiss his entire face worry-free. “Here, let me see what you’re doing.” He gets behind me and presses up against my back—curse my life—as he wraps one beefy hand over mine.
“I already tried to show you—”
“But you were guiding me. Let me feel how you do it, Baz.”
“All right,” I say, lifting my shoulder to annoy him—he’s leaning over me and can barely rest his chin properly, thanks to the difference in our heights. Simon responds by wrapping his other arm around my waist to keep us together while I lift our hands and point my wand. I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror. Crowley, what he does to me. “A feast for the eyes!” I cast, but as I flick my wrist, Snow sighs deeply and I feel a rush of intense power burn down my arm.
Simon
I don’t know what just happened. Baz hasn’t let me get too close outside of bed ever since I upset him, and just now, the way the scent of him filled my nostrils…I lost control. Whatever I’ve done wrong, I only wanted to fix it. I wanted to be close with him again, to share my whole self. And when he cast, I felt his spell calling to my magic. Somehow, I just opened up. Now, my entire desk is stacked high with food: meat pies, sausage rolls, roast potatoes, bowls of fruit, and platters of cakes, biscuits, and scones. My mouth is watering from the smell, although Baz’s face is a picture of confusion as he sniffs the air.
“I’m bloody famished,” I say, reaching eagerly for a sausage roll.
“Snow, it’s not—” Baz breaks off when I cram the roll in my gob. “How did you—?” He frowns, watching me chew. “Can you…taste it?” he asks.
“’Course I can,” I mumble around the savoury roll. I wipe my hand over my mouth when crumbs fly out. “’s delicious.”
He reaches out and lifts a scone, sniffs at it, then takes a nibble. “You’re not supposed to be able to smell, touch, or taste it,” he says. “It’s a feast for the eyes, Snow.”
“That’s a dumb spell. What’s the point? Why’d you cast it?”
Baz is staring at the heap of food, hands on hips. “I was thinking of something else,” he murmurs absentmindedly. “Snow, did you do this?”
My mouth is full, but I make the effort to swallow. “No! How could I? You were the one that cast the spell.” But now that he mentions it, there was that funny moment… “I did feel something strange,” I admit guiltily.
Baz is nodding. “As did I. It felt like more than my own magic, like you…pushed.”
I think about it. “It felt more like opening a gate to me,” I say. “Or a dam.”
The afternoon sun is shining in through the window, highlighting shadows beneath Baz’s eyes. I know he sleeps well enough, so it must be stress. He picks up a pear, examines it, and carelessly tosses it back on the desk. “Did you share your magic with me?”
“Maybe?” I feel vulnerable, and a little exposed. I feel like a dog that’s just been sick on the rug.
Baz meets my gaze with steel-eyed assurance. “Do it again,” he says.
Baz
Snow looks like a puppy that’s just been smacked with a rolled-up newspaper, shoulders hunched up and forehead creased. His cheeks are flushed and although he’s not really moving, he’s somehow giving a distinct vibe of squirminess.
“Here,” I say, stepping forward and taking one of his hands in mine. His shoulders visibly relax. “Try and share it again, just a little.”
Closing his eyes, Simon nods and inhales deeply. I feel a thrumming—no, more like a buzzing—in my hand, as though I’ve plunged it into a hive and come free with a fistful of bees. “Snow,” I whisper. It feels like flame shooting up my arm.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, his eyes suddenly wide. I grasp his other hand to keep him from pulling away, and the flames fill my chest, opening me up.
I shake my head. “It feels natural,” I whisper, because it does. I come from two very long lines of fire magicians; dead as I am, fire feels like life to me. Is this how Simon feels all the time? Is he this exposed to the world? More likely, it’s worse for him—I can tell he’s holding back. “It feels like I could do anything.” It does: I could reshape the world, send it backwards on its axis, make it someplace that could possibly house something as large as my love for Simon Snow. It would be a place that could be kind to him.
“Go on,” Snow says, licking his lips. “Cast something, Baz.”
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream,” I sing, and cool water rushes over us, lifting us up and up. Simon gasps, but then we’re sitting in a small boat, floating beneath a warm and benevolent sun. “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily; life is but a dream.”
Simon’s golden skin practically glows as he turns his freckled face up to a cloudless sky, and he laughs when a passing dragonfly tickles his nose. “Did we—teleport?” he asks, looking around without dropping my hands. I can hear crickets chirping and smell the algae brewing in the shallows of the slow-moving stream we find ourselves on.
“I don’t know,” I reply, equally awestruck. Nursery rhymes are notoriously powerful spells due to how entrenched they are from youngest days, but no one could cast a spell with such visceral effects. I drop one of Simon’s hands to reach over the side of the boat, scooping up enough water to flick over at his face. He crinkles his nose and grins at me. “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” is a gentle sort of rhyme, the repetitiveness soothing in the same way that the words themselves compel: keep moving on, enjoying the little moments in this brief time that we have.
I still feel huge, channeling Simon’s immense magic. I can’t believe anyone could live while holding this kind of power inside themselves, but of course he can. He can do anything. He’s humming the rhyme to himself under his breath, and I try to hide my smile. The rhyme is often sung as a round, I remember, and it’s more powerful when it builds that way. Every voice joining in, every person making their own way down the river. Even though we all have our own lives and burdens, sometimes it’s enough to know that we’re traveling together. I drop Simon’s hands and gasp as we find ourselves standing back in our room, inches apart. I take a step back before he can grab for me again. “I have an idea for your spell,” I say.
***
Simon
I’m not sure why Baz still wants to help me, but I’m glad that he does. We spent the afternoon practising, and it almost took my mind off how badly I wanted to pull him into my arms—almost.
From what he’s said, I figure Baz thinks it’s the spell that’s caused us to be attracted to each other, and he doesn’t want that. I’m trying to respect his boundaries, but it’s hard. I still wake up in the mornings with one arm and leg thrown over him, my mouth pressed up against the nape of his neck. He hasn’t been stroppy with me about it, thank Merlin. He just gently extricates himself as if this is a thing we do, which I suppose it is.
Maybe he’s right about how we feel; I never hungered to be close to him before I cast ‘Pull yourself together’ on the bed. Did I? My mind is playing with me, reminding me of how often I wondered if his hair would feel as silky in my fingers as it looks (it does.) (Did.) Merlin, what if I never get to touch him on purpose again? I try not to think about it.
It’s making me mental.
Baz
I’ve untangled myself from Snow’s sweaty embrace (again) and we’ve performed the daily ritual of sitting up and climbing off the bed together; we’re experts now. We’re expert at not talking to each other about it, too.
Crowley, what are bodies? Even though I’m not really alive, I somehow still have to deal with the utter ridiculousness and indignity of corporeality and its attendant needs. I try to imagine a world where I don’t have to want to jump Simon Snow’s bones every time he walks in the room (with his broad shoulders and his freckled face, and that blasted soft look he keeps giving me). I try to imagine a world in which his touch doesn’t instantly soothe my soul. It’s all too much. I don’t think it exists, this imaginary place where I’m not utterly obsessed with him. It’s more than physical; it’s infinite. A sob catches in my throat as I make my way into the en suite, and I quickly close the door.
***
Simon
“You’re doing your eighth year spell with Baz?” Penelope practically does a spit-take over her tea. I glance around the dining hall, but it’s mostly empty at this time of day. She thumps at her chest as she fixes me with watering eyes. “How? Why?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. Penny and I have had a ‘no secrets’ pact forever, and I’ve been keeping so much from her these past few weeks. I feel like a plonker. “’S a lot,” I mumble sheepishly.
Penny folds her arms. “I’ve got nothing but time, Simon.”
“Well, it started with the bed,” I say, and her eyes go wide. I’ve never been especially good with words, so it takes awhile to completely fill her in. By the time I’ve finished, I think I’ve seen every fragment of human emotion slide across her face, and she’s gone red and sputtering at least three times.
Penny narrows her eyes at me, then rolls them as she brushes crumbs from her fingers. “Why are you telling me now, Simon? I mean, I would have had questions when I inevitably found out that you were doing your spell with Baz. But the rest—accidentally spelling your beds together? Developing feelings for the person you’ve been unironically describing as your nemesis for the last eight years? Simon, you’ve been lying this long. So why tell me at all?”
“I haven’t been lying!” I feel miserable. “I…just haven’t been telling much.”
Softening, Penny puts a plump hand over mine. “It seems like it’s been weighing on you,” she says. I shrug. She reaches for a biscuit from a plate I somehow didn’t notice. Merlin, I am a mess.
“The thing I don’t get,” I say as Penny chews thoughtfully, “is why nothing happened when you sat on the bed beside me. Why just Baz? Because he was in the room with me when I cast the spell?”
“Look, Simon.” Penny takes a deep breath and then lets it out in a long-suffering sigh. “Sometimes spells—especially untested ones—come from phrases with more than one meaning. And sometimes shades of that show up in the magic they cast.”
“What do you mean?” I frown, but Penny just gives me a wan little smile.
“You’ll figure it out, Simon.” She stands and begins gathering her books into a stack, then fixes me with a peculiarly searching stare. “That’s the important part.”
***
Miss Possibelf has to tell the class to shut up twice after they find out Baz and I will perform our eighth year spell together. (Well, she didn’t use the words ‘shut up,’ but she may as well have.) Trixie and Keris are still whispering as we make our way to the front of the room, and Gareth gives one last hoot when I share a look with Baz.
Clearing his throat, Baz places a pot of soil on the table, and I take a deep breath. “Some spells are hard,” I begin, and I hear him give a little snort. “They take more magic than any one person might be able to muster alone.”
“Our spell allows mages to work together when they cast,” Baz says. “In days past, the skill was practised through song, one chorus of voices producing a magnified effect. However, it was intended for very specific magic, the spells that were cast by one choral song alone. Our spell will enable a combining effect on any other spell.”
Miss Possibelf shifts in her seat by the window, visibly intrigued. “Baz will cast ‘something out of nothing,’” I announce, and half our classmates audibly gasp. It’s a notoriously difficult spell. “And then we’ll show you what the spell we made together can do.”
Baz shoots his wand from the leather holster he wears on his forearm, and I feel myself white-knuckling the edge of the table. Magic above, that’s dead sexy. Setting his sights on the pot of dirt, Baz points his wand and speaks with magic: ”Something out of nothing!”
His elocution and tone are perfect, and he’s a powerhouse of a magician himself, so a green sprout emerges and grows to the height of a couple of inches. Tuning out the appreciative ‘oohs’ of our classmates, I point my own wand, touching it to Baz’s, and then we cast together: “Share the burden!”
The sprout shoots up halfway to the ceiling and thickens into a sapling, branching and leafing like mad. I look sideways at Baz, but he’s not even breaking a sweat. Neither am I. Together, we’ve made something impressive but controlled, and I sigh in relief.
We drop our wands, and even though he’s been acting distanced for ages now, we can’t help sharing a grin. Baz has the most beautiful smile of anyone I know, and I haven’t had nearly enough time with it turned in my direction. Something hard and determined blooms in my gut. Eighth year is essentially complete, but I’m not finished yet.
***
Baz
Snow tries to catch me after class, but it’s late in the day and I’m able to give him the slip long enough to hunt. It’s been weeks since he last accused me of being a vampire, and I still haven’t confessed. I think I would now, if he asked, because I’m too shattered to do anything else. Soon the term will be over; Snow and I will go our separate ways. If magic shows me any grace at all, I’ll never see his freckled face again. The thought fails to bring me any comfort whatsoever.
I was wrong when I told him that I’d never been able to fight him, but whatever appetite I had for it has evaporated. I feel like a gourd that’s been scraped of all its innards with a metal spoon. My useless heart may as well be laid out on newspaper amongst a pile of flesh and seeds.
I take my time hunting, making sure the moon is rising in the sky by the time I get back to the room. “Baz!” Snow is sitting on the windowsill when I enter the room, and the light in his eyes is giving the strong impression of an ambush. Sighing heavily, I throw my bag on the floor and let the door swing shut behind me. I don’t say anything, but he approaches anyway, cheeks flushed and—despite my best efforts to gorge myself tonight—smelling good enough to eat. “Um, hi.”
“Hello, Snow.” I arch an eyebrow at him and use my height to advantage—he has to tilt his head to see my face when we’re standing this close. Aleister Crowley, it hurts to look at him.
Snow lifts his hands and then draws them back, hassling the bronze curls on top of his head. His frustration has always done things to me, and now is no different. “Look,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about the spell. About us.” I don’t say anything, instead folding my arms across my chest to keep myself from reaching for him.
“I know you think you only want me because the spell is making you,” he says, and I scoff in spite of myself. Simon’s forehead creases in consternation. “What?”
I close my eyes. I don’t have anything more that can be stripped from me: Pride? Dignity? Any last shrivelled sense of hope? “I don’t think that, you numpty. I think the spell is making you want me.” I can’t take advantage of him, and I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it when the magic finally loses hold. I’d rather be on the other side of the Earth when Simon Snow suddenly realizes he still loathes the sight of me.
He’s stubborn; of course he is. Simon thrusts his chin out at me and glares. “You think I’m under a spell but you aren’t? Because…you don’t want me?”
“I’ve wanted you since we were 15 years old, Snow!” I’ve said it now. I can’t take it back. I take a step back and stare at the floor. “Maybe before, even.”
He works his jaw back and forth, as though trying to grind this new information between his teeth. “Penny had a kind of theory about the spell,” he says, finally.
“You told Bunce?”
“I wondered why she hadn’t been affected when she sat on the bed with me, and she said that sometimes spells can act on different shades of meaning. I didn’t understand at first, but I think I might be starting to get it now.” He takes a step forward again, and I can’t move any farther back without being pinned against the door. “Baz. I don’t think these feelings were new for me, either.”
I sneer. “Snow, since the day we met, not a moment has passed that you haven’t despised me. And I gave you plenty of reason to.”
“That’s not true. We grew up together, Baz, it’s always been us. And you never tried to hurt me.”
“I did. At least a few times, I really did.” He’s so close to me now. I feel the door against my back after all, and his breath is warm against my chin. (Mouth breather, always.) His blue eyes have gone nearly black.
“Yeah, but that was your family’s influence. I don’t believe you wanted to.” Simon reaches up and cups my face.
I close my eyes. “All I ever wanted to do was love you,” I whisper. I may as well say it.
Simon’s brow creases earnestly, hiding the mole above his left eye in a furrow. “So do it. Baz, just love me. It’s what I want too.”
Simon
Baz looks so lost right now, and I can’t bear it. I stroke my thumb across his cheek and step up on my toes, pulling his face toward me. When we kiss, it’s like a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying in my chest has vanished. I can finally breathe, although it doesn’t matter, because if Baz lets me have my way I’m never coming back up for air. He follows my mouth as I drop my heels and begin walking us back toward the bed.
He halts when I turn him around. “Snow, there’s things you still don’t know about me. You need—”
Shaking my head impatiently, I push him back on the bed and shuck off my shoes. “I already know. I’ve always known you’re a vampire. I don’t care, Baz, because all I want to do is love you, too.”
I kneel down on the mattress beside him, and I’m just reaching to loosen his necktie when Baz catches my hand. “Snow,” he says sharply.
“Sorry, do you—” He sits up and stares at me, and suddenly I realize that I’m not in his lap. I want to be, but Merlin—there’s no magical force pushing us together. The spell has broken. “Oh,” I say.
“Oh,” he confirms, smiling softly.
“So Penny was right,” I begin. “The spell—” I break off when he pushes a hand over my mouth and takes me by the waist with the other.
“I don’t want to talk about Bunce right now,” he says, but he’s laughing. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I love him. I don’t know how long that’s been going on, but I know I never want it to stop. I nod my head, kissing the heel of his palm, and then he moves it so I can kiss him everywhere else. “Snow,” he murmurs as we fall back on the bed together. “Simon.”
***
It’s already bright outside when I wake up the next morning with Baz in my arms. I have one leg thrown over his hip and the other pushed between his knees, my chin resting over his shoulder. It’s warm lying in the beam of sun let in by our open window, but Baz feels refreshingly cool against my skin. I snug him in closer.
“You know we don’t have to sleep tangled up like this anymore,” he grumbles, but then I feel his lips against my arm, pressing small kisses everywhere he can reach. Eventually, I let him roll onto his back so I can hold myself up over him on my elbows. I like this, waking up next to him by choice. I kiss the underside of his jaw. It’s scratchy with stubble. I love it. “I’m not breakfast, you animal,” he says at last, laughing.
“I beg to differ.” Nevertheless, I roll onto my back and throw a leg over his, because spell or no, I can’t bear not touching him. When I turn to look at Baz, his eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. “I wonder why the beds didn’t separate when the spell broke,” I say suddenly.
Baz shifts his head to rest on my shoulder. “Not everything needs an explanation, Snow,” he yawns. “Take the win.”
“Housekeeping will have our heads when they find out.”
Baz’s eyes flicker up at me. He’s grinning wickedly. “Yes, but we’ll be long gone by then,” he says. “They’ll never catch us. On to bigger and better beds.”
“Smaller beds aren’t so bad.” I smirk as Baz reaches up to stroke his finger down the bridge of my nose. “I kind of like being smooshed in against you.”
Baz lifts his chin, and I lean down to kiss him. “You don’t ever have to worry about that,” he whispers, and I pull him closer still.