Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(144)

“I know,” he says, kissing me.

“You don’t let me down.”

“It’s all right, Baz.” He kisses me. Then kisses me again.

“As long as you—”

He kisses me with his mouth loose and his tongue pushing fat into my mouth. My jaw drops open, and I move my hands to his hips, clutching him.

“As long as we—” I say when he takes a breath.

He pushes his tongue back into my mouth, and it’s obscene. His mouth is getting wetter and sweeter. I groan and give up on my sentence. As long as we keep on trying, I was going to say. But now I’m just trying to keep my fangs from popping. Now Simon is fucking into my mouth again, and I’m pushing my fingertips down the side of his pants, because I want to, and this is what’s happening, I think.

Simon growls and lifts up off of me.

“I’m sorry—” I say immediately, sitting up.

But Simon is pushing his jersey boxer briefs down, and kicking them off his ankles. Then he pulls the blanket back over us as high as his wings allow.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I…”

“I love you,” Simon says, settling over me again, all skin and bones and belly. “I’ll keep getting better for you, I promise.”

What could be better than this?

“You don’t have to,” I say.

“Yeah…” He takes my chin in hand again. “I do.”

SIMON

Baz looks so good right now, does he know it?

All that inky black hair curling on his paper-pale neck. He looks less grey than usual. Or maybe I’ve just acclimated to it. I like him grey. I like him.

I like his narrow shoulders—narrow compared to mine, anyway. All of him longer and leaner than me. I like comparing us. I want to lay myself over him elbow to elbow, hip to hip. I want to grow my hair out, so I can see what it looks like, twined up with his around my finger.

Baz came back. This morning. He was always going to come back. I think he always will, if I make it good for him. I think he wants this, wants me.

And I’m going to make it so good for him. This morning. This life.

I’m being gentle—it’s already easier, now that I know how much he likes it. The way he goes boneless when I hold him like china. When my hands are whispers not shouts. I’m going to keep finding out what he likes.

This is what people do.

They get close and try to stay there.

They stay.

They keep trying to hold on to each other, even though it’s not really possible, I don’t think. Because people are always moving, aren’t they. But this is what they do. They keep trying.

I’ll keep trying.

To keep him well.

To keep him happy.

Merlin, I’m too turned on to think. I love him, I love him. But I also want to do this, whatever it is that works between us. With Agatha, it—No, never mind, that doesn’t matter.

I’m holding Baz’s jaw and kissing him. I’m stroking his cheek like he’ll break. My cock is in his hip. He’s pushing his briefs off, he’s trying to stay under the blanket—I help him.

This would be good enough. Just this. Baz. Finally. Beside me.

“You don’t disappoint me,” he says, reaching for me.

“It’s all right,” I say. “I knew what you meant.”

He holds my face in both hands. I hold his like it’s precious.

This is what people do. This is what we’ll do. Baz and me.

His lips are pinkish grey. His tongue is nearly red. His fangs are down, I’ll be careful.

“You smell so good,” I say.

His eyes are half closed. “Like a cave.”

“Like cold water.”

“That’s not a smell, Snow.”

I lick his lips. “So good.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers. “Don’t get lost in it.”

“I won’t,” I swear. “I’m here.”

He makes a fist in my hair. “Stay with me.”

“I will.”

BAZ

Maybe this is enough. Simon. Finally. Beside me.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe I’m the one getting lost …

(This is what I wanted, but I didn’t know what it was like. His heart is beating in my throat. His hands are everywhere. His tail. He has so many ways to hold on to me.)

I push his face away from mine. “I need—”

“What do you need, babe?”

I hold on to his cheeks. “I need you to know that I’m not disappointed in you.”

“Baz, it’s okay. I know.”

“I believe in you.” I cover his mouth, so he’ll listen. “Simon, I believe in you.”

He doesn’t try to argue. Not right away. His face looks so red under my hands. My bloodless fingers. My blue nails.

Simon pulls my wrist down. “Do you trust me?”

He knows I do. That I did, even when I hated him. (I never hated him.) “Yes.”

“Can I touch you?”

I nod my head.





83

SIMON

I’m not crying. Neither is Baz.

My wings hurt. I lie on my stomach, so I can spread them out.