Trigger warnings for incest and explicit sex/voyeurism. Please use caution.
Spit the Dark
By Sister Grimm Erin
For swinging from mars
Isabelle Lightwood plants kiss after kiss along his throat, hard enough to bruise, and Simon Lewis hates the way he fucking loves it, because every kiss is anything but an apology, it's a seduction and he's not in the mood for sex. He hates the way she makes him shiver and he hates the way his body clenches as she moves her hips against his, and when he comes, it feels forced and hollow, and when she wants to take him upstairs, he tells her not today, Isabelle, I'm tired of being your lapdog. He hates the way he always gives way to her, how he's not even angry she left him locked outside of the church.
And she laughs, damn it, she laughs, and starts up the stairs with a smirk, and he hates her but he's watching the swing of her hips and the way her legs are shapely—
And of course, he all but runs to catch up.
Her brother's watching from the window, and he fucking hates it in a very, very different way.
He hates Simon Lewis. He hates how Simon buys Isabelle CDs and she actually listens to them, stupid songs about downfalls and saviors and being unwell but not crazy, songs that contradicted themselves, and she actually plays them. Alec doesn't think she loves him, but it's close, it's close, and that drives him insane, because she used to say that he was the only boy she'd ever love, and he promised her she was the only girl.
He knows he should have outgrown her by now, but that's the thing about Isabelle and Alec, they fit together perfectly in a way they never could with anyone else.
Unless, of course, you're Simon Lewis, and you're putty in her hands, and she can mold you into any shape she likes, a shape that conforms to her body and soul maybe better than even Alec does.
And anyone else would say that's impossible, but, well, he's Alexander Barrister Lightwood, former consort of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.
Impossible is what he does, what he fights, what he lives, and what he is.
So that's why watching Simon and Isabelle makes him sick, because, hell, if anything's possible, maybe they could be too.
Isabelle meets his eyes in the opposite window, nude but for some pink confection of a material resembling nothing so much as sheer tissue paper.. There's no vampire in sight.
She opens the window, and he opens his.
"Alec?" she asks in a small voice.
"Izzy?" he asks.
"Let's run."