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“I lean into him, because I'm cold and he's always warm. And because I like to remind him that I'm not afraid of him.”
“He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth—and I did. I would again. I’d cross every line for him.”
-Rainbow Rowell, Carry On
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He’s so warm.
Everything about Simon is warm, really. From his eyes to his golden curls to his big hands to his bright smile. It’s all warm and good and… well fucking idiotic, most of the time. But not right now. Not when we’re lying on my carpet and he’s right there above me, bare from the waist up with his fingers carding through my hair. Right now it’s anything but stupid. It’s all I’m living for.
He pauses in our kiss and then slowly pulls away. I try to control my breathing and mostly manage, but I can’t help my hands as they wander slowly up and down his arms, seemingly of their own accord. I can’t blame them for wanting to take in as much of his warm, smooth skin as possible. For the past ten minutes I’ve been trying to rid myself of the ridiculous urge to lick every fucking inch of his body that I can get to. I’ve mostly succeeded, but I couldn’t stop myself from kissing that infernal mole on his cheek. There’s only so much you can expect from yourself when a half-naked Simon Snow is making out with you on your floor.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Simon pulls up a little more, just far enough that his mouth is out of reach. Our eyes meet, and he smiles slightly. There’s a questioning look in his expression, as if to dare me to come get it. To come get him.
I rise magnificently to the challenge.
I reach up and grab his hair, threading my fingers through his curls before leaning up awkwardly to meld our lips back together. It’s a spectacularly uncomfortable angle, but I don’t care. His mouth and lips and tongue are all so soft and wet and sweet and so, so warm. I’m addicted to it. To Simon.
I know I’m not as talented of a kisser as he is, but I give as good as I can. I hear him sigh softly as I run my tongue over his bottom lip and the noise sends a tingle of excitement down my spine. Slowly, without breaking our kiss, he pushes me back so that my head once again rests on the floor.
Then he pulls away again but before I can comprehend what he’s doing his lips are at my throat not my mouth and he begins kissing and sucking on my neck. It’s all I can do to keep myself from gripping his shoulders so hard they’d bruise. I think my hands are shaking.
Then his teeth scrape against my neck before he gently bites down, and it’s so wonderfully unexpected and terribly ironic (or should that be tremendously erotic?) that I simply can’t stop the awful, needy, keening moan that escapes me.
He pulls back, and I know I’d be blushing from head to toe if I’d fed more recently. He gives me a flushed, lopsided grin and I give him my best, most terrifying and haughtiest glare in return.
Simon just laughs.
“Crowley, Baz,” he murmurs, his voice gravely. I close my eyes to hide my embarrassment, and he lets his forehead rest gently against mine. But then suddenly he lifts his body up and off of mine, collapsing on the floor next to me and rolling over on to his back with a sigh. My heart plummets at the sound. What the fuck did I do to mess everything up now?
But then not three seconds later he rolls back over towards me and suddenly his arms are wrapped around me and my nose is pressed against his chest and everything is right again.
He’s so warm.