Head Over Heels - A Simon and Baz fic

9. Baz

Words are spilling out of Snow's mouth and going straight through my head without making any impression on me. I'm stuck on five of the words he just said: Maybe I do love you. I can't count the times I've imagined him saying those words to me. It's usually at this point that he kisses me, in my daydreams. Seven years. That's how long I've been waiting. I won't wait any longer.

I surge forward, wrap my fingers around his chin, and finally, finally kiss him. Barely a pause and his lips are responding to mine, urging me to give him more. His fiery hands grab at my waist, pulling me closer. I smell smoke and fire as his magic erupts around us, enveloping this moment in heat and passion. It seems fitting, that our first kiss should feel like a battle. His hands rise to my shoulders and pull at the lapels of my blazer. With great difficulty I create an inch of space between us. We can't do this here, not in this very public corridor.

I open my mouth tell him so, "Simon. . ."

And it's then the clouds leave his eyes. His expression changes from one of lust to one of terror. He takes a step back, staring at me like he expects me to understand. And then he's gone, sprinting down the corridor.

I sigh. This fight or flight instinct of Snow's is starting to get rather irritating. He doesn't seem to realise a third option exists: talking it out. But we all know talking isn't his speciality.

I run my hands through my hair, pushing it out of my face, and look towards the classroom door. I can just hear the mumbles of conversation within. Nope. Not going in there. I turn around and head for my (our) room.

***

I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I can't stop reliving that moment over and over again. Not the moment that I kissed him, but the one where he kissed me back.

I'd never, despite all my desperate daydreams and fantasies, actually thought he'd kiss me like that. I'd never thought that it could end any other way than him pushing me away in disgust, and telling the whole school of my shame. But, if I'm not mistaken, that isn't what happened. Instead, Simon Snow just kissed me back. (And then ran away.) (But let's not dwell on that part.)

I push myself up into a sitting position, swinging my legs off the side of the bed. My head drops into my hands. Why is he always running? He'll stand and face any beast, any threat, but when it's a person, or his own feelings, something changes. He's one of the bravest people I know, but is scared of his heart. (And of me.)

I leap up off the bed as I hear footsteps that I'd recognise anywhere racing up the stairs. The door flies open and there's Snow. He's panting from his sprint and there's a wild, desperate look in his eyes as he speaks.

"I just. . . I just need to know," he says, dragging a hand through his unruly curls, "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I wanted to," I say, taking a step towards him, "And because it seemed about damn time."

A small, shy smile creeps its way onto his face, the harsh, crazy edges of his expression softening with relief.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" I ask.

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes on his shoes, "Yeah."

I can't help the smile that takes over my face then, as his eyes flick up to look at me.

He takes a tentative step forward; just a couple of feet separate us now. There's so much I want to say (some serious, some sarcastic) but I know I need to let him think first. His hand twitches, before steeling itself and reaching out for mine. His warm fingers wrap around my cold ones, his bronzed skin covering my porcelain. I look up at his face to find his gaze trained on our clasped hands, an expression of wonder and shock on his face. I suppose this must all feel very foreign to him. Never did he imagine that his great destiny would lead to him and I together, like this.

I tug at his hand, causing him to stumble a step closer to me. I stoop down to get him to look at my face. Those wide, blue, vulnerable eyes meet mine and it's all I can do to stop myself from pulling him into another kiss.

I needn't have bothered. His free hand reaches up to bury itself in my hair as he pulls my lips down to his. This time his mouth is slow, almost wary, upon mine. My hand finds the small of his back and I push him closer against me. He nudges my chin with his as he steals kisses, kisses I am quite willing for him to take. When he touches me like this I'm willing to give him everything. He lets go of my hand to throw both arms around my neck, arcing his body into mine. I feel his tongue stroke my bottom lip as he abandons his uncertainty and deepens the kiss. You can tell he's done this before. (Though presumably not with a boy.)

I take a step back to steady myself and my leg hits the edge of the bed. My knees buckle and I land atop it, breaking our kiss. Snow's dragged down with me, his knees settling either side of my hips. I huff a laugh at the surrealism of it.

"What's going on here, Snow?" I chuckle. (Chuckle? I never chuckle! I must be truly giddy.)

He leans his forehead against mine and grins, "I have no idea. I think I like it though."

"Me too," I say.

He sits back, his thinking face plastered on. (It's a rare expression, but I've known him for long enough to recognise it.)

"So, does this mean that. . . that you like me too?" he asks, brows drawn together in deliberation.

"I've been in love with you for years, Simon," I finally admit. His eyes light up at my words.

"You called me Simon," he grins.