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“Do you know what I realised when we were in the Du Mort?” Jace asked as he walked down the corridor.

“That vampire motorcycles make great getaway vehicles?” Clary huffed as she tried to keep pace with his long legged stride.

“No – well yes, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“What then?” She was starting to get annoyed with him – the others had all decided to go back to bed for a few more hours before going after the Cup at midday, when the sun would be brightest and the demons weakest, but Jace had refused to allow her to.

“I realised that you don’t know how to defend yourself, a skill that you might need if we are going after the Cup,” he said over his shoulder at her.

“Hey!” she said, feeling rankled. “I did just fine in Du Mort - I managed to hit that werewolf, didn’t I?” though she would be the first to admit that had been a spectacular fluke.

“Yes, which was pretty impressive,” Jace allowed. “But do you know how to defend yourself if you don’t have a knife to throw?”

Clary opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out, wishing she hadn’t skipped that self defence PE lesson, if only so she could have a snappy retort.

“I didn’t think so,” he said slyly. “I’m giving up my valuable time, so I hope you’re grateful.”

“What, you’re going to teach me? Clary recognised the corridor they were in as the one leading to the Weapons room.

“Precisely,” Jace said, pushing open the heavy door.

The room was lit by eerie witchlight that made the silvery weapons glow a luminous green. The high windows were still the deep blue of night; it probably wasn’t passed three in the morning yet, though Clary didn’t feel the least bit tired. She shivered, remembering what Jace had said outside her room just a few hours ago. 'I’ve never felt more awake …'

She wondered, as she watched Jace push the heavy table to one side of the room, the muscles of his back clearly visible through the white t-shirt he had thrown on with his jeans, what they would be doing right now if Simon hadn’t been in her room. Or better still, if they had gone to Jace’s room instead.

“Right, stand there,” Jace said, taking her by the shoulders to position her in the middle of the room, interrupting her vivid daydream. “Now, hit me.”

“What?” she asked, sure that she had heard him wrong.

“Hit me,” he repeated with deliberate patience, as if he was speaking to a five year old.

“Why?" Clary was completely flabbergasted. Was he not going to give her any proper instruction at all first?

“Its self defence,” he told her. “I need to see how you throw a punch - just imagine I’m attacking you.”

“But …” she floundered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jace looked like he was trying his very hardest not to laugh. “Clary, you won’t hurt me, okay? Just aim for my face.”

She would never have done it, the thought of marring a face that was as beautiful as his was like hitting a baseball bat at a priceless vase. Except his voice was a mixture of humour, pity, encouragement and something that might have been affection, goading her into curling her hand into a fist and swinging it towards him.

He caught her hand easily and examined her fingers. “Don’t hold your thumb inside, it could break when you make contact. Hold it like this. See?” he said, repositioning her thumb so it was outside her fist. “Now angle your hand so it’s your knuckles that take the hit, not your fingers – it hurts more, but it will do more damage to your attacker.” He let go of her and stepped back slightly. “Right, lets try that again.”

Over the next hour Jace corrected her stance and posture as she punched the air again and again, followed by a lesson of how to block punches with her elbows, and then which part of the foot to use while kicking at an opponent.

“Good. Now let’s put it into practice,” Jace said.

“How exactly?” Clary was irritated now, having been chided repeatedly for her lack of balance and inability to kick straight.

“I want to see what you do instinctively when someone attacks you, so I’m going to rush at you, okay?” He had backed to the far side of the room and bent into a crouch, instantly reminding her of a lion prepared to spring, eyeing his prey with fierce golden eyes.

“Wait, what? What do I do?”

“Just think about what you’ve learned and do whatever comes naturally in order to protect yourself,” he said patiently. “Are you ready?”

“Erm, no.”

Jace shrugged as if to say ‘not my problem’. There was a definite glint of mischief in his eyes now. “Oh well,” he said casually.

And then he leapt at her.

“Jace!” she cried, all thoughts of self defence far from her mind.

In a matter of seconds Clary was pinned to the floor beneath him. He had moved impossibly fast, like an arrow shot from a bow, and knocked her to the floor, though she hadn’t felt a thing. He was straddling her hips, one hand holding both her wrists above her head, the other pressed firmly over her mouth.

“Oh dear, that wasn’t very good now, was it?” looking down at her, amusement and something else glittering in his eyes.

Clary tried to speak, to order him to get off her, but all that came out was a muffled squeaking, her voice distorted by his hand over her mouth.

“Do you want to get up?” he asked her, his head tilted to one side. He grinned when she nodded, that sideways, roguish, heartbreaking smile. “Try then.”

She pulled at her arms in vain and kicked her legs ineffectually in the air, but his grip was too strong and her efforts only seemed to increase Jace’s amusement. Loosing her temper, she clamped her teeth down hard on one of fingers over her mouth.

He swore and removed his hand. “You bit me!” he said, examining the small indentations on his finger. “Well, it was effective, I suppose.”

“What did you do that for?” she demanded, finally able to speak. “I said I wasn’t ready!”

“Do you really think someone attacking you would wait till you say you’re ready?” he asked incredulously.

“Well you’ve sort of thrown me in at the deep end here, Jace!” she complained, struggling against the hand that still held her wrists to the floor.

“They say that drowning is the best way to learn to swim,” he said with philosophical superiority, ignoring her attempt to get free.

“In that case I’m glad you’re teaching me fighting and not swimming!”

“I wanted to see if you had any natural fighting spirit, which clearly you don’t.” He finally released her wrists, but kept straddling her. “We need to rectify that.”

“Is this your revenge for what happened with Simon earlier?” She asked bluntly. She sat up, hoping to appear a little more dignified, but their faces ended up only inches apart. The feel of his body against hers was … interesting. He seemed to emanate a heat that she could feel even through their clothing.

“What?” Jace asked, shocked.

“You heard me.”

“Why would I want revenge against you?” Jace’s face was uncharacteristically serious, the mischievous playfulness of before gone.

“You were so angry …” Clary remembered the look of rage he had given her when Simon had discovered them, the things he had said after.

“Yes, I was,” he admitted. “It was the heat of the moment and I was angry and disappointed. But I realise now that I was more angry at myself and Simon than you.” He raised one hand and let the back of his fingertips graze along her cheekbone. “In fact I wasn’t angry with you at all.”

Clary’s throat was suddenly dry. “Why were you angry with Simon?”

Jace seemed to be considering his answer. “He acted like he had some sort of claim over you, and I resented it.” He smiled slightly, amused at himself. “Then I realised that I was doing the exact same thing.”

“So all this,” Clary waved a hand to indicate the Weapons Room. “Isn’t just to get back at me?”

“All this, as you put it, is to help protect you, so that you can fight.” His hands came up to cup her face gently, tilting his lips towards him. “I … I’ve only just found you Clary, and I’m not ready to loose you.”

He pressed his mouth very lightly to hers, before parting his lips to deepen the kiss. Clary’s hands wound around his neck, holding him close to her. She was conscious of exactly how close their bodies were, practically entwined on the floor.

After a long moment, he pulled back, looking at her wistfully. “We should keep practicing.”

Clary sighed. “I don’t see why we are doing this, you know. I think I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”

Jace arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”

She laughed at his expression, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. “Yes, now get off me!”

Chuckling, he swung his leg over her and stood in a single, graceful movement. Cool air rushed to all the parts of her that had been warmed by contact with his body. He leaned down, offering her a hand to pull her up. “Lets try again.”

“Do we have to?”

“Did you not like it?” he asked her teasingly, his gold eyes sparkling.

“That is beside the point,” she replied, equally playful. She lifted her hands into fighting position, fingers curled into fists with her thumb on the outside and her legs slightly apart, just as he had taught her. “Come and get me then.”

This time she hit out at the blurred golden shape heading towards her, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her fist and twisted her arm behind her, pulling her back against his chest. Both of them were breathing quickly.

“Better. Now I want you to try and break -”

She stamped on his booted foot before he had even finished talking, yanking her arm sharply away at the same time and spinning out of his reach.

“Very good,” he grinned.

“Thanks. What now?”

“Now I want you to try and attack me,” his smile widened.

She looked at him patronisingly. “Jace, you’ve been trained to fight your whole life, and I’ve been learning for about an hour. I don’t think -”

“Just try, Clary,” he told her.

She sighed. “What do you want me to try and do?”

“Pin me – I highly doubt you would be able to,” he added, confident in his own abilities. A devious thought begun in Clary’s head at his superior tone. “But you can try.”

She licked her lips, wondering if her plan could possibly work. Only one way to find out.

“I have a much better idea,” she told him, sauntering across the room towards him.

Taking his t-shirt in her hands she pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat before his hands came up around her, gripping her hips and pressing their bodies together.

Clary knelt down, pulling Jace with her until they were both on their knees, their bodies still pushed against each other, kissing on the floor of the Weapons Room. She slid her legs out from under her so she was lying down, Jace hovering above her, straddling her hips again with his weight resting on his elbows on either side of her.

His lips left hers to kiss down her neck. She gasped as his tongue traced her collar bone and his teeth nibbled at her ear.

He suddenly broke away, glancing to the door before staring down at her, his eyes dark and hungry. “Clary, if someone comes in -”

“They won’t,” she told him, knowing that everyone had gone back to bed. His mouth met hers again desperately, his body pressed tight against her. She rolled until she was the one straddling him. Her hands, which had been twisted into his hair, travelled down his strong arms to his wrists, which she quickly pulled above his head and held to the floor.

“So does this mean I win?” she asked breathlessly.

Jace stared up at her in shock for a moment, his mouth partly open, before he started to laugh.

Description
“Do you know what I realised when we were in the Du Mort?” Jace asked as he walked down the corridor.

“That vampire motorcycles make great getaway vehicles?” Clary huffed as she tried to keep pace with his long legged stride.

“No – well yes, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“What then?” She was starting to get annoyed with him – the others had all decided to go back to bed for a few more hours before going after the Cup at midday, when the sun would be brightest and the demons weakest, but Jace had refused to allow her to.

“I realised that you don’t know how to defend yourself, a skill that you might need if we are going after the Cup,” he said over his shoulder at her.

“Hey!” she said, feeling rankled. “I did just fine in Du Mort - I managed to hit that werewolf, didn’t I?” though she would be the first to admit that had been a spectacular fluke.

“Yes, which was pretty impressive,” Jace allowed. “But do you know how to defend yourself if you don’t have a knife to throw?”

Clary opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out, wishing she hadn’t skipped that self defence PE lesson, if only so she could have a snappy retort.

“I didn’t think so,” he said slyly. “I’m giving up my valuable time, so I hope you’re grateful.”

“What, you’re going to teach me? Clary recognised the corridor they were in as the one leading to the Weapons room.

“Precisely,” Jace said, pushing open the heavy door.

The room was lit by eerie witchlight that made the silvery weapons glow a luminous green. The high windows were still the deep blue of night; it probably wasn’t passed three in the morning yet, though Clary didn’t feel the least bit tired. She shivered, remembering what Jace had said outside her room just a few hours ago. 'I’ve never felt more awake …'

She wondered, as she watched Jace push the heavy table to one side of the room, the muscles of his back clearly visible through the white t-shirt he had thrown on with his jeans, what they would be doing right now if Simon hadn’t been in her room. Or better still, if they had gone to Jace’s room instead.

“Right, stand there,” Jace said, taking her by the shoulders to position her in the middle of the room, interrupting her vivid daydream. “Now, hit me.”

“What?” she asked, sure that she had heard him wrong.

“Hit me,” he repeated with deliberate patience, as if he was speaking to a five year old.

“Why?" Clary was completely flabbergasted. Was he not going to give her any proper instruction at all first?

“Its self defence,” he told her. “I need to see how you throw a punch - just imagine I’m attacking you.”

“But …” she floundered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jace looked like he was trying his very hardest not to laugh. “Clary, you won’t hurt me, okay? Just aim for my face.”

She would never have done it, the thought of marring a face that was as beautiful as his was like hitting a baseball bat at a priceless vase. Except his voice was a mixture of humour, pity, encouragement and something that might have been affection, goading her into curling her hand into a fist and swinging it towards him.

He caught her hand easily and examined her fingers. “Don’t hold your thumb inside, it could break when you make contact. Hold it like this. See?” he said, repositioning her thumb so it was outside her fist. “Now angle your hand so it’s your knuckles that take the hit, not your fingers – it hurts more, but it will do more damage to your attacker.” He let go of her and stepped back slightly. “Right, lets try that again.”

Over the next hour Jace corrected her stance and posture as she punched the air again and again, followed by a lesson of how to block punches with her elbows, and then which part of the foot to use while kicking at an opponent.

“Good. Now let’s put it into practice,” Jace said.

“How exactly?” Clary was irritated now, having been chided repeatedly for her lack of balance and inability to kick straight.

“I want to see what you do instinctively when someone attacks you, so I’m going to rush at you, okay?” He had backed to the far side of the room and bent into a crouch, instantly reminding her of a lion prepared to spring, eyeing his prey with fierce golden eyes.

“Wait, what? What do I do?”

“Just think about what you’ve learned and do whatever comes naturally in order to protect yourself,” he said patiently. “Are you ready?”

“Erm, no.”

Jace shrugged as if to say ‘not my problem’. There was a definite glint of mischief in his eyes now. “Oh well,” he said casually.

And then he leapt at her.

“Jace!” she cried, all thoughts of self defence far from her mind.

In a matter of seconds Clary was pinned to the floor beneath him. He had moved impossibly fast, like an arrow shot from a bow, and knocked her to the floor, though she hadn’t felt a thing. He was straddling her hips, one hand holding both her wrists above her head, the other pressed firmly over her mouth.

“Oh dear, that wasn’t very good now, was it?” looking down at her, amusement and something else glittering in his eyes.

Clary tried to speak, to order him to get off her, but all that came out was a muffled squeaking, her voice distorted by his hand over her mouth.

“Do you want to get up?” he asked her, his head tilted to one side. He grinned when she nodded, that sideways, roguish, heartbreaking smile. “Try then.”

She pulled at her arms in vain and kicked her legs ineffectually in the air, but his grip was too strong and her efforts only seemed to increase Jace’s amusement. Loosing her temper, she clamped her teeth down hard on one of fingers over her mouth.

He swore and removed his hand. “You bit me!” he said, examining the small indentations on his finger. “Well, it was effective, I suppose.”

“What did you do that for?” she demanded, finally able to speak. “I said I wasn’t ready!”

“Do you really think someone attacking you would wait till you say you’re ready?” he asked incredulously.

“Well you’ve sort of thrown me in at the deep end here, Jace!” she complained, struggling against the hand that still held her wrists to the floor.

“They say that drowning is the best way to learn to swim,” he said with philosophical superiority, ignoring her attempt to get free.

“In that case I’m glad you’re teaching me fighting and not swimming!”

“I wanted to see if you had any natural fighting spirit, which clearly you don’t.” He finally released her wrists, but kept straddling her. “We need to rectify that.”

“Is this your revenge for what happened with Simon earlier?” She asked bluntly. She sat up, hoping to appear a little more dignified, but their faces ended up only inches apart. The feel of his body against hers was … interesting. He seemed to emanate a heat that she could feel even through their clothing.

“What?” Jace asked, shocked.

“You heard me.”

“Why would I want revenge against you?” Jace’s face was uncharacteristically serious, the mischievous playfulness of before gone.

“You were so angry …” Clary remembered the look of rage he had given her when Simon had discovered them, the things he had said after.

“Yes, I was,” he admitted. “It was the heat of the moment and I was angry and disappointed. But I realise now that I was more angry at myself and Simon than you.” He raised one hand and let the back of his fingertips graze along her cheekbone. “In fact I wasn’t angry with you at all.”

Clary’s throat was suddenly dry. “Why were you angry with Simon?”

Jace seemed to be considering his answer. “He acted like he had some sort of claim over you, and I resented it.” He smiled slightly, amused at himself. “Then I realised that I was doing the exact same thing.”

“So all this,” Clary waved a hand to indicate the Weapons Room. “Isn’t just to get back at me?”

“All this, as you put it, is to help protect you, so that you can fight.” His hands came up to cup her face gently, tilting his lips towards him. “I … I’ve only just found you Clary, and I’m not ready to loose you.”

He pressed his mouth very lightly to hers, before parting his lips to deepen the kiss. Clary’s hands wound around his neck, holding him close to her. She was conscious of exactly how close their bodies were, practically entwined on the floor.

After a long moment, he pulled back, looking at her wistfully. “We should keep practicing.”

Clary sighed. “I don’t see why we are doing this, you know. I think I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”

Jace arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”

She laughed at his expression, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. “Yes, now get off me!”

Chuckling, he swung his leg over her and stood in a single, graceful movement. Cool air rushed to all the parts of her that had been warmed by contact with his body. He leaned down, offering her a hand to pull her up. “Lets try again.”

“Do we have to?”

“Did you not like it?” he asked her teasingly, his gold eyes sparkling.

“That is beside the point,” she replied, equally playful. She lifted her hands into fighting position, fingers curled into fists with her thumb on the outside and her legs slightly apart, just as he had taught her. “Come and get me then.”

This time she hit out at the blurred golden shape heading towards her, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her fist and twisted her arm behind her, pulling her back against his chest. Both of them were breathing quickly.

“Better. Now I want you to try and break -”

She stamped on his booted foot before he had even finished talking, yanking her arm sharply away at the same time and spinning out of his reach.

“Very good,” he grinned.

“Thanks. What now?”

“Now I want you to try and attack me,” his smile widened.

She looked at him patronisingly. “Jace, you’ve been trained to fight your whole life, and I’ve been learning for about an hour. I don’t think -”

“Just try, Clary,” he told her.

She sighed. “What do you want me to try and do?”

“Pin me – I highly doubt you would be able to,” he added, confident in his own abilities. A devious thought begun in Clary’s head at his superior tone. “But you can try.”

She licked her lips, wondering if her plan could possibly work. Only one way to find out.

“I have a much better idea,” she told him, sauntering across the room towards him.

Taking his t-shirt in her hands she pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat before his hands came up around her, gripping her hips and pressing their bodies together.

Clary knelt down, pulling Jace with her until they were both on their knees, their bodies still pushed against each other, kissing on the floor of the Weapons Room. She slid her legs out from under her so she was lying down, Jace hovering above her, straddling her hips again with his weight resting on his elbows on either side of her.

His lips left hers to kiss down her neck. She gasped as his tongue traced her collar bone and his teeth nibbled at her ear.

He suddenly broke away, glancing to the door before staring down at her, his eyes dark and hungry. “Clary, if someone comes in -”

“They won’t,” she told him, knowing that everyone had gone back to bed. His mouth met hers again desperately, his body pressed tight against her. She rolled until she was the one straddling him. Her hands, which had been twisted into his hair, travelled down his strong arms to his wrists, which she quickly pulled above his head and held to the floor.

“So does this mean I win?” she asked breathlessly.

Jace stared up at her in shock for a moment, his mouth partly open, before he started to laugh.