When Alec and Clary kiss, sparks fly and the world explodes into a myriad of colours. Reds, blues, yellows and greens and everything in between. Almost like a starburst. The slight pressure of his lips on hers, the feel of his calloused hands on her waist through her thin blouse and the fevered whisper of her name on his lips, the hint of citrus on her skin, it is a perfect symphony of all their senses. It is a simple kiss, but sometimes the simpler things are, the more they convey. His hands are always buried in her hair, brushing the curls that she finds unruly. But if he likes her hair that way, then perhaps she will leave it as it is, she thinks.
She loves how a single touch from him seems to ignite all her nerve endings such that they would be tingling in pleasure and anticipation, because he always surprises her. He would start with brushing her lips with his fingers, slowly and agonizingly, then at times he would move down to her neck and to her sides, but there are times when he lets his mouth do the work, his tongue brushing her jaw, his teeth nibbling on her ear lobe and his lips laying butterfly kisses along her neck. It drives her crazy and he would take his own sweet time, as if watching her shiver in his arms is equally pleasurable for him. It is, he wants to tell her so many times. But it's his secret. The knowledge that he could give her pleasure just with his touch is something he has never expected. They are both learning, finding ways to give and take.
He loves the way she sighs into his mouth and how bold she can be sometimes. The way she trails her fingers down his chest and his back, along his spine, causes him to lose his sense of reality. It is disorienting, yet mind-blowing. Each time she parts her lips for her, he would take them greedily, biting her bottom lip and eliciting a moan from her into his mouth. He loves how her lips feel against his, how he would crave their absence. It is absolutely ridiculous, but he cannot help feeling that way. Each time he pulls away from her after a kiss, it is only his mouth that is away from her. His body is still flush against hers, leaving almost no gap between them; his hands are on her face, touching, caressing and memorizing every single detail- the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the contours of her eyes and everything else that he can commit to his memory.
When they make love for the second time, with no sex runes and all, it is unplanned. At first, it has never crossed Alec's mind to do so. All he wants is to curl up with her in his arms and fall asleep, she being the last person he would see.
Now, just as he opens the door to her room, she steps out from the bathroom, hair no longer damp (she has probably used the hairdryer), her mouth forming a small 'o' when she sees him. He takes the sight of her in, his gaze on her face first, as she blushes, before roaming down the length of her body, lingering at the areas where her curves are evident. He wants to look away, but he can't tear his eyes away from her. Neither can he stop how his body is responding towards her barely clad form.
Before she can react or even grab some clothes, he crosses the room and pulls her towards him. His mouth comes crashing down on hers; his hands skim the sides of her body. They back towards the wall, the hard surface against her back and he is pressed against her. She likes how he feels against her, tightly corded muscles against her softer body. His hands pause at the place where she has tucked one end of the towel and he is about to undress her before she stops him, insisting, "No, you first."
Groaning in frustration, he pulls away and looks at her, hoping that she will change her mind. She shakes her head, as if she knows what he is thinking, and lets her hands wander across his chest, a trail burning through the fabric of his shirt, before tugging on the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off before resuming to kiss her senseless again.
She lets her hand dip into the waistband of his pants, lingering at the skin beneath. The touch of her fingertips is torturous, as she brushes his already warm skin slowly and deliberately for several circuits before moving farther down, dangerously close to where he is already straining in his pants. "Damn, Clary," he manages to choke out as she moves her hand back up and slides whatever he is left wearing down his legs. She steps between them as close as she can. It is hardly fair that she is still wearing her towel, and he isn't wearing anything.
She isn't prepared for the sight of his naked body, because it is the first time. But she thinks it is probably as disorienting for him as it is for her.
So she smiles at him, letting her fingers trace a path upwards, along the hard lines of his pectoral muscles. He takes a sharp intake of breath as she presses her lips to his bare skin, letting her teeth catch on the skin of his chest. His hands find the hem of her towel, where it ends just at the middle of her thigh. His fingers caress the inside of her thigh, his touches as light as the softest kiss one can manage, and he feels her tremble against him.
He continues touching and caressing his way up, as he gently coaxes her legs apart. And then his fingers are on her. It is the first time he is doing something as bold as this with her. At first he slides one finger in, waiting for her response. She doesn't say anything, neither does she stop him. He strokes, the first time tentatively, the second with slightly more confidence and her hand comes to circle his wrist.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and she shakes her head. He slides another finger in, and with a few more strokes, he has her gasping and moaning. Heat burns through her slowly, growing, compounding and increasing in intensity before engulfing her completely. She lets it overwhelm her, lets her eyes close as his fingers stroke with the same languidness as before. And then her mouth opens into a silent scream.
Slowly it subsides; as it does, her knees buckle and she would have fallen if not for the support behind her. He steadies her first before pulling off the towel with his free hand, throwing it to one side of the room. This time, he doesn't have to touch her to make her shiver; the look in his eyes is enough- the way he appraises her with his gaze.
Finally, he removes his fingers and hoists her up against the desk. She has barely enough time to feel the absence of him in her. With one smooth movement, he presses into her. He is getting better at this, she thinks. Her hips shift to fit him better, her legs wrapping around his waist. They find their rhythm, a comfortable one. He feels her tighten and clench before he withdraws slowly and pushes in over and over again. The friction of him sliding into her again and again causes her to shudder. She moves slightly, unintentional, eliciting a moan from him.
He tries to start a quicker pace, and she lets him, that way they would both learn. She matches his rhythm, perfectly in sync, as that feeling of an all-consuming blaze finds her again, this time starting out faster and with more intensity. He is close, he can feel it. The feeling of pleasure which never seems to cease takes over his senses and fills his entire body, building up with each thrust he gives.
And then, it all ignites and they fall over the edge together.