Fandom: The Infernal Devices

Story Title: "Hanging on the Wind"

Summary: Will fits perfectly there, inside of the very thing that that makes him stand up, and he can't help but think our souls are knit.

Character/Relationship(s): William Herondale/Jem Carstairs

Rating: Hard M/NC-17

Warnings: Sexual behavior.

Story Word Count: 1200+

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable.

Notes: For Lucy! I'm sorry this isn't, like, sexy. But I wrote this five times and decided to screw it. Also this is p. much the gayest thing that I've ever written.

Oh I've got this friend
A loveless romantic
All that he really wants
Is someone to want him back

-I've Got This Friend, The Civil Wars

Hanging on the Wind

When Jem was in Shanghai, each morning started the same way.

His mother would come to his room, hair already piled up on her head and kohl outlining her eyes, and a song would be in her mouth. She'd help him get ready for the day spent with tutors and training, peppering his cheeks with kisses and guiding him down to the table to eat breakfast. His father would always be waiting, a months old English paper in his hand, and he'd tell Jem good morning before kissing his mother on the mouth.

Each day began with an aria of noise—from the kitchen servants, from his mother's voice to his father's low timbre.

There's a stillness in early morning at the English Institute. The sun appears sickly as it strains to appear through the thick quilt of grey clouds, and even London isn't fully alive at this time of day. Life here begins differently, quietly and orderly and so very British, and he thinks that's why he likes it. It's one of the things that slice his life between before and after.

Will is snoring lightly in Jem's bed, the only sound that he can hear. Jem likes Will's face when he's asleep—there's no wall holding anything in place, and he looks younger, less worried. There are no secrets beneath it all here; when Will's asleep he's in his purest form.

Gazing at Will like this always makes something soft and warm, but also heavy and intoxicating, bloom in Jem's chest. It grows bigger with every heartbeat that screams I love you, I love you, I love you. It's a heady thing, to love your parabati, he knows, but Jem can't help it.

He'd never tell Will, of course. He'd never tell anyone. But it's still there, most of the time a small and hard thing that rests in the center of Jem's chest. Sometimes though, when they're in the library studying or when Will's telling some story about something that he'd seen that day, or when Will kisses him as though Jem's the only thing in the world, sometimes it unfurls and spreads throughout his whole body, stretching it until it gets uncomfortable.

This feeling overwhelms him sometimes, makes his skin seem too small, makes him want to explode into a million pieces but it hovers there anyway.

He really should shove Will out of bed, tell him to go back to his own so that they aren't caught. If someone caught them it would come to Charlotte's attention, and it would be her duty to tell the Clave. They'd be called into questioning and there's no way that Jem could lie to them, and then they'd both die because of his mistake.

Instead of moving, however, Jem just lets Will sleep and tries to imagine a world where this could be a every day occurrence instead of an expression of virility. Our souls are knit, he thinks, and lingers on the thought.

"I don't blame you, you know," Will's voice comes up from underneath the blankets, one blue eye popped open. "If I had a big enough mirror I'd like to gaze at myself before the morning's begun."

Jem rolls his eyes. "Don't start. It's far too early for your nonsense and I haven't worked up the endurance for it yet."

"You had plenty of endurance last night," Will says innocently, blinking, and it's all Jem can do not to grin at the thought.

"Yes well, that was last night. This is the morning, and as such, you really should get out of here. Thomas will probably be up here soon."

"Dragon pox on Thomas," Will speaks into the pillow. Then a grin grows slowly over his features and a sinking feeling appeared in Jem's chest. He can never say no to Will when he looked like that—bright eyes and a smile that never ends. He doesn't want things very often, and the effect of him looking like that is breathtaking and heartbreaking all at once.

He leans in to kiss Jem, then, and all denials die in Jem's throat. "Just once more?" Will pleaded in between kisses and Jem's only response was to curl tighter into Will's hair, pulling slightly.

The kiss deepens, and it's a slow thing, not at all rushed and hurried like last night. Their tongues move together, not rushing but instead exploring. Jem would think that he knew Will's mouth as well as his own at this point, but it never feels like that, never feels the same.

Jem bites down on Will's lower lip and pulls slowly, bringing Will closer to him. There's a rational part of his brain that knows that this isn't right, that they should be stopping. But the part that's telling him never to stop, that tells him that it's easiest to pretend that Will loves him like this, that overpowers the other part of himself as he tangles his fingers even more in Will's hair.

They feel like one person now, every inch touching, and Jem can feel himself growing harder as Will growls in his throat before pulling away.

"William," Jem breathes, and it's not a whine, it isn't. "Come back." He tries tugging at Will's hair but Will keeps going anyway, biting at his neck before traveling down his body. He bites Jem's thin chest, at the muscles that wait below the skin of his stomach before Jem can feel Will's hair brush the inside of his thighs and his breath on Jem's cock.

He can feel Will's smile on his thigh before Will's mouth covers his cock and Jem feels himself hissing as his back arches. This had been one of the first things that they had begun to do, and they had each grown better in time until they knew exactly what the other wanted.

Jem's eyes flutter before he's able to look down and see exactly what Will's doing, his cheeks concave, his own pale fingers still tangled in the dark mess that is Will's hair. It doesn't take long until he's come all over Will, spill himself all over the blankets and into his mouth.

When Will comes to kiss him he can taste that on his mouth, and his fingers digging into his hips. Will fits perfectly there, inside of the very thing that that makes him stand up, and he can't help but think Our souls are knit before reaching down and grabbing at Will's cock, feeling the moisture there.

It doesn't take long, just a few strokes of Jem's fingers before there's something warm and sticky all over them. He wonders what the servants will think when they wash them today—will they just chalk it up to his illness, assume that he was sweating or secreting something all over?

And then Will stills, and Jem can feel their heartbeats beating perfectly together, their lungs expanding faster and faster. It takes a while for them to slow, and even when Will does get off of him he keeps their fingers linked before kissing the inside of Jem's wrist.

"I'll go now, James," Will says as he pulls his trousers on. There's an emptiness next to Jem now and he's not sure how much he likes it. "See you at breakfast?"

"Of course," Jem responds before he's finally alone, the stillness of the morning settling over him once more.