Work Text:
BAZ
I wake up in Simon’s arms, facing him. Our legs and arms are tangled, faces only inches apart. We’re lying in my bed at my old house, which is no longer a dead zone.
When Penny told us that we needed to go back to Watford, I didn’t expect the issue to be a giant power surge that is slowly getting out of hand. The upside is that now the empty areas left by the Humdrum (and Simon), are full again, but the downside — power corruption. But at least I get to be back home. Penny, Simon, Shepard and I stayed at Watford until we learned that we could use magic again back at the manor. The rest of my family is still at our other house, so we have the house all to ourselves (which I’m thrilled about). To be perfectly honest, I loved America, but I’m glad to be back home. Even if it’s only to solve yet another problem. Speaking of problems, there was Simon. (Snow’s always been a problem, but there was our relationship issue.) There had been something off about him ever since I started university, and I just didn’t know how to ask him. He would always pull away; let me have an intimate moment with him one second, then shut me out the next. It hurt me every time. Yesterday, though, I finally mustered up the courage to ask him what was wrong and well - here we are the next morning, tangled up in my velvet sheets.
I open my eyes and gaze longingly at the gorgeous boy in front of me. His eyes are still closed, curls splayed out on the pillow. He’s resting his head in the crook of my neck and his chest is rising and falling with each breath. He looks so… delicate; like he could break any moment. I spelled his wings away last night (it makes it easier), and they’ve reappeared overnight. I trace my fingers softly along his bicep and he sighs, smiling semi-consciously. I run my eyes up and down his bare body (we only have our underwear on), and my eyes land on a spot on the inside of his thigh. Another one of his infamous moles (Crowley, he has them everywhere). I’m suddenly taken back to my fifth year at Watford, just a fifteen-year-old boy poisoned with love and bloodlust. Around the end of the school year, the temperatures would start to rise, especially at night (which makes no sense, but I’m not the weatherman). Whenever this would happen, Snow would usually go to sleep shirtless, torturing me of course. I would always just cast a chilling spell on myself, but he would probably burst into flames if he tried something like that. Except on one night, when it got so hot that I almost couldn’t fall asleep. Simon decided that it would be best if he went to bed wearing nothing but his boxers (completely disregarding his roommate). Another thing, Snow loves to kick off his covers at night, so his body was just lying there, facing me. I couldn’t help myself. I had watched Simon fall asleep countless times, but never like this. I felt heat rise up everywhere inside of me as I watched him settle into a fetal position and drift off. My vision just had to pick one spot to focus on — the mole on the inside of his left thigh. I wanted nothing more than to press my lips to it; to every bit of him, even though I knew that I couldn’t. I thought that if the heat wave wasn’t going to kill me, then the temptation was going to.
“Baz?” Simon’s voice is light, but it’s enough to bring me back to reality. I realize that my eyes are still fixed on his thigh mole, which is now red and slightly bruised from me sucking on it last night. I feel heat rise up in me again, just like that night in fifth year, but I push away the urge. I look over at the clock: it reads 7:00. I stand up carefully and pull on some jeans and a button-down shirt. I catch Simon’s eye in the mirror. He’s staring at me with a smile on his face, still lying on his side in bed.
“I thought you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror?” he whispers.
“You’re an idiot, Snow,” I say, grinning, as I walk over to him. I press a kiss to his temple. “Go back to sleep.”
His eyes flutter closed again. “Mmm ok.”
I button up the rest of my shirt and walk downstairs. I’m the first one up; I guess I’ll be making breakfast. I suddenly feel thirsty, so I grab a thermos full of deer blood (Penny’s idea: so I won’t have to hunt as often), and take a few swigs. Once I feel full, I pull out my mother’s french toast recipe and start cooking. It’s always hard for me to use my mother’s recipes. I don’t remember her cooking much, but Fiona and my father have told me numerous stories about how she used to make these great meals. With a tinge of sadness, I pull the ingredients out and start whisking them together. I like to think that I’m cooking with her, even though that might sound stupid. Even so I still-
“BAZ, WHERE’S THE COFFEE?” Penelope comes running into the kitchen, scaring the hell out of me.
“Crowley, Penny, it’s too early for screaming,” I say, handing her a cup. “Plus, I thought you were more of a tea person.”
“I am,” she says, taking a sip and grimacing. “But I couldn’t sleep.”
“Scared of the wraiths?” I ask with a smirk. She glares at me and gets up to put milk and sugar into her drink. She takes a sip and frowns slightly less. I laugh.
“What are you making?”
“French toast.”
“You do know that Simon’s going to eat, like, all of it right?”
“Yep,” I smile, “that’s why I’m making a double batch.”
She opens her mouth to speak when Shepard comes bounding down the stairs, cutting her off. “Your house is awesome, man!” he says with a grin on his face.
Penny rests her head on her palm. “How are you so hyper at 7:30 in the goddamn morning?”
“I mean, I’m in a new country, in a creepy mansion, saving a magickal school with a magician, a vampire magician, and an ex-magician with dragon wings and a tail! Of course I’m going to be hyper!”
I smile to myself and flip a piece of the toast. I turn to Penny and Shepard. “Breakfast is almost done, someone needs to go wake up Simon.”
Penny turns to me. “Why don’t you wake him?”
I stare her down. “Because I’m the chef,” I say, crossing my arms. We have a brief staring contest (I win - obviously), and she sighs and gets up. I hear banging on a door and Penny saying, “Simon, wake up!” I can’t hear his response, but Penny trudges back down the stairs, exasperated.
“He says ‘no,’” she states, taking another sip of her coffee.
I roll my eyes and walk over to the stairs. “I MADE FRENCH TOAST,” I yell up to him. I walk back over to the oven and wait for a sound. Sure enough, Simon comes flying - literally - down the stairs, nearly knocking over Shepard on the way. When he lands, it takes me a moment to register the fact that Simon hasn’t bothered to get dressed. So Simon Snow is standing in the middle of the kitchen wearing nothing but his briefs. Penny immediately goes bright red and averts her eyes, and Shepard just says, “Oh shit,” and turns around. I’m frozen in place, my mind still trying to take in the sight.
“You’re blushing,” he points out.
I am, of course, but I just raise an eyebrow and shove a piece of French toast into his mouth. I push the tip of my finger into his bare chest and look him in the bright blue eye. “Get dressed”
Simon still has that mischievous look on his face. Through a mouthful of French toast, he says, “You like it.”
“Of course I like it,” I somehow manage to resist throwing myself onto him and finish my sentence. “But you need to get dressed.”
He takes a bite out of the toast and grins. “Fine.” He turns and goes back up the stairs. I breathe a sigh of relief and try to cool myself down until the lust retreats.
“Is he gone yet?” Shepard asks. Penny smacks him lightly on the shoulder. She’s not even surprised, and neither am I. This is one hundred percent something that Simon would do. I turn back to the stove and place all of the French toast pieces onto a platter. Penny gets out the silverware and plates, and Shepard places the glasses and napkins. I tell Penny not to put out a plate for me (I’m still self-conscious of my fangs), but she ignores me. I’m placing a few pieces of toast on everyone’s plate when Simon comes back down the stairs, fully clothed this time. He walks over to me and plants a quick kiss on my lips. I smile and return the gesture. It’s then when I realize that Shepard and Penny have gone silent.
“What? We’ve snogged before,” I state.
The two still stand there, mouths agape.
“Am I still naked?” Simon asks.
Penny clears her throat, a look of nervousness on her face. “Si, you’re… you’re glowing.”
Simon looks confused. “What?”
I turn to look at Simon, and I have to focus before it hits me. He is. Glowing. My jaw drops. “She’s right Snow.” I step back, my hand going to my waistband instinctively (I always keep the wand there). I get déjà vu. Me, standing with my wand, and Simon glowing with magick. His already-golden skin and curls emanating even more light. But - this can’t be. Simon lost his magick. He gave it to the Humdrum. All of it. But he only glows when he’s using his magick. Though there is a power surge happening…
I look up and lock eyes with Simon. “Summon your sword.”
He shakes his head, as if to try to hear me clearer. His mop of curls shakes. “Baz, I can’t. I need my magick to be able to do that.”
“Just do it.”
Simon looks over at Penny for confirmation, and she nods, her face a mix of confusion and concern. Simon sighs and places his hand at his hip. Shepard is watching the whole thing with his mouth wide open. I roll my eyes. Suddenly there is the sound of a sword being unsheathed. I turn back to Simon. He’s standing in a wide stance, wings spread open wide, the Sword or Mages in his hand. He looks up, wide mouthed, first at Penny, then at me.
“Holy shit.”