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miles and hairbreadths from you

Fandom: The Mortal Instruments
Warnings: Cursing, sex.
Wordcount: ~2000
Notes: Another one for idrisinsummer.  Part of an incomplete oneshot, a larger work.  Also, I fail at smut. :[  It's also my first time writing it, though, so I guess that's excusable.  Also, right now miles and hairbreadths from you is the working title of the smut part of the look up the stars are shining 'verse.
Disclaimer: TMI - not my world.


She kisses Jace, deep and soft, and he tastes like the chinese food they ordered, warm and spicy with a hint of chicken.  She wonders idly if she should probably not be noticing this before he starts to kiss back.  It's a little awkward, especially when she realizes that she's able to kiss him straight on because she's standing on a book, but he starts to kiss down her jawline and oh, wow.  She's kind of not focused on her height complex any more.
She's also not quite sure what happens next – all of the sudden they've stumbled into the bed and fallen on it, but it's how they got there is not that important right now.  And when he slides back up to her mouth, they're pressed so close together that she can feel the ridges of his muscles and bones, lean but strong, through the fabric of his thin black t-shirt and her paint-splattered tank top.
Jace keeps on kissing her – it's a little harder now, a little more desperate, really, which is odd.  Because it's not like she's just going to float away mid-makeout, right?  But what's even weirder is the way she unconsciously clings to him a little harder, like he's going to break apart right under her hands if she lets go.
He switches back down to her collarbone, and if whatever he's doing with his mouth was sharper, she'd be sure she'd have a boatload of hickies springing up, but it's not.  It's feather light, and so – oh.  Oh, god.
She lets out a shuddering little moan, and he hums into her skin, sending little thrums throughout the rest of her body, and shit, that feels good.  She gasps, louder this time, scrabbles her hands towards the edge of his shirt.
He lets her take it off, of course – he's never been one to deny a pretty girl anything.  Especially if the pretty girl is Clary, beautiful, infuriating, out-of-place Clarissa Fray who looks like something he should know in black and draws out parts of his dreams in pen and ink.
Clary, who's running her hands down his arms, tracing over cords of muscle down to his hands.  She places her palms on top of the back of his, her little fingers folding in the spaces between his.  He pulls away from her, distracted, as she brings them to the hem of her tank top, sliding them under.
"You sure?" he asks into the bare skin of the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
"Of course," she says, and he can almost hear her eyes rolling.  "D'you think I'm so crazy of lust for you that I can't think?"
"I do tend to have that effect on people," he says.  She can feel his lips spreading into a cheeky grin against her shoulder, and swats him half-heartedly on his arm.  But then his fingers curl into the thin red fabric and slide it up over her head, and she shivers at the cool air that just blew against her bare skin.
She really barely has time to adjust to the sudden coolness before his lips start kissing down her side, looping into a path of swirls.  His breath ghosts across her stomach as he pulls away for half a second, and she shudders.  It's an honest to god, full-bodied shudder, and it makes her whole body tremble.  The breath she was holding in comes out as a really loud squeak when his lips land again at her hipbone.
He laughs, and it's throaty and deep and okay, it kind of makes her shiver again in the best way possible.  His hands – and oh, god, his hands– skate across her skin to the button on her jeans, which are old and faded.  He sucks at her hipbone when he slips the button out of the whole it's jammed through, and really, it's not fair because it took her fifteen minutes to stick the button through the stiff fabric and he just did it in seconds.
Then she doesn't get to think much about the buttons because her pants are off, and she's kind of getting goosebumps, which aren't really that sexy.  And Jace has pulled away, and he's just looking at her, just staring with those dark amber eyes of his that never seemed the right color.  It makes her acutely aware of the fact that her bra and her panties don't match – one's white with stars and the other's striped green – and that she's got an uneven semi-tan and both her boobs and belly have freckles on them.  She doesn't feel perfect, but when he says, "You're beautiful, you know that?" in such a matter-of-fact tone, she's pretty sure he's not lying.
After that, it's easier to stare back at him.  She quirks an eyebrow, after a while of him just staring at her, and when he doesn't seem to get the hint, she sighs.  It's exasperated, and maybe a little nervous, but she slides towards him on the bed and she goes to unbutton his jeans.  He gets the hint pretty fast after that, and shuffles out of them fairly quickly.  Once he does, she reaches for him again.
When they start kissing again, though, it's Jace who starts it.  But they roll over on the bed, and Clary's the one who ends up on top, straddling his hips, which are kind of sharp.  Her hair drapes around them, and all he can see is Clary's face, tinted with a red-gold glow of the sun filtering through her even redder hair.
Clary kisses him hard, and drags her mouth along his jawbone to under his ear, then down his neck.  On his shoulder, there's a star-shaped scar.  It's the only one she's really ever been able to find on his body – the ones when from he was a little boy have long since faded, and he hasn't acquired any new ones since.  She tongues at it, then nips it – hard and fast, in a way that will leave a red mark on the surrounding skin, and make the star stand out in sharper contrast.  He groans, and she smirks.  This time, it's her turn, and she uses her tongue to trace the nonsensical patterns and shapes of the signs that show up on the walls of her dreams.  Every time she makes one, she feels a tingling go through her, like a spark of something waiting to wake up.
Jace feels it too – this time, he moans, drawn out and deep.  She flicks her tongue along the lines of his muscles and ribs, and his hands lock around her back, almost crushing her to him.  Sometimes, she thinks he forgets how strong he is at the worst times, but when he gets in a fight he thinks he's invincible.  His hands scrabble across her narrow back, seeking the clasp of her bra.  She's still making invisible patterns along his skin with her fingers and tongue, tracing symbols and listening to him gasp, his hands trembling every so often as he fumbles with the hooks, until he finally undoes them.
She pulls her hands off his body and slides the straps from her arms, dropping it in a careless pile with the rest of their clothes.  Half a second after she lets go of the bra, he reaches for her waist and pulls her towards him.
"Jace - " she breaks off into a loud moan as he kisses her diaphragm, and starts to trail wet, open mouth sucks and nibbles up onto her chest.  He swirls his tongue in circles around her nipples, and she arches her back.  Her body pulls back a little when she does so, and she whines at the cold air hitting where Jace licked her skin.
He pulls her back down to him and kisses her intensely, and her eyes flutter open to see his, eyes darker and pupils blown wide with such lust that she never thought a guy would be able to look at her with.
Then he kisses her again, eyes open and boring into hers, and she just can’t bring herself to close hers.  She feels seven kinds of beautiful right now with nothing but her panties on, sexy and lucky and special.  When Jace starts to kiss down her body again, she gasps and moans and when he gets all the way down to her hips, dragging a line of tongue across the top of her underwear, she squeaks out a little high, lilting whimper.  He slides a finger across the inside of her thighs, skating over damp fabric as she moans, long and loud.
“Oh – god – Jace, we – oh, hell – condoms,” she forces out between whines from his teasing fingers.  Her body feels over sensitized, one long nerve connected to every part of her body.  He lets her go, reluctantly, but his eyes stay locked on her.  “Drawer,” she says, and he reaches one long arm over to the wooden nightstand by her bed.
The foil is red and it has golden cursive writing on it.  Loveguard, it says, and he raises an eyebrow at her.
“Shut up,” she says before Jace even opens his mouth, throwing her top at him and missing by a mile.  “I stole it from my mom’s stash, okay?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he retorts, and there’s that damn smirk of his, that really fucking irritating little smug curve to his lips and wow, it really shouldnot be doing that to her body and is it wrong that she finds it really, really hot right now?
“You were going to,” she accuses, but he’s torn open the package, and kicks off his boxers.  Her mouth goes kind of dry, and she pointedly not looks at him as he puts the condom on, instead choosing to slide off her panties with a concentration that really probably isn’t needed to get them off properly.
All of the sudden, strong arms pull her backwards and she shrieks.  All the awkward tension is dissolved, even though she can feel him hard behind her, and she twists her head backwards to kiss him deeply.  She twists in his grip, and laces her hands behind his neck, kissing him hard while grinding her body against him.
“Hey,” she murmurs between openmouthed kisses and airless moans.
He mumbles a “mm?” into her skin, and continues skimming his fingers over the rest of her body, occasionally dipping down to her hip and below.
“Do you ever feel like something is missing?” she asks, pulling away briefly.  “Like this isn’t the way things are supposed to be?”
“You can still have an existential crisis at a time like now?” Jace says, mock hurt in his tone.  “I must be slipping.”
She rolls her eyes again, and he goes back to kissing and sucking on the shell of her ear until her eyes roll again in a completely different way.  Ghosts of her breath tickles at the nape of his neck as she gasps, in turn making him groan when her lips slide down onto the scar-like birthmark she has such a fascination with.
He stays still for a few seconds, enough for her to wriggle impatiently against him.  “But yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure she remembers what she just asked him.  “I do.”
Clary hums a little sadly against his skin, then nips at it.  It should probably not turn him on as much as it does, feeling her pearly white teeth scrape at his skin, but it does.  It really does.
He’s briefly thankful for the fact that fencing and all the martial arts his father made him take as a kid gave him such strong arms, because he’s counting on that to make sure he doesn’t collapse on Clary.  She’s beautiful, with her hair spread out like a fan or a halo, and her skin is pale and flawless and smattered with freckles.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says as he slides into her, hot and wet andClaryClaryClary.  Her breath hitches and her face twists, first in pain and then in pleasure.  And then she gasps, loud and breathless.
“Oh, god, Jace,” she says, and she clings to him like he’s her last lifeline.  “You – oh, fuck – ”
She writhes and twists underneath him, and it’s all he can do to keep a steady rhythm and not flail around wildly like a preteen virgin.  “Clary,” he says, “you’re incredible,  marvelous – god – gorgeous, wonderful – ”
In the haze of the kind of bliss only sex and really good chocolate can bring, she can barely make out his words.  She thought that Jace would be the one to murmur filthy words in her ear that made her gasp and struggle and groan, but he’s not.  He doesn’t swear a steady stream of fucks and doesn’t comment crudely on how tight her body is or how wet she is for him.  It’s just a litany of her name interspersed with stunning and amazing and perfect.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.
“Fuck, Jace, ohmygod, please, please, please,” she chants into the curve of his neck, and her short nails scrabble across his back, trying desperately to hold on to something.  She’s fairly certain she’s leaving long red lines of scratches down his back.  “Jace!
She whimpers and she shouts and she swears to hell and back, and wow, it really is true about what you hear about the quiet ones.  And when she comes, she bites down hard on his star-scar, muffling a shriek that would undoubtedly carry through the walls of the apartment complex.  Wildly she thanks any god who is listening that her mother isn’t home, and burrows her face into Jace’s shoulder.
He comes as well, a little while after her, while she’s clinging to him and whimpering into his skin.  Unlike her, he’s quieter, but he still gives a long, drawn-out groan.  He almost just slumps down on top of her, but he pulls out and slides bonelessly to the side.
They lay there for a while.  Clary’s head rests on Jace’s chest, absentmindedly tracing runes on his unmarked skin, and they both try to remember what’s missing.






a life full of fail

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