#crowley probably wants to smack your arse just as much as he wants to kiss you to death

[transgriffin]

Good Omens S2 Spoilers below the break AND IN THE TAGS BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT

Okay I'm ready to share a few thoughts.

Season 3 is going to be immensely exciting in terms of character growth, maybe especially for Aziraphale but I'm certain that Crowley will also have some surprises in store.

S2 begins with a scene that really changed the way that I saw the back-and-forth between the two. In S1 it was established that they both love Earth and the universe and would prefer them to continue existing. Because they enjoy life here. Now we know that it was not god, but Crowley, who started the existence of the universe.

It seems to me that god was like "alright, you can do that - after all it will give me a massive ego boost. But I demand that you tear it all down and put your toys away before dinnertime." Crowley was heartbroken when Azi told him the news that everything would have to end after 6000 years. Which is nothing for celestial, eternal beings. This is an important reason for why Crowley started critically questioning god, which led to his fall.

He, however, made the best out of it. He wasn't about to just follow a new set of rules as arbitrated by hell. He loves the universe that he created, and he identifies as a part of it. And we know the way in which he likes to spend his existence in the universe.

There are two things that Crowley holds very dear to his heart: The universe, and the one soul he can share it with - Aziraphale.

I believr that this makes for two core wishes that Crowley pursues: The continued existence of life, earth and the cosmos, and the ability to share this all, in love, with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale loves the universe. Just look at his facial expression when Crowley speaks light into existence. It was a love at first sight moment. Aziraphale deeply adores Crowley's power to create beautiful things, and thus he has always enjoyed spending his existence amidst Crowley's creation, at Crowley's side.

But we must not forget that Aziraphale has never mustered the strength to truly question heaven. He's had more than a handful of experiences where he had to admit that heaven was orchestrating cruel, destructive things. But he is, at least to me, somewhat symbolic of an indoctrinated, blind follower. When heaven commits atrocities, he is bound to believe that there has to be a higher meaning to them, ultimately leading to a higher good. Admitting that heaven can be truly evil at all would shatter his whole understanding of existence. And he keeps on evading it. But it NEEDS to happen.

S1 and S2 both make it very clear that god is holding fast to her plans of Armageddon and the destruction of Earth. But Aziraphale, at the end of S2E6, has the bliss of ignorance. Crowley knows what heaven tried to do to Gabriel when he opposed Armageddon 2.0. Aziraphale is clueless. Therefore he holds fast to his idealism, believing that by taking Gabriel's place in heaven, he would truly be able to change things.

In my understanding, Aziraphale believes that he can change heaven in a way that would allow Earth and the cosmos to continue existing. But he wants to have his cake and also eat it - He wants Crowley by his side in this scenario, back as an angel.

Only Crowley is truly aware about the magnitude in which heaven still wants to bring forth Armageddon and the destruction of his beloved creation. He knows that heaven is toxic and manipulating of Azi, and that there is nothing Aziraphale can do to stop them. On top of that, Crowley will be rendered entirely unable of protecting Aziraphale when he returns to heaven.

I think that Crowley is bitter about Azi's ignorance. That after all the time and the wonders they have not only witnessed but also brought forth, Azi is still unable to leave heaven and its toxicity behind. And I think that that's the reason why he doesn't just break the news to Azi about the recordings that he saw in heaven. Aziraphale just witnessed the whole shebang with Gabriel and Beelzebub, yet he doesn't ask any questions. It's frustrating. It is right in front of his nose, and always has been, that heaven is NOT "the ineffable side of good, truth and light", that Azi so desperately believes it to be, even needs it to be.

Azi and Crowley are so powerful together that they form a bastion against the powers of heaven and hell. They give Earth a leverage against the celestial powers, that otherwise wouldn't be there. Azi defecting back to heaven breaks the bastion.

That significantly sets Crowley back. After all, even if he managed to build a life for himself (for the both of them) on earth, he had always been scraping by, only narrowly evading the wrath of hell and his destruction/finite death. Azi was in the same place before, but as long as they were together, they always managed to come out alive and on top.

That edge that they had is lost now. The power that they had through their bond when working together (consider the 27 Lazari when working "half a miracle"), is now broken. Azi is leaving Crowley to fend for himself when he accepts the Metatron's offer, but it's because he had a false sense of security in his new position of power.

You can see the sheer horror in his eyes when the Metatron tells him about the new Armageddon plans. But Azi still follows him. Because he cannot imagine his existence without heaven and he firmly, naïvely believes that he will be able to make it up to Crowley somehow, through his archangel position. Azi is forgetting that the only thing which stopped the first Armageddon to begin with, was that he and Crowley worked together. Now he is trying to do it all alone. And he will fail. Crowley knows that.

But Crowley also knows that Azi is not ready for the truth yet, and that he cannot be reasoned with. Azi needs to reach his conclusions on his own. And this might be the hardest thing Crowley has ever had to do, as he is rendered unable to protect and guide his beloved angel for the first time in history.

As much as he wishes to, Crowley is unable to protect Azi from himself. And in my POV, Crowley is wise enough to know that. But perhaps he also feels that this is the worst betrayal he has ever suffered, his beloved angel teaming up with the force that wants him dead the most.

In my opinion, Azi needs to learn (the hard way now) that heaven is not "broken", but inherently uncaring, selfish, and therefore just as evil as hell. Heaven doesn't care about love, about life, about beauty. Heaven only cares about the will of god. And god is not as ineffable as Aziraphale wants to believe. Heaven cannot be "fixed", but he believes it can. But heaven will never allow an angel and a demon to live happily together because the very definition of "angel" and "demon" is arbitrarily decided by whom god approves of and whom she doesn't. Also, heaven is so horribly bleak and lifeless! Clearly, god is completely unimaginative, and I suspect that she's even jealous of Crowley's creation. Because that one's got brains. That one's got class. That one's got creativity. That one's got love. All things that god lacks. And she must hate that.

Thanks for the heartbreak. This is phenomenal writing and I love it. S2 ended amazingly to me. This is such a good story and so chock full of drama, suspense, surprises and a true cornucopia of feels

[patricianandclerk]

For Want Of Sleep

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

It’s a few days after the apocalypse[1], the first time it happens. They’ve been drinking at a comfortable, cosy little bar, the two of them alone together, sharing a bottle of some white wine that Crowley can’t pronounce the name of, but loves. They’re not even that drunk, but when Aziraphale stands up to go, Crowley talks without even thinking, his tongue moving without his permission.

Because Aziraphale says, “You know, I’m actually quite tired. I might even take a short sleep!” and he says it in a sort of cavalier way, but in a hushed tone, as if it’s something naughty, and Crowley’s heart surges in his chest. There’s been no word from Heaven or Hell in a while: for now, they’re floating in limbo, aware it will all probably go back to normal, but at the moment, they are each without scrutiny.

“Er, you know, you could come home, with me,” he says, trying not to sound as eager as he feels. “Big bed.” The idea enthrals him, all at once: Aziraphale almost never sleeps, but Crowley knows from a couple of little moments throughout the past few millennia[2] that his body radiates heat, and the idea of having it next to him while he takes a sleep is intoxicating, more so even than the wine. Crowley is still a snake, at heart, and Aziraphale picks the most unfashionable bodies, yes, but they aren’t half-good for insulation: well-padded and encased in wool, and so soft!

Aziraphale blinks at him from drink-unfocused eyes. “Er,” he says. “Would that be… Oh, dear boy, I really don’t think—” He trails off, and Crowley leans back.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… too much, I s’pose,” he says, trying not to sound disappointed. Aziraphale coughs, and then he draws himself up to his full height, which is still nearly a half-foot shorter than Crowley’s.

“Yes,” he says, sternly. It is let down only slightly by the wine-red flush in his cheeks, and the way he sways just slightly. “Yes, that’s far too far. Of course, I’ll still walk you home.”

“You don’t need to walk me home, angel,” Crowley says.

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale says, doing that funny little crinkle of his face, where his nose comes right up, and his lips pout. “There’s still a third of that bottle left, and I’m not letting you drink it all.”

Crowley grins.

They walk the few streets toward Crowley’s flat, leaning heavily on one another, and they share the last of the bottle between them: Crowley tries to toss it into the bottle bank in the car park on the corner, from about twenty feet away. He winces when it shatters loudly, and listens to the quiet clunk as Aziraphale reconstitutes it and puts it inside the bottle bank, rather than on the outside. When he opens his eyes[3], he sees that the carpet of broken glass that naturally surrounds these little islands has also disappeared, likely placed into their colour-coordinated banks. There’s also a new mural on the wall, of a bird singing.

“You always have to take it and run with it, don’t you?” he asks, with more scorn than he feels.

Aziraphale smiles beatifically, and says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He walks Crowley right up to the door, and then hesitates. Crowley looks at his face, at the uncertainty that shows on Aziraphale’s funny, pudgy features, and he clears his throat, leaning on the door to open it.

He doesn’t say anything. He feels like if he said something, he would ruin it: he just leans on the door, leans into the building, and kind of waits for a second, for Aziraphale to follow him. After a long moment of what looks like desperate deliberation, Aziraphale does, and Crowley has to prevent himself from squirming with excitement. It’s been years since he slept with someone else in his bed, years on years, and he really does miss the way it used to be, where you could sleep in close contact with other people, and no one batted an eye…

Ah, well.

Humans.

They come into the flat, and Crowley hangs up their coats as Aziraphale stands awkwardly in his living room, absently stroking the wide leaves of a Dracaena fragrans, the plant shivering under his touch. It had better not get any ideas.

They move into the bedroom, and Crowley doesn’t even think about it, snaps his fingers and puts himself into his pyjamas. They’re good pyjamas, too – black silk, soft and sleek and cool against his skin – and he thinks he actually has a set of Aziraphale’s pyjamas from that business in ’25, where—

Aziraphale’s hand is on his shoulder, and Crowley turns. “Angel, I think I still have your—”

And then Aziraphale’s mouth is on Crowley’s mouth, one of his plump, pretty hands is curled tightly in his hair, and the other one, the other of Aziraphale’s elegant hands, is grabbing at his arse, even as he crowds Crowley up against the edge of the bed.

“Oh,” Crowley says when they break apart, his head spinning.

“Oh?” Aziraphale repeats, even as he hurriedly undoes the buttons of his waistcoat. This is… unexpected. He didn’t even know the angel thought about sex, let alone that he’d be interested in giving it a try. It’s one of those vices that Crowley likes, but doesn’t often bother with himself – not because it isn’t pleasant, because it is, but simply because all the other people involve sometimes get a bit complicated, or difficult to choreograph. Oh, don’t get him wrong, sex can be useful in his line of work: the right blowjob here, the right seduction there, even just enticing a group with the right kiss on the right mouth, but you know, it’s all about the right company, isn’t it? He’s tried pretty much everything under the sun, at least once or twice, just to make sure he’s covering all angles, but sex just isn’t satisfying in the way that sleep is, or in the way a good meal is. Angels and demons do have drives, when they inhabit human bodies, but they’re usually distant, as if you’re feeling them through a screen. Crowley has long suspected Aziraphale actually feels things more than he does himself, but sex? Well.

Sex had always seemed like distinctly unangelic territory.

But—

Well.

It’s not like it’s unwelcome. He likes Aziraphale, and he’s willing to go along with it, especially if they can sleep afterwards.

--

“You’re a demon,” Crowley mumbles into the pillow, sprawled on his belly and entirely unable to move. He’s soaked with sweat, and his whole body is aching distantly, suffused with the pleasant stiffness of muscle that accompanies a long session of sex. And long is right.

“I am not,” Aziraphale says, with a playful smack against his thigh: Crowley’s skin sings.

They got back in at a little past one o’clock, and now, the sun is rising.

“Are you tired?” Aziraphale asks, his soft fingers tracing down the line of Crowley’s spine, pressing down slightly, and Crowley grunts at the wondrous heat his touch leaves in its wake, making his body tingle. “Because,” he continues, and the finger slides between the cleft of Crowley’s buttocks, and Crowley groans.

“Angel,” he says plaintively.

“Hm?” He sounds so innocent! The finger presses down, and Crowley chokes.

“Angel, lie down,” Crowley groans.

“On our sides?”

“On your back.” He miracles the sweat from his naked body, and he doesn’t even bother to put his pyjamas back on, just slides on top of Aziraphale and drops heavy over the comfortable pillow of his chest and belly, closing his eyes. “We are sleeping.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says.

“Oh?” Crowley repeats pointedly.

He falls asleep blanketing the angel’s chest, just like that, and it’s wonderful, better than he could have dreamed: Aziraphale’s heart beats regularly beneath Crowley’s cheek, his chest the perfect pillow, warm and yielding even where it rises and falls with the angel’s breaths, and he lets himself melt in his place.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmurs against his hair, softly, his hand resting comfortably on the back of Crowley’s thigh, “you wicked thing.”

Sleepily, Crowley smiles.

--

The second time is a few weeks later.

Crowley comes into the bookshop through the back window, slithering in where it’s slightly ajar, and when he slides into the backroom, Aziraphale has a biography of Wodehouse open in one hand, and is leaning back in his armchair, sipping idly at a cup of tea.

His lap, Crowley notes, is the epitome of free real estate: warm, open, and decorated horribly, but the latter could probably be remedied. He slides forward, and instead of bothering with a traditional greeting, deposits himself on the angel’s thighs, leaning forward and putting his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder, sliding into place in such a way as to not disturb his knee.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chides, but his cheeks begin to flush, and he doesn’t let out any noise of complaint. This sort of thing, Crowley knows, isn’t part of the Arrangement, but things are different now, and he’s warm.

“G’morning,” Crowley mumbles against Aziraphale’s neck. He watches with one lazy, suspicious eye as Aziraphale sets his cup of tea aside, and marks his page with a bookmark[4], but then Aziraphale leans, tilting Crowley’s head to meet his, and kisses him. It’s slower than it had been before, less urgent, but he still kisses, his hand sliding slowly into the waistband of his trousers.

Oh.

--

The third time, Crowley is already naked, sprawled on his belly like a starfish, and Aziraphale lets himself into the flat. It’s a little past one in the afternoon, but Crowley has no intention of rising until at least this time tomorrow, and he barely stirs as Aziraphale comes in.

“C’mere, angel,” Crowley says. “Take off your coat.”

“I hung it up, dear,” Aziraphale replies, but Crowley hears the noise through a haze of sleepy wakefulness as he takes off his shoes and puts his clothes aside: he feels the mattress decline slightly, and he reaches loosely out with his left hand for Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale’s fingers intertwine with his at the same time as his mouth touches Crowley’s skin, licking up, and suddenly Crowley is wide awake and moaning. They don’t get to sleep again for hours.

--

The fourth time, Crowley loses it.

Aziraphale’s hand had been reaching between his thighs, but Crowley grabs his wrist and wrenches it above his head, moving to pin the angel’s hands above his head and stop him from moving. The angel’s eyes widen, his lips parting, and Crowley sees the unmistakable flush rush over his cheeks. “Oh,” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Very well, dear boy, let’s—”

“No!” Crowley snaps, dragging his hands back and pressing them to Aziraphale’s still-clothed chest instead. “No, no, no, angel, it’s— I won’t have it anymore. I won’t. I like sex, Aziraphale, I like sex a lot, and I like sex with you, but I’m not trying to fuck you every time I crawl into your lap or get you into bed with me! I just want to sleep!”

Toward the end, his indignant growl becomes more of a plaintive whine, and Aziraphale peers at him, his eyes wide, his lips parted in surprise.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says softly, his eyebrows shifting up in disappointed uncertainty. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry, I didn’t… I thought you wanted—”

“I like it,” Crowley repeats. “Just— If I’m already in bed, I probably just want to sleep. Unless I start kissing you or something, if I get into your lap, I just want to leech your heat. You’d be furious, wouldn’t you, if I tried to come bother you while you were buried in an important book?”

Aziraphale’s lip twitches, and he gently pats the side of Crowley’s hip, his gaze flitting down. “I’ve been rather overeager with you, I suppose.”

“You could be overeager with me now,” Crowley mutters. Aziraphale inhales, and Crowley shivers as Aziraphale’s fingers slide slowly up to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it. Crowley yawns, his jaw opening wider than a real human’s might, before he says, “You could… while I was sleeping. Another time. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, you beast, I could never,” Aziraphale says, in a tight, hotly excited voice, and then he leans, brushing his lips against Crowley's chest. “Oh, have I been dreadful to you, my dear? Demanding all this sex of you?”

“No,” Crowley mumbles, his eyes closing as he tips his head back, lazily grinding his hips down against Aziraphale’s, arching up and into his mouth. “Mm.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, and he kisses the space between Crowley’s pecs, but then summons a thick blanket about his shoulders, drawing Crowley up against his chest. “You sleep, my dear, and I shall reduce you to a quivering wreck once you wake, hm?”

“L’ve you, ‘Zirafel,” Crowley mumbles against Aziraphale’s neck, his eyes closing shut as Aziraphale draws him against his neck.

“I love you too, my dear,” the angel murmurs, and Crowley lets himself drift into sleep.

[1] That is to say, the apocalypse didn’t happen, but the end of days sort of retains its status as the end of days in one’s mind even when it wasn’t actually, per se, the end of days.

[2] Both of these “little moments” had been fuelled entirely by wine, but that’s to be expected.

[3] In the dark, his sunglasses are perched in the black crop of his hair, and his night vision is very good.

[4] It’s made of tartan cloth, and has golden tassels. Crowley hates it on principle.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Pride

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4334

Summary: Simon and Baz decide to go to London Pride.

AO3

AN:  In celebration of Pride month, I decided to do a snowbaz Pride fic! Enjoy!

Edit: Earlier readers may notice the fic has changed a bit. I got some constructive criticism and decided to improve it based off that. It's still the same story at heart. I feel like it's better to improve it than leave it in a state I don't like.

Simon

“Baz?”

“Hm?” Baz cracks an eye open.

We’re sitting on the couch, both of us dozing off as we watch The Great British Bake Off. My head is tucked in the crook of his neck, an arm draped across his stomach. He’s got his arm over my shoulders. It’s a familiar, comfortable position we’ve adopted over the past year and a bit, which is probably why I feel safe enough to ask this.

“I was thinking...”

“That’s a first.”

I lightly smack his thigh, making him chuckle. “Stop being a prat and listen to me.”

“Fine, fine. What are you thinking about, Snow?”

I bite my lip. “I was thinking...maybe this year...if you’re cool with it...we could...uh, uh, I-”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“IwasthinkingmaybewecouldgotoPridethisyear!” It comes out in a long stream of unintelligible syllables.

Baz furrows his brow. “I got none of that.”

I take a deep breath. “I was thinking...maybe we could go to Pride this year...” I wait for him to laugh or hit me over the head and call me a twit. Instead he just stares with wide grey eyes.

“You, want to go to Pride?”

I sit up and nervously rub the back of my neck. “Well, yeah, sorta. I’ve never wanted to go before but that was when I was more worried about the Humdrum than parades. And I didn’t know I was bi before. But it's been over two years since Watford and now I’m with you and I’m feeling relatively normal, so...it might be fun.” Baz keeps looking at me wide eyed. I’m redder than a tomato now, so I look away at the floor. “I-I don’t know it’s a dumb idea, sorry, I-”

“No!” I look up and Baz is shaking his head. “No no, it’s not dumb. It’s just...” He looks down this time. “It’s never something I’ve considered doing before. It’s not like I had much free time before either. Plus I was deep in the closet. Very deep in the closet.” We both chuckle at that.

I reach out and take his hand in mine, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. “So maybe it would be fun. You know, a day for being gay.”

He laughs heartily. “I think every day for us is a day for being gay.”

I shrug. “True. But it could still be fun.”

“Yeah, it could be.” He squeezes my hand. “Alright, let’s do it.”

I grin wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

I tackle hug him down onto the couch. He makes an “oomph” sound, but quickly hugs me back. I kiss up his neck to his cheek then peck the tip of his nose. He smiles up at me like an idiot, a rare thing for Baz. He usually likes to hide them because of some weird misplaced pride. He runs a hand through my curls, then leans up and kisses me. I melt into it, lightly holding his neck. Aleister Crowley, I love this man.

“Hey guys. I’ve got some cherry scon- oh for fuck’s sake! I can’t leave you two alone for two minutes can I?”

I pull away from Baz and chuckle. He groans and mutters something along the lines of "fucking come on, Bunce". I turn to grin at a very pissed off witch.

“Hi Penny,” I say as sweetly as possible. She has her hands on her hips, which pairs nicely with her scowl.

“Hello, Simon,” she grumbles. “Is there a reason you two are snogging on the couch after I explicitly told you not to anymore? Lest I would unleash a particularly nasty curse?”

I sit up, legs still around Baz’s waist. I throw my arms in glee. “We’re going to Pride!”

Penelope’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “Really?”

I nod vigorously. She flicks her gaze down to Baz. He nods as well. Penny smirks.

“Well,” she says, “this is going to be interesting.”

It’s a week until the parade and Baz says I’m far too excited. I researched the perfect place for us to stand. I’ve got the date marked on the kitchen calendar with a rainbow sticker. Baz, Penny, and I all got work booked off for that day. Penny even got a little flag to hang on our door.

I’m walking home from work with a smile when I spot something out of the corner of my eye.

I stop in my tracks and pivot on my heels. They’re hanging right there in the shop window. And they’re bloody perfect. I grin like I always do when I have a bad idea.

“Oh Baz is going to kill me,” I whisper.

I go in.

When I walk into the flat, Baz and Penny are arguing over what pasta sauce to use for the penne.

“For Merlin’s sake, Bunce, vodka sauce is better in every situation.”

“Not everyone likes their food to be unreasonably sweet, Basil!”

Baz walks (more like gets shoved) out of the kitchen and over to me. He places a small kiss on my cheek like always.

“Hello, love,” he says, “what's in the bag?”

“I'll show you if you promise not to break up with and/or kill me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'm scared to ask now.”

I reach into the plastic shopping bag and pull out what I bought. Baz’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull.

“Merlin and fucking Morgana,” he whispers, “you didn't.”

I grin. “I sort of did.”

“Did what?” Penny shouts from the kitchen.

“Come in here, Pen!”

Penny ducks her head out of the room, licking red sauce off her finger. I hold up my shirt. It's a baggy tank top with three thick stripes. Pink on top, purple in the middle, then blue at the bottom. The bisexual flag colours.

“It's wonderful, Simon,” she says with a grin.

“Baz, show her your’s!”

Baz groans and holds up the black t-shirt. In rainbow scribble-like lettering it says “I'm So Gay I Can't Even Think Straight.” Penny doubles over in uncontrollable laughter. Baz glares while I just smile.

“Fuck off, Bunce,” he grumbles.

“Oh I got you one too, Pen.”

I toss the white tee over to her. She lets it unroll and smiles. She holds in front of herself. It reads “Ally” in fancy rainbow cursive.

“Marvelous, Si!” She beams, then goes back to the kitchen.

“Got us all covered, huh Snow?”

I hold my tank top in front of us, grinning with smug self satisfaction.

“Yup. Thought we needed to look the part.”

He holds up his own shirt and sighs heavily.

“I cannot believe you bought me this. It's ridiculous looking.”

“Well, it's gay and sarcastic, just like you.”

He glares at me, and I smile softly, silently telling him he doesn't need to be so serious with me. That he's allowed to loosen up a bit. His face softens slightly and he leans over to kiss my forehead.

“You're so lucky I love you,” he whispers against my skin.

I reach up and brush some of his hair behind his ear, tracing his sharp jaw line. “I know. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

He must’ve drank a lot of blood earlier, because his cheeks turn bright red. I stand on my toes and kiss him softly. It’s a short, small kiss, but it means everything. I pull away to place my head on his shoulder again, wrapping my arms around him to hug him sideways.

He rests his cheek on my hair. “You better make this up to me.”

With lightning speed, I reach down and pinch his arse. He yelps and narrows his eyes at me, but his deep crimson blush betrays him. I just smirk.

“Don’t worry, darling," I whisper. "I’ll make it up to you all night.”

He’s about to make some sarcastic or sexy comment (either would be good), but the smell of burning tomatoes wafts in from the kitchen. He quickly pulls away and runs towards it.

“Bunce! You better not be burning my sauce, you culinary nightmare!”

The two descend into a flurry of yelling and banging metal. I pick up the black t-shirt Baz dropped in his rush to save dinner. I drape it over my arm and walk to my room. Got to put these in safe place before next week.

The sun is bloody brutal today, which makes me glad I’m wearing a tank top. Baz is wearing about three layers of SPF 50 sunscreen just to keep from burning to a crisp.

He looks like a bloody hipster, donning black ray bans and tying his hair up in a loose bun. He’s even got tight skinny jeans. (Not that I’m complaining.) He’s wearing the shirt too, of course. He has his arm draped over my shoulder, and I’ve got mine around his waist.

“It’s starting soon, yeah?” Penny asks.

She has a hand cupped over her eyes, trying to see down the road where the parade is supposed to be coming from. She’s got her Ally shirt pulled up tied with a hair elastic to create a makeshift crop top.

“It's too hot for a proper shirt,” she said earlier.

“Facebook said it was at 2:00,” I say. I look down at my phone, reading 1:58.

Baz sighs and hangs his head back. “It better bloody well start before I’m a pile of ash.”

I lightly smack his side. “Stop complaining, you fucking vampire baby.”

“Yes, Snow, I am a vampire. A vampire who burns very easily in sunlight.”

“I burn too, and you don’t see me moaning and groaning.”

He grumbles under his breath and looks away. I pull the brim of my red snapback down to better block out the sun. (Baz got it for me so I’d stop squinting.) Baz’s head perks up and he turns to his right.

I furrow my brow. “What is it?”

He smiles slightly, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “Here it comes.”

And right on queue, the sounds of shouting and cheering erupts from up the block. (Bless Baz's vampire hearing. ) It’s a massive wall of people walking in the middle of the road. They’re all dressed marvellously, wearing all different mixtures of colours. They yell and holler, waving their flags high in the sky. The crowd around us starts cheering right along with them. I grin wide enough to split my face.

“Whoooo!” Penny shouts. She jumps around and waves her arms. She’s loving this.

I quickly join in, throwing my free arm up in the air, whooping along with Penelope. Baz stands still. Of course the prat won’t join in. He still acts like a bloody statue most of the time, despite my hyperactive influence.

“C’mon, join in!” I yell.

He looks at me behind his shades without turning his head. “I’m not shouting like an idiot, Snow.”

“Everyone’s shouting, Baz. So right now you look like the idiot.” I nudge his shoulder. "C'mon, just give it a try."

He raises an eyebrow, then shrugs.

“Woohoo!” He shouts, throwing an arm up. Penny looks at him in disbelief, then at me. I shrug and join my cheering boyfriend.

The parade is absolutely incredible. Hundreds, thousands of people of all different kinds march down the road. There are floats with everything from drag queens to half naked people to TV stars. One of them tosses bead necklaces down. Baz catches one and turns to drape it gracefully around my neck.

“Looks good on you,” he says, twirling the green string string around his long finger.

I take his hand and kiss the back of it. “Thanks, love.”

He smiles, and he’s about to say something, when a spray of water hits him right in the left side of his face. I burst out laughing, as does Penny from behind me. He sputters and spits the water out. He takes off his sunglasses to wipe them on this shirt.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “You didn’t tell me there’d be water pistols.”

“Sorry. Though, soaking wet looks good on you.”

Baz glares and replaces his glasses. He turns away, crossing his arms and scowling. I hold his side tightly again, running my fingers up and down over the fabric of his shirt. He slowly relaxes.

“Thank you, love," he whispers.

I furrow my brow. "For what?"

He puts a possessive arm around my shoulders, pulling me towards him. “You always seem to know how to make me feel better. It's marvellous."

Heat spreads on my face. I feel embarrassed. I really shouldn't after two years, but when Baz says stuff like that, I feel like a stupid lovestruck teenager. (Which I guess I kind of am.)

He chuckles at my blush and kisses the top of my head. "Never stop doing that, please."

I nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He’s a bit warmer under the sun, but he always feels the same. He’s smooth and comforting and familiar. He feels like home. “Will do, love.”

We turn back to the parade. The roar of the crowd is near deafening, but it’s amazing. The air is filled with energy. It’s almost crackling with excitement. I feel accepted, because I’m among people just like me. All of it reminds me of being back at Watford, something I haven’t felt in over two years. And I absolutely love it.

“Hey, want a picture?”

We both turn. A man in a rainbow muscle shirt and very tight jean shorts stands a few feet in front of us, holding up a Polaroid camera. I turn to Baz smiling, and he relents. My secret weapon always works.

“Sure!” I say.

I lean my head on Baz’s shoulder and look at the camera. The device clicks and whirrs and spits out a square picture. The man shakes it out a bit and hands it to me.

“Hey! Leaving me out, huh?”

I turn to see Penny, her hands on her hips. I chuckle and gesture for her to come over.

“Mind taking another one, mate?” I ask.

The man nods. “No problem, bro.”

I sling an arm behind Penny’s neck. We all turn to the camera.

“Everyone say, ‘happy Pride’!” he yells.

“Happy Pride!” we shout in unison.

Another click and whirr and square. Penny takes it though. She shakes it out, then carefully places it in her satchel. I hold out our first picture, and she glares at me.

“I’m not your pack mule, Simon.”

I pout slightly. “Please? My pockets aren’t big enough. And I don’t want it to get damaged.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the photo.

“Thank you, Pen.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome, Chosen One.”

“Hey,” cameraman says, “there’s an after party later tonight. Feel free to drop in.” He hands me a paper. I give him a little salute goodbye and he runs off back into the crowd.

It’s a flyer for a party alright. “Pride Party” read in huge letters at the top. Then the name of a local club and a time. I look over to both Baz and Penny.

“Want to go?” I ask.

Penny nods. “Looks like fun to me.”

It takes a moment, but Baz shrugs and sighs. “I can’t see the harm.”

“Whoo!” I yell. “We’re going clubbing!”

They both roll their eyes at me.

The club is even crazier than the parade. The thumping electronic music is deafening. Pulsing multi coloured lights fly around the room. On the huge stage, a group of drag queens and scantily clad men and women dance. Baz and I are standing at a table near the bar while Penny gets us drinks. I’m tracing my finger up and down Baz’s arm. His eyebrows are close together and his mouth is a thin line.

“You doing okay, love?” I yell over the music.

“Fine. Just hankering for that vodka Bunce is supposed to be bringing.”

“You sure? We can go if you want.”

He holds my hand. “No no, I want to stay. Just have to get used to the environment, y’know? Loud music and vampire hearing don’t mix well.”

I squeeze him tightly. “Alright.”

“Gentlemen! I bring you booze!”

Penny sweeps in with the smug grandiose confidence I’ve come to expect from her. She holds three shot glasses filled with clear liquid. They have little rainbow stickers on them.

“These are adorable!” I say.

“Yeah, but they’re fucking expensive, so this is all we’re getting, boys,” Penny replies.

She raises her glass, and clink them together.

“To Pride!” We all say.

We simultaneously throw the vodka back. It burns my throat terribly. Last time I drank vodka was a few months ago. That ended up with me trying to dance on the bar and Baz desperately pulling me back down. It’s probably a good thing we’re only drinking one. Plastered drunk Simon Snow is a giggling, singing menace.

Baz whistles slightly. “That’s some strong shit, Bunce.”

“Hey it’s our first Pride,” she says, “we deserve to celebrate.”

“Can’t disagree with you there.”

A thumping techno remix of “Closer” comes on. I gasp and clap like a seal.

“I love this song!”

“I’m fully aware,” Baz replies, “you listened to it on repeat for an entire week.”

I tug on his arm. “C’mon let’s dance.”

He looks at me like I’m an extra special idiot. “Are you serious?”

“Look at this face.” I point at my furrowed brow and pinched mouth. “This the very serious face of man who seriously wants to dance to a Chainsmokers song with his boyfriend. So please?”

Baz glances at Penny, eyes pleading. She smirks and chuckles. “Sorry, Basilton, you’re not getting out of this with my help.”

Baz groans, and takes my hand. “Fine,” he says.

“Yay!” I drag him to the dance floor.

We push through the sweaty bodies to an open spot. I start jumping around and moving to the beat as best I can, (I'm not a good dancer). It takes him a second, but Baz joins in. He swings his hips with his arms raised up. Damn, he looks so good.

For once, I don’t feel completely out of place. In the rare cases we ever go dancing, we’re usually the only gay couple there. If I stand too close to Baz or put my arms around him, people give us strange looks, or worse, outright scoffs and sneers. But when I look around, there are two men without an inch between them, and two women their hands on each other. Baz and I aren’t the odd ones out. We fit in. I really, really love that feeling.

“What’s got you smiling so big?” Baz asks with a smirk.

I reach out and drape my arms around his neck, pulling him close to me. He holds my hips, curling his long fingers around them. I lean forward and tap my forehead against his. I move to the song along with him, swaying back and forth.

“Just happy to be here with you, love,” I reply.

I can feel his breath on my face as he chuckles. He pulls me closer until there's no space between us. His arms circle around me, enveloping me in his embrace, trailing his fingers up and down my back. Though his skin is cool like always, a warmth spreads over me. He kisses the mole on my neck, the one he always treats like a target.  I run a hand through his soft black hair. He kisses me more, trailing his mouth up and down my skin. I push my hips against him. It quickly dawns on me that I’m practically grinding on Baz, something we’ve never really done before, (not in public that is). But with the mixture of Pride excitement and that one shot of vodka, I really don’t care. Baz grinds down on me, lightly biting the junction between my neck and shoulders. I groan, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head.

“Baz,” I breath out.

“Simon.” His face is still buried my shoulder. I feel the vibration of his voice on my skin. It sort of feels like a question

I tug a bit on his hair, still moving my hips side to side. His jeans are rubbing against my cargo shorts and it feels bloody amazing. If he wasn't holding me up, I think I'd fall down right now. Crowley, I’m getting way too into this.

“Simon?” It’s definitely a question now.

“Yeah?”

He stops moving and slumps against me, letting his hands fall down at his sides.

“My head is killing me,” he groans. “Too loud. Can we go home?”

I chuckle and smooth his hair. “Of course, darling.”

We all stumble into the flat after a half hour tube ride. It's a miracle we made it up the stairs. Penny is barely upright she’s so tired, but it’s not like Baz is doing much better. He’s practically is hanging off me. If it wasn’t for my arm around his waist, he’d probably be on the floor. I'm the only one who's mostly awake.

“Crowley, I’m knackered,” she says.

She drops her purse on the couch and undoes her hair. It explodes in a big puff.

“Night boys. No canoodling on the couch, please.”

Baz merely grunts annoyedly in response. I just chuckle.

“Night night, Pen. Happy Pride.”

She flashes me one last smile before shutting her door. “Happy Pride, Simon.”

Baz is falling down, so I hoist him up more.

“C’mon, Pitch. Let’s get you to bed.”

I pull him towards my room. He’s dragging his feet, making my job much harder.

“For Merlin’s sake, Baz, walk! One foot in front of the other. It’s not too hard.”

He groans and starts to lazily walk. It’s like trying to move a very tall overly tired toddler. I kick the door open as quietly as I can. Baz takes the last few steps before flopping face first on my bed. I sigh and put my hands on my hips.

“Anything you need, Sleeping Beauty?”

He lifts his head up enough so his voice isn’t completely muffled. “I could use some water. I’m bloody parched.”

“Very well.”

He grins and flops back down. “Thank you, my prince Charming.”

I roll my eyes sarcastically. I walk to the kitchen whistling "Closer" softly (don’t want to wake Penelope). As I fill a glass at the sink, my eye catches Penny’s purse. The two Polaroids poke out through the top. Before going back, I snatch the pictures up.

When I return to my room, Baz is still laying face first on the bed, his long legs hanging off the side. I sigh and put down the glass and photographs.

“Baz, you’ve gotta move. You can’t sleep like that”

He lets out a muffled groan. “Watch me.”

I hang my head and sigh. “You so owe me.”

I take his trainers off first, tossing them on the floor. The jeans pose a challenge. Damn this man and his sexy unreasonable fashion sense. But soon they join his sneakers, leaving Baz is his grey boxer briefs. I spin his legs onto the bed. He shimmies up rest his head on the pillow.

“I know you love it, but do you really want to sleep in that shirt?” I ask.

Baz grunts and lazily starts to pull the t-shirt off. After getting his arms out, it gets stuck at the neck, and he gives up. He looks ridiculous, face down in a pillow with his inside out shirt covering his head. Ridiculously adorable, though.

“You’re pathetic.”

He feebly attempts to flip me off. “Fuck off, Snow.”

Instead of just laughing at him like I would’ve over two years ago, I do what a good boyfriend should, and finish pulling his shirt off. He smiles sleepily at me and buries his face in the pillow.

“You still want the water?”

“M-hm.”

“Then sit up. Not going to have you spill it all over my bed.”

He moans, but does what I ask, leaning his back against the wall. He lazily takes the glass from me.

I make my way around the bed towards my side. I tug off my sweat drenched tank top and put it on my dresser along with Baz’s shirt. My shorts and sandals quickly hit the ground. I plop down on the mattress in my boxers.

I’m holding the Polaroids. The one with all three of us is great. Penny and I are grinning like idiots. Baz has a slight smile. It’s nothing compared to the other photo. Baz is smiling so wide it nearly reaches his pointed ears. His usual prideful disdain seems to be gone. He just looks happy, holding me close. I wish he’d let himself look like that more often. But I’m glad he at least looks like that with me, especially on a day where we're supposed to be proud of who we are.

I look over as Baz is finishing his water. He lets a satisfied “ah” and puts the glass on the table. He gives me an exhausted half smile.

“Have fun today, love?”

I smile back, nodding slowly. “Yeah, most definitely. What about you?”

He sighs and sinks down onto the bed. “Absolutely. Got to be loud and queer. What’s better than that?”

I put the photos on my side table and sink down with him. “Nothing, obviously.”

Baz hums in agreement.

I drape an arm over his chest and move closer. “We should do this every year, now. ”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I like it. Being out there. With you.”

I smile and squeeze his shoulder. “Me too.”

He turns over to face me. I can see a hint of beautiful grey under his mostly closed eyelids. He’s smiling in a relaxed way, too tired to hide his emotions. He leans forward and gives me a small peck, running a hand through my hair. In this moment, we truly seem like a completely normal gay couple, just resting as we come down from Pride high. Lying there, foreheads together, half naked, completely knackered, and utterly content.

Baz cups my jaw, moving a thumb over my cheek.

“Happy Pride, Simon,” he whispers.

I place a hand on his back and pull him closer. Our noses brush against each other. We grin like two very exhausted, very happy idiots. It feels like the perfect end to a perfect day.

“Happy Pride, Baz.”

AN: Hope you liked that! I'm not from London but I've been to Pride parades so I based this off my own experience. My first Pride, I wasn't even out as queer. I am out now though. Incredibly so. You can ask my lady friends ;) My first out Pride was amazing. I really felt like I was part of a community, surrounded by people just like me. I tried to capture that feeling as best I could. I think Simon and Baz, one unknowingly in the closet and one torturously deep in it, would feel similar to that. Again, hope you all enjoyed it :)

These are shirts I based everyone's off of. (Though I made Baz's a t-shirt because long sleeves at Pride=death)  

Baz

Simon

Penny