*A/N: Okay WOW it has been a long time since I've posted anything! A million apologies, life is a little crazy right now! But I had a surge of inspiration, wanted to explore what Will Herondale's first kiss might have been like, and this lil thing was born! Hope y'all enjoy :)*

Sparks shot up the flue as a charred log collapsed in the fireplace with a sudden crack, sending out a fresh wave of heat along with a soft plume of ash. Burning brightly, the tiny flecks of fire spewed over the grate, quickly extinguishing against the ice-cold marble floor.

James Carstairs looked up from his parabatai's shoulder, a stele poised above the shredded skin that he was in the midst of placing an izrate upon. His best friend had found himself in another scrap with a werewolf in a bar over a bet, and although he had won the fight, he had returned to the Institute with a black eye, a broken nose, and numerous deep gashes, the worst of which Jem was in the middle of healing.

Jem looked back down at the mangled mess of flesh and gristle that was his parabatai's shoulder with a wry smile. "By the Angel, Will, it won't be long before there won't be any bare skin for me to place an izrate on."

Will Herondale shifted impatiently on Jem's bed, his muscles sliding with a lithe grace under his skin. He turned his head to give Jem a pained smirk through a clenched jaw. "The izrates first, please, James? Would you at least do me the kindness of lecturing me when I am not in such an acute state of agony?"

Jem shook his head in resigned amusement, his silver-streaked hair falling into his eyes as he bent over Will once more. "I was not planning to lecture you, William," he said, his hand tightening as Will stiffened when the stele touched his skin. "I simply wanted to warn you against risking that pretty face of yours in a bar fight. If that werewolf's claws had gone a little higher, you might have lost all chances at wooing any women."

Will rested his chin on his hands, regarding Jem thoughtfully out of the corner of her eye as he stared at the dying embers of Jem's fire. "You know, I don't think that's quite accurate, James. You do recall that session I had with Elise Penhallow's niece around Christmastime a few years back, don't you?"

Jem groaned, laughing as he nodded. He remembered all too well.

It had been Jem's first Christmas at the London Institute; at the age of thirteen, they had completed their parabatai ceremony earlier that morning. Jem could still remember the lingering burn of the parabatai rune over his heart under the starched shirt of his formal suit as he and Will had stood stiffly by the door, where they had been delegated by Charlotte to greet guests.

Most had offered the obligatory greetings as they allowed the maids to take their wrappings and coats, but when they saw the two boys in the light, they stopped and stared. Jem had almost wanted to laugh.

Right after their ceremony had been completed, Will, in a rare burst of exuberance, had dragged Jem to the training room to, in Will's words, "see how much longer we can fight each other". Reluctantly, Jem had agreed, helpless in the face of Will's maniacal enthusiasm. They had fought for hours, each boy landing blow after blow. By the time Jem finally conceded, both of them were sore, sweaty, and black and blue all over.

Especially Will.

His right eye was blackened and swollen, as was a large, fist-shaped mark on his jaw where Jem had landed a particularly hard punch. His nose was slightly crooked – the result of a hasty izrate Will had insisted on applying himself after Jem had broken it. A large scratch bisected his left eyebrow, an injury he had incurred when Jem's family ring had swiped his face as Will had attempted to block the blow. He looked like a scarecrow that had been left to the ravens.

Charlotte had despaired over their appearance, struggling fruitlessly for hours to make both boys more presentable, but her attempts had only left them pale and freshly scrubbed, with bruises prominent on both of their faces.

Three hours later, they stood in the foyer, fidgeting impatiently.

After the most recent flock of guests had disappeared into the Institute's grand ballroom, Will nudged Jem in the ribs and leaned closer to him, his black hair spilling over his collar to brush Jem's cheek. "I did that on purpose, you know."

Jem pulled back and turned to look at his friend. "What?"

Will shot him a devilish grin. "There was a reason I let you beat me bloody, James. You wouldn't have been able to touch me otherwise."

Jem rolled his eyes and shoved his parabatai good-naturedly. "What in the name of the Angel are you talking about, William? Don't make excuses for your loss."

Will shook his silky black locks out of his blue eyes impatiently. "Don't be ridiculous; I didn't lose. And besides, we weren't talking about our sparring session."

"We weren't?"

"Of course not." Will looked impertinent. "We were talking about Elise Penhallow's niece."

Jem was thoroughly confused. "We were?"

"Yes, James, we were. Do try to keep up."

Jem sighed, knowing that it was pointless to argue with his parabatai. "And? How is Anna Penhallow involved in the matter of our training?"

"She is involved," Will said slowly, as if explaining something to a child, "because of the fact that ever since I saved her from that bloody Shax demon who was about to eat her for tea, she has attempted multiple times to corner me in a closet and molest me."

Jem's silvery eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and he eyed his parabatai with open skepticism. "It can't be."

"Oh, but it can, and it is," Will's said with relish as he warmed to his subject. "I've been avoiding her for weeks. And I was doing well, too. But blasted Charlotte just had to invite the bloody Penhallows to the Christmas party. The whole lot of them are as demonic as ducks, between batty Anna and Elise banging away like a banshee on the spinet."

Jem laughed out loud as heads turned their way. "Oh, do try to control yourself, William, at least while the guests are here. And if you see Anna, please hold yourself together."

Will didn't appear to be listening. He was pitched forward onto his toes, scanning the crowd with keen blue eyes. Suddenly he froze, his hands clenching into fists. "Oh, by the Angel," he whispered, leaning closer to Jem. "God, she's here; she saw me." He grabbed a fistful of Jem's still suit jacket and pulled his friend in front of him, in an attempt to hide. "Pretend I'm not here."

Jem tried to smother his smile as he saw a petite, plain-featured girl threading her way through the crowded foyer, making her way toward them. She was twelve, only one year younger than themselves, but her slight, skinny build and wide, blank blue eyes made her look much more like a child. She wasn't a completely repulsive person, Jem thought. Only a little empty upstairs.

Her green silk skirts rustled as she made her way up to where they stood. Her face lit up as she spotted Will, who was still crouched behind Jem. "William!" she squealed, pressing her clasped hands to her chest. "There you are! I've been searching for you everywhere!"

Will straightened, brushing the dust from his clothes. He cleared his throat, eyeing Anna warily, as one might look at a venomous snake, or in Will's case, a duck. "Hello, Anna."

Anna giggled, and reached out to grab Will's hand. "Won't you ask me to dance, William?" She batted her blue eyes at him flirtatiously. "There's a lovely concerto playing."

Jem almost laughed at the affronted look on Will's face as he withdrew his hand as if stung. "Well, Anna, I–"

Anna didn't wait for Will to agree; she seized his hand and attempted to pull him across the floor. "Oh, do come," she said, pouting in a way that Jem assumed was intended to be adorable. "It's not as if you'll pass the time any better with James, standing like two old bachelors."

Will looked back at Jem desperately, his dark blue eyes wide with shock and dismay.

Jem only offered self-defacing shrug and an apologetic smile. "She has you there, William."

Will sighed in defeat and let himself be pulled into the ballroom. Before he and Anna disappeared into the crush of people, he turned around and leveled a shaking finger at Jem. "You will regret this, fy mrawd."

Jem didn't understand Will's native Welsh, but the mock anger in his friend's dark eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Will felt a sense of rising dismay as Anna pulled him through couples waltzing slowly around the ballroom. In all of his worst imaginings, he had never expected this: dancing with Anna Penhallow as his blood brother stood by laughing. As much as he couldn't stand Anna, he didn't want her to fall under the death sentence of his curse. But now wasn't the time to break her heart.

Anna stood in front of him, beaming brighter than the Yule log burning in the fireplace. She held out her hand expectantly, and Will took it, placing his other hand on her waist as gingerly as possible. Her free hand gripped his shoulder tightly, pulling herself uncomfortably close; Will's nostrils were assaulted with the scent of her strong, stale rosewater perfume.

They swayed to the music, slowly turning in a large circle around the ballroom.

As the song shifted into a slightly faster tempo, Anna looked up at him, smiling wide. "I could use some air, William. Might you be a gentleman and escort me outside?"

No, Will thought rebelliously. I am not a gentleman and you can escort yourself outside. But he bit his tongue. "Of course."

Anna still was staring at him expectantly. Will stared back, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He groaned inwardly. By the Angel, she really wants an escort, doesn't she?

Fighting back a scowl, he ground his teeth together and proffered his arm.

Anna latched on, wrapping her hand around Will's elbow.

Practically dragging him, she led him out of the ballroom, past the foyer, into an abandoned hall. It was dark, and smelled rank from lack of dusting.

Immediately, Will felt a sense of rising panic that he could not control, no matter how hard he tried. Every instinct in his body told him to run, to get out of here before this crazy girl made her move on him. All of his Shadowhunter training rebelled against being here with her, but it was too late now.

She tugged him closer, her fingers twining between his. She leaned forward on her toes, the top of her head barely reaching the base of his chin. Her pale blue eyes looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to do…what? Kiss her?

It hit him suddenly, out of nowhere. He knew how to break her heart.

So he obliged, leaning in to press his mouth to hers.

Will Herondale, surprisingly, had never kissed someone before. He had imagined it, of course: his lips pressed against those of the prettiest girl he'd never known, tasting her, sweet and delicate and feminine, his hands cradling her lovely face.

This was nothing like what he'd expected.

Anna's lips were dry and chapped, and she tasted like the bitter mulled cider. Her hands gripped at his lapels, pulling herself closer to him, and he felt her ring-laden fingers pressing against the fresh parabatai rune above his heart.

Groaning against her to cover the jolt of pain that coursed through him when she touched the rune, he ran his hands over her cheeks, through her coarse blond hair. His fingers fumbled at the buttons on the back of her dress, and, in a burst of what he hoped came across as passion, ripped the back of her dress open as hard as he could.

Pearls flew everywhere, ricocheting off the walls, the windows, bouncing on the floor.

Anna broke away from him in horror, her blue eyes flooding with tears as her ruined dress started to slide from her shoulders. Brushing tears from her cheeks with one hand, she yanked her dress up with the other. She stared at him in disbelief, her tears cutting lines through the caked-on powder that covered her face.

Will couldn't help it; he started to laugh.

"I can't believe you, William Herondale!" Anna sobbed, clutching at her ruined. "That is no way to treat a lady!"

Will was laughing so hard he couldn't control his words. "Very true," he managed, biting his lip to control his laugher. "But then, I would hardly classify you as a lady."

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, staring at him in horror. "You can't mean it."

"Oh, but I do," he said, relishing every moment of this conversation. "I have never known a lady to force herself upon a man in such a violating manner. Most improper. I like my women to be a little more discreet with their feelings."

"But I love you William!" Her face collapsed into another round of tears, making Will feel uncomfortable. He hated it when people cried, especially girls; he never knew whether to comfort them of to just listen. In this case, he chose the latter. Anna's voice rose in pitch. "Don't you love me?"

Will barely recognized his own cold voice. "No. I never loved you. And you are too young to know love, anyway."

Anna pressed one hand over her mouth, trying to hold in her sobs. Will was certain that she was about to slap him. But she didn't; she simply fled down the hallway, the ripped fabric of her dress flapping behind her.

After watching her disappear around the corner, Will turned and retraced his steps back to the foyer. Immediately, his eyes found the tousled mass of silver-streaked hair of his parabatai, and he immediately was reassured. With one hand pressed to the rune, he hurried over to where he knew his best friend was waiting for him.

Jem scanned the foyer anxiously for Will's tall frame. The parabatai rune above his heart had pulsed once, and Jem was immediately on guard. Where in the Angel's name was Will? Jem thought, peering over elaborate hairdos. Dear God, if he got himself into another scrap with Gabriel Lightwood, I might have to muzzle him.

Then he saw a head of thick, disheveled black hair moving purposefully towards him, and Jem released a sigh he didn't realize he was holding.

"Will," he said, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. "Where were you? What happened with Anna? I felt something, here." Jem touched the now-still rune over his heart. "I was starting to get worried."

Will smirked. "I can't tell you, not here, anyway." He took his parabatai by the elbow, leading him away from the crowded, noisy foyer. Will led Jem through the maze of hallways, up a staircase, down another hall, not pausing his pace until they reached the Institute's library. Once Will had double-bolted the door, he sank into a large, supple-leathered armchair next to Jem, who looked over at him in exasperation.

"What have you done this time, William?"

Will's lips curled into a thoughtful smile as he stared at the endless rows of bookshelves. "I kissed her."

Jem sat bolt upright, nearly choking with surprise. "You did what?"

Will looked satisfied. "I kissed her. Then I yanked her dress open."

Jem sank back with a groan, shaking his head. "I can't say I'm surprised, William. Especially after what happened at last year's party."

Will dug an elbow in his friend's side. "Except last year, you were the charmer locking lips with a maiden. Come to think of it, this is quite the similar scene, actually. Anna and Tatiana even somewhat resemble each other. Of course, Anna doesn't have a demonic brother like Gabriel Lightwood. If she did, maybe you'd have an arm to break this time."

Jem snorted. "And ruin your special Christmas tradition? I wouldn't deprive you of the pleasure."

Will shot him a look. "I'll have you know, James, that I have never felt so satisfied as I did when I bested Gabriel. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Jem only smiled at him. "I know you would. And Gabriel wants to do the same to you, no doubt."

Will nodded vigorously. "Oh, indubitably."

Both boys were quiet for a moment, watching the leaping flames in a companionable silence.

Finally, Jem spoke. "How'd it measure up with your former conquests?"

Will looked over at him, trying not to let his eyes betray his thoughts. He'd made himself out to be a magnanimous lover, charming his way into the arms of any woman he met; Jem had no idea he'd never kissed anyone before. And he had a reputation to uphold, after all. "Oh, it was awful," he said after a moment's pause, absolutely straight-faced. "Lucky Lucy at The Drunken Mermaid, who has three teeth total, all black, gave better kisses. By the Angel, it was Anna Penhallow, of all people. It was absolutely horrible."

Jem matched his smile. "So your opinion on women hasn't changed, then?"

Will's long black hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head vehemently. "No, most certainly not. Women are queer, flighty creatures, never to be trusted."

Jem raised an eyebrow. "Like ducks?"

Will pointed a finger at him. "Exactly like ducks." Without warning, Will sat bolt upright. "Never trust a duck!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

Jem smirked. "Or a women."

Will had grinned at that. "Precisely."

Jem finished the izrate on Will's shoulder, and he nudged his friend.

No response.

Jem nudged his parabatai, this time harder.

Will lifted his head from his forehead sleepily. "What is it, James?"

"I've finished the izrate on your shoulder, and if you want me to finish the cuts on your chest I'd suggest you flip over." Jem waited as his parabatai groaned and heaved his body onto his back. Jem smirked down at him as he began to draw another izrate. "Dreaming of Anna Penhallow, are we?"

Will jerked in surprise, his eyes flying open as he looked affronted. "Dear God, no," he said, looking horrified. "As if I would dream about that infernal girl who nearly drove me mad as a boy." He snorted. "The very thought."

Jem paused in the middle of the izrate he was drawing, using his fingers to dig a dislodged werewolf claw out of a slash on Will's collarbone. "If you had to choose between Anna Penhallow and a duck," he said, wiping his bloody fingers on Will's discarded shirt, "who would you rather kiss?"

Will sat bolt upright, his eyes blazing; his pain momentarily forgotten, he had opened his wounds. They bled over Jem's hands onto the bed. "By the Angel, James! You bastard!" he sank back down, eyes still bright with indignation. "I would rather be stricken with demon pox than have to lock lips with either blasted creature."

Jem shook his head, grinning at his friend. "There's no such thing as demon pox, William."

Will brushed his dark hair out of his eyes and matched Jem's smile. "Oh, ye of little faith."