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Baz's POV
I walk with Simon to the dining hall, and leave him there with Penelope and a pile of scones reaching almost as high as me. This boy. . . , I chuckle to myself.
Simon and I are currently low key. Okay we have only been together like that for one day but still. Penny remains unaware that Snow and I are together. . . at least I hope we're together—we are together, right? Need to figure that out later. . .
Getting Dev and Niall to leave their food to practice Football instead was a true test of my patience. Almost as challenging as leaving Simon Snow naked in my bed to go shower. Regret courses through my cold veins. I have learnt a valuable lesson: never leave that naked sun-kissed, freckle splattered body. Not for anything.
"Baz, why are we practicing in the morning?" Dev whines.
"Because we have a game, Dev," I snap.
"Take it easy on us, please," Niall smiles cheekily and I throw a half-hearted punch his way. He dodges thankfully, because my vampire strength would've left him with a few missing teeth.
After an hour of practice, I'm too tired to bother changing for class, especially since I'll have to head back to the Pitch soon anyway. And I do not wish to enter my room because the second I do, Simon's scent will engulf my mind. Our scent will leave me an absolute mess. Crowley, I sound more like a mated werewolf. I'm internally, perpetually rolling my eyes at myself.
Wandering dazedly through last night's events, I find myself in Greek class. Sliding into the seat beside Simon, who immediately looks up at me—flustered—I cock an eyebrow and smirk at the reaction.
"Your hair. . . ," Simon gasps, and I bite my lip to hold back a laugh.
"They're tied up. . . ," he's looking at me as if I grew another head—a wild, strange amazement glinting in blue eyes.
"Snow. You're crazy." I inform him politely.
Simon gulps—and it's a whole bloody show, the way his Adam's Apple bobs slowly. He manages to look away when the Minotaur clicks his tongue disdainfully at him. (I may or may not have snickered at that.)
I spend the entire class staring at my Chosen One. At those blue eyes that keep catching in the sunlight, shimmering. The same eyes that look at me lovingly and lustfully now. Bronze curls that bounce every time he moves his head, the same curls that grazed between my legs last night. His sun-kissed body, one that reacts to my every touch and whisper.
Certain that he had felt my eyes on him, I ask to leave class and wait outside the door. Within a few minutes Simon's bronze curls bounce into view. He fists a hand in my shirt, grabbing me by the collar and slams my body back against the old brick wall, then wrapping his arms around my neck he pulls me down.
Snow crashes his mouth into mine, swaying on his toes. Snaking my arms around his lean waist, I smile against those plump, pink lips.
Crowley, I love this boy. . .
I take him into my arms while he smiles against my mouth, still swaying. I hold him even tighter, since he's practically floating. Golden fingers tug hastily at my hair, untying them. Simon's quite messier and clumsier and higher than usual, he's exuding thick waves of magick. And he's all over me.
The hair tie finally rips, and black waves fall lazily over my shoulders before getting tangled in Simon's fingers. He kisses me harder. Little stars twinkle behind my eyes, Simon's heartbeat drums in my ears, my love for him overwhelms me.
"Snow. . . ," I start, but he silences me with his mouth.
"Simon, I have something planned for tonight," it comes out more nervous than I would like, but his blue eyes light up anyway.
After my little arrangement, there is no way Simon and I will not be together. Hope dances in my smoky grey eyes as I stare into the eternal blue of Simon's, a blue that I want to drown in, that I want to spend the rest of my immortal life in. It's a dangerous thing, longing for the living sun. But I've always liked playing with Fire.
The sun glares at me throughout practice and Niall refuses to shut up. I miss a shot or two today because my mind keeps wandering back to those bronze curls I would rather have my hands in right now. And those sun kissed legs I'd rather be tangled in. And. . . I'm under Simon Snow's spell. (Which is funny, since he can barely even cast one.)
The football weaves between my feet as I kick it back and forth, keeping it away from all my teammates. Coach is working on individual skill today, so each of us is practicing against the whole team.
Honestly, I have to hold back and it's a little frustrating. I'm simply too fast for them. My movements are lithe and nimble, quiet and graceful, stealthy and deadly. Unnaturally perfect.
I let out an irritated huff at Dev's failed attempts. "Oh come on! How do you expect to win next week?" I glower. Being their captain is taking a toll. They can be so uncooperative!
"Not getting your daily dose of dick, Pitch?" Gareth snickers to a couple others who break into hushed laughter, he doesn't realize I heard him.
"No, Gareth, but your dad is," I smirk at him. His eyes widen, and I stalk forward like the predator I am.
"What is it, Gar?" I ask, feigning innocence, "Did I leave you speechless. . . funny, I have the same effect on your dad." I'd heard Gareth was a real sucker for his parents and I saw proof when he tried to growl at me. Pathetic.
"Cocksucker," he spits at me. As if that's an insult. My smirk grows wider and wider, and terribly more menacing as I look down into Gareth's black eyes. Mine are much colder. He's ruffled by my sinister smile and unnatural stillness.
He open his mouth and I cannot resist cursing him.
"Cat got your tongue, Gareth." I tease, and his mouth snaps open and shut, no words coming out. I don't regret spelling him for a second.
"Gaping fish is a good look on you," I smile sweetly, walking away.
Mercifully there are only twenty more minutes left for practice and soon I'll be back in Simon Snow's arms. I sigh at the thought, eager to get away from the Pitch for once.
Speak of the devil. . . more like angel honestly—Simon's on the bleachers staring at me intently. I flash him a breathless smile, that is reserved only for the love of my life. He stays there watching, without the usual malice in his eyes.
After assigning drills and fixing up the boys' workouts, I catch a glimpse of him then sprint down the field and my heart swells up in longing.
"Practice is over for today!" I yell to my teammates. I can't stand being away from Simon a second longer. (Or stand being near them.)
Just as I'm about to jog over to Snow, Niall swings his arms around me.
"Baz! Where you going so fast?!"
"Crowley, I just want my boyfriend!" I whine, exasperated. I must be truly tired, to have exposed myself.
"BOYFRIEND?!" His eyes are comically large.
Fuck me. . . And my big mouth. Now that I think about that sentence, I should say it to Simon, I chortle at the idea.
"Shush! Speak of it and I will decapitate you," I hiss, with a playful sneer to my friend.
"Wait a minute, who's your boyfriend??" His spelled muddy blue eyes (nowhere near as glorious as Simon's) narrow as quick as they widened. It's work not to till my eyes at his animated moves.
But his question might prove to be a problem.
Who gives a fuck? He already knows I have a boyfriend, he won't leave me alone now.
"Simon. . . "
"Your five-year long nemesis? The Mage's heir? The Simon Snow? That Simon?" He asks incredulously.
"No, your mom 'Simon', YES YOU ARSE, Simon Snow. . ." I glower at him, a little too harshly. I should apologize. Moral crisis number 27 of the day.
I'm nothing if not polite. . .
Actually I'm rather curt, but he's my friend. And the one person I can tolerate for quite some time. "Sorry, Niall, I just miss him."
"No, it's fine. Umm. . . how though?" His sandy blonde brows are pinched and he's already gotten over my rudeness. (Years of exposure build wondrous levels of tolerance.)
I raise a brow. At his current question. How what?
"How did you two get together?"
"Oh. I'm not quite sure. . . it kind of just happened," I rake my long fingers through my hair, as I think back and realize that I was about to bite Agatha when he found me. Oh. I keep my mask of confusion and carelessness on, as I inch away form Niall's interrogation.
"Finally. . . " Simon whispers into my mouth as we turn at a corner, hiding from the rest of the school.
"Come on, Si—let's go," I drag him to Mummers, desperate to get away from everyone and have The Chosen One all to myself, while he laughs at my despair and irritation with the entire world. Fucker. But I love him. I don't think I ever got the option to not love Simon Snow.
"What!" I seethe, just for a reaction. Just because I want him so bad.
"Nothing, baby, you're just cute like this." His smile is blinding, I frown.
"I am not cute!" I hiss. And then a hand harshly connects with my arse, I make a strange, strangled, squeaky noise of surprise. Fuck you, Baz.
But did Simon just spank me?
I'm torn between teasing him, and wondering if I'm in heaven.
He continues laughing at the uncomfortable, surprised, yet playful expression on my face. I pretend it pisses me off. Knowing my pout is endlessly enticing—I'm Baz, everything about me is enticing.
Upon seeing my lips pucker and sneer settle, a cocky smirk plays on his. Both his hands come around my hips, and he pulls me down into a kiss, pressing our bodies together with his grip on my arse.
His tongue entwines with mine, and Crowley, his lips are so, so soft. I bring my hands into his curls, making sure he can't let go. He breathes a laugh at that, against my lips.
"Crowley, Bazzy, you're so cute!" He teases, grazing our noses. Blue, blue, blue eyes. I frown.
"Tyrannus. . . ," he whispers, smiling uncontrollably.
"Never call me that, ever." It sounds like something an idiotic child made up upon finding an egg they were convinced belonged to a dragon. Only my mother called me that, anyway.
"Tyrannosaurus!" He giggles, and I have to roll my eyes. Why, Simon Snow? Why oh why?
I can't resist pretending to be even more pissed at that. I mean it does sound ridiculous, but I could never actually get frustrated with Simon. (Never mind, I do get frustrated with him on a daily basis. That was only for romantic flair.)
"Fine, Snow—" I slam our door between us, leaving Simon out of the room. He's still howling with laughter, probably clutching his stomach by now.
"Bazzy boo!!" He whines, between chortles.
"The fuck did you just call me, Snow?"
"BAZZY BOO!!!"
Simon bangs on our door, almost breathlessly. . . Crowley, will his laughter never die down?!
"Good luck getting in while calling me that!"
My soon-to-be boyfriend mutters some strange words outside the door and suddenly the wood between us is pierced by a sharp metal. The Sword of Mages. Dramatic much?
I fall back in shock; shards and splinters of wood everywhere and Simon kicks down the door, grinning.
"Are you crazy?!"
"No, I'm Simon. . ." he says, flashing his teeth. He thinks he's really funny. And I swear that's the only reason I'm almost cracking a smile.
"If someone sees, you're dead."
He just giggles at my warning. (Crowley, that sound is sweeter than anything i could play on my violin. . .)
My eyes practically blow out of their sockets at the wreckage before us. I'm on the floor, exasperated and Simon is standing above me with his Sword in hand, still grinning.
"I give up. . ." my head thudding as I lay on the ground.
"If you use your magick to clean up, I'll grant you a kiss!" Aleister Crowley, he's such a cheeky bastard.
"Fuck off, Simon; I don't need your kisses," I stick my tongue out at him, lying through my teeth. My longing for his mouth on mine is more deep, desperate and insatiable than even my need for blood.
When I open my eyes, Simon's straddling me. I slap his chest playfully and look away, frowning. A wet kiss is planted on my cheek, and I turn my face at breakneck speed, desperate to catch Simon's lips. He pulls back.
"What the fuck, Simon?!"
"I thought you didn't need my kisses. . . ," he says innocently. That cocky fucker.
"Fine," I spit at the blonde boy who knows he owns my heart, and uses it against me.
"As you were!" I cast as Simon watches, mesmerized with the way the door mended itself. Perhaps his amazement arises simply from the fact that he cannot control his magick.
Then his blue eyes are back on me, "You have successfully earned a kiss!"
I moan into the Chosen One's mouth as he entangles our tongues. Simon Snow. . . above me, on all-fours. Only a few weeks ago, he was like this to get a good punching angle instead. So much has changed, I think as I stare into the intense blue eyes less than an inch away from mine.
"I love you, Snow,"
"Simon."
"What?"
"My name is Simon,"
"I love you, Snow."
"Bazzy Boo!!"
"Alright, alright!" I sigh, " I love you, Simon."
"You secretly love the nicknames, don't you?"
"Wouldn't be a secret if I told you."
"Shut up and kiss me. . . ,"
"As you wish, Chosen,"