The DSCS we all know and love, but my way. The first few paragraphs are paraphrased directly from the book so you follow much easier.

Don't like, don't read, and reviews are lovely.

...She gripped the edges of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders; it fell to the ground and he kicked it away. Her hands came up under his shirt, clawing at his back, fingers digging into the skin there, softness layered with muscle.

He kissed her harder and she clutched his shoulders as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, sending a shock of pleasure mixed with pain through her body. She squirmed to get closer to him and felt his breath quicken; she could taste blood in her mouth, salt and hot. There was blood under her nails where she had clawed his back.

Jace pressed her forward, spinning them both around so she was pinned between his body and the wall. As they turned, he caught the edge of the angel statue, toppling it to the ground and shattering apart in a cloud of marble dust. He laughed and dropped to the ground in front of her on his knees among the remnants of broken statuary. She stared down at him in a daze as he ran his hands up her boots, to her bare legs, to the lace that edged the bottom of her slip dress. She sucked in her breath, as his hands slipped like water up and over the silk, to her waist, to grip her hips, leaving streaks of silver on the silk.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. "Jace?"

He looked up at her. The peculiar light in the club turned his eyes an array of fractured colors. His smile was wicked. "You can tell me to stop whenever you want," he said. "But you won't."

"Jace . . ." His hands bunched in the silk of her dress, dragging the hem up, and he bent to kiss her legs, the bare skin where her boots ended, her knees (who knew knees could be so sensitive?) and farther up, where no one had ever kissed her before. The kisses were light, and even as her body tensed that she wanted to tell him she needed more, but didn't know what, didn't know what she needed exactly, but it didn't matter because he seemed to know it. She let her head fall back against the wall, half-closing her eyes, hearing only her heartbeat like a drum in her ears, louder and louder still.

His lips worked their way up, and so did her dress. He kissed the waist band of her undergarments, her hip bones, and stomach, the dress piled up around her waist. Clary's hands threaded in his hair, urging him, telling her she need more. But, much to her dismay, Jace stopped kissing her.

She didn't have long to be disappointed before his lips crashed into hers once more, pushing her into the with an almost jarring force. His hands slid further up still, to where her dress covered little more than her breasts. Clary's hands had a mind of their own. She grabbed at his shirt, wanting it off, wanting to see his beautiful golden skin and scars and runes with her own eyes.

He practically ripped it off, before he was pulling her dress over her head and it was on the floor with his shirt and the shattered statue of the Angel. Clary's vaguely noted how bare they were, and in the presence of an angel of sorts, broken or not. She didn't have much time to think, for Jaces hands were groping her in places that made her knees weak, his lips brushing the very top of her bra, his hot breath making her shiver.

She had her arms around his neck, and suddenly his strong arms were lifting her up by her thighs and her legs were wrapped around him tightly. She hadn't realized until then his pants were gone, and only their undergarments hindered them from going all the way. When had that happened? Cleary didn't know. All she this was really happening, and she couldn't stop. Her body, and Jace's, wouldn't her.

His hands fumbled for the clasp on her back, pulling it from her hungrily. Her bare skin brushed his and she moaned again, even as he pulled away to look at her, his hands sliding over every inch of her he could see. A flush burned brightly on her cheeks, for his eyes were so full of lust and wanting as they scanned over her. She was thankful for the dark.

Then, he was turning and her back was on something cold and she was laying down, looking up at the ever darkceiling. The pedestal, she realized. That the Angel had been on. Jace was pressed over her, his body fitting to hers perfectly. His hands toyed at her chest and waist making their way down. Clary's back arched off of the cold as his hand plunged under the thin cotton of her lone undergarment and they were kissing and Clary was moaning on his bruisingly hungry lips and pleasure was the only thing left in to world for her.

His hand worked her to to point she thought she would quite literally implode, until he stopped suddenly. Clary's eyes had been closed until then, and she opened them.

"Jace," she breathed, finding him in the dark. It was only then did she realize what he was doing. He was pulling his own undergarments off, and hers came immediately after.

Clary's registered two things. One: Jace was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. His entire body was like something of a true Angel, chiseled and curved and solid in all the right places. Second: pure panic. They were doing this, it was really happening. And in a club of all places, where some one could easily walk in on them.

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Clary didn't have time to care. Jace was taking her, one way or another. And she was okay with it. Jaces hands slid from the bottoms of her calves and up her thighs, her waist her chest and neck to finally her arms. He leaned into them and they were pinned above her. All she could see was gold and he looked down at her.

"I love you Clary," he said, his voice gruff and hard. As for the first time that night, he paused. His eyes asking for her permission. Like the old Jace would."I love you too, Jace," she breathed. Clary took a deep breath and nodded, giving him permission. That was all he needed.

It's seemed to go on for ever, the pleasure, the grinding, the moaning. He was inside of her and on top of her and every where around her. The room was nothing but Jace.

Finally the waves of ecstasy crashed down on her and Clary cried out his name and he hers. They were closer than they had ever been, and ever would be. Jace wa laying on top of her, breathing heavy with his elbows on either side of her head to support himself. They were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat and the sliver liquid that burst over head in the club. Clary threaded her fingers in his hair again, the waves finally subsiding enough for her to see strait, though they were still intimately intertwined. She kissed him gently again, and he cupped her cheek.

Clary pulled away to say something-but not before a voice came from behind Jace.

"Well, it looks like you two are having fun," it said.

Sebastian.