Never unsettle a proper Englishmen.
It's a relatively blunt yet seemingly precarious law—or guideline rather—which I trusted one such Mr. Carstairs to comprehend fully. An exceedingly significant commandment that wasn't to be disturbed by an equally as pertinent gentlemen. Perhaps not by the shared English upbringing, per se, yet never the less one of accurate childhood nutriment. Well. Somewhat.
Frankly not knowing the entire extent of his reasonably ambiguous background left me decidedly mad. Rightfully so. From Shanghai? This much I was aware of as well as thoroughly ensured I was that he wasn't fibbing of his guardians. His mother, a euphoric shadowhunter of exquisite Chinese standing, and his father, none other than a proper Englishmen whom was by all accounts as steadfast as Jem. As I spoke of prior.
Their adverse demise was that silent and tragic, simply put. Riddled with the vexatious torture of their only son, yet still at a seemingly inconsequential age. His innocence was never recaptured as was more so clearly evident when one gleaned his milieu. Yanlou hadn't harbored neither clemency nor respect for such a adolescent pliable soul yet he had, somehow, escaped the treacherous impression such sadistic treatment should of twisted. My own opinion deemed his luck rather conflicted as the fatal repercussions had yet to subside.
"Will. Stop that." He snapped with a hint of concern permeating his light tone. Without removing his transfixed gaze from his current novel of interest he added in an impatient voice. "You've yet to cease staring at me for—" he pauses with eyebrow quipped to glance certainly at his sliver plated pocketwatch. "exactly fourteen minutes and an additional thirty-seconds." His silver eyes flicked from the glinting polished surface of his watch to my own crystalline irises as he crisply snatched it closed and returned it to its equitable place tucked inside the pocket of his vest.
"Perhaps I enjoy staring at you." I reply in a whispered tone while tilting my head back slightly as to gaze forth upon this silver angel's glorifying ashen features from an extended angle. He rolled his eyes exasperated with my short and furthermore excessively unsatisfying answer. Closing the book with a dull thud he returned the bound burgundy leather tome to the mahogany stained wooden table which he sat at currently.
Or rather he sat at. I myself—rather than lounge lackadaisically with a bit of literature—had strolled, attitude ablaze, into the expansive library to trace down why in the name of the Angel had my James Carstairs allowed me to become tragically bored. He offered me one pale and slim fingered hand as a sign of patience. He was deep within a captivating read, not to be disturbed by my frivolous issues. And thus I took to awaiting his attention.
"Jem." I sigh, taking in his prepared posture and relaxed hands folded atop his lap. "Why have you let me grow bored?" I added must to his obvious irritation while leaning forward on my elbows and shifting my stance. He released a deep groan, rubbing his eyes in his palms and fixing his attention, entirely now, back upon my frazzled figure. I pursed my lips into a firm hard line, cocking my head to the side and signifying my desperation for an answer with a marginal "hhhhmmm?"
"My apologies, Lord Herondale. It was woefully unintentional to have done so to you on my part." He groans in a pallid tone that made me hurriedly regard the high-backed chair nearest him with great posterior interest. Rear firmly satisfied, elbows propped on the table in front of myself, and chin resting on top of my interlaced fingers I renewed my staring efforts. Not that I'd ever looked away in the first place. This was the freshest of my innovative games to annoy him; seeing how long I could keep his image before he shooed me off. It was equally as acerbating for the both of us, it seemed.
"Amnesty granted. Now, I've another question." I growl with false impatience at his growing frustration while narrowing my eyes at him. His face remains gradually as impassive as the tome to his left. It was in Mandarin. I despised Mandarin. Yet perhaps it'd offer a way of—
"Just one question, Will?" interrupting my thoughts was a dire offense. One that must be shown the upmost persecution to the executer. The sordid perpetrator. The vicarious villain. The malicious mutant. The Chinese caitiff. "Teach me Mandarin, loyal servant." I bark sharply, watching the gruff chuckle that makes the corners of his mouth twitch up in a quiet smile. He adjusts his eyes on my relaxed kingly character and just as quickly dismisses my demand as farcical.
"As I recall I've already done so." He replied while aimlessly tracing patterns on the front facing cover of the book he'd previously been poring over ere my ridiculously rude intruding. My facial features were immediately transformed to meet his answer. However true it was that he had in fact offered me the luxury of being capable of yell at him in his own more native language.
"Teach me." I decided to ignore his reply, instead repeating my crisp command and reinforcing it with a stern nod. My intense gaze was practically tangibly fierce. He however, found no fear invoking threat within my faultless acting.
"Bu yao." Rising from his chair with languid movements his fingers skimmed the thick tome before snatching it from my lightening filching. Only he seemed able to predict my action, no matter the magnitude at which their irresponsibility dwelled. Drawing my hands back and watching him cross the room with a marginally impeded stride as he had failed to include the assistance of his cane.
"Keen. We'll begin tomorrow." I remarked with a slight retort that caused him to pause and toss a glance my way. Shaking his head in a way that allowed a few silver strands to fall from behind his ear he drew a shaky breath and said. "You know 'bu yao' mean 'no', Will. I say it to you often enough." Pointing the spine of book towards me in a lightly threatening tone that would have silenced and discouraged any jovial esprit de corps.
"Dearest Jem, I proposed we begin the lessons tomorrow. Not now. You could scarcely call that my opening lesson." To my obvious annoyance he took my wholly sarcasm apathetically and almost inconceivably void of amusement. Frightening chap.
"William."
"James."
"Shoo. I'm busy." Just as I'd initially predicted. A nearly implausibly spot on foreshadow. And now I could blink as my game had come to an ill conclusion, sorrowfully. An ill won match, yet now…
I've something else to scare away boredom.
I push back my chair from the table as psychically dramatically as humanly—shadowhunterly—as possible. The soles of my shoes made scarcely a sound upon the polished marble as I followed the oblivious character across the library room. The spacious literal arena was lit dimly by sporadically positioned candelabras which hung ardently from the wall that where the color that of the deepest antique burgundy.
My specter steps saunter towards my prey as he tentatively ran his fingers across the numerous spines of the books that deemed the dark stained bookshelf their home. Once a solo index had ghosted over the appropriate dewy decimal and the novel he had been reading was shoved into his home accordingly, I found my opening to strike. Fire away with guns ablaze.
With the lightest smirk, devilishly as Hell, stitched to my features I watched as he leisurely turned on his heel to face me. The ghost of a protest formed on his lips as my slender hands pushed him back against the bookshelf with a force my excitement hadn't initially intended. Astonishment filled his silvery eyes as I narrowed my poisonous glare at him, hoping to elicit even the slightest of responses. However what my intention received was far more than I'd wagered.
"Will! By the Angel, what has gotten into you?!" he yelped bewildered with his own surprise as I leaned forward, my forearms braced on either side of him as a cage. "Oh, I beg your pardon," I breathed, my voice sounding as smooth as liquid amber honey as it reverberated as a soft purr in the crevices of his ears. He tensed as I slid forward ever so gradually and tentatively brushed my parted lips against the soft flesh of his ear.
My breath moved the soft, feather like silver strands while a deep shiver moved through his poised body. "James?" I asked with full intentions that caused the fingers he used to clutch the front hem of my waistcoat to tremble marginally. He answered with a strained moan when I leaned close enough to feel the consoling heat and racing heartbeat that fluttered under his blushing scarlet flesh.
"Have you any love left for a poor soul, such as mine?" I added after a low chuckle rumble deep within my chest. He drew in a breath softly, an action of hesitance barely audible. "W-what do you mean?" he whispered breathlessly. I didn't allow him to ask nary neither a question more nor a single protest. Without another moments hesitation I tilted my head to the side, pressing my lips gently against his.
I could not be sure of his definite reaction just as he could of never predicted that I would have something of this magnitude in mind. I reasoned it more than likely wasn't a lustful scenario he entertained frequently. Or did he?
A gasp worked its merry way free from between his parted lips, allowing me the perfect angle to deepen our unexpected kiss. My eyes fluttered close, their oceanic depths no longer finding the incredulous silver pupils staring widely back at me as alluring as before. Without my knowledge I felt his hands tightened in my waistcoat before he clutched the fabric to pull me closer. I couldn't be sure, but I wagered he'd closed his eyes as well.
So this game would be mutual? A shared endeavor of wits and reciprocated struggle? Surprisingly, the slightest part of me felt euphoric at this revelation, just as the other dispelled it. I broke away for a gasp of air that was just as quickly reconnected with desperate lips and flimsy whims portray in apprehensive gasps. My hands, as solidly as they had been grasping the bookshelf ledge, strayed to the silvery locks I soon found my fingers tangled in.
"Will…" he gasped when I tilted my head to the side slightly allowing his parted lips to make way from my curious tongue. Mine met his, a rigged match a mine seemed more apt to clashing and fighting dirty. His submissiveness almost startled me. It was a detail which I'd neglected to take into mind as he seemed duly acquainted with the opposite sex.
I'd yet to have the fortune of kissing yet another male, to his knowledge, even though I was swiftly finding it identical to the numerous females I'd found myself with. Sans for the sinewy muscles I felt when my hands ran down the length of his sides. They'd just found a fiery favoring for his back pockets when he decided to fight back.
The breath hitched in my throat when he cunning decided to suck my lower lip before slipping his wondering hands around my waist elusively. Oh, upping the bar was he? And yet the challenge was met. Duly so.
I found myself pressing in him, not to be outdone, and putting my effort forth into restricting his movements. My hips taking their own mind and thus deciding to begin a battle of their own. A gravelly moan set low in my throat sent a sprinting tremble streak down his spine when my mouth moved subtly to his temple before returning to his throat. I'd yet to leave a single bruise. How tragic.
A crisp hiss sang through his grinding teeth as my mouth sucked harshly upon the delicate pale flesh of the hollow of his throat. The hum was striking in my terms and just as so made me elicit another when my teeth grazed the redden area I'd previous been massaging with my tongue. "Aiming to throw this in Charlotte's face, are we?" he mused knowing full well it would be visible in whatever clothing he chose to wear.
"Suppose you stay out of her gaze for a while?" I reasoned moving my current attention back to his desperate mouth that was presently upturned in a devilish smirk. He breathed a sigh of content after he captured my lips once more, teeth clicking and continued a mind-numbing gesture with those skilled violinists hands of his. "And if I do suppose." He mumbled against my mouth while pulling at the hem of my white button-up that had been otherwise tucked neatly into my waistband.
"Where in London might I hide?" he finished warm slim hands lightly smoothing over my bare sides before decidedly massaging deep circles into my lower back. I responded with a low whine of satisfaction that made him grin against my firm lips. His were as soft as rose petals whilst tasting just as sweet.
It was sagely burned taste of burned sugar, roasted carefully over honey flames till caramelized at just the perfect viscosity. The drug. Yin Fen. That ghastly substance that was killing him. Slowly, agonizingly slowly destroying my parabatai. The very thought provoked an unrestricted lunacy to pry open my inner lust. That greed I kept hidden away under tight lock and key.
"My room perhaps?" I suggested, taking a moment to ease the simmering irritation was clearing infinitesimal to what I should have reserved for calming myself. Yet here I used Jem as an outlet to exhaust the excess energy. I dare say he had yet one complaint.
"Ah, yes. Charlotte'll never look there." He teased, pushing his inquisitive fingers further till they dared to filch dangerous near the brass button on my dark trousers. The corners of my mouth pulled up into a charismatic smirk before dipping my mouth back to his with a slight chuckle. "Never." I echoed soundlessly as a indistinct click registered in my mind.
Oh God. Why. Why now when the going was just getting good?
She—yes, wretchedly, she— unbeknownst to myself decided to waltz in. To my careful planning and put a horrid end to my game. It was a tragic closing, one that consisted of my groan of maxed irritation as well as Jem's own muffled yelp of surprise. And now, as the fun was murder in cold, cold blood, action of a different sort was to be pursued.
I pulled away from his throat and the piously alluring scent of him to assert my calm elsewhere. Scarcely one solo groan of frustration escaped my lips as I glanced over in her direction as she rounded the corner of the bookshelf. Stopping with a bewildered expression and propping one powered alabaster and dainty hand at her mouth. Her wide eyes of light jade surveyed my prey and I with obvious interest.
A scandal to which she could spread throughout the Shadowhunter community? Or a clandestine misshape that would serve as beautiful gossip and greater leverage for blackmail? She considered either with more haste than the ignorant broad had ever considered nary a subject. Such a saucy dame.
"What…what were you doing?" Jessamine asked, cocking one sculpted eyebrow in her low dark hairline and putting one defiant hand on her hip. A hip, I couldn't help but notice that was swathed in a deeply rich green fabric that did far more than hug her hips. Later after the aftermath of my fun had subsided I might just call her out for impersonating a Lady of the Evening. Just for the spite. And infuriated expressions.
"Oh absolutely nothing, dearest Jesse." I swooned, running one lazy index down Jem's chest, flicking a button of two absent mindedly and only stopping when he cleared his throat in warning when my fingers skimmed his belt. Oh and of course Miss Jessamine saw my little gesture. Not only that but did she then decided to notice my crinkled polo and how it had been considerably tugged from his precisely tucked status in my waistband.
She glanced suspiciously between Jem and I—who had finally controlled his considerably labored breathing—and myself. I, however, remaining cool and complacent, ready to dismiss any accusation she was prepared to inflict. "Oh I believe there was certainly something going on, William." She added, brining the hand down from her mouth and instead bracing it on the nearest bookshelf.
Finding his voice once more I heard the melodic tone of my Jem directing a response toward our rude interrupter. "Ah, Jessamine, if you will." He paused swallowing and pushing me back away from him gently. "Would you mind fetching Thomas? I've an appointment to meet." He made sure to look anywhere but me, keeping his eyes on the scandalous maiden or accompanying frivolous accessories in the library.
"Oh you want me to leave? And why is that?" she snapped back eyeing me disdainfully before turning a vexatious glare upon Jem as well. I took the offer to humiliate her, of course. I called tilting my head in a gesture toward my partner in question and being rewarded with the appropriate reaction.
"Well, Lady Lovelace, I'd rather enjoy continuing our snogging if you don't mind."