If this ever had context, I don't remember. It was fun to write, though. You know, five years ago. I make no promises to the quality, or accuracy. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The party was too loud. Simon couldn't find anyone. The girls had gone off somewhere and he had lost track of Baz.

Simon found him by the bar, about to down another drink.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, dragging Baz out of his seat by his arm and tugging him away. "We aren't here to drink!"

He pulled them into a secluded corner, away from the bar and the dancing. He was still gripping Baz's wrist, and it pulled them closer than he intended. They faced each other.

"We should find Penny and Agatha. You can't get drunk right now."

"Why?" Baz's teeth were flashing dangerously. He had that look on his face that Simon knew meant he was purposely riling him up. "What are you going to do about it, Snow?"

Simon kissed him, long and hard. Baz made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. He curled his fingers into the short hair at the nape of Simon's neck and his other hand creased the back of his jumper. Simon gripped his shoulder with one warm hand and moved the other down Baz's chest until it rested low on Baz's ribs. Then he pushed him so his back hit the wall and their chests and hips were pressed together. Baz pulled their mouths together again and again, his eyes half open so he could watch the furrow in Simon's brow, until something over his shoulder caught his eye.

Agatha was gaping at them from twenty feet away across the dance floor, her perfect face twisted in shock, a forgotten drink in her well-manicured hand. Colored lights played over her pale skin like expressions, and Baz grinned at her with all his teeth as Simon's mouth moved along his jaw. He tugged Simon closer, tilting his head and moaning a little, because he was an insatiable showoff and because Simon was pressing his own teeth against a very sensitive spot.

'Did he ever kiss you like this, pretty girl?' he thought dazedly. 'Did he ever press so hard you could feel it in your bones? Did you ever smell smoke and fire on his skin and feel burn it into your nerves? Or were you too scared? Too scared of burning, or breaking, of feeling? I bet you were. I bet he was too. No wonder you broke up with him.'

Baz's brain was light and bubbles, the kind that felt like elastic and stuck to your hand. He started laughing, because he was floating inside his own body and Agatha's face was so damn funny and Simon was pressed along every inch of his body and this was a dream, right?

Simon pulled back a little and Baz slumped forward so warm hands were holding him up against the wall.

"Baz? Baz! What are you looking at?"

Simon turned a little, and then he saw Agatha, who was still staring at them like this was somehow a great betrayal.

"Oh. Shit," he said blankly.

Agatha backed away and then she was gone, lost in the throng of dancers. Simon moved like he was going to go after her, and Baz felt his stomach lurch as he saw a nightmare playing out before him. He couldn't let Simon leave him for her, he would never come back. Baz wasn't letting go of him this easily, not when he finally had him right where he needed him.

He reached out without thinking and grabbed Simon's hand, pulling him back. Simon looked confused, but he didn't resist until he was pressed back into Baz's side with one hand braced against his chest, their heads so close Baz couldn't see anything but warm skin and blue eyes and the constellation of moles he wanted to kiss along the side of Simon's neck.

"Baz?"

Baz kissed him.

"Bastard," Simon muttered into his mouth, biting at his lip. "Why'd you have to do that? I should go talk to her."

"Why do you care?" Baz said breathlessly. He kissed him again and again, in between every sentence, every word, every breath. "Or do you think that I was looking at her? That I want to be snogging her instead? That I want to make her jealous? That I'd ever kiss her like this?"

He sealed their mouths together and Simon stopped breathing for what felt like several minutes before Baz let him go.

"Well I'll tell you right now, Snow, I would."

Simon was too transfixed by the burning intention in Baz's cool grey eyes to really process what he was saying. Baz bent his head until their mouths were centimeters apart.

"But only if you were watching."

He pressed a kiss to the corner of Simon's mouth.

"If you were watching, I'd kiss her like that and more."

The other side, his lips lingering on his skin.

"I'd kiss her until she was writhing, begging for more . . ."

Another searing kiss that made Simon so dizzy he thought his legs might give out.

"And then I'd tell her that she was a very stupid girl . . ."

Kisses along Simon's jaw, surprisingly sweet.

"That I was never leering at her and glaring at you . . ."

Lips on Simon's ear, his tongue tracing the curve of cartilage.

"That she had gotten it all mixed up . . ."

A slight tug on the earlobe.

"That I'd much rather be kissing her boyfriend than her . . ."

Wet kisses on the underside of Simon's jaw; he tilted his head back dazedly, clutching the back of Baz's shirt for support.

"That there was only one reason I'd ever want her . . ."

His mouth trailed down Simon's neck, finally stopping at the juncture of muscle where it met his shoulder.

"And then I'd bite her, right here." He pressed his teeth lightly against Simon's skin. "Right in front of you."

Everything was still, Baz's greedy mouth, and Simon's hands in his hair and pressed against his ribs. Everything was quiet except for the pounding music and their heavy breathing.

"And then?" Simon whispered, tightening his grip on Baz.

"And then . . ." Baz slowly retracted his teeth and nuzzled Simon's neck, kissing the moles there. "And then you kill me."

"Do I?" Simon ran his hand tenderly through Baz's thick hair and pressed a smiling kiss to the top of his head.

Baz nodded, nudging his nose into Simon's neck. "You kill me, bright and burning. That's how it ends. I have other fantasies as well, most of them from fifth year. There are lots of ways for you to kill me, lots of reasons. But I like the ones where I die kissing you best. Where you die kissing me. Because you're mine, my arch-nemesis, my boyfriend. My enemy, my love, my kill. My Snow. My Simon. Simon Snow. I want to kiss you until we die, until we burn, until we're ashes . . . ashes, ashes, we all fall down . . ."

"Baz." Simon lifted Baz's head so he could look him in the eye, gently brushing the dark hair that was falling into his face. "Are you okay?"

Baz straightened coolly and surveyed Simon with a sneering expression. Then he spat in his face. Simon barely had time to jump back, growling "Son of a-!" before Baz had his face in a vice-like grip and was licking the spit off his cheek.

"Always wanted to do that," he snickered, rubbing his cheek against the side of Simon's neck and leaning heavily on his shoulder.

"Baz, seriously. Are you okay? I think you might be more drunk than you thought." Simon was looking worried. That was kind of nice, having Simon worried about him, not focusing on curvy drinks of milk and honey. He liked Simon's attention, liked having it all to himself and not sharing, not with the Humdrum or Bunce or teachers or friends or Agatha . . .

His forehead fell onto Simon's should with the faintest thump.

"I want you."

Simon blinked. "Okay . . . is that in sex way, or a blood way, or a kill me way?"

Baz tried to think about it, but it was hard pulling all the pieces of his brain together from the far flung corners of the universe where they had flown.

"I don't know," he whined, nuzzling against Simon's pulse. "All the ways? All the ways. Two out of three is a little scary . . . Lucky I love you so much or I'd have very little reason to not kill you . . ."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Simon said. Baz's ears weren't quite working properly; the music had faded into the background, and although Simon's voice was front and center, he was having trouble discerning his tone.

"Baz-"

Baz laughed. Simon's face was swirling like stardust before his eyes, but he thought he looked like he wanted to punch him. He like that look. He liked all Simon's expressions . . .

"Baz." Simon's voice was a growl, and Baz felt it vibrating pleasantly through his own body. "Focus. You're drunk, and we need to find Penny and leave."

"She's over there," said Baz, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Bunce's distinctive scent. The stench of sweat, alcohol and perfume was not quite enough to disguise each person's individual smell, especially if it was one he was familiar with, but it was enough to make him want to bury his nose in Simon's neck and drown in the smoky sweet scent of his burning. Which is exactly what he did.

Simon wrapped one arm around his shoulders and didn't shove him off, so Baz followed him clingingly as he wove through the people dancing, grinding and swaying on the dance floor, until Bunce's face swam into view, her ridiculous glasses swirling in front of his eyes. She was confused, and annoyed, and suspicious. Baz watched the emotions flitting across her face as Simon said something and she said something back, but their voices were oddly muffled and Baz was concentrating on Simon's smell, thank you very much, so he didn't really care much about anything else.

Then Bunce was pressed against his other side and the arm that wasn't clinging tightly to the back of Simon's jacket was slung across her shoulders and he wanted to move away, but found he was having trouble just lifting his head from Simon's shoulder.

Cold air hit their faces with crystal clarity, and they were outside. It was snowing, but just barely, and the frosty ground crunched under their feet and Simon and Bunce half dragged him towards the car. When they got close enough Bunce slipped out from under his arm and climbed into the driver's seat. Baz finally pulled away from Simon and stumbled, lurching against the car, ignoring Simon's stubborn hand, still twisted in his shirt and not letting go. He leaned back against the side of the car and threw his head back, squinting blurrily at the dark sky.

Simon stepped closer to him. He wanted to kiss Baz again, gentler than inside, he wanted to press him against the car and touch his cold cheeks and cold mouth and tangle his fingers in dark hair until it was completely ruined. He wanted to kiss Baz under the sky and in the snow.

Penny was already in the car, looking out expectantly. He could see Agatha sitting in the passenger seat; Penny had said she had already gone back to the car. She was looking determinedly ahead, her sleek blonde hair smoothed over her stiff shoulder.

Simon sighed. He tugged gently on Baz's shirt. Baz blinked and looked down at him.

"We need to get in the car," Simon told him softly. Baz was looking at him with an unreadable expression. A few days ago Simon might have taken the natural downturn of his mouth and heaviness of his eyes as displeasure or even low simmering hatred, but now he was curious. He wanted to know if that look meant he wanted to kiss Simon as much as Simon wanted to kiss him.

Baz turned without a word and yanked the car door open, slipping inside and leaving Simon standing outside in the snow. He shook himself and got in after him. Penny started the car, and Simon was preparing himself for either a Penelope Bunce Rant or an hour of criminally uncomfortable silence. Instead he had Baz unceremoniously flopping sideways onto his lap before pointing his wand at himself.

"Sleep it off."

Simon felt the weight on his thighs grown heavier as Baz fell unconscious and he caught his wand before it slipped from his hand. He tucked it into his jacket, knowing Baz would kill him if he lost it, and turned to look out the window. The snow was getting heavier; there would be several inches by morning. He wanted to kiss Baz in the dark and in the snow; he wanted to go back to when they were kissing in his bedroom. That had been nice.

"When, exactly, did you two get such good friends that you spend Christmas at each other's houses, lean on each other when you're drunk and use each other as fucking pillows?" Penny asked through gritted teeth. Simon silently cursed Baz for ever so conveniently falling asleep before he had to have this conversation.

"It's not like that, Penny," he started, even though he didn't know what it was like, but Agatha cut him off with a laugh that did not sound like her.

"Clearly."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Simon sighed. He was bad a fighting with Agatha, really bad. He could never make himself say what he wanted. In comparison, fights with Baz made the words fly off his tongue.

"You can't start trusting him just because you have this weird truce," Penny lectured. "As soon as this is all over you'll just go back to fighting, and eventually . . . Of course, it would be nice for everyone if you weren't always fighting, but I've seen the way he looks at you, like he's trying to set you on fire. I don't trust him one bit, much as I'd like to. I mean, he's brilliant at magic and I'd love to hear his thoughts on the eighth year spell, because I'm having a bit of trouble-"

"Simon was kissing him!" Agatha cried in that same voice that did not belong to her, like the words were being forced through a strangulation hold.

"What," said Penny flatly.

"I saw them inside." Agatha buried her lovely face in her hands and peered out at them fretfully through her fingers. "They were kissing. Um . . . a lot."

Simon felt oddly like he was being tattled on to his mother for kissing a boy.

"Now hang on," he protested, trying to direct Penny away from dangerous territory, but she surprised him by bursting into laughter.

"Simon!? Kissing Baz? Agatha, I'm pretty sure you just saw them trying to fight drunk. Oh that's good . . . Simon, why aren't you laughing?"

Simon tried not to flinch as he got pinned by her probing stare, the laughter fading from her face.

"Simon. What is she talking about?"

"Agatha isn't kidding," he said slowly, wondering if he should make Penny pull the car over. "I was kissing Baz . . . a lot. And he was kissing me too."

Penny stared at him. Then stared out the windshield. Then turned around and stared at him again.

"I don't understand."

"Baz. And me. Snogging."

"No."

"Yes. Really. Really really."

It took a little while to convince Penny they weren't kidding. It seemed like her brain was having trouble wrapping itself around the concept.

"But . . . why?"

"Because we wanted to?"

"SINCE WHEN?"

"I dunno, awhile?"

"So you both just spontaneously decided to start snogging in the middle of a mission?"

"It wasn't the first time . . ."

"It didn't look like it was," Agatha muttered.

"HOW LONG?" Penny demanded in a shriek.

"Maybe . . . was it yesterday? Must've been . . ."

"Are you-! This is-! Fuck, Simon, what are you thinking!? This is Baz! Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, who keeps trying to kill you, as you keep reminding us all! This could all be some elaborate ploy to get you to let your guard down! We shouldn't even be here with him-"

Penelope kept ranting, repeating lots of things that Simon himself had said before. They sounded much less affectionate coming from her.

Simon swallowed. His throat was dry. An irrational fear was building up inside him: they were going to try and take Baz away from him. He would be alone, just like the first two months of school.

"Baz is mine," Simon said, and his voice was hoarse. Harsh.

"He's your enemy," Penny said frantically. "Just like the Humdrum!"

"Exactly," Simon nodded. "He's mine. My responsibility." (My arch-nemesis.) (My boyfriend.) (My enemy.) (My love.) (My kill.) (My Baz.) (Mine.)

(I want to die kissing him.)

Without thinking he curled over the unconscious boy in his lap protectively, a growl building in his throat. Penny tried to stare him down, but she had to keep glancing back at the road so they didn't crash into anything. He didn't back down, but kept glaring at her with his chin jutted out stubbornly. Smoke curled off his shoulders and the air around him shimmered faintly.

"I'm not afraid of you, Simon," Penny said fiercely, even as Agatha shrank back in the seat next to her. "Even if you do go off. This is insane."

Simon just glared at her. Not angrily, but fiercely, and stupidly brave.

Penny wasn't stupid. She knew Agatha was jealous of her, even without any imaginary feelings she thought Simon had for her. Penny knew Agatha thought she was the most important person in Simon's life. Or at least that she wanted to be.

But Penny knew what over ten percent of the conversation meant. She knew Simon thought about Baz even more than he talked about him. She knew that there was very little chance of their strange mutual obsession fading, as it had only grown stronger in the last eight years. She had imagined taking Simon away from it all, but realistically she knew the chances of him leaving Baz alone, or Baz not following them purely to keep their endless fight alive, were almost non-existent.

Penny could be Simon's best friend, the person he liked most in the world. But she never claimed to the most important, the most prominent, the person he thought about all the time.

That was another reason she had known Simon and Agatha would break up. Agatha had balked at being second best to Penny, she would have never been able to deal with being second to Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, even before this.

She looked at Simon's stubborn expression and sighed, recognizing defeat. Just like when he wanted to watch all Baz's football games and wait outside his violin lessons. Penny had never been able to make more than a dent in their relationship before; she doubted she could do much of anything now there was kissing involved.

She lowered her gaze and turned back to the road.

"This is insane," she hissed.

In the rearview mirror she saw Simon hide a smile in Baz's shoulder and then sit back and look out the window. His arm was still around Baz, his hand over his.

"Insane," Penny repeated under her breath.

I'm going to put out all my old stuff first, just to get it out of the way.