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

by Rainbow Rowell

how did I survive sharing a room with Simon Snow through my entire adolescence?) (Oh, yes, I remember: furious wanking. Furious everything.)

I’m rather less thorough than usual with my hair, just towel drying it and combing it off my face. Chomsky, I used to spend so much time on my hair every morning when Snow and I shared a room … Carefully parting it and slicking it back. I thought it looked dramatic.

Nah i love this

Our fingers touch when he hands it to me. I’d be blushing if I had enough blood in me. Why am I being so weird. Is it just relief? Is it the novelty of having Simon here? In my room? Or is it because we’re starting over, so everything feels new?

Kicking my feet

What a ridiculous creature. Happy that I put butter on his sandwich. As if I wouldn’t make the world spin backwards if I thought he’d like it better that way.

baz.

I can feel myself tensing up. Moments like this with Simon are so few and far between, and I never know what will startle him out of one. Or when he’ll collapse entirely.

“This is what people are talking about when they talk about make-up sex, isn’t it?” I choke on my tea. “Not exactly.”

I lean against his shoulder, looking down at my tea, attempting to appear casual. “It could always be like this.” “I don’t think so,” Snow says. “This is ‘I nearly lost my head and then I didn’t’ euphoria.”

Oh?

“Baz…” His voice drops to a near whisper. “I don’t know what happens next.” I shake my head. “Me neither.”

“I guess,” he says after a moment, “we just go along until I feel like running away. And then I stay and fight instead.” “Who are you fighting in this scenario?” “Myself, I suppose.” I nod, in part to hide how discouraged I feel all of a sudden. It won’t help to say so.

“Can we take a nap?” “Oh.” I sit up, away from him. “I mean, yeah.” “It’s just”—he looks apologetic—“I haven’t slept since … I don’t know, really.”

“You take the bed. Fiona won’t be surprised to see me on the sofa—” “No. Baz.” He grabs my arm. “Stay.”

“But your wings…” Simon almost never lets me sleep next to him. He says it’s because he thrashes around. “I thought you didn’t want to impale me.” He’s making an effort to smile. “I won’t toss much during a nap. Besides, you’re pretty hard to kill.”

Yeah sure blame it on the wings

I take a breath to think about it, but I don’t get much thinking or breathing done. “All right,” I say out loud. Then I say it a few more times to myself. Right. All right.

Si soy

It’s strange to be under the covers like this. Him in joggers, me in jeans. It’s strange because we don’t do this. We never quite got to this stage. The boyfriends-being-boyfriends stage. Naps and cuddles and wearing each other’s clothes.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks softly. “No,” I whisper. “Me neither.” “But don’t move,” I say. “Not yet.” He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“I can’t get enough,” he says, hot behind my ear. “Baz, help me. Help me. I can’t get enough.” “I’m right here,” I say. “I know.” He bites hard on my ear, pulls at it. “It’s not enough.”

sorry i shouldn't be laughing

“Simon…” I press my head back into his face. He grinds his nose in my hair. “Simon, are you saying I’m not enough?”

Baz, girl, read the fucking room najajajajaj

I push his arm away, forcing him to let me turn. I push him back onto his back, onto his wings; I push his head down with my chin. I hold his wrists above his shoulders. He’s still trying to bite at me.

Uh i- me when

“I’m right here,” I say. “I know…” He’s growling. “Tell me what you want.” “I don’t know.”

I’m careful with my hips. Even as he’s mauling me. (Land mines. Permissions. Boyfrien...

“You smell so good,” he says, burrowing his face into the neck of my T-shirt. “I don’t know how to get enough, Baz—I don’t know how I’m supposed to get enough.”

I have a few ideas but I'll keep shut

I’m holding myself over him, my hands on his wrists, my knees bracketing his hips. He works his wings around us, pulling me closer. Then he latches on to my collarbone, right through my shirt. “You smell so good,”

maybe listen to aunt fiona idk

Simon Snow smells like my aunt’s shampoo.

He smells like sex. I can’t help knowing this. Any of it. It’s in the air I’m somehow still breathing. But I don’t know what to do with it. What he wants me to do with it, what I’m allowed to do with it, what will help … What will lead to something strong enough to lean on between us.

quickly took a turn

He smells like sex. I can’t help knowing this. Any of it. It’s in the air I’m somehow still breathing. But I don’t know what to do with it. What he wants me to do with it, what I’m allowed to do with it, what will help … What will lead to something strong enough to lean on between us.

Thjs would literally be me

I let him bite me. I let myself feel his teeth. I rub my face in the chaos of curls at the top of his head. “I’m right here, love, I’m yours.”

I'm Sat.

“I don’t know how, Baz.” “What, Simon.” “To get enough.”

“You don’t have to get enough.” I push his wrists down. I pin his arms with my elbows. “I’m not going anywhere.” His head falls back onto the pillow. I think he might be crying again. Maybe he wasn’t awake. Maybe this is all a bad dream for him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Snow.” “Come here,” he says. His wings are winding tighter around me. I can see the spikes curling over my shoulders. My knees give out, and my hips fall on him.

.

“Are you awake?” I ask. “I think so.” “Are you crying?” “Yeah. Baz … come here.”

“I’m here.” “Come closer.” “All right.” My elbows give out, too. I let go of his wrists, and he wraps his arms around my waist. Arms. Wings. Legs. Tail. “Closer,” he says. “I can’t.” “Can.” He’s kissing my mouth w...

“Baz…” I’m awake. I’m thirsty. I’m dizzy. All the blood I have left has gone to my cock, and I’m running on fumes. On good manners and bad memories. “Simon,” I say, with my last measure of caution.

Y tal

He’s biting my neck, and I’m not biting his—but I am kissing him. I’m kissing his hair, his ear. I’m pulling up his shirt.

Mosca pues

love you,” I say. “I’m here.” “Baz, I need—” “Yes.” “I can’t—” He’s pushing too hard to kiss. He’s holding too hard to touch. I wrench my head back. “Simon, let me—” He won’t let me pull away.

“Baz, I can’t—I need you.” I’m kissing his cheek. My fangs are out, I can’t care. “Simon,” I ...

“I can’t … breathe,” he says. “It isn’t enough—It’s too much—I can’t—” He’s crying. And clinging to me. Arms. Legs. Wings. Tail. All of him trembling.

Oh no

I’m breathless, too, but in the wrong way now—the wind has changed. Hopefully it only just happened. Hopefully I didn’t misinterpret every moment of this moment.

Oh no

“Simon,” I say, my hands in the back of his hair. “My darling. My love. It’s all right.” “I can’t,” he sobs. “I know,” I say, stroking him. “It’s all right. I’m here.” “I can’t.” “I’m here.” “Baz…” “I’m here, love.”

my heart also (the consent, we love)

Probably thinking about how much sex he could be having if he were with literally anyone other than me.

Noo don't think that love

I mean, have a look at him—he’s the most fuckable person alive. Or otherwise.

I mean HE IS

I’m the problem. As is always true, in literally every situation. It’s me.

It's Me hi

I’ve been here before. Wanting to crawl out of my skin and leave myself for dead after a miserable attempt to do more than kiss.

So it is always like this, just curious

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask. I’m on my back with my arms up, my elbows folded over my face. “No.” Baz’s voice is quiet. “Are you going to?” “No. I don’t think so.” “That’s something.”

I kinda want to die when I think of having to face you again.” Baz pulls my arms away from my face. “Here.” He’s hovering over me. “Get it over with.”

“I’m sorry.” “Don’t,” he says. “Because apologies don’t matter?” “No—because you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Come on, Snow, look at me.” I try. He looks tired. And sad. And embarrassed.

The world does nkt deserve baz bye

“I don’t mind this,” he says. “Any of it.” “Oh my God, Baz—don’t lie to me! This isn’t what anyone wants to happen in bed.” I try to cover my face again, but his hand is on my cheek. He’s too close.

“I’m not lying! I don’t mind comforting you, Simon. Or holding you. I don’t mind giving you what you need, whatever it is you need. I prefer it to you pushing me away. Or ignoring me.”

THIS

“But you could date anyone you want. You could date everyone you want. And none of them would start bloody crying during foreplay.” Baz shrugs. “You don’t always cry … Sometimes you go glassy-eyed and nonresponsive.”

Me rei

“I want to be with you,” he says. “And this is where we are right now. And I truly don’t mind, Simon.”

“You don’t want more?” I ask. He shoves at my shoulders. “Of course I do. But not with just anyone. I want more with you, you twit.”

THIS