[postscript snippet – posting in honor of karakurakid's birthday!]
[A/N - just replaced chapter 3 with an intermediate scene - sorry for any confusion for readers subscribed to the story]
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Simon wasn't sure he would ever move again. They lay on Baz's bed, shirtless, Simon on his back with one hand under his head, Baz up on one elbow at his side. Simon felt limp with release, his lips almost swollen from all the snogging, his eyelids heavy.
"You're tired," Baz said softly. He was running one hand through the short curls on Simon's head, his other hand lying warm on Simon's chest.
"Look who's talking," said Simon, opening one eye. Baz looked relaxed, but absolutely exhausted. Simon studied the dark hollows under Baz's eyes and then craned his neck to place a kiss on each one. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
Baz shrugged and didn't answer. Simon started to frown, and Baz rolled his eyes at him. "Don't fret, mother dear, I'm sure I'll sleep fine tonight." A sly smile played across his face, and he leaned down and kissed Simon's shoulder, and up his neck to his jaw. Simon shivered. "Mmm," Baz hummed, and then sighed, his breath hot on Simon's skin. "You should roll that way for a minute."
Simon hesitated for just a split second. I trust Baz, he thought, and whatever is fine with me. He started to turn, hoping Baz hadn't noticed his uncertainty.
But he had. "Hey." Baz's voice was always smooth and sleek, like some kind of jungle cat's pelt, but Simon had never heard it so gentle. He pushed Simon's shoulder back flat into the mattress and looked at him closely. "Are you nervous?" he asked quietly. "Did you think…?"
Simon shrugged. Baz raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe. But it's fine, whatever you want, Baz, it's fine—"
Baz was shaking his head. "All right, Snow, third of all—"
"'Third of all'?" Simon was confused. "Don't you mean 'first of all'?"
Baz set a long finger on Simon's lips. "Hush. I know what I mean." He cleared his throat and held up three fingers. "Third of all, I am completely knackered, and I'm just hoping to sleep with you in my arms for the rest of the night, and most of tomorrow, if at all possible." Simon grinned, and reached up to pull him into a kiss, but Baz fended off his hand. "Now, now, pontificating here. No interruptions, please. Secondly," he continued, "that sort of thing requires, ahem, some advance preparation for best results, so there's that, anyway.
"And first of all," here Baz traced his forefinger along Simon's cheek, looking into his eyes, "it's not whatever I want. I'm not going to… to push you, or sneak anything over on you. When, or if, or never—we're going to talk about it first, all right?" Simon just looked at him. Baz grabbed Simon's chin and shook it a little. "All right?"
"All… all right," Simon said. "Sorry, I just…"
"Don't be sorry, why should you be?"
"I just…" Simon chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. "I just want you to know—how I feel, that I trust you. I don't want to be nervous."
Baz closed his eyes. After a moment he swallowed hard and whispered, "Simon… you don't have to prove anything. Not to me." He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "If anything… Crowley, you should be sleeping with one eye open. I've threatened you and harassed you and lied to you and generally acted like a snotty bastard ever since we met, I can't even believe you would…." His voice was harsh now, and he started to sit up, to move away. "You are far too trusting, and I am not trustworthy, you shouldn't—"
"Baz." Simon sat up faster than he would've thought possible a minute ago, and put both hands around the other boy's narrow face, holding it like something fragile, an egg, a crystal. "Baz. Stop."
Baz was breathing heavily, his eyes dark and shadowed, and he refused to look at Simon. But he didn't pull away from his hands, either, and that gave Simon a little hope.
There had to be something he could say or do to help, to… to fix things. The obvious first solution – kissing – seemed unfair though. And he didn't want to obscure the real problem. "Baz, of course I trust you. I know you don't hurt people…."
He shut his eyes. "I came close enough last night."
"But you didn't."
"But I wanted to, gods, I wanted—"
"Actions speak louder than words." This was normally used to augment non-verbal spell-casting, but Simon wasn't trying to cast anything right now, he was just trying to cut him off, to make a point.
Baz shook his head, hunching his shoulders, crossing his arms across his chest and tucking his hands into his armpits. Simon risked sliding his hands down to rest on Baz's shoulders. He could feel him trembling – from cold? Nerves? Exhaustion?
"Baz…." Simon rubbed his bare shoulders, the back of his neck, gently. "You're just tired, you need some rest…."
"I'm not some three year old!" Baz said. (Whined, really. Simon refrained from pointing this out.)
"And—" Simon felt him shaking, and thought of the night before. "You're still… thirsty, aren't you?" Baz turned his head away, wincing, but Simon continued, matter-of-factly. "So what are we going to do about that?" No answer. "What do you usually do?" There's so much I don't know, thought Simon.
After a long pause, Baz answered, unwillingly. "Sometimes I… hunt. In the forest."
"Okay. Maybe I can help."
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Why not?"
Baz spoke slowly, with painful effort. "Because I get… scary. I don't want you in the line of fire. I don't want to risk it. It's dangerous enough for you being around me at all."
He wanted to argue – as if I care, as if I haven't put you in danger over and over again, why shouldn't I risk the same for you – but Simon could see the shadows rearing up in Baz's eyes again, so he let it go for now, tried distracting him a little. He kept rubbing small circles on Baz's back, and Baz kept allowing it. Part of him was afraid that if he stopped, if he broke the connection, that Baz would bolt.
"What about magic?"
"What about it? There's no cure, Snow, even you should know that."
"That's not what I meant. " Simon thought for a minute, about how many spells had both a metaphorical and a literal level to them. What if you started with a glass of water, and…. "What about, I don't know—blood is thicker than water, or something?"
Baz stared at him for a few seconds, blankly, blinking. "That won't work."
"Have you ever tried it?" Simon asked, stubbornly.
Baz just shook his head in what looked very much like bewilderment. "That can't possibly work."
"Maybe it will, maybe it won't." He tried a little needling. "You're just annoyed you didn't think of it first."
Baz sneered at him, though it was half-hearted. "I didn't think of it because there's no way it will work. But we can try tomorrow if you insist, oh nemesis."
"Fine." This again? Still? Simon tried to suppress a gust of irritation, but he was tired, too. "I wish—I don't know what you want from me, Baz. Forgiveness?" He put a finger under Baz's chin and tipped it up, to look in his face. "You have it, you had it ages ago, you had it before I even knew that I…." He snapped his mouth closed—he couldn't say it. He was afraid. Even more, afraid that it would scare Baz away.
A flurry of emotion skittered across Baz's features, and he shuddered and dropped his face into his hands. Simon let his own hands fall to his lap. This fixing thing wasn't really working out so well, and he was talking way too much. He felt like he must be missing something, somehow. They sat in silence for a minute or two.
"What are you thinking, Baz?"
His voice was muffled, but almost amused. "That I'm a moron."
"Why?"
Baz dropped his hands, and then reached for one of Simon's. "Because this, this is what I've wanted, forever, and here I am fighting it."
Fighting it? Just how seriously fighting it? And are you winning? Or losing? And which is which, in your mind? Simon was afraid to ask, so he merely said, "Yeah. So, why would you do a daft thing like that?"
He shrugged. "Seems like the thing to do?"
Simon tugged on his own hair in frustration. "But why?"
Baz puffed out a small sigh, and reached over, stopping Simon from pulling on his hair. "I've had time to think about this, you know. All the reasons why this wouldn't work. How it could distract us in some crucial fight, get us killed. How you might lose friends or allies that you can't afford. How it's just… untenable, because what kind of future does a vampire have, anyway?
"But I never thought…." He pushed his fingers through his own hair, and spoke very quietly, looking at his knees. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid you'll get hurt. I'm afraid I'll hurt you. Last night…." He shuddered. "I've never been that close to hurting someone. You were almost too late." Simon wanted to protest, but he stopped himself. Baz looked up suddenly into his face. "I'm afraid I won't be able to hold it off forever, Simon. And if I can't resist you, and your touch—and I really can't—then what else won't I be able to hold back anymore?"
Simon stared. His throat felt thick.
"Oi, your face, Snow." Baz touched his cheek with one finger, so gently. "You're going to make me bloody weep."
Simon shook his head, but still couldn't speak.
"The point is… this is all probably a terrible idea, and sooner or later you're going to realize it, Snow, and then…." Baz made a sort of poof! gesture in the air – an imaginary puff of smoke dissipating.
Wait a minute. "I'm going to…? Why would you think that?"
"Because it's true."
"It isn't…."
Baz didn't reply, just looked at him pityingly, condescendingly. His eyes were dark, dark, dark – weary and hopeless and resigned.
Oh, Baz. Simon's chest ached, like his heart, his lungs, might actually crumple. What could he do, what could he say? This really shouldn't surprise him—he'd seen some of Baz's dark moods, how fiercely he resisted Simon's faith in him, how he laughed and made snide remarks and would never listen to a word about how… how wonderful he really was, and why would that suddenly change, just because of a little snogging? And yet it still felt like a knife twisting in his gut to see it. Especially right now.
Well, we've got to start somewhere, Simon thought. He said, earnestly, "Please, just try, Baz. Pretend you believe me." To his own surprise, his voice broke a little at the end, and he felt odd. Wait, is this… Do I feel hurt? Really? He turned his face away and swallowed at the lump in his throat. Trying to sort through the reasons.
"Simon? What…?"
His surprise and hurt seemed to be transmuting into something like anger. "You said I don't have to prove anything to you, Baz, but you don't believe me, and I don't know how to convince you. You sound like you're giving up already, like you want me to just pretend this never happened." Simon felt – panicky? yes, panicky at the thought. He was sitting right here, right next to Baz, their knees were touching, and still the thought of going back to his bed, alone, of denying all this… it made his whole body ache, with just the anticipated absence. (It's only been a few hours, said a reasonable, warning voice in his head. Are you really in so deep already? Yes, he answered it. And I don't care.)
"That's not—"
"You're saying that I'm going to get tired of you, drop you, abandon you… aren't you? Isn't that what you just said?"
"I…" Normally, Simon might have relished the opportunity to confound Baz so thoroughly, might've laughed a little at his wide eyes and the fact that he was the speechless one, for once; but he was too frustrated and desperate to enjoy it now.
"Well, sorry to disappoint, but it's not going to happen, Baz." Simon paused, trying to calm his angry breathing. "But I don't know how to make you believe me." The front of anger – Simon wasn't stupid, he knew it was mostly a front – cracked a little and he squeezed his eyes shut. I'm not crying, he told himself fiercely. There was only so much humiliation he could take.
Then he felt Baz's arms around him, pulling him in to his chest, hard. For a moment he wanted to throw him off, to draw away, to hide—but instead he let Baz pull his head against his shoulder, and the touch of his skin did ease that ache of absence. He let out a shuddering sigh and concentrated on stuffing down any actual tears.
"Simon, I'm sorry." Baz was whispering into Simon's hair. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear."
Then what…? But he couldn't speak, not quite yet. Simon put his arms around Baz, face still buried in his shoulder, and squeezed him. Let some of the knots in his shoulders loosen, at least a little. He sighed again, and this time, somehow, words breathed out with it.
"I love you, Baz."
Crap. He froze, felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He hadn't intended that, not yet. He'd planned to wait, to give it more time. Be a little more sophisticated about it. He didn't want Baz to think he was being too hasty, or manipulative, or something. He felt oddly… ashamed. Somewhere, deep down, part of him felt like no one, no one could possibly want to hear that from him. His voice had been no more than a whisper, and muffled, with his face pressed into Baz's shoulder. So maybe he didn't hear properly?
No such luck, of course. Baz made a small, odd sound into the top of Simon's head, something between a gasp and a laugh and a sob. He lifted his head, and then Simon's, with a hand on his face. He stared at him for a long minute, and Simon avoided his eyes, wanting to squirm with embarrassment. Finally Simon started, "Sorry, I—"
"I believe you."
Simon held his breath for a moment, his eyes snapping up to meet Baz's, then let it out in a great rush. "You…."
"I believe you." He leaned forward and kissed Simon, but briefly, solemnly, as if sealing a pact, and then pressed their cheeks together. Simon could feel his breath on his ear. "I believe you, Simon. I believe you."
Simon felt relief trickling through his limbs. He leaned his forehead against Baz's shoulder. For his part, Baz kissed his temple, his ear, then nosed at Simon's cheek until he lifted his face, and kissed his lips again, gently at first, and then more thoroughly, more distractingly…. But Simon pulled back a little. They weren't quite finished.
"So what did you mean, then? Before." He could see Baz wince slightly, but then decide not to try to avoid the question.
"I just meant… that you're more sensible anyway. And you, you've got that tiresome heroism. That when it has to end—" he saw the look on Simon's face and hastily amended, "all right, if, if it has to end, then you… you always do the thing that has to be done. Where I… I'm too selfish. Too weak. I know I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even if I know I should."
"You're strong, Baz." Simon knew this in his bones. The vampire strength was nothing compared to his magical talent, his steely self-control, his fierce, wry determination.
Baz's voice was soft, and he touched Simon's face – his cheekbones, his jaw, his nose, his lips – with feather-light fingers, as if he were memorizing his features. "If I were really strong... I would be strong enough to say no, to let you go because it's better for you. Safer."
"No." Simon grabbed his wrists, harder than he strictly needed to, pulled his hands down and glared at him, right in the eye. "Be strong enough to try, to make it work. Be strong enough to hold on instead of holding me away, Baz."
Baz seemed to be holding his breath, but he nodded, and then spoke. "I will. I will try. Because…." A breath, and his grey eyes seemed to pierce right through him. "Because I love you, Simon Oliver Snow."
Simon's heart hitched in his chest, as if it had forgotten its job for a second, too preoccupied with this. Even if he already knew, which he did. But still, hearing it, hearing Baz's voice saying it... it was like his chest filling with sunlight and Christmas and his favorite chocolates, like kissing and the touch of Baz's hands, laughter and music and magic and everything he'd ever cared about rolling up and then expanding inside him suddenly, till he could barely breathe around it, let alone respond.
Baz didn't seem to require a response. He laid a hand against Simon's cheek. "I've waited and waited to say that to you. I thought maybe I wanted to make a big, theatrical deal out of it. But I'm sick of waiting. Especially now that you've stolen my thunder—"
Simon didn't think his ears could get any redder. "You didn't have to say anything. Just because I've got no… no sense of timing…." he mumbled.
Baz smiled, a teasing, joyful, incandescent smile that Simon had never seen before. "But I wanted to. Crowley, I've thought of a million different ways I could tell you…."
"You have?"
Baz nodded. "Some of them are quite good. I think… I think I'll just have to use them all anyway."
Simon blinked. Baz took Simon's hands and brought them up to his mouth, kissed the backs of them and the palms and whispered into them, "I love you."
He laid them down and ran his fingers through Simon's hair, leaned close to his ear and breathed, "I love you."
Simon took a gulping breath. Baz smiled and leaned in to kiss him. But just before their lips touched, he stopped, put a finger on Simon's lips and said, insistently, "I love you, Simon." Simon made a happy grumbling sound, pushed his hand aside and kissed him till Baz pulled back, laughing.
"Probably not all tonight, though, because I am actually tired," he said. He collapsed down onto the mattress, looked up at Simon with a long-suffering expression, and mock-whined, "Can't we go to sleep yet?" As if all this delay were Simon's idea.
"Yes, love," Simon said, grinning, and lay down, snuggling into Baz's arms. For now, he hoped he would never have to move again.
