Jace found himself suddenly, inexplicably (and a bit guiltily) at the front door to Simon's house. It was a blue door, Jace noticed, and it didn't really fit the rest of the red-brick house. The normal Jace would have put this information away to spit out as a witty remark to Simon later, but this Jace was nothing like the normal one. This Jace was jittery, tense, and at a lack for words.

Why?

Every day, he had come closer and closer to this house on the walks he'd been taking. (That was another thing—the normal Jace didn't take walks.) And all of sudden he found himself in this situation—standing with shaking hands and sweaty palms about to knock on the Downworlder's door.

So imagine his surprise when the door flew open before his knuckles touched it, and he was suddenly face-to-face with a slightly plump, red-cheeked woman.

"May I help you?"

Jace just stared at her blankly. He was completely devoid of the instant charm of the normal Jace, and only just managed to stammer out, "S-Simon. I'm, uh… here to see Simon?"

He had meant it to be a statement, not a question, but the lady's eyebrow had risen while he was stuttering and his pitch had risen along with it. But her red face had instantly blossomed into a huge grin—the kind your eyes swell closed with. She stepped aside to let him in, and pointed him up the staircase.

"His room is the last one at the end of the hall."

A few seconds passed before Jace realized that he had just been standing there, biting his lip, and it took a gentle jab in the back by Simon's mother to send him moving up the stairs.

Simon didn't hear the knock before his door burst open, probably because Jace hadn't given one. He simply threw the door open, and shut it just as quickly behind him. Simon could see, even without his vampire-enhanced sight, that Jace was nervous (nervous? Did Jace actually get nervous?). He was wringing his hands together and his eyes were darting wildly; with the vampire senses, he could see the faint blossoming sheen of sweat on Jace's forehead and hear his heart beating as if he were on speed.

Not knowing what else to do, Simon merely raised an eyebrow and gave Jace a casual "Hey." At the sound of his voice, Jace stopped his fidgeting and switched to staring at Simon. More like through him, really—Simon wouldn't have been surprised to look down and see a hole burned through his chest by Jace's stare.

Simon took a few steps closer to Jace, and waved a hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Jace. Hello?" Jace merely closed his eyes. Simon sighed. "You know, as much as I enjoy your company, I have better things to do than stand here and listen to you breathe."

And quick as a flash, Jace got his voice back and, staring Simon in the eye, said, "like feed?"

Simon recoiled. "What?"

"You know what I mean, vampire. Are you hungry?" Jace's voice on the last part had gotten low and husky, and it sounded as if he were suggesting something dirty.

"I-I haven't fed today, but—"

Suddenly Jace was right in front of him, almost nose to nose. He reached his hand out and grabbed the bottom of Simon's shirt, and he would have pulled Simon closer if there had been any space left between them.

"I want to do it again." Jace's eyes were locked on Simon's, which had widened in surprise. And not the good kind of surprise—Simon's eyes were horror-filled, his mouth agape. But let it not be said that Jace Wayland wavers in the face of adversity; his gaze was as intense as ever, and his hand was still fisted in Simon's shirt.

"I can't stop thinking about it, Simon. I want that feeling again."

"So go to someone else! Go to Raphael! I don't drink… from humans." Simon's nose was wrinkled in disgust.

Jace made a noise of frustration, somewhere between a moan and a growl. In the back of his mind, where he kept all of his inconveniently timed thoughts, Simon was glad he never had to face Jace in a fight—he was rather terrifying.

"I don't want it from anyone else. They'd probably kill me—" (There's the Jace I know, thought Simon) "—and I don't want it from anyone else."

"You said that already." Simon's voice was a whisper, sounding weak even to his own ears. But he couldn't help it. Jace, who burned like golden fire, was more than enough to revert the new, confident, vampire Simon back to the geeky, shy, easily intimidated Simon. What is with that? Why does he get to have all of this power over everyone? Over me? Simon was trembling.

"Simon," whispered Jace, "please."

Simon shook his head, and escaped Jace's hold on his shirt so he could start backing away. He was so consumed by that one action that he didn't see Jace's hand move, didn't see the silver blade as Jace drew it from his belt. He didn't see Jace slice it across his own wrist.

But he smelled it.

Everything became instantly sharper. Time slowed, the edges of everything turned crisp, and his entire body filled with the scent of blood. With his hungerlust vision he could see Jace's veins pulsing with each beat of his heart—his lovely, warm, human heart—and he watched as those beats sent blood cascading out of his wrist to cover his fingers.

"You can't say no, vampire." Jace's voice now was soft, not sharp. Simon thought it strange that there was no contempt, no derision in that statement. Didn't Jace usually spit out those words? Vampire, like it was as derogatory as "whore" or "bitch." But this time, it sounded… intimate?

Simon wanted to turn and bolt out the window, but his feet were fixed to the floor. Even as Jace advanced on him, even as he raised that blood-covered hand, Simon couldn't run away. He couldn't even tear his gaze off of Jace's hand.

But Jace's eyes were focused on Simon's face. He saw how Simon's eyes were locked on to the blood. He saw how Simon's mouth parted, involuntarily, and how his fangs had grown long enough to pierce the soft skin of his lips.

Jace was once again close enough to Simon to kiss. But that's not what he did.

Instead, he lifted his hand, the one covered in blood, to Simon's mouth. It hovered in the air, just above his lips; Simon quivered but remained still. Don't drink it, don't drink it don't drink itdon'tdrinkitdon't—

The smell was intoxicating but Simon thought he could control himself. And he could have, if Jace had stayed where he was, but Simon was powerless against what he actually did.

Jace's fingers, slick with blood, landed lightly on Simon's lips. He dragged his middle finger across the smooth, cold skin, leaving a red trail behind that stood out shockingly against the near-white skin. His fingers ended their bloody trail on Simon's chin, cupping it so gently one might have thought they were lovers. His thumb, now, was the one pressed up against Simon's lips—and there was no resistance as he slid it into Simon's mouth.

And that was it, really. Simon's control shattered the moment he tasted Jace's blood on his tongue. At least, that was how he liked to think of it—that it was because it was Jace's blood. Not just any blood, because surely he could resist anyone else, but Jace's blood that had made him lose control.

Simon's mouth latched on to Jace's wrist, because it was close and there was already blood pouring from his wound. Jace let out a breathy little whimper, as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and swayed on his feet.

As blinded by bloodlust as he was, Simon was still lucid enough to notice that Jace was about to crumple to the floor, and he realized that the earlier situation had been reversed. Now Simon was the one with the power and Jace was the one about to break. He relished this, but at the same time felt a tenderness towards the helpless boy. It was the last of his humanity in him, the last of his rationality, and before the bloodlust completely claimed him he managed to catch Jace around the waist and lower him to the bed.

Jace had felt his legs buckling, but it was as if he were watching the whole thing from far away, through a fog. It was just that he couldn't push past the sweet, sweet pull of Simon's mouth on his first his wrist and then his throat. Oh, his throat. His whole entire body had ached, with pain and with longing, when Simon's fangs had slid into him there.

If he had been entirely lucid, Jace would have found the combination of pleasure and pain, of vampire and angel, ironically amusing. As it were, however, he was completely out of his mind. He could only writhe under the cold weight of Simon's body, his whole body responding to the bliss those fangs poured into him while they drained him of his blood.

When Jace had thought abstractly about his whole body reacting, he didn't realize how accurate that was. Every part of him was straining up to meet Simon—every part. Simon became painfully aware of this fact after the first moments of complete bloodlust had left him and he had regained some coherent thought. He was still latched on to Jace, one hand behind his head, the other trying to pin down Jace's restless limbs, but he was going at it slowly, leisurely now.

Until he felt a hardness rise beneath him, too centrally located to be a hand or a knee or a pocketed cell phone. Surprised, Simon pulled his mouth away from Jace's neck, earning him a half-cry, half-moan of protest from the boy.

Simon was stopped momentarily by the image of Jace against the dark bedsheets. Flushed with pleasure as he was, the roughness and power that usually resided in his face had subsided. Instead he was all pale pinks and golds, his cheeks fever-red and his crystal-sharp eyes closed. His mouth, too, had relaxed from its usual hard line into a softly open O.

Staring at his mouth, Simon realized that Jace was actually whispering one word, over and over.

"Please, please, please…"

And a burning, fiery pleasure flooded through Simon's cold body. The bloodlust had made him feel hot and alive, and to realize that he had such power over this boy sent excitement through his veins like a drug. He was electrified. Jace, the lion, the golden boy, was hot and tortured and needy beneath him.

So even though a small part of him (a human part, mostly—the human Simon who didn't like blood or boys) wanted to tear himself away, he instead lowered himself back down to Jace's throat, sinking his fangs in once more. But this time he used not just his mouth but his body, too, to send the other boy into fits of pleasure.

Simon discovered that the harder he grinded his body against Jace's, the sweeter his blood tasted. With each involuntary upward jerk of Jace's hips, with each moment of friction between their jeans, Jace's heart pumped the blood hotter and sweeter into Simon's mouth.

It was a drug to both of them. Jace's mind and body were completely overtaken by the soft lightheadedness of lost blood and the shuddering pleasure of Simon's body against his, and Simon was yearning for more of that heady, richened blood of Jace's even as he was drinking it in.

And they both of them wanted more—they needed more— so Simon took away the hand that was pinning Jace's down and moved it instead to the waistband of the blonde's jeans. His vampire hands were deft and so they were through the zipper in a second, and finally they were skin-to-skin and it wasn't even the touch but just the heat of Simon (Jace's own heat, really, since Simon was cold without his blood) that sent Jace over the edge and both of them cried out for the ecstasy of it.

The orgasm had shot through Jace's whole body, like nothing he'd ever felt before, and it was amplified a million times over because of the blissful sedative that leaks from a vampire's kiss. And Simon felt it, too, because he was connected to Jace by blood, which is life itself, and he had never tasted anything so intense as feelings shared by blood.

They tore apart, both boys panting, but Simon from being filled and Jace from being drained. He wasn't anywhere close to death, Simon had made sure, but humans always perceive themselves as close to dying no matter how far from it they are. It was therefore Simon who sat up first, and looked down at the boy on the bed.

Jace's eyes were glassy, his face shining with sweat. Even though his fangs weren't buried in Jace's neck, Simon realized that he was still the one with the power. Jace had surrendered any power he had to Simon when he had lain beneath him, begging, and Simon started to think that he had wanted to relinquish it. Jace, who was always in control, always above everyone else, had chosen to be weak in front of Simon.

Simon was pretty sure he could get used to that idea.