Chamber by Chamber // Snowbaz

Pitch on the Pitch

Otp Prompt #5: Baz is assigned to teach Simon how to play football. Things take an interesting turn

I am cursed. The bloody Mage decided that for some reason it would just be a grand idea for me to teach Snow how to play football. It'll 'sharpen his reflexes' or some shit. So now we're on the pitch and he's dressed in this tight shirt and shorts and he's all sweaty and god fucking damnit. He keeps tripping over his own feet, even when he isn't running and doesn't have the ball.

"Come on, you twat! It's not even that hard." He's furrowing his brow and he looks so frustrated. His face is all screwed tight and I can almost feel the fire behind his eyes. I can feel the magic rolling off of him in waves.

"It bloody well is that hard! Just because you're some fucking expert footballer doesn't mean everyone is!" He rolls his eyes at me when I try to kick him an easy shot to block and he falls just short. My hair has fallen out of his slicked back state but I haven't broken a sweat yet. It's quite funny to see Snow flailing on the pitch. Something that comes so easily to me makes him fall around and look like a dying duck.

"Okay, Snow. Let's take a break," He looks at me with a grimace and he's breathing quite hard. I can't help but admire the way he obviously doesn't want to quit, and doesn't want to give me the satisfaction of admitting I'm just better than him at this. "You look like shit, you know. Get some water." He sighs but walks away to the sidelines anyhow.

"Arsehole." He mutters under his breath. I watch him as he walks away. The shirt was just a loaner and the only one that was even close to fitting him was too tight. He had to leave a few unbuttoned and I can see the way all of his muscles strain under the thin fabric. I swear, he's trying to kill me. I can't help but stare as he gulps down the water and spills a little on his bronze curls. He's an absolutely dreadul idiot, but fuck if I don't love him for some reason.

A few minutes later, he's calmed down enough to get back to playing. "I can take goalie for now, Snow. Go ahead and give me your best shot," I back up to the net and get myself ready for Snow's inevitably weak kick. He lines himself up behind the ball and before he can kick I say, "Pretty hot, Snow! You should join football- maybe Agatha would take you back!" I don't quite know why I said it, but it seemed to catch him off guard. He looked at me with wide eyes and stumbled over his own feet. However, he seems to stumble so much that he kicks the ball powerfully, which then in turn catches me off guard. In short, the ball speeds at my face at an ungodly speed and hits me in the nose. I can feel the blood as it gushes down my face and I fall down to my knees, cradling my face.

"Baz!" Simon yells and runs toward me. If I didn't know any better, I would say that he sounds almost concerned. Soon I feel him by my side and he removes my hands from my face carefully, inspecting the damage done.

"Nice going, you git." I say, a small smile playing on my lips. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell that he's trying to fight a smile himself.

"Would you believe me if I said that was on purpose?" We both chuckle lightly, but I wince when it sends a pain up my nose. There's blood all over; on my face, my hands, Snow's hands, and both of our shirts. Yet he's just laughing. "I'll be right back. Don't move." I stay still like he instructs as he walks away and comes back a minute later with my wand in his hand. He sets it in my hands as he cups my face with his hands and wipes away the blood. He stays there for longer than he probably needed to. Why is that? I wonder.

"Early to Bed and Early to Rise it, Baz." He says as he lets go of my face- and I can't help but wish that he hadn't pulled away so soon. I nod and spell my nose. I feel it set back in place and the bleeding stops. The blood still covers everything but I just Clean as a Whistle it. Snow and I sit down like that (basically on top of each other) (hopefully he doesn't look down. My shorts will reveal a little tent steadily growing) for a very long time. I could just imagine it, but I'm pretty sure I see his eyes linger on my lips for a fraction of a second. I need to make him stop. I'm having an 'issue'.

"Well I should teach you how to do a simple pass between your teammate." I stand up and turn away from him, just to make sure he doesn't see anything. He gets up as well, and tentatively kicks the ball toward me. I start maneuvering the ball around my feet- twisting it this way and that. I may be showing off just a tad. I watch his eyes as they watch my feet dance around the ball. I'm unknowingly getting closer to him as I kick the ball every which way. I do a simple pass (a very simple pass. I learned it before I had even come to Watford) and the tosser completely trips over his own feet. The ball makes him slip and slide and he lurches forward and knocks into me. That's two injuries in one day caused by Simon Snow. Wonderful.

I feel his full body weight on top of me as we topple to the ground. My shirt rides up and the grass uncomfortably rubs against my skin. But that's not the sole thing on my mind. The main thing is that Simon fucking Snow is only inches away from me on all fours. All I can see are his deep blue eyes and soft bronze curls cloud my vision. All I'd have to do is reach up. Just a little bit. And then we'd be kissing. Like kissing kissing. He would probably send me flying afterwards. But I don't really care, do I?

"Simon..."

Then he kisses me. His lips are warm to the touch, and it's like he's set me on fire from the inside out. As a vampire, that should be scary. But I've never felt more alive. His jaw works so nicely against mine and all I can think is oh my god. I am kissing Simon bloody Snow. On the pitch. The two things I love most and I'm basically grinding on both of them.

He leans back up (still above me on all fours) and smirks at me. The tosser. He smirks. Like he wants me to cross the line for him. To feel his lips on mine one more time. He wants to make me reach up for his mouth- so I do. And I would (and probably will) again. I'd cross every line for him. I love him.

"Snow...wait..." I say between kisses. He falls back onto his side and keeps kissing me. All words disappeared on my tongue as I worked back with him.

"You," He kisses me again. "Called me Simon before." I smile against his lips. This is wonderful. Like a game of tug of war. He tastes like happiness and rainbows and dreams. He tastes like love.

I cannot believe that we're laying down in the middle of the pitch (football way off our minds now) and kissing. Of course, this will bring up a whole slew of problems now. Is he gay? Are we together now? And are supposed to just forget about everything that's happened in the last seven years? But I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to be consumed in Simon's lips on mine.

I guess for now we'll just tumble around and pretend to be happy boyfriends.