Baz

Simon Snow is up to something. It's not like me to fixate on his comings and goings but when the boy who normally can't get out of bed for his 8 am classes is leaving our room at 6 in the morning, I get a little bit suspicious. And I find it quite unfair that I'm now being shorted valuable time to admire him in his bleary-eyed, bed-headed state. For the past week he's been up and getting dressed before I've woken up. Not only this, but he's been out later than normal too. For the first couple days I just assumed he was out messing around with Bunce, but she came by the room looking for Snow and seemed to be just as confused as I was.

"Oh. Hullo, Baz. Have you seen Simon?" she had said, fiddling with her ring.

"I assumed he was with you and Wellbelove,"

"No, Agatha hasn't seen him either," I shouldn't have felt pleased at this, but I did anyway. Apparently I didn't do a great job at hiding it because Bunce's eyebrows bounced towards her hairline (everything she does is bouncy, it's exhausting) and she smirked.

"Well, well Basilton, what was that look? Do we have something of a jealousy problem on our hands? Don't tell me I'm witnessing a Pitch fretting over the Greatest Mage,"

Bloody hell. I'm so used to Snow's utter disability to assess human emotions that I forgot Bunce is actually capable of gauging feelings through facial expressions.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, Penelope. Good night." And with that I shut the door right in the middle of her eye roll.

Tomorrow, I told myself, I would find out what's going on with Snow. As for tonight, I showered and settled into bed to wait for him to arrive home safely.

After all, what's a vampire without his freckled mage nemesis?

Simon

I GOT A MOTORCYCLE! It's run-down, and makes some suspect noises, and probably not very safe at all, but it works. I thought about having Penny fix it up for me with some of the new spells she's been working on, but I know if she knew about my new toy, she would have a fit. All that "Simon, you're supposed to save the entire WORLD OF MAGES, we cannot have you dying on a Normal metal death trap" and "Simon, homework before motorcycles" and the such. This is my inner Penny speaking. She speaks a lot, just like the real Penny. To please both Penny's, I did buy a helmet which felt very responsible of me. And then I rode.

Back in my third or fourth home, there was an older kid named Jordie, who was like the honorary big brother of the bunch. One day, Jordie came roaring up on this beautiful bike, big grin plastered over his face, like some sort of leather-clad angel. To this day, I still don't know where he found that bike, but none of us cared. We all took turns with him, riding into town with him, clutching onto his vest, and eventually he started teaching a couple of us how to ride. The first time I did a full lap around the home by myself, Jordie knocked me hard on the shoulder and said, "Si, when you're big and grown, I want you to find yourself a bike and ride so fast, you forget your problems"

When the Mage decided to shuttle me off to my next stop, I cried. It was the first and last time I was anything but happy to leave a home.

And now I finally have a bike of my own. Riding it back to the school from the sketchy shop I bought it from, I rode as fast as I could and I finally understood what Jordie meant about out riding life's problems. For once I wasn't worried about saving the world of mages, or my magic short circuiting, or the feelings I could no longer push down about a certain vampire roommate of mine. It was just me and the road.

I've ridden every morning and night since I got the bike, staying out late and sneaking back in before Baz wakes up. No one has noticed a thing.

Baz

I wake up to the thud of the door and Snow cursing to himself in what he probably thinks is a quiet voice.

"Crowley, Snow, some of us who aren't busy sneaking out are still trying to sleep," I snap. I've been told I'm not exactly a happy vampire in the mornings. I flip over, my pillow slipping off the bed, in time to see Snow turn around from the door, his face red enough that I could play connect the dots with those damn freckles.

"Sorry," he mutters, not sounding apologetic in the least. He darts into the bathroom, but not before I can get a second look at him.

I clear my throat. "Snow?"

His head pops back out into our room, curls flopping seemingly against gravity. "Hm?"

"Are you wearing a leather jacket?" I ask, doing my damnedest to tamp down the amusement in my voice.

He steps out of the bathroom, the blush creeping up his neck contrasting his crossed arms and defensive posture.

"Why, yes Basilton I am. What nice observatory skills you have. Would you like to identify the other articles of clothing I'm wearing?" I can't help but be a little bit proud that my attitude seems to be rubbing off on him.

Deciding to ignore his tone and instead focus on his invitation to assess his outfit, I let my eyes drift from the leather jacket, down over the wrinkled blue jeans, and the beat up Chucks. When I made my way back up to his flushed face and the smear of grease (where the hell did that come from) over his brow, I had come to the decision that it should be illegal to look that fit without even trying. I can practically feel my productivity for the day dropping the longer I look at Snow's crossed, leather-clad arms.

When I realize that we've been staring at each other for a very unstraight amount of time, I throw the blankets off myself, stalk over to the bathroom, pause to fix Snow's collar, and then continue on my path to the shower.

It doesn't don on me until I'm halfway undressed that I just fixed my mortal enemy's collar. And he didn't say a word.

Simon

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch DID NOT just check me out, and he DID NOT just fix my collar while looking right into the depths of my bloody soul, and I DID NOT like it. But he did. And I did. This calls for a very long motorcycle ride and then a somewhat painful conversation with Penny that went something like this:

"I think I may be somewhat more fond of Baz than I once thought."

Penny makes a face as if this isn't very new news.

"Are you coming out, Simon?"

"Out of where?"

Enter Penny's signature "exasperated with me" sigh here.

"Out of the closet, Simon. Are you queer? Are you smitten for Baz? How else shall I put it, you pea-brain?"

Enter my brain short circuiting.

"Oh."

"Just think about it, Simon. Go ride your motorcycle for a bit. Talk to Baz. I'm here when you're ready."

At the mention of my motorcycle, I whip around from my plate of scones, to face Penny. All I get is an adoring eye roll, reminding me that nothing gets by Penelope Bunce.

And then I go for another long, long ride. Long enough, in fact, that when I get back I've nearly talked myself up enough to go confront Baz. Except I don't have to. Because when I get back to the bush where I stash my bike, there is none other than Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, sitting there in all of his black hair, vampire-esque glory, waiting to greet me.

Baz

After this morning's incident and a day full of uselessly stumbling through classes, dreaming about Snow in leather jackets, I decided to do something about it. So when he comes back after classes, throws me a flustered glance, and walks right back out the door, I get up and follow him.

And Simon Snow has a motorcycle. Simon Snow of cherry scones, and blushing, and countless freckles, and drooling in class, has a bloody motorcycle. My plan had been to confront him right when we got to the forest, but when I saw him pull the bike out of a bush, throw on that leather jacket, and strap a helmet down over his curls, I had to sit down and compose myself. An hour and a half later, he was back and I was feeling like maybe I could speak again.

I watch as Snow glides to a stop, the bike letting out a few puffs of smoke and a groan, before hopping off and dropping it into a nearby bush. It strikes me that this is the only thing I have ever seen Simon Snow do gracefully. He takes off his helmet and shakes out his curls, and I swear time slows down. And then speeds back up again rather quickly when he spots me lurking and let's out a "bloody hell, Baz!" before tripping over a root and dropping his helmet unceremoniously into the bush. There's the Snow I know and...am very fond of.

I raise an eyebrow and watch as he trips over himself and several more roots before coming to stand in front of me, where I've found a tree to lean against in what is hopefully a cool way.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he shouts, the tell-tale red already highlighting his face, "Are you just out here stalking me? Waiting to suck my blood? I knew you were a creep Baz, but Crowley this is disturbing even for you! Where the hell do you get off..."

I reach out and pluck a leaf out of his hair. He blinks. I stare. I smirk. He blushes.

"I didn't know you could ride a motorcycle, Snow," I say when it's clear he wasn't planning on restarting the conversation anytime soon.

"Yeah well I think there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Baz," he responds and something in his voice has my dead heart jump starting in my chest. Before I can decide between a smart-ass remark and pinning him up against the nearest tree, he's walking back towards the bush with his bike.

"Simon-"

"No! Baz! Hell, I just can't right now, ok? What am I supposed to think? One minute you're being a snarky twat and plotting to have me killed and the next minute you're fixing my bloody collar and looking at me and waiting for me in the middle of a damn forest and making me feel these things that I don't understand and since when do you call me SIMON?!"

I don't know who's more shocked by his outburst. Judging by the wide, panicky look in his eyes, it may be him. But at the same time, I seem to be at a loss for words. So, I speak with my actions.

I step forward, grab the sleeve of that damned leather jacket, and yank. Unfortunately, I yank a little too hard and instead of twirling Snow into a passionate kiss like I had imagined (possibly several times before), he flew straight into me and his forehead collided with my nose. The inevitable pain of a blow to the nose overwhelmed my senses and before I could collect myself enough to finish what I'd started, Snow took matters into his own hands and bounced up onto his toes and pressed his lips against mine.

It was short, only lasting for a moment before he rocked back onto the heels and stared at me, seemingly in shock. I can't help it. A smile spreads over my face and I scoot closer to him. He doesn't move. I slowly raise my hand up to his face and brush my finger over my favorite freckle, the one that moves when he smiles. He still hasn't moved and I decide that if he isn't moving I must be dreaming and I simply could not handle that.

"Snow?" I shake my head. "Simon?"

"Penny says she thinks I'm gay!" I blink. "I mean I think I'm gay. For you. I'm queer. I think. I definitely have more than platonic feelings for you and Penny says that that's why I'm so obsessed with you being my enemy. Penny also says I can't call myself a vampiresexual even though I'm pretty sure you being a vampire is definitely something I'm attracted to, but Penny says-"

I thrust my hand into his curls and push my smiling mouth against his still rambling one. And it's awkward because his mouth his open and mine is closed, but I can't think of a better first kiss for us. Second kiss. Whatever. We're kissing. I'm kissing him, he's kissing me.

"Hey, Snow?" I say, pulling back just far enough to whisper against his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Please stop talking about Bunce".

Simon

Nothing could make this better right now, cherry scones and butter be damned. I never want this to stop. Crowley, why didn't Penny tell me about this crush sooner? We could have been doing this longer. This being kissing. I am kissing Baz Pitch. A vampire. In a forest, in the dark, sitting in the dirt, hands tangled in his hair, and absolutely nothing could make this better.

That is, until he pulls back and whispers, "Simon Snow, will you take me for a ride on your motorcycle?"

And then it gets better. Because we're arguing over who wears the helmet ("Put it on, you clot" he says but then I buckle it on him while he's distracted kissing me) and then I'm starting my bike and Baz's arms are wrapped around me and his chin is dropped onto my shoulder.

I turn us out onto the back road leading away from Watford and push the speed. Baz's grip tightens around my waist and a jolt goes through my stomach at his touch.

"Scared, Baz?" I yell over the wind, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

"Don't get us killed," he growls in my ear and I speed up a little bit more just to feel him hug me again.

After 30 minutes of riding, Baz's arms around me, his occasional sharp intake of breath in my ear when we hit a bump, I come to a conclusion; riding isn't about running away from your problems, it's a way to get to your solutions just a little bit faster.

Baz

About an hour later, and 30 minutes after I adjust to the jerky, mechanical movement of the Normal machine, I start to recognize the landscape again and know that Snow is bringing us back to our clearing in the forest.

I catch my disappointed sigh right before it slips out, hyper aware of my mouth's proximity to Snow's ear. I don't want to go back yet. I can understand now why he loves this so much (and I know that he does because his smile in the handlebar mirrors is akin to that of when he eats a warm cherry scone). For the last hour of coasting around the deserted highway, I haven't once thought about school or my family or the complications of being a vampire or my inappropriate infatuation with Simon Snow. Well, I have thought about that last one. Quite a bit, actually, but out here in our little bubble, things seem possible. We seem possible. I don't know if it's the way Snow's muscles clench beneath my arms or all the kissing we did before boarding this death trap, but I am feeling very hopeful right now, and that's a word I haven't allowed myself to apply to my situation in quite a long time.

As we slowly coast to a stop at Snow's hiding place for his bike, I desperately try to hold on to my hope but it's quickly squirming out of my grasp as Snow helps me awkwardly off the bike without meeting my eyes.

"So-"

"That was-"

I can't tell if he's more startled at the sound of my voice or his own. Before he can start nervous rambling, I decide to get my words in. God, I hate being the composed one.

"Snow. Simon. Simon Snow," somewhat composed anyway. I clear my throat and start again. "Simon. I know we've had somewhat of a complicated history, but, well, on my end anyway, it was more of a way to distance myself from you and to hold certain...feelings...at bay. And, well if the last hour was any indication, I think you may possibly feel the same way."

I realize that at some point during my speech my eyes have drifted to the space above Snow's right shoulder and I force myself to drag my gaze back to his face, only to find his eyes drilling into mine and the biggest shit-eating grin smeared over his face. I smile back and all of the hope from earlier comes hurtling back and hits me in the chest like a rocket.

I'm starting to think I've been lied to my whole life about what magic is because I've never felt anything like this before. If this isn't magic, I don't know what is.

Simon

My cheeks hurt from grinning so hard but I can't help it.

"Why, Baz," I say, determined to not let my emotions leak into my voice, "I think this is the first time you've said more than four words to me before storming away," I step closer until my nose is brushing right against Baz's cheek. "And I really, really, quite like it,"

I see the shock roll across his eyes like storm clouds and I swear if I knew this was the way to catch him off balance I would have been doing this so much sooner. I press my lips to the side of his mouth and he chases my mouth with his as I back away. For the first time, I feel like I have time. Like I could do this forever, like nothing is going to get in the way of this, like I want to enjoy this slowly.

"So you um, you feel..." Baz starts, tangling his fingers with mine, letting them hang casually between us.

"Yeah. I feel. I feel a lot."

He smirks and pulls me into him and I feel some more.

Baz (Epilogue)

For our two week anniversary, Simon insists that we go on a ride instead of studying for our midterm exams. I am adamant that we focus on our reviews, but he kisses me and my determination melts away. When we get to our spot in the woods, there is a leather jacket matching his hanging on the tree where we first kissed.

I refuse to wear it for a week before my determination is mysteriously melted again.

For our 6 month, Bunce steals our jackets and bedazzles them. Simon nearly bursts with joy.

For our 2 year, Simon surprises me with a bike of my own, but I still prefer riding with him. I've never stopped loving the feeling of my arms around his stomach as we ride.

(A/N) If someone draws the boys in their bedazzled jackets I will worship the ground they walk on. Also. 5 DAYS TILL AWTWB.