AN: Yeah . . . M. Definitely . . . definitely Rated M. Please read with caution, and understanding that this chapter contains very mature content.

Chapter 11: The Shower

(So I wrote this while Jace was in the shower thinking about Clary. And then I decided that no, I probably shouldn't include it. While I did not think that it was completely out of character for Jace at the time, which was why I wrote it, it was during editing that I remembered that my story was Rated T and I should probably keep it that way. Yeah, it didn't originally end with him deciding that he just needed to spend a while longer in the cold shower, lol. Again, this outtake is rated all kinds of M! Please do not read if you should not be or if you do not like sexual situations.)

-xxxx-

Despite the icy water, Jace felt hot—his body like a live-wire. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about Clary like that. Knew that it was wrong. She's your sister! And yet, he didn't care. He couldn't care. He loved her—was in love with her. And so he did think of her. And he did so in all the ways he knew he shouldn't be. He thought of sitting there in that greenhouse, watching her face light up at the midnight flower. She had kissed him not long after that. Her body had pushed hard against him, and he had felt every part of her tightly pressed to his body. She had molded to his perfectly as he tasted her lips. It had been tentative and new for both of them. Sure, he had kissed other girls before that moment—but it was during that moment that he knew he would never want to kiss another girl again. Jace dipped his head forward into the shower, the icy water sluicing down his naked body. Chills that had nothing to do with the freezing shower rippled across his skin as his chest heaved heavily just at the memory of her. He bit the inside of his cheek as the desire he felt warmed the pit of his stomach. This is wrong, he told himself as that warmth spread across his skin. He shouldn't be allowing her to cause this reaction in him, and yet she did. He had no control over his body's response to her. But then, he also knew the blatant truth. If loving her was wrong, then he would never want to be right. Jace laughed dryly at the cliché. He never thought he would think it. But then, he never thought he would someday meet a fiery haired girl with eyes like the Idris meadows and a mouth that could stop him with one breath.

He groaned, his hand slipping down his thigh. He didn't even feel the cold water anymore. He only felt her—her body pressing against his in the Seelie Court. Her desire for him had imprisoned her, and his desire for her had insured it. Only his kiss could save her. That had to mean something, right? Even after all that had happened—all they had been through—that was the truth of it. Only him. Because his was the kiss she desired. Try as she might to deny what she felt now; avoid his calls, refuse to talk to him—it didn't matter. She would never be able to take away from him the fact that she had wanted him. In that moment. She wanted him.

Wrapping his fingers around his shaft, he squeezed it gently. He remembered how the kiss that had started out slow, careful because of onlookers, had escalated quickly. Remembered how her fingers had traced up his chest, creating chills and driving his need for her. How she had held him just as tightly. She hadn't wanted to let go of him as their lips met and their tongues danced— Jace expelled a sudden breath as he caressed himself harder, his stomach tightening. He threw his other hand against the shower wall for balance as his body convulsed— He wanted her. He would always want her. And he imagined it then—imagined what it would be like lying alone in bed with her unhindered by trivial facts that in the real world would always keep them from being together. In this world, he was able to touch her. Able to hold her supple body to his. He would be gentle as he showed her how much he loved her. He would see how much she loved him in return and it would be right and perfect and . . . and . . . and that was all he wanted. To be allowed to love her. His pace quickened as he felt the orgasm building—his breathing becoming hitched. The more he thought of her, the faster he went. He couldn't help it. Dear God, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly. And then his body spasmed and he shuddered as his body released itself.

Sitting on the closed toilet with a towel wrapped around his waist, he dropped his head in his hands and sighed. That was probably really, really bad. And morbid. What the hell is wrong with me? Without warning, his body was wracked with a fit of silent laughter over the question. It was either laugh or cry, because the answer was—everything. Everything was wrong with him and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. And then he jumped as a sharp rapping pummeled the door.

"What are you doing in there?" It was Magnus. Of course it was Magnus, Jace thought irritably. Who the hell else would it have been? All the same, he raised his brow as he looked at the door. And then he looked around pointedly at the bathroom—not that the warlock could see him.

"What do most people do in the bathroom?" He called toward the door.

"Most people, or you?" Came the warlock's dry response. "Because those could be two different answers."

"Leave me alone," Jace grumbled, dropping his head back in his hands.

There was silence for a moment and he thought that maybe the warlock had heard him and gone away when, "Fine. I just came to tell you your phone is ringing, but I can see you don't want to be disturbed."

Jace's brows furrowed. His phone was ringing? But who could be—Shit!