Eewww kay….so, I have this idea….JEM/WILL. JILL! WELL! WEM! JEMIAUM. JEW. ß my favorite. Ha. JEW. I don't actually know the "official unofficial" name but for now I'm calling this hot thing JEW. Ha. On a heavier note, I'm in a whole crap load of pain right now. Long story. (Fibro/Growing painsish shit. Okay, not so long story.) Seeewww, this might either be really sad or really stupid. You all know these characters belong to Cassandra. Who I love. Also, this might be a bit OOC since I've only read CA once, and I'm horrible at this time period. Bear with me.

~Donavvin

William Herondale was fascinated by little. Often, nothing at all interested him unless it involved forgetting what it was within the hour. Drinking games were his guilty pleasure, it seemed. Tessa Grey held his interest, he found. Shadowhunting? Maybe. But he tended to forget things that related to his given duty when he drank. And this? Well, this William Herondale didn't seem to mind one bit. But James was a whole other story.

James Carstairs. James, whom preferred to be called Jem. James, who could perhaps be the only one with the wit to pull Will from his otherwise unfathomable and unapproachable state of drunkenness, pray Will be allowed to gaze clearly at his partner's face once more before drowning in the sea of alcohol he seemed to swim in. And for this, William knew he should be more careful with his fighting partner. With his feelings and ideas and perhaps his optimism as well. Will had always depended on that; the optimism of his dear friend. His dear friend Jem. His dear friend Jem, who was dying steadily.

The nights no longer consisted of awkward talks of feelings and love and the uncertain but sure-to-be-painful future with a certain warlock. The days no longer focused on the tasks of a girl who could not make up her mind. No, nowadays the London sun barley reached either boy's skin through the drawn curtains. Nor did William miss it, though he was sure that his parabatai did long for a small touch of what warmed their home in London now. And William, who was as loving on the inside as he was stark and arrogant on the outside, dearly wished he could give it to him. But there are some things that can't be done. And there are some things that can't be known.

The faint trickle of sun that trailed in through the tattered curtains now was enough to hurt Will with its own carelessness. How thoughtless of you, he thought to that trail of light. Can't you see he's sleeping? Why tempt when there is no way to receive?

"Why bother to receive without the risk of temptation?" Jem answered, and Will's gaze snapped back to the boy, who previously had been perfectly still on the bed. Will hadn't realized he'd been thinking aloud again. He picked the habit up from James. And now he felt foolish for scolding a ray of sunlight.

"My fault," he murmured. "Go back to sleep." But Jem shook his head.

"Yes, but no," the other boy answered, sitting up. His face still had no color, but the shine in his eyes suggested that he was otherwise feeling better again.

"I insist," Will muttered, pushing the silver-haired boy down by the shoulders. Jem frowned at his partner's abrasiveness, but this was nothing new. Still, Will was sure that the state of their relationship was as much a secret as any, save Tessa's possible wit surfacing enough to guess. Guess that what they did could cause so many problems. But the two could hardly be bothered with it.

"Will," Jem murmured sadly, pulling away, struggling. William, as pushy as he had been born into, didn't ignore this one simple request. He moved, watching, waiting.

"Jem?" he repeated in a slightly more upbeat tone. Jem sighed heavily, not responding right away. "Well, out with it then," Will pushed. For William Herondale was not a patient man.

"I wonder," Jem began. Will waited. "I wonder what, what the nature of your visits are presently. I wonder why you stay so often. Why you miss nights at the bar only to occupy the space in this bed next to me," he finished. Will reached out, the fraction of a scared young boy showing through, the one part the connected them, and James obliged, curling back into Will's arms.

"Why tempt when there is no way to receive?" Will asked fondly, finally producing a soft smile out of his lover. Though Will wondered about the use of the word in his own fractured mind. Perhaps it was a bit out of place.

"Why bother to receive without the risk of temptation?" Jem countered.

"You tempt me," Will decided softly in Jem's ear, reaching out, taking the skin between his teeth. And James decided in his mind that this was okay, too.

"Unreasonable and yet understandable," the silver-haired boy replied. Will shrugged, letting this one go. Perhaps it was unreasonable to love Jem in this way. There you go, he thought wearily, using the word that seems a bit misplaced. But William ignored this. It was a simple salvation.

"Hardly so."

"I disagree." The two boys tended to exchange such banter back and fourth. Often times, Will recalled with annoyance, it got in the way of their activities. So Will put a stop to it there, cutting off Jem's air, pressing his lips against the warmth of Jem's. The whimper that Will heard was sweet surrender. And he relished it.

"You're warm," Will commented softly, hands exploring what was already so familiar to him. "Are you feverish?"

"And you are cold," Jem answered. "Have you been bathing in ice water for an hour?" Will gave a light laugh.

"I think not!" Jem gave a soft dazzling smile.

"Alright then." And at this, Will consented. His lips dropped to the pale skin that clung to James' collarbone, and with each delicate kiss, a soft sound that could only come from Jem's throat was rewarded to him. Jem pushed into Will's hips, and Will sighed, getting closer, wrapping his fingers in Jem's silver hair. At this, Jem arched his back and pulled Will in, as close as he could be, and Will smiled, planting soft, delicate kisses around Jem's face.

"Jem," Will purred. "Jem, more." And James knew the routine. James knew that sometimes he ended up being Will's drug, and maybe the other way around. But this morning Jem wouldn't be played. This morning Jem wouldn't be hurt like that. SO he pulled free from Will's grasp.

"No," he murmured sadly. "No, Will." Will frowned at the rejection, which, James knew all too well, was not something Will was used to.

"Why?"

Jem looked away.

"Do you not feel well? Jem, what's wrong?" The silver-haired boy turned and looked into Will's eyes again, his own unreadable.

"I'm wondering again," he said softly, turning over with some difficulty. Will sighed.

"About?" he probed. Jem shrugged his delicate shoulders.

"About what I am to you."

"Jem," Will muttered, exasperated. "You're my everything. Think about it!" Jem frowned, though Will wouldn't see.

"I do think about it. I think about it all the time. Will?" The other shadowhunter waited. "I think you should go."

"But I won't," Will replied, defiant. "If you mean from the bed? Well, I suppose that could be done. But you're still sick, and I'm going to stay otherwise until you're well again." Jem couldn't argue this point.

"Fine. If you're going to stay then stay. But I'm not going to make love to you now. You should know that. If it's all you are after, you should go." Will gently laced a hand on Jem's shoulder. And when Jem turned, Will dove in for a soft kiss, and instead of pulling away, Jem kissed back. Will parted them and smiled devilishly.

"Temptation strikes again."