Work Text:
Simon
The bright light attacks my eyes as soon as I wake up. Shit, we forgot to close the curtains. I guess we were too drunk on champagne and happiness to remember.
Slowly, my brain realigns with my body. Crowley, I ache all over. From my pounding head to my sore feet. I’m still in parts of my tux. No jacket or shoes, but I've still got the shirt and slacks and bow tie on, though the tie is undone. My arm is lazily thrown over the torso of the cool skinned man snoring next to me.
Well that’s not fair. Baz doesn’t snore, but he is breathing deeply through his mouth, loud enough for me to hear. He’s slightly more undressed than me, having abandoned his coat, shirt, and shows somewhere on the hotel room floor. But he’s still in his black trousers with the suspenders attached and hanging at his sides.
I remember us entering the room, spinning and kissing. We were pushing and throwing each other’s clothes off with the mutual desire to maybe fool around. That was what we were supposed to do traditionally. But we ended up just collapsing on the bed together instead, laughing into each other’s mouths with happy tears in our eyes. Then we fell asleep like this, curled into each other. It was the perfect end to one of the best days of my life.
I shift forward, nuzzling into his bare back, pressing a few firm kisses on his shoulder blade and spine. He stirs slightly, groaning under his breath.
"Wake up, sleepyhead," I say cheekily.
“It’s too early,” he mumbles.
“The sun is up though."
“The sun can go fuck itself.” He grips my hand on his stomach. “I’m not moving.”
I tighten my hold. “Good. Cause I’m never letting you go.”
He chuckles slightly. “No need to be so possessive, Snow. I think I made it pretty clear yesterday that I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s Snow-Pitch to you, sir.”
Baz slowly rolls onto his back. I stay on my side, propping my head on my palm to better look down at him. His hair is a messy black halo around his soft pale face. He’s smiling lazily, eyes still half closed. (Crowley, he’s gorgeous.) (And now he’s officially all mine.) “I still can’t believe you took my name.”
“Well, how else am I going to let the world know I’m married to the most amazing and aggravating man on the planet?”
He grabs my left hand and lifts it up between us. He uses his index to play with the gold band on my ring finger. It’s a truly beautiful thing. The outward side is carved with intricate swirling patterns that look like smoke. And on the inside, it’s engraved with two words, (which Baz blushed at when I suggested them): “we match.”
“I think this is a pretty good indicator,” he says, obviously trying not to smile too wide.
I shrug. “True. But I like to play it safe.”
I reach with my right hand to grab his left, and trace my thumb over his identical ring. We sit there for awhile, staring at these little pieces of jewellery, thinking about everything they entail.
“We actually did it,” he says, voice soft and vulnerable.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“I just, I never thought we’d get this far. Merlin, that we’d even have the chance to be here.”
“But we are here.” I hold his hand firmly. “We made it, Baz. We got to do this. And... I’m so damn happy.”
He squeezes me once. “Me too, Simon. More than I ever thought I could be.”
I lean down, tapping my forehead against his and gazing into his swirling grey eyes. I’m grinning so hard my face hurts. “We’re fucking married.”
He giggles. His fingers curl around the back of my neck, slowly running over the hair there. “We’re fucking married.”
We descend into loud, joyful laughing. But it's silenced when Baz pulls me down into a deep kiss. I melt into it, moving to cup his jaw. My heart feels like it’s about to burst. Which is so cheesy but so true. Baz and I are married. I’m married to Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. And I can tell people that from now on. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.
There’s a loud banging on our door. We both jolt apart to glare at it.
“What?” Baz growls loudly.
“Are you two lovebirds decent?”
I sigh heavily, sitting up. “Yeah, Penny. What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
“Since when does she ask permission?” Baz grumbles. I lightly kick his shin.
The door swings open with Penelope on the other side. She’s in a casual skirt and blouse, having gotten out of her wedding garb, unlike us. Her eyes bug out as she looks at the clothes covering our floor.
“Crowley,” she says. “You know those tuxes are expensive, right?”
“It was our wedding night, Pen. Give us a break.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah yeah, you’re married and sickeningly adorable. Any who, as your best woman, Si, it’s my duty to inform you that there’s a post-wedding brunch happening downstairs. And yes there are cherry scones.”
I perk up. “Made by Cook Pritchard?”
“M-hm. Says it’s her wedding present to you two.”
“I think those are more for Snow’s benefit than mine,” Baz says with a smirk.
I smile down at him. “You can have one, love. I’ll take the rest.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Sounds about fair.”
“Well,” Penny says, “if you want any of them, then get dressed and get your arses down there pronto. Everyone is expecting an appearance by the grooms.”
“Don't worry, we’ll be there in ten minutes, Bunce.”
“Good.” With that, Penelope closes the door with a slam.
Baz sighs, running hand over his forehead. “Guess we're going to have to move after all.”
“Unfortunately.” I flop down on my side and press my nose into his cheek. “But we don’t have to check out until the afternoon. So we can come back here and have a proper wedding night.”
He turns his head to face me, one eyebrow raised and smile devilishly playful. “Is that a promise, Snow?”
“Damn right it is.” He leans his mouth towards mine, all too eager for me to fulfil the promise now. But I pull back, making him frown adorably. “But scones first. I’ve really missed those things since Watford. No one makes them as good as Cook Pritchard."
He groans dramatically. “Fine, we’ll go get your bloody scones.”
I scoot to the end of the bed, jumping off. “And speak to our guests.”
Baz sits up and swings his long legs over the mattress. “Very well. But if any of them start asking inappropriate questions about last night, I’m fucking leaving.”
“And I’ll fucking join you, don't worry.”
We dress quickly. I throw on a red t-shirt and grey cargo shorts. (No more fancy clothes for me, thank you very much). Baz chooses a green short sleeve button down and good looking jeans. (I still love him in jeans.) He stands in front of the mirror, brushing his tangled hair back.
“No don’t do that,” I say, slipping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. “It looks better loose.”
“You just want me to look as messy as you do,” he says with no venom whatsoever.
I shrug. “Or maybe I just think it looks nice and casual.”
Baz makes a “pfft” noise. But then he combs it forward, letting the strands fall around his sharp cheekbones. “Very well. I’m trusting your judgement.”
“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek once then step back, hand out. “Now come on, husband. Let’s go.”
He takes it, squeezing my palm. I want to take a picture of him so badly. So I can capture the calm, happy expression gracing his features right now forever. I love the way the corners of his sparkling grey eyes crinkle up and his cheeks have the smallest dimples when he smiles. He looks beautiful. I love him so much. “Yes, husband. Let’s.”
We get to call each other that for the rest of our lives. And I can’t wait.