QueenSansa

Laurent and Damen, commissioned by @shigacajun

“Lamen stood before the Prince, their heads very close as they spoke softly. Charls saw Lamen tilt the Prince’s chin up. Then, with the simple confidence of long familiarity, Lamen leaned in…” 

From “The Adventures of Charles the Veretian Cloth Merchant” by C. S. Pacat

late night thoughts 

Simon is waving that damn sword around at me, like he’s thinking about decapitating me with it and finally ending all of this right here, and I am hopeless to stop him. (There’s no telling whether that would actually kill me, though. Fire is probably the best method.)

I’m not sure what I did to anger him this time. I was simply walking down the hall after classes were over for the day when Simon was suddenly blocking my path, his sword held out.

Somehow, we ended up in this hall alone, which means that no one is here to stop him. I could fight him off, but he looks so gorgeous with his sword held up and a fierce glint in his eyes that I hesitate a moment, giving Simon the perfect opening.

He thrust his sword towards me, and I take a step back and then another as he follows me. I keep walking backward until my back hits the wall.

Simon takes another step forward, placing the tip of his sword under my chin and tilting it up so that I’m forced to look him in the eyes.

He still hasn’t said a word to me, and he just stands there, glaring at me.

“Do it,” I sneer. “Just get it over with.”

He growls, but rather than pushing the sword into my skin, he lowers it to his side.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and when he simply shakes his head, I raise my hands to push him away from me.

He catches my wrists in his hands and pins my hands against either side of my head, holding them there as he takes a step closer to me.

“Simon,” I say, my voice strained.

He is so close to me now. If he doesn’t stop this, I’m going to do something that I regret.

“Shut up, Baz,” he growls, and for some reason, I do.

He moves even closer to me, slotting one leg between both of mine, leaning forward until his chest is pressed against mine.

Fuck, I think, unable to speak with him this close.

I want to grab his hips and pull him closer to me, but he still has my hands pinned, sliding his own hands up from my wrists until his fingers slot between mine.

My breath catches in my throat, and I’ve just decided that I can’t hold myself back any longer when he presses his lips to mine, softly at first, then more firmly.

His lips are softer than I thought they would be, and when he pulls my lower lip between his teeth, I let out a soft sigh.

This is perfect. It is so much better than fighting, and I never want it to stop.

I jerk awake in bed, and my heart is racing in my chest.

Simon is asleep in his bed, oblivious to what I have been dreaming about.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve had a dream like this. I’ve been dreaming about kissing Snow since fifth year. Back then, I was more worried that I might lose control and bite him, but all I wanted was to feel his lips against mine. (Right before he killed me.)

I had hoped that I would be over this stupid crush by now, but it’s more than just a crush.