AN: All of the chapters of this "story" will be individual, and often self-contained, oneshots and drabbles that take place after the events of Clockwork Prince. They will include various characters and pairings. I will raise the rating of the story if I end up including more mature content in later sections. Look for content warningsat the beginning of each new fic.

After Midnight

Tessa watched Jem play from their bed. Sometimes her eyes were on the bow as it sailed across the strings or on his fingers as they pressed elegantly against the neck. These motions were captivating, and Tessa liked to watch and match them to the elegant notes ringing in the air. But usually Tessa's eyes didn't stray far from Jem's. In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes shone like liquid silver catching the moonlight. From the moment he began the piece to the time that it ended, his gaze would never leave her. She knew this with the same certainty she knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

Jem once told her, "I closed my eyes when I played because I wanted to forget the world. Now I want to forget everything but you."

Arms hugging her legs against her chest, Tessa recalled the first time he'd ever played to her like this. It had been their wedding night. She had been so senselessly nervous when they retired to their room for the evening, and Jem had been so perceptive that he simply asked her to sit while he began playing a piece he said reminded him of her. And from there the night had progressed so beautifully.

She imagined most people would be unnerved by the attention, but Tessa didn't mind it. She liked the feeling that she was somehow giving something to him as he watched her, something that he took and turned into his extraordinary music. If she were not here, he could not play as if she were. That is how he made her feel on nights like these. As if she was something essential, as necessary to music as the instrument in his hands.

The piece he was playing now was a familiar one, so Tessa knew when he lowered the bow that he had ended it prematurely. Eyes still on her, he laid the violin on the chest at the foot of the bed and smiled.

Tessa grinned into her knees, watching his unhurried approach. He was humming the chords, continuing the song he had abandoned so that it did not die but moved closer, carried on his lips until it was touching her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"You do that so beautifully," she murmured and accepted the tune with a kiss. "I can't sing at all."

His hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head just above the upturned collar of the shirt she had tugged on—the shirt he had worn that day. Tessa released her legs so that he could move between them. His heat made her conscious of just how cold she was. She clung to him tightly as he answered her kiss with another and then another. "You sing for me."

He smelled like their sheets and looked just as rumpled, standing in front of her in nothing but his wrinkled trousers. They had gone to bed early but hadn't slept at all.

She was beginning to feel tired now.

Her fingers traced their way up his spine to the gentle ridges of his shoulder blades, which were laced with faint scars. Tessa had learned these scars, had mapped them out herself because Jem often slept stretched out on his stomach, and there were nights when Tessa hardly slept at all. She even knew their meanings after searching them out in a book Charlotte had made available to her. She was grateful for these scars.

"You're yawning."

"Mm," she hummed and drew her hands around to his chest, where the black runes lay in stark contrast to the ivory of his skin. He shivered at her touch and then leaned into it.

Tessa could recall a time when Jem had been self-conscious about his body. The first occasion when they had landed on this bed in a spontaneous tangle of limbs and unchecked want, fervor had swept them along towards something they—at the time—could only blindly grasp for. Amidst all of that neediness and passion had been Jem's apology, his embarrassment at his own appearance. As if he could have been anything less than exquisite.

But intertwined as they were now, that time of discomfort felt so long ago. Hesitation had given way to the boldness of a lover's intimate familiarity. She and Jem had grown into themselves while growing into each other, and neither of them would ever be quite the same. It was a comforting thought.

Tessa found herself struck by the need to be closer to Jem now. She wanted his weight against, their skin touching as naturally as a right and left hand coming together. She pulled Jem's shirt up over her head and let if fall to the floor. Then her hands found the button of Jem's trousers, worked it free, and pushed the offending material down his body.

"Let's go to sleep," she said.

Jem smiled at her curiously but complied, slipping into the bed beside her and pulling the blankets up around them. She liked the way Jem held her, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other caressing the fine hairs at her temple. When she closed her eyes, she imagined that could still hear him making music. But the only sound was his breath against her neck.

AN: If you have prompts for future oneshots or drabbles, I would be happy to hear them. :)