Breathless...

𝗣𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀!

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Baz's POV

I feel the sun's rays penetrate the curtains and a tingly, burning sensation crawls up my spine. My eyes flutter a little, but I squeeze them shut. I do not wish to leave my soft, soft bed. . . not today.

                Strangely, I feel something hard and solid pressing into my side. I furrow my brows, wondering how my pillow became hard. . . Something tickles my nose and I twist, my pillows arms tightening around me. Wait—pillows don't have arms!!

                I almost shoot up, my eyes bursting out of their sockets, my hair clearly in bed-head mode, flying everywhere. And then I hear a low, husky chuckle and. . .

                Aliester Crowley, Simon Snow is in my bed, his fair gold arms loosely wrapped around my very, very bare waist!!

               "Simon," I hiss at him, swatting his shoulder, and I finally remember last night. Oh.
Oh.

                Before I can even contemplate how to react, he pulls me back down and rubs my stomach. . . I almost purr, but it comes out as a breathy moan and Simon grins even wider, Crowley, that prat. That blundering, beautiful prat. I sneer out of habit and turn so I'm facing the wall instead of his bright, plump smile

                "Aleister Crowley, Snow, stop smiling you're going to blind me." I whine, and he only chuckles while wrapping his arms around me from behind, so that my back is pressed into his freckled chest, his legs entangling with mine, and I'm certain that's his morning arousal I feel near my arse. The thought of us being in such a suggestive position takes over my body, I feel dizzy and see a little tent slowly rising. . . Crowley, how do I even get out of his embrace?

                And he chooses that exact moment to snuggle his bronze curls into my shoulder blades and, Aleister Crowley, there's a golden boy, with a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame in my bed!!

                 The boy I've been hopelessly in love with for the past five years is in my bed. I want to cry tears of ecstasy.

                 Simon Snow is in my bed. . . I'm living a charmed life! I can't resist it. Who cares about my raging hard-on, I am never moving away. Not when Simon bloody Snow is holding me.

                 My euphoria is short lived however, because I don't quite understand what is going on between us; the only other time we shared a bed, not like that, was when we were in second year and he'd always wake up before me. We'd continue the day hating each other, so I'm not sure what the protocol is if he's cuddling with me in the morning. (And if he plays with my fangs in the night.) I couldn't survive if it didn't mean anything to him. . . if he was only messing with me.

                 But I push those thoughts aside, clearing my mind enough for me to cherish whatever little time Simon Snow blesses me with. And then I hear a low rumbling. So low, a human couldn't hear it—and obviously it's coming from Simon's usually loud stomach. Nice to know it learnt manners. I realize we have to get to breakfast otherwise Simon will complain about being hungry all day long—he already does that, so I reconsider—but I don't want to be the reason he misses scones. It would be equivalent to emotionally abusing him.

                "Simon, we're going to miss breakfast, get up!" I whine yet again. Crowley, when did I start whining? I thought I was a Pitch.

                "But I don't wanna move, ever." He deadpans. I'm surprised he sounds so serious, skipping scones just for me? Or maybe not me and just sleep. . .

                "Hey, Bazzy. . ," Simon coos, with a small smile playing on his plump pink lips, and pretty blue eyes that glimmer in the sunlight.

                "Yes, Snow," I say dazedly, distracted by his mesmerizing, deep morning voice.

                "You can shower first," he offers, with a lopsided grin.

                "No, you go. I do hope that you wear your own clothes, though." I remark, not meaning a word of it. I'd love to see him in my clothes. Every. Single. Day.

                 At that he gives me a quick squeeze and runs into my closet, smirking back at me, curls whipping against his forehead. Aliester Crowley, this boy drives me wild, I think, as I enter our bathroom.

                 About fifteen minutes later I step out of the shower and back into our room, still smiling. Fuck, when did I get soft?

                 I force a sneer on my face but it feels unnatural, so I give up, and decide to change my hairstyle. This should be exciting. . . As I stare into the mirror, examining my hair, quickly deciding what to do, I begin to look around for my products, finding Simon struggling with his tie instead.

                "Snow. . . ," I smirk playfully, "You want help?"

                "Umm. . . ," Simon looks away sheepishly.

                "Alright, alright. I won't tease." I walk over pulling him into me by his collar, and look down at his messy bronze curls and his rosy cheeks. I can't help the smile that plays on my lips. I also can't help leaning in to catch a quick kiss. Just a peck on his cheek—and it takes all my strength to not rip his clothes off. Simon stares up at me with twinkling blue eyes and then looks down, embarrassed at the messy knot that his tie has turned into.

                "Crowley. . . ," I sigh, chuckling at Simon unbelievable skill.

                 I raise an eyebrow and bite my lower lip in concentration because he's completely knotted his tie beyond repair and his breath hitches when he catches my eye. I notice it but don't say anything. I don't want to ruin whatever's going on between us, even though I know all good things—especially with Simon Snow—come to an end. And usually quite soon. So I savor the moments we have right now, commiting them to memory.

                "Wanna head down?" Simon asks, nervously.

                "Go, I'll catch up in five," I tell him with a soft smile. "I have to fix my hair," I smirk.

                "I like them down. . . ," Snow whispers, avoiding my eyes, as his cheeks flush.

                 I laugh and shove him out of our room, playfully. My smile doesn't falter for a single second.