#sh fic

Clary arranges his pillow as Jace lies back on the bed, a strategically cut sheet of plastic that just manages to cover the bed placed under him.

“Okay?” she said, then shakes her head. It’s a stupid question.

Jace tries to smile for her. It doesn’t reach the brilliant shine of his eyes.

“It’s all good, Clary. No more I’m sorrys, remember?”

“I love you,” she offers, as small it feels, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of his eyes to tuck it behind his ear. Jace opens his mouth like he’s going to respond, but he chokes on it, and when Clary looks down, his shirt is soaked through with blood.

They’ve tried dressing the wound before. There’s not much point when it heals back up after he wakes, like it was never there, and when his blood is fully replenished. Like it never happened.

Still, “I’m sorry,” Clary says and holds his hand through it. She’s not sure how much pain he feels and how much is lost to numbness. She never asks. “I’m sorry.”

She stays there until the tight grip of his hands goes lax and his eyes flutter closed.

If she was any less selfish, she’d stay with him the whole time, whether it takes hours or minutes. It varies a lot.

As it is, though she can’t leave the room—someone needs to be here when he wakes—she can’t quite bring herself to stay at his bedside, his skin growing colder against hers, his face growing sick and pale and alien to her.

So she grabs her sketchbook from her bookshelf, and then sits with her back to the side of it, legs crossed and back stiff against the dark wood.

The whole scene doesn’t coax much inspiration from her.

What would she even draw? Her boyfriend dying? His greying skin? Their other friends? Izzy, with her trusting, unknowing eyes, and Simon with that smile that’s always believed in her goodness. It’s laughable.

Or the mother she couldn’t save, didn’t save, didn’t wish for.

Or then there’s Alec, with dark circles painted under his eyes, panic and terror masking themselves as anger in his unyielding expression.

Jace has deluded himself into thinking that Alec can’t feel it. Clary, for her part, knows they’ve ruined his life, too. He’s stopped asking questions, but he’s also stopped speaking to either of them much at all, except to send them out on mission.

They’ve been making it work, but Clary wonders how long that can last. There are few things she fears more than the day when they’re late getting back and he goes down and doesn’t get up again. When a demon spots how weak she’s made him in the moments afterward, when he breathes back to life, disoriented.

When he dies on her for real.

Clary shakes her head out of the thought and looks back over to where Jace lies.

Yup, still dead.

Unbidden, her mind conjures swirling images, merged together from memories of some mythology class she took in school—Prometheus, who stole fire. Sisyphus. And that goddamn boulder.

All the legends are fucking true, Clary thinks, and without conscious thought, she slams her sketchbook shut and lets it clatter to the ground as she pulls her knees to her chest. She closes her eyes, but not for long, because when she does, she’s back at Lake Lyn, the salty breeze of it on the tip of her tongue, the angel bright and solemn, on the very precipice of this existence. The way she’d forced her will into becoming his.

Valentine’s eyes as she worked the dagger in. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure. After she’d already slit his throat, too.

She leans her head back against the wood.

It’s worth it, she thinks, even as she turns to Jace and he’s still lying there, the room nauseatingly quiet. It has to be.

Clary feels acidic bile rise in her throat. But she chokes it back. And then she picks up her pencil.

Clary arranges his pillow as Jace lies back on the bed, a strategically cut sheet of plastic that just manages to cover the bed placed under him.

“Okay?” she said, then shakes her head. It’s a stupid question.

Jace tries to smile for her. It doesn’t reach the brilliant shine of his eyes.

“It’s all good, Clary. No more I’m sorrys, remember?”

“I love you,” she offers, as small it feels, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of his eyes to tuck it behind his ear. Jace opens his mouth like he’s going to respond, but he chokes on it, and when Clary looks down, his shirt is soaked through with blood.

They’ve tried dressing the wound before. There’s not much point when it heals back up after he wakes, like it was never there, and when his blood is fully replenished. Like it never happened.

Still, “I’m sorry,” Clary says and holds his hand through it. She’s not sure how much pain he feels and how much is lost to numbness. She never asks. “I’m sorry.”

She stays there until the tight grip of his hands goes lax and his eyes flutter closed.

If she was any less selfish, she’d stay with him the whole time, whether it takes hours or minutes. It varies a lot.

As it is, though she can’t leave the room—someone needs to be here when he wakes—she can’t quite bring herself to stay at his bedside, his skin growing colder against hers, his face growing sick and pale and alien to her.

So she grabs her sketchbook from her bookshelf, and then sits with her back to the side of it, legs crossed and back stiff against the dark wood.

The whole scene doesn’t coax much inspiration from her.

What would she even draw? Her boyfriend dying? His greying skin? Their other friends? Izzy, with her trusting, unknowing eyes, and Simon with that smile that’s always believed in her goodness. It’s laughable.

Or the mother she couldn’t save, didn’t save, didn’t wish for.

Or then there’s Alec, with dark circles painted under his eyes, panic and terror masking themselves as anger in his unyielding expression.

Jace has deluded himself into thinking that Alec can’t feel it. Clary, for her part, knows they’ve ruined his life, too. He’s stopped asking questions, but he’s also stopped speaking to either of them much at all, except to send them out on mission.

They’ve been making it work, but Clary wonders how long that can last. There are few things she fears more than the day when they’re late getting back and he goes down and doesn’t get up again. When a demon spots how weak she’s made him in the moments afterward, when he breathes back to life, disoriented.

When he dies on her for real.

Clary shakes her head out of the thought and looks back over to where Jace lies.

Yup, still dead.

Unbidden, her mind conjures swirling images, merged together from memories of some mythology class she took in school—Prometheus, who stole fire. Sisyphus. And that goddamn boulder.

All the legends are fucking true, Clary thinks, and without conscious thought, she slams her sketchbook shut and lets it clatter to the ground as she pulls her knees to her chest. She closes her eyes, but not for long, because when she does, she’s back at Lake Lyn, the salty breeze of it on the tip of her tongue, the angel bright and solemn, on the very precipice of this existence. The way she’d forced her will into becoming his.

Valentine’s eyes as she worked the dagger in. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure. After she’d already slit his throat, too.

She leans her head back against the wood.

It’s worth it, she thinks, even as she turns to Jace and he’s still lying there, the room nauseatingly quiet. It has to be.

Clary and Maia enter in a haste, hands itching to grab at each other’s clothes. The moment they’re within five feet of the bed, Maia pulls Clary in for a wet, passionate kiss.

“Someone’s eager,” Clary teases.

“Yeah, yeah,” Maia says against her lips. “Says the girl feeling me up under the table all night.”

“Let’s call it even, then,” Clary says before diving back in for another kiss. Her hands gently but insistently pull at the fabric of Maia’s blouse, tugging it out from under her skirt, and she reluctantly breaks the kiss to pull the blouse over Maia’s head and completely off.

“Wow…” Clary whispers, which is what she always does when she sees Maia in any state of undress. She’s seen her naked so many times before — after a fight when Maia is shrugging clothes back on after shifting back, after a shower when Maia is wrapping a towel around herself, while getting dressed in the morning in their shared apartment, and of course, the countless other times they’ve reached for each other desperately before tumbling into bed — but the awe of undressing her never fades. Clary doesn’t just think, but knows, that Maia Roberts is the most beautiful person in the world. And when she bares herself like this to Clary, with warm and trusting eyes and scarred skin seeming to glow in the light, Clary feels like she’s looking at something holy.

( Heaven and the Angels have nothing on your breasts, she wants to say.)

Maia kisses her again, and this time Clary busies herself with unbuttoning Maia’s skirt — until Maia’s lips move to her neck and Clary loses all control of her limbs and can only cling to Maia’s hips for dear life while her love sucks a bruise into her skin.

“Why are we still wearing clothes?” Clary groans when Maia has moved on from the hickey and is instead placing gentle kisses along Clary’s throat and jaw.

“I don’t know,” Maia says. “You should probably do something about that.”

Clary agrees. She returns her attention to Maia’s skirt and undoes the last few buttons before pulling it down. Maia lets it drop to the floor and steps out of it, kicking her shoes off in the process. Clary quickly pulls her hair over her shoulder and turns to present the back of her dress to Maia. Maia unzips it for her, then helps her peel it off completely. Maia pulls her close then, her chest to Clary’s back, and presses her lips to her shoulder while she unhooks Clary’s bra. When the garment is off, she only steps back far enough to be able to trace a finger down the lines of Clary’s back. The touch is just shy of tickling, but Clary doesn’t mind. In fact, she lives for these moments, and she knows that Maia does too.

“Can I…can I see them again?” Maia asks softly.

“Yes,” Clary says. She steps forward, just to be a safe distance away, and closes her eyes. She doesn’t need the rune to summon them anymore, and she’s finally managed to block Raziel’s attempts to push back. They are now hers and hers alone.

And Maia’s. Maybe, mostly, Maia’s.

With a deep breath she summons them. Maia lets out an awed gasp as two great white wings arc above Clary’s shoulders, glowing bright for a moment before settling in place on her back. Clary folds them behind her. Maia gingerly touches one, and Clary feels the heat of her hand as if she’s grabbed her arm, or her face, or her thigh.

“Beautiful,” Maia mutters.

Clary turns to face her, and almost subconsciously wraps her wings around Maia’s frame, pulling her closer until their chests are pressed together. Her lips find Maia’s. “I love you,” she mutters into the kiss. Maia’s mumbled reply is swallowed up by Clary’s eager lips. They hold onto each other, and Clary pulls Maia back with her until they reach the bed. Clary lands on her back on the soft pillows. Her hair spreads like a halo around her head and her wings splay out on the blue sheets. Maia climbs on top of her and kisses her again and again and again. Then her lips trail over to Clary’s jaw, and her finger begins to stroke a single feather on Clary’s left wing.

“Are you sure—?” she begins to ask.

In answer, Clary spreads her legs, wrapping them around Maia’s waist. Maia smiles against her chin and lowers her lips. Her kisses are gentle, feather-like connections with Clary’s skin, lingering for only a moment or two before she moves on. From Clary’s jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone, to the space between her breasts. Finally, she pushes herself up and takes one of Clary’s breasts in her hands and, with one last look up at her from beneath her dark lashes, Maia takes the other breast into her mouth.

The pleasure is instant. The wet warmth of Maia’s mouth combined with the circular motions of her thumb around Clary’s nipple have her throwing her head back and gasping before Maia’s even truly started. If her arousal wasn’t strong before (and from where Maia’s sitting, she can tell that it was), it’s now growing rapidly. When Maia’s teeth gently graze her nipple before she gives it one last lick, Clary has to fight to stay put.

Sensing her tension, Maia smiles. “You’re getting impatient again,” she says, but there is no heat or warning to her tone. She loves how eager Clary gets when they’re in bed together. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t just as impatient herself. But she holds back, because she wants to take her time, to give Clary as much pleasure as possible, and she knows that Clary would do the same for her.

She starts to lick Clary’s other breast while her hands trail slowly down the redhead’s sides. She hooks one finger under the waistband of Clary’s panties and begins to pull.

Clary’s wings flap once, forcefully, in anticipation, sending a gust of wind that flutters the curtains. Maia chuckles as Clary flushes, more in embarrassment than arousal now, and fails to hold back a laugh of her own. She adjusts her legs so it’s easier for Maia to take her underwear off. Maia throws them somewhere over her shoulder and climbs back up the length of Clary’s body. If Clary sees heaven when she looks at Maia, Maia sees everything else when she looks at Clary. The blue sky and the bluer ocean and the unexplored deep and a million galaxies mankind has yet to discover. The woman beneath her is her everything. She’s something deep and unknowable and welcoming. Her undoing and her salvation. And if she wasn't naked and wet and waiting under her right now, Maia would stop everything to say all of that out loud. But it's rude to keep a lady waiting.

When Maia’s fingers first find their way between Clary’s legs, the latter’s eyes flutter closed. They do this routine often, so often they know the steps like a dance: Maia working slowly and tirelessly, her hand everywhere but where Clary needs her the most, and Clary breathing heavily, her hands clutching the sheets and Maia’s shoulders and everything else that’s within reach. But every time, it's just a bit different. And every time, no matter what, it brings about indescribable pleasure.

Maia’s thumb caresses Clary’s clit after what truly feels like forever. Clary’s body reacts instantly. Her back arches off the bed and her wings — those beautiful great wings that fit so perfectly around Maia every time, as if they were made to hold her — lift off the bed and wrap around Maia’s shoulders, holding her close.

Once upon a time, Maia would have felt conflicted about them, these wings that Clary had given herself using Angelic powers. But ever since the Angels cast Clary out, ever since she turned her back on them in turn and reclaimed the power as her own, her wings have felt less like a consequence of an Angelic gift she’d never asked for and more like an extension of her. They are warm and soft and when it comes to Maia, they seem to have a mind of their own. And Maia loves them. She loves the way they sometimes extend over her sleeping form when Clary’s spooning her. She loves the way Clary sometimes brings them out when they’re outside together, watching clouds or stars, so Maia has something soft to lay on. She loves the way Clary holds her close with them when Maia is naked in her lap, keeping her warm and safe no matter how exposed she is.

Maia smiles and leans down to kiss the side of Clary’s mouth as she continues to gently stroke her. Clary chases her lips and earns a kiss on the mouth as well.

“Maia…” she mumbles, nuzzling Maia’s neck and kissing the hollow of her throat. “

“Yeah, baby?”

Clary opens her eyes. “Take off your goddamn bra.”

They both laugh and Maia shifts, as much as the wings will allow her, until she’s unhooked her bra. She leans over again so Clary has a clear view of her cleavage, then lets the bra straps slip from her shoulders. Clary snatches it up and tosses it off the bed as if afraid that Maia will put it back on again.

“Thank you,” she says, pushing herself up to kiss the tattoo under Maia’s left breast. She looks up into Maia’s eyes. “You can go back to doing what you were doing now.”

And Maia does just that. Her fingers continue to circle Clary’s wet folds, her thumb gently and, often, teasingly rubbing her clit, and watching Clary gasp and moan and cling to her with need. Eventually, Maia slips a finger inside her, and Clary’s wings bristle.

Maia kisses her jaw. “You okay?”

Clary nods feverishly. Then, as if her wings aren’t doing a fine enough job of it, she wraps her arms around Maia too and uses them to pull her in for an open-mouthed kiss. Her hands trail over Maia’s bare back, then down to her hips, then up her sides until she’s cupping both of Maia’s breasts. Maia’s breath hitches at the contact, and it takes her more than a moment to be able to focus back on what she’s supposed to be doing.

She thrusts her finger slowly in and out of Clary a few times before adding a second. And then a third. And the whole time Clary grips and kisses and bites various parts of her body — and the sheets beneath them, and Maia kisses every inch of her skin that she can reach from her position. And her wings slowly lose their hold on Maia, instead beginning to flap and flutter in reaction to the intense pleasure.

Before long, Clary's hold on Maia stiffens and she throws her head back in a moan as she climaxes. Then she falls back against the bed, limp and panting, wings fluttering.

“That…was…” she sighs contentedly, ecstasy still on her face. She opens one eye halfway and gives Maia a small smile. “Wow. Give me one minute, okay?”

“‘Course, baby,” Maia says, lying down on top of her and waiting patiently. She loves watching Clary like this: hair sticking to her forehead with sweat, limbs splayed across the bed, and that euphoric look on her face. With a view this beautiful, Maia doesn’t mind waiting her turn one bit.

A few minutes later, Clary starts to sit up, and Maia rolls halfway off of her to allow it. Clary reaches for a water bottle on their bedside table and sips at it. She offers it to Maia, who also takes a sip before putting it back.

“Okay, now,” Maia says, tracing a finger up and down Clary’s stomach as she gives her a teasing look. “Where were we?”

Clary smirks, as if to say, Oh, I’ll remind you, and switches their positions so quickly that Maia is left to wonder whether she’s activated her speed rune.

With Maia on her back, Clary positions herself between her legs and leans down to kiss her. This is another part of their dance:

Maia is attentive and focused and so, so, so good at what she does and in the time they’re together like this, all she cares about is making Clary feel good. It makes her feel good too, of course, especially with Clary’s hands on her breasts and Clary’s wings on her back, but Maia’s own focus is on making certain her girlfriend is getting as much out of the experience as possible. But when Clary starts to kiss her like this — slow and deep, her tongue in Maia’s mouth guiding the kiss — Maia knows what it’s signaling. That it’s Clary’s turn to take care of her now. That Maia just has to sit back and relax and not worry about a thing in the world.

They don’t always do the same dance, but this kiss from Clary is almost always there to remind Maia that all she needs to do now is feel good .

Clary pulls away slowly, looking down at Maia with half-hooded eyes.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Maia says.

They smile at each other for a long moment. Then Clary places a kiss on Maia’s cheek, then her jaw, then her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, her chest. Each breast. Down the lengths of her arms. Her stomach and sides. Her thighs. Knees. Ankles. She takes her time kissing every inch of Maia’s body, her hands roaming Maia’s skin all the while. When she finally arrives at the practically-soaked underwear, Maia is breathing heavily and urging her on with her eyes.

Clary sits on her hands and knees, spreads her wings wide, and begins to mouth at Maia’s pussy over the fabric.

Maia makes a noise that is half-squeal, half-groan. “Clary…” she says breathlessly.

Clary knows she doesn’t expect an answer, so she doesn’t bother stopping what she’s doing with her mouth. She alternates between kissing Maia’s thighs and the space between them for what feels to her like barely more than a minute, and to Maia like an eternity. Then Clary uses one hand to carefully push the fabric of Maia’s panties aside, granting her full access to the main event without having to take them off Maia.

Maia moans beautifully when Clary starts to lick her directly, her tongue moving in slow, deep circles. And then, when Clary’s tongue flicks her clit, Maia cries out and buries both hands in Clary’s hair.

Clary giggles and turns her head to kiss the inside of Maia’s palm.

“You doing okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” Maia says, biting her lip. “Just— don’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Clary says, and dives back in. Maia writhes in pleasure and lifts her hips off the bed, one hand leaving Clary’s tangled locks to grab her own breast. That’s my job , Clary thinks distantly, but doesn’t dwell on it. She lowers one wing to Maia’s face and caresses her cheek with the soft feathers, making Maia smile. Then she continues to lick and tease Maia with her tongue.

Until Maia gasps and shudders and twists her hand in her Clary’s hair as she’s overtaken by waves of pleasure.

Clary doesn’t stop until Maia is gently tugging her up to kiss her deeply, tasting herself on Clary’s tongue. Then she lies back and smiles, playing with the strands of Clary’s hair still in her hands. Clary adjusts herself so she’s lying next to Maia and drapes one wing over their still-naked forms. Maia turns into her arms, facing her, smiling broadly.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Clary says more than asks.

“Always,” Maia says. “I love you.”

Clary kisses her on the forehead. “I love you too!”

Maia glances at the white feathers on top of her. “Does it take a lot of effort? To keep them out, I mean.”

“No.” Clary shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind if it did, though. You like them.”

“Oh, I more than like them.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

Maia laughs and wraps her arms around Clary’s middle. Her hair tickles Clary’s chest and nose, but Clary isn’t bothered by it.

“They feel nice,” Maia says after a moment. “They feel like…”

“Yeah,” Clary says. “You feel like that for me.”

“I love you,” Maia says again.