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The first time he wanted to kiss Alec, they were sitting on a bed in the New York institute. His bed, suddenly. His room.
Alec had come in and climbed on it to sit next to him, sitting silently, but exuding something he couldn’t understand, a warm shiver running through his body, like when Maryse had run a hand through his hair earlier. Something inside his chest unfurled at the earnest look on the Lightwood boy’s face, reminding him of the moment his falcon would take flight. He almost leaned forward then, to kiss Alec on the cheek, as he'd done with his falcon when father wasn't around to see, stealing a moment of softness.
But Alec had leaned forward first, hugging him, and Jonathan--no, Jace--caught himself. Showing affection wasn't effective. He was supposed to be effective, not to love. And Father had taught him the consequences of loving the falcon. Maybe if he was more effective, his father would still be alive.
And anyway, boys don't kiss, he was pretty sure.
-
He knew hugging was alright. There was a lot of hugging.
Izzy did it the most. Punching Lydia Branwell in one breath for speaking of Michael Wayland, and leaping to put her arms around Jace the next, fierce. He'd choked quietly, unable to do anything but accept her display of love. He’d learned by then that that’s what it was.
She loved him.
He hadn't learned yet how to interact with girls, but Izzy never became a girl to him anyway. She was his sister. Who read to him when he was down with demon flu, and Alec was busy, hid with him to watch in secret whenever Alec got to sit with Robert and Maryse for meetings with Clave representatives, and asked what his favorite kind of cake was for his birthday even though he didn't know really when his birthday was and she was as terrible at baking as she was at cooking in general, and Alec had to bring out the cake he'd bought and hidden knowing this would happen.
Izzy was fierce and a solid fighter, but she was still small and needed to be protected, and from what he'd observed of other families, he figured that's what little sisters were supposed to be.
But right from the start, Alec had been different. The first few days he'd arrived at the New York Institute he'd been jealous of the bond between Alec and Izzy before realizing that Izzy was their sister but he and Alec were something else.
Once he touched Alec, all he wanted was to touch him again. Showed off for him outrageously. Learned what would make him laugh. Tried to maintain some semblance of distance by calling him "Lightwood" every so often, but the one time Alec did it back, saying "Wayland," instead of Jace, Jace had looked at him like he'd been hit and Alec never did it again.
After that Jace stopped calling him Lightwood when he was upset too, letting Alec stand close and staying silent even when the closeness scared him, and he couldn't say anything at all. It worked because--
Alec looked at him so warm he couldn't feel the cold.
And then somewhere in there Alec developed lips prettier than girls (and Jace had started to notice the fact that girls have pretty lips in the first place), and the warm color of his eyes became mesmerizing, lashes fluttering dusky shadows on his cheekbones, and the way he still looked at Jace, still warm, but deeper now--a soft devotion, adoration.
"Stop running off to fight like you're alone," he bit his lip, tracing his stele over the iratze on Jace's side in the infirmary after a battle, fingers warm on bare skin, "You'll never be alone again."
And Jace believed him, but when he opened his mouth, he asked instead to be parabatai, ignoring the catch in Alec's voice when he said yes.
He believed that Alec meant it, but he couldn't take the chance that someday, just in case, when he wasn't the fastest and strongest, when it wasn't enough to be the best--someday when they might send him away--that Alec might not mean it anymore.
Because now, now that Alec said it, had promised him, Jace couldn't bear the thought of losing it. Of being separated again for any reason.
And then their first night after the ceremony, when their bond drew them until he climbed in beside Alec in his bed, lying down on his front, face turned to Alec's and holding his hand, and Alec had turned his head too, talking as they fell asleep, Jace brushed the hair off his forehead and knew two things:
First, that Alec couldn't be without him any more than he could ever be without Alec.
And second, that the twisting ache he knew was from Alec, but echoed and louder in his own chest, was why Alec had showed up so late to the parabatai ceremony.
And that the hungry, clawing part of him that had first looked at Alec and wanted, with a roiling desperation, that had asked Alec to be parabatai, had maybe spoken too fast.
-
But then Alec never got around to kissing--not girls, not boys, just the burden of the Lightwood legacy on his rigid, determined shoulders, reminding Jace that there were more important duties to consider. Alec Lightwood wasn't available for anyone to kiss, but at least he, Jace Wayland, got to share his heartbeat. His soul.
-
So now this--when it turns out Alec can kiss, like that--so utterly captivating, the way his mouth moves, the way he takes, making your knees weak just watching, just at the thought of being taken--
Jace just wasn't prepared, that's all.