Work Text:
I wake up with the sense that Baz has left my side. It’s funny—the bed seems almost warmer when he’s not in it. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, but oddly enough, I don’t really feel tired. I’m too alert, trying to decipher where he is.
The bedroom door is opened ever-so-slightly and I see a soft glow coming from beneath it. There’s a clanging down the hallway, coming from the direction of the kitchen.
I stand up, extending and stretching my wings before creeping out to follow the noise.
I see Baz’s long, slim frame silhouetted in the kitchen. The light reflects off his pale, bare chest. He’s moving frantically, digging through cabinets and drawers. “Where the fuck is it?” I think I hear him groan.
“Baz?” I call out, soft enough so as not to startle him. “What are you doing?”
Baz’s head jolts up. His eyes meet mine. They’re blown open, his pupils are dilating. “Fuck,” he mutters.
I rush across the room to him, but he holds out a shaking hand before I reach him. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t get any closer.”
He looks almost… scared.
I take a careful step forward. Baz’s mouth is opened slightly, and I can see the sharp outlines of his fangs.
Oh.
(We normally kept a stash of bloodied food in case this were to happen—if he got thirsty in the middle of the night. So he wouldn’t have to hunt outside. We must’ve run out.)
Baz’s arm is still outstretched. If he had veins, I would’ve been able to see them run along the grey pallor of his forearm. “I’m just going to go outside,” he says quietly. “I’ll be back in a minute. Go back to sleep, Snow. I’ll be fine.”
Before I can protest, he makes a wide path around me to get to the front door (but not before I see him pause for the briefest of moments as he passes me, his face relaxing as if taking in my scent). I can’t help but notice how he walks awkwardly out the door, swaying like a drunkard.
I need to go after him.
I can feel the hot summer air through the door he left ajar, so I pull off my jumper, wrestling to get my wings through the slits made in the back. I toss it on the kitchen floor and rush out after him. I don’t even care what a sight I must look to any of our neighbors who were awake at this hour.
I see Baz stumbling into the woods behind the building. His exhaustion hinders his speed, and I catch up with him easily. I stand in front of him, blocking his way to the wood.
“Snow, what are you doing?” he asks, almost angrily.
“You’re going to pass out in there. You’re exhausted.”
His eyes are droopy and his face looks greyer than usual. He’s thirsty and sleep deprived.
Baz sways on his feet and I grab his hands. He twitches at my touch. I lead him to a thick oak and guide him down to sit with me against it.
“I just need everything to… stop spinning,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.
I press my lips against the back of his cold hand before dropping it. “I’ll get you something,” I say, standing to go deeper into the woods. “I don’t mind you eating in front of me.”
Just as I turn to leave, I feel Baz grab the end of my tail.
“Stay,” he says. “Please, Simon.”
I can’t help but melt when he says my name. I oblige, and sit back down next to him. (He knows how this works better than I do.) He rests his head on my shoulder.
“You need to get something,” I tell him softly.
He turns so his face is buried in my neck.
I hear his breathing speed up just as mine seems to stop.
His mouth opens and closes against my skin. I feel the slight graze of his teeth—not his fangs. Just his teeth.
“Baz,” I say, although I don’t think it came out as anything more than an exhale.
“Crowley, Simon,” he groans into my neck. “I’m so bloody thirsty.”
“I know.” I tilt my head—slightly, almost an unconscious movement. “Let me go get you something.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t move to get up.
I can feel the sticky, humid air around me, and Baz’s face pressed against me acts as some sort of cooling agent, spreading through my body until I feel immune to the heat.
Baz kisses my neck as if to distract himself. I let out a long exhale, twining my fingers into the ends of his dark hair. His kisses grow hungrier and I groan, shifting so I’m laying down and pulling him on top of me. “Not enough…” he murmurs, so softly I’m not even sure he actually said anything. “Not enough to Turn—”
I feel the prick of his fangs against my throat.
I inhale sharply, my heart seeming to beat a million times per second.
Baz says nothing but my name. (“Simon…” he grunted, desperately.)
I can’t imagine how difficult being around me must be for him. We’ll kill each other if this goes any further.
And yet…
I nod slowly, tilting my head back farther to grant him more access. He seems to understand.
I gasp loudly as his fangs puncture my skin. My eyes open wide and I can see every star above us.
There’s a moment where it doesn’t seem like anything is happening, where I can’t feel anything but the sharp pain of the bite. Is this what it’s like? I think. This is all I feel?
Then I hear Baz inhale sharply through his nose. He readjusts himself so his legs are locked on either side of me, as if he’s trying to keep me in place. (I’m not going anywhere.)
It’s like a switch was flipped.
I feel Baz’s lips curl back—Did he hiss? Did I just hear him hiss?—and I know that it’s starting.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. It hurts. I guess I’d thought it’d be more like getting blood drawn, but instead it’s just hot, searing pain as I feel him drain me.
And then it’s not.
Baz presses his body into mine, and suddenly the whole act feels rather sexual. He snakes a cold hand along my throat, drawing my attention away from the hotness of his bite. He rests it at the very bottom, his thumb pushing into the divot just beneath my Adam’s apple.
My hand moves up deeper into his hair and I push his head further into me.
(He can probably feed on me for a while before he kills me. I’m significantly bigger than a squirrel.)
But, Merlin, I’d let him kill me.
I let out a louder-than-I’d-wished moan as he sinks his teeth deeper into the skin of my neck. I can’t help it—it just suddenly feels so good. I’d been, somewhat guiltily, secretly hoping Baz would bite me one day. I think this is what I imagined it feeling like.
My other hand, the one that’s not in his hair, rests on his back. I feel the smooth muscles in it tense at my touch. My vision is blurring, but I can’t tell if it’s because my eyes are closing or because I’m losing consciousness.
Suddenly, like he can sense it, Baz jolts up. Almost as if as a reflex, I find myself arching up to him, but he shoves me back down. I look at him through my hazy, half-closed eyes.
There’s blood—my blood—dripping from his lips, rolling like teardrops down his chin, his sharp jaw, his neck. And Crowley, it’s dead sexy. His grey eyes are worried, searching mine.
“Simon,”
“Baz…” I can feel the air against the bloodied mark on the side of my neck. It stings. I want him—need him—back.
“No, Simon—” Baz’s voice quivers. “I can’t- I don’t know—”
“What?”
His skin seems to be glimmering in the moonlight. (You know how in the movies the vampires sparkle in the sun? Baz is the opposite. When the light of the moon touches him, he glows.)
He swallows, sits up and rests on his heels. “I don’t want to kill you,” he whispers, as if he were giving a confession to a priest. “Or worse…” Turn you. He doesn’t need to say it. I know.
I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m okay.”
(To be honest—I’m not sure what the line between okay/not okay would even be here. But I’m still alive, and I don’t feel any vampiric tendencies, so, that’s probably a good sign.)
His eyes dart to the incisions he left on my neck. I notice a twinge in his jaw, I can almost hear his breath hitch. The corner of his lips twitch, revealing a quick flash of his sharp fang. He wants more. (I want more.)
I’m not sure if he needs it, though, because when he leans over and rests his hand on my chest, it almost feels warm. “I can’t…” Baz murmurs at the same time his lips touch the skin of my neck.
“I know, Baz. I know.”
But instead of sinking his teeth into me again, Baz licks around the twin bloody wounds he left me. It’s slow, gentle, and shockingly intimate. I don’t know how much blood I’ve lost or is still flowing out of me. I feel a drop trickle down my neck and onto my chest. Baz seems to notice it, too, because he looks up at me and slowly, tantalizingly, drags his tongue across my skin along its crimson trail. It drives me absolutely crazy, and I know he knows that.
When he’s finished (drinking my blood? cleaning my wound?), Baz sits up again, adjusting himself right into my lap, where I’m—rather embarrassingly—a bit hard. He smirks.
Somehow, I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. There’s a flush to his cheeks that makes him seem alive, his jet black hair is slicked to his forehead with sweat, and his mouth is covered with my blood—which he wipes away with his thumb. He maintains a steady, sultry eye contact with me as he licks the blood off his finger.
“Damn you,” I breathe, sitting up so our faces are level. I grab his waist with both hands and kiss him, gently at first, and then not as much.
He tastes metallic, warm, and I’m drinking him in. He puts a hand on my neck, his fingers brushing over the bite mark. There’s something strangely hot about kissing a man who just drank my blood.
“Simon,” Baz said against my lips. I don’t know what he was trying to say, but hearing him say my name makes me kiss him harder. “Simon—”
“Mmph…” My hand goes up into his hair. Baz pushes me back, though, even when I lean forward out of instinct to try and connect our lips again.
“Simon,” he says again. “You have to get back inside. At least so I can clean you up better.”
I grin. “I love when you say my name.”
Baz rolls his eyes and climbs off of me. “Come on, Snow,” he says, standing up and extending a hand. “Let’s go. Who knows what the neighbors are thinking seeing a vampire suck the blood of his half-dragon boyfriend in the woods at two in the morning.”
I take his hand and he pulls me up. When I’m on my feet, I suddenly feel dizzy, like I’ve downed an entire bottle of wine—which is the best comparison I have, because it definitely isn’t like being beer-drunk. We’re face-to-face (except, of course, for the three inches he has on me), and I kiss him again. “You’re so beautiful,” I tell him, brushing his hair out of his face. “Do you know that?”
Baz laughs under his breath and tilts his head. He looks like a cat. “And you’ve gone blood-loss silly. Come on.” He pulls my arm up over his shoulders and puts his around my waist. He leads me back inside and I stumble after him.
I don’t remember much, but somehow I end up back in bed, I’m laying down and Baz is sitting next to me. He’s pressing a warm cloth to the side of my neck. There’s a lamp on, and even that dim light starts giving me a headache. I close my eyes and feel him brush his fingers through my hair.
“Mm…” I murmur. “You should do that again.”
Baz chuckles. “What?”
I smile. “Bite me.”
Baz takes the cloth and slaps it against my face. I open my eyes in indignation and blink up at him. “No,” he says. “That was a one-time thing.”
“Sure.” I dry my face with a corner of the bedsheet.
Baz’s face softens. He tosses the cloth on the floor and clicks off the lamp. “Go to sleep, Snow,” he says. I close my eyes as he lays down next to me, his arms holding me around my stomach and pulling me close.
I hear him mutter something under his breath, though I can’t tell what he’s saying, and I drift off into the deepest sleep I think I’ve ever had.
And when I look in the mirror the next day, it looks like Baz had never bitten me at all.