Archive of Our Own ^beta

Simon

"Can I cut in?"

I don't need to look up from Agatha to know who's speaking. Because I recognise that voice. Because I knew he'd do this. Because I haven't been looking at Agatha, I've been scanning the room to figure out where he is.

Baz Pitch puts on a charming smile and extends a hand towards my girlfriend.

I'd say she stops dancing with me but I'm not really sure you can call this dancing. I'm not allowed to move my feet because I step on her toes when I do, so we've just kind of been swaying on the spot.

We do stop though. And Agatha reaches out a hand to take Baz's.

In that moment, it seems like the only solution. Merlin, it actually seems like a good one because I know Agatha will get annoyed if I tell Baz to fuck off.

Instead, I say, "sure," and drop my hand into his awaiting palm before Agatha can reach it.

They both turn to look at me. Agatha looks annoyed. I expect Baz to look annoyed too but his brow is furrowed more in confusion than anger.

Agatha looks expectantly at Baz, like she's waiting for him to tell me he was talking to her, I'm waiting for it too. It doesn't come though.

Baz narrows his eyes at me for but a moment before he says, "alright, Snow." He steps into my space and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to step back or maybe deck him.

He's calling my bluff in a way I suppose, waiting for me to back down so he can make off with Agatha. So, I don't back down.

I clasp his hand more tightly. It's much colder than Agatha's was but that's probably better because it'll make things less clammy. His fingers are longer too, they reach further onto the back of my hand, enveloping it.

Baz's hand falls to my shoulder and mine to his, his muscles tensing under my touch, though I'm sure I'm doing the same.

I don't even see Agatha go, I'm too busy glaring daggers up at Baz who still looks smug, like he's somehow winning. When I glance up, she's gone, disappeared into the crowd, with more than a few of them giving us confused or concerned looks.

Apparently, me and Baz are looking at each other with enough distaste that they don't actually seem to think anything of it beyond our usual antics though.

Baz isn't stupid though and he very quickly realises that I cannot for the life of me, dance.

"Finished embarrassing yourself?" he asks, still smirking, as he examines something over my shoulder in what might be his first time taking his eyes off me.

He's been smirking the whole time. I should know I've been very close and glaring at him, only glancing down when I accidentally step on him. He's been watching me right back, not so much as flinching when I make a mistake though his eyes narrow a little each time. They're nice eyes, particularly up close when I can see more than just the grey they appear from afar. I'm close enough to see green and blue shifting as we move and the light hits him differently. His pupils are wide but it's not that dim in here. It makes him look softer though, less threatening.

I wonder if Agatha would have noticed his eyes. I can't not notice, being this close so I'm sure she would have too.

"Fuck off," I mutter, considering shoving him away and maybe socking him in the jaw for good measure.

His grip loosens on my hand and I almost let go of it before we turn and I realise what, or rather who, he's been looking at.

So I hold his hand tighter in mine and use the hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. "Absolutely not."

"What, are you just going to keep dancing with me until Wellbelove gives up and leaves?" he asks, sneer on his features renewed though he doesn't look surprised by my actions in the slightest.

I square my shoulders and straighten up, affixing him with a scowl again. "If I have to."

"Then you'll never get to dance with her yourself."

I shrug but it doesn't even dissuade his hand let along dislodge it from its resting place. "She doesn't like dancing with me anyway."

"That's probably because you're abysmal at it."

He's right. I'm awful. I always held out a little hope for it being a by-product of me leading but I think technically Baz is leading right now.

"We don't really dance," I say with a shrug because he technically is right, "we just kind of sway. It's just nice to be close to someone, you know?"

I regret it as soon as I say it but it would only be worse if I took it back. I suppose I should be madder that he's right. I am a little. He could probably make Agatha happy, dance a waltz or whatever perfectly. But he's not dancing with Agatha, he's dancing with me, so I count that as a victory.

"I suppose," he says and I'm close enough to see the dusting of pink settle across his cheeks. I want to run my fingertips over it, to see if it warms under the rush of blood the same way his skin warms under mine. But he composes himself quickly and for once I'm grateful because it stops me following that thought to fruition. "I guess she just doesn't like being that close to you then."

"You think she'd like it more with you?"

Maybe she would. He seems to like the idea of it with her. Actually, genuinely, like it, if the blush that graced his features moments ago is anything to go by. But it's already fading and I've lost my window to call him out on it. Not that I could find anything particularly devastating to say.

"Perhaps."

It takes me a moment to realise we're just swaying. I'm not sure when we stopped. Probably when I pulled him closer to keep him from running off after Agatha.

I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

He's taller than Agatha, he holds me differently and he smells different. So, I can't just pretend it's her instead.

But I don't hate it.

It's not exactly nice though. But in a way it is, I suppose. It's not like we've ever gotten this close before without punches and curses being thrown at each other.

As long as we're silent it seems we can get along.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, withdrawing my hand from his, my arm tired from holding it out. He makes to step away and I probably should let him but before I even realise what he's doing I have both arms draped over his shoulders.

He moves back into my arms and lets his hands settle around my waist, ever the perfect gentleman, even with me, careful to keep his touch light and as far from intimate as he can manage. I wonder if he'd be so cautious with Agatha.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why are you still here with me? Just because I asked you to? You could walk over to Agatha right now and she wouldn't let me stop you." I don't look at him throughout my words and it might be the longest we've looked away from each other all night.

I feel the laugh he huffs out under my skin, under my fingertips and his body shifts. "It doesn't matter, either way, you're not with Wellbelove so I win."

My gaze flicks back up to him and he's still very much looking at me, resolute and piercing. "So, what, you just want me to be miserable?"

"I suppose."

I heave a sigh, "well joke's on you because I'm not."

"What?" He asks, blank expression falling away to confusion for the first time since we've started dancing.

I don't respond and he doesn't press me.

I use this opportunity to get a better look at him. To tear my eyes from his own stupidly gorgeous ones and scan his features for imperfections.

The bend in his nose where I broke it. That's imperfect.

I wonder if his eyebrows are actually perfect or if he spends some of that time in our bathroom every morning plucking them.

The only real imperfection about his lips is the lack of colour. Grey like the rest of him. But soft and gently curved and turned down ever so slightly at the edges in a way that always makes him look a little displeased. But still pretty much perfect.

It takes me a moment to realise my tongue has slipped out to wet my own lips and I quickly stow it and move on.

He's not entirely devoid of colour. There's a light flush settling across his cheeks again. Not as severe as the ones he gets after a football game but still notable when I'm this close. But it's still gentle and only serves to make his dark features more attractive. So, I move on.

His hair was slicked back. I never liked it slicked back so I suppose that's a point in my favour. It's not now though. It's fallen forward to frame his face, a couple of strands going as far as to brush across his cheek. I've half a mind to push it out of his face. I might if I keep looking at him.

So, I break his gaze again and look up. I meet Agatha's instead, glowering at me across the room and her eyes filling with longing as they flicker to Baz.

I don't think he's even noticed.

I shoot her a sheepish look and a shrug.

Baz notices that and inclines his head to follow my line of sight. It's not until he does it that I realise what had been missing from this equation. Jealousy. I feel it course through my veins now but it's not making me want to march over there and take Agatha by the waist. Instead, it makes me tighten my grip on Baz.

He looks back to me with a raised eyebrow and something settles in my stomach. Dread quickly replacing jealousy.

So, I shove it away and settle back in because Baz hasn't pushed me away yet. If I can just keep my mouth shut maybe he won’t at all.

Eventually, I get tired. So tired. Even from just swaying. So, I curl one arm around his waist and lean my head forward until it tips onto his shoulder.

"Tired, Snow?" he more sneers than asks.

We haven't spoken much, save to toss the occasional banter back and forth. Then I stopped engaging because Baz kept winning.

I open my mouth to tell him no and a yawn comes out instead.

"Come on, let’s get you back to our room." He sounds almost sympathetic for a moment.

I shake my head, forehead brushing over the far too soft material of his suit. I let him take more of my weight, leaning into him properly though I'm not sure if it's because I want to or because I need to at this point.

"Relax, you can stop. Wellbelove left an hour ago."

It takes me a moment to realise what he's saying. To remember what he's even talking about.

"And yet, you're still here," I observe looking up and around. A lot of other people have left already too. I'm not sure how long has passed, long enough that only a few people are still on the dancefloor and fewer are around snack tables.

"Like you said, I'm trying to make you miserable."

"Try harder."

Baz

Snow's head settles back onto my shoulder and I'm not entirely sure what to do about this situation.

Why is he still here? Wellbelove is gone. Probably back to the cloisters so it's not like I could figure out how to get in. Not that I'd want to. All I really want is this.

Simon Snow, here in my arms, nestling into the crook of my neck, one arm thrown haphazardly over my shoulder and the other at my hip toying with the creases created by my tucked shirt.

His is tucked his in too, for once. I wonder if it was Wellbelove or Bunce who dressed him. It doesn't matter, he looks dashing though I'm not sure a blue suit is what I'd have picked for him.

He leans further into me and my grip on his waist tightens some. I don't know how he does it, just so casually pulls me closer or puts his hands on me. Probably because he doesn't feel what I do. If I did it, it would feel predatory, like I'm taking advantage of the situation.

It's enough though, just this. The taut skin of his back moving under my hands when he shifts, the weight of his chest against mine. The way his curls tickle under my chin.

I don't know why he's still here. I also know I can't bring myself to leave if he doesn't first. The sun will rise before I willingly depart from his embrace.

"Keep this up for much longer and people will talk," I mutter, a half-hearted attempt at sabotaging the peace I've found in this moment.

Snow snorts and it draws attention to the way his breath drifts across my throat. Slow and gentle and enough to set my skin alight. "I stalked you for a year, I doubt it can get much worse."

He makes a decent point, that and I'm sure people are already talking and have been all night.

I laugh a little because I'm tired too. It's well into the night and the time Snow would be asleep and I'd have free reign to take him in. I've been doing that all night though and it hasn't helped prevent the way my walls are growing unsteady.

I feel him smile against me, not his lips, they are thankfully not pressed to my skin. But I feel the way his cheeks bunch when he smiles, pushing into my neck in a way that makes me long for his lips instead and wonder if this isn’t somehow worse for me.

"Why are you still here?" I ask because I enjoy few things in life more than suffering, apparently.

"Why are you?" he asks in return.

I don't have an answer, so I don't say anything.

A few moments later Snow's arms unwind from around me and I pull my own back as quickly as I can.

I don't want him to leave and I'm halfway making up some comment about going to find Wellbelove before he's taking my hand and pulling me from the room.

I go with him, feeling stupidly compliant but he's still holding my hand so I figure I can put up with that feeling just a little longer.

Wellbelove it seems, has been waiting for us outside. Which one of us though I can't say. And I suppose I'll never find out because Snow drops my hand.

"Agatha, I need to talk to you," he says, striding away from me and towards her.

It's not that I wasn't expecting it, or that I didn't know it would end. It's just that I can't help but think that maybe I could have had a few more minutes of bliss if she'd just fucked off.

"Likewise." She levels her gaze at Snow, glancing at me for but a moment.

I don't bother meeting her eyes. Instead, I stuff my hands into my pockets, protecting what little warmth Snow's graced me with from the night air as it strips away the rest till my neck and chest are cold again as I march back to our room.

I'm dressed and ready for bed before Snow renters our room. He doesn't say anything, just crosses it in an instant. I'm waiting for the anathema to kick in and whisk him away the second he hits me because I've caused a minor bump in his perfect relationship.

He doesn't hit me, though, or disappear.

His arm snakes around the back of my neck and the other comes to rest on my hip where it had been only minutes before.

"Snow?" there's a hesitance to my voice but I don't pull away from him. I don't want to.

He doesn't respond in kind, just a soft, quiet, "can I kiss you?"

I almost think I've heard him wrong or that I'm imagining things, but I've waited much too long for this and I'm saying, "yes," before I can fully comprehend what it means.

But then I don't have to, because his lips capture mine. It's not as hesitant as his words. He's still tired, I can tell by the way he leans into me. But his lips are firm against mine and not at all soft. They're chapped and rough as they graze mine but I can't really find it in me to mind because Simon Snow is kissing me and it's everything I've ever wanted.

I let my hands fall into his hair like I've wanted to all night, pressing his face closer to mine even though I can already feel his nose digging into my cheek and when he tilts his head the right way his chin bumps my jaw.

It's messy and disastrous and so terribly Simon .

He pulls back too soon, panting and staring at me like he has been all night. Lips parted and eyes wide. Except he's not glaring now, his features have softened and his lips are wet and he stares up at me.

"Wellbelove?" I somehow manage because being Snow's enemy feels easier than being his side piece.

He shakes his head, "Nah, we're not- we just-" I'm not sure if he can't spit it out because he's nervous or just because he's panting. But I get the gist of it and don't protest when his lips collide with mine again.

Gasping breaths interrupt us every few moments as one of us pulls back for air but it never lasts more than a few moments. His fingers find their way under my pyjama shirt, not with any particularly racy purpose in mind apparently, because his hand just nestles into the curve of my back. Warm and comforting and pulling my body into his.

I'm not sure when his suit jacket comes off and his tie gets loosened, I didn't do it and the hand that isn't planted on my back seems intent on flitting about my torso so it's hard to tell. But when I notice I'm not sure if I should mourn the loss of Snow suited up completely or just enjoy the intimacy of the gesture. So I do a little of both.

I struggle to push things between us. Or for me at least I suppose, Snow already has a hand under my shirt.

I'm slower to progress. Maybe because I'm scared or maybe just because I've spent so long dreaming of what it would be like to tangle my hands in his hair that I want to draw it out. I'm not sure which option is more embarrassing.

I do though, eventually, move my hands from his hair. Sliding them down to rest against his neck, I can practically feel his pulse quicken as I swipe my thumb over it. For once though, I'm not hungry for blood. I'm not hungry at all really. I'm sated. Happy.

Mostly.

When Snow pulls back panting again, I seize the opportunity to press my lips to the mole on his cheek. And he doesn't protest, so I drag my finger back through his hair, pulling it away from his face so I can kiss the ones on his brow. His skin tastes salty and I'm not surprised, but I still don't care. I'm not sure how I'll bring myself to care about anything ever again after this.

When I pull back, he doesn't instigate another kiss just raises a hand to my face and brushes a few strands of hair to the side, knuckles grazing lightly over my cheek as he does so.

I snap out of my haze long enough to see how tired he still looks. It's late and even as frantic as his kisses are there's no disguising that.

"You should go to bed," I tell him and for some reason it makes him smile.

He gives a small hum and agrees, "yeah."

It makes my stomach sink some but before he pulls away, he leans up and presses a kiss to my cheek, tender and slow and lasting for a few seconds longer than I'd expect.

His hands leave me at the same time his lips finally do and he slips off into the bathroom to change.

All that remains of Snow is the warmth dancing across my skin and the promise that maybe this isn't over yet.