Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/356864.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Mortal_Instruments_Series_-_Cassandra_Clare
  Relationship:
      Simon_Lewis/Lady_Camille_Belcourt
  Character:
      Simon_Lewis, Lady_Camille_Belcourt
  Additional Tags:
      Vampires, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Future_Fic, Blood_Drinking, Implied
      Relationships
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-03-05 Words: 1624
****** you'll miss me when you're gone ******
by craple
Summary
     “You’ll miss me when you’re gone,” she said, licking her lips. Simon
     leaned close, brushed his lips softly against hers, and said nothing.
     “The three weeks you’ll have to pass, for your Shadowhunter friends
     and Magnus, you will—“
     “I know, Camille,” he whispered, smelling the scent of grapes and
     apple from her soft golden hair, pulling her close. “I know.”
Notes
     Based on Gym Class Heroes’ song, ‘Ass Back Home’. The song itself
     doesn’t really have any real-base for this story; but I like the
     ‘you’ll miss me when you’re gone’ line. It’s arrogant, interesting,
     and so very Camille. And if you’re wondering, yes, I just totally and
     shamelessly wrote a godfcking porn for these two, gods be damned,
     because I can’t find any stories about these two aside from mine. So
     yeah. Enjoy.
The thick overwhelming scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils, clouding his
mind and what was left of his senses. Everything seemed to blur, twisted and
merge into thousands of colors, and his eyes could only focus on the wound and
blood that ran down the length of a woman’s arm, which was pale and scarred,
covered in mud and dry blood and small branches. He could smell the salty scent
of tears and sweats, the sour stench of her armpits and the urine on her
underwear, the smell of rabbit’s blood smeared down her thighs and under the
broken nails of her toes, but none of them fascinated him as much as the blood
on her wrist. It smelled good, much better even, than the other horrible
stenches that came from her body. He supposed he could handle that just fine.
She had told him before that once he started drinking, he would not be able to
stop until the last drop of this person’s blood had been drained and he was
thirsty no longer. He asked whether the woman could still be saved in her
current condition if he were to refuse the offer and bring her to the hospital
instead. She smiled and told him no as she stripped the thick light-brown
materials of her coat over her shoulders, revealing black tank-top and pale-
milk skin underneath. Simon looked away and focused at the woman underneath
him. The wound had been torn apart rather messily, he observed. It looked like
it was bitten by a starving lion or an alligator of some sort, though it was
only ten-inches wide. If he was still human, he would have felt sick and
probably vomited right there on the pastel-colored tiles. But he was not human,
so he did not do any of that.
Experimentally, Simon pressed his lips against the wound; light at first, then
harder after the first ten seconds, and he parted his lips to let drops of
blood to flow into his mouth. His tongue flicked out almost immediately, and he
gave a long hard lick across the wound. The woman moaned beneath him, her
thighs flinched and her back ached, from pain or pleasure he did not know. The
taste of blood had flooded all of his senses once again, and he wanted nothing
but sank his fangs into the wound and drained the blood out of this
woman—whoever she was. Be patient, she would say, they always tasted a lot
better when you’re being patient. He remembered his lessons and he remembered
them well—the perks of being a vampire, she said—and he would not mess this up.
So he shifted his weight and positioned himself until he was straddling the
woman’s legs, rolling his hips against her, pressing his stiff erection against
her crotch. Her reaction was just like what he had expected.
The woman moaned and whimpered, helplessly and lustfully beneath him, and
bucked her hips against his to gain more friction. Simon complied and smiled
softly, burying his face against the crook of the woman’s neck and whispered
things against her ear. Things that he never thought he would ever say to a
woman because it’s disgusting. Things that only whore and not a technically
sixteen-year old teenager would ever say to their lovers. The woman whimpered
and practically fucking Simon through her soaked underwear, and Simon groaned
when his jeans became too tight around his cock. He planted a kiss on her neck,
biting softly, though not with his fangs as to not drawing blood yet, and
brought her wounded wrist to his lips once again. His tongue searched for the
taste of her blood, and he was extremely pleased when it tasted so very much
better than before.
“It always tastes sweeter when they submit,” Camille said, watching him
intently from the spot on her king-sized bed, dressed in nothing but thin
blood-red silks and black underwear. “But the taste grows more intense and much
more delicious when they’re horny.” She finished, smiling and amused, big
emerald eyes shone in mischief and something else. Simon did not say anything
and started licking at the wound. His nails dug deeper around the skin, drawing
more blood, making the woman whimper and moan louder than before, thrusting
against him, begging him to move and give her more. He complied, and started
unbuttoning his jeans when Camille’s voice stopped him short.
“Are you not going to offer your dinner to your teacher, Simon?” her voice was
seductively sweet and sensual, amusement lingered in each word as she spoke.
Her accent was different too, he realized. The British accent had changed into
that of French, and the sound of it went straight to his already-hard cock. He
swallowed, crawling off the woman’s lap and sat awkwardly beside her instead,
fingers slipping into the cotton of her underwear and teasing the wet lips
almost shyly. The woman choked and sobbed in surprised, hips rolling against
his hand, urging him to go deeper, but he stayed and waited, dark brown eyes
locked with Camille’s bright emerald ones.
“Would you, ah… like some, M’lady?” Simon asked, feigning nervousness, feigning
innocence, talking in a low tone that Camille had taught her a few weeks
ago—coy, seductive, sensual, teasing, always teasing—and smirked when she
blinked in surprise. He felt dirty and corrupted, like a dirty little slut, but
sluts didn’t kill their lovers or drained their blood during sex, and he wasn’t
sure whether he was better or worse. He knew the answer as soon as his mind
processed the question in his head, but he did not want to think, not now when
he was hungry and needy, and a beautiful tan-skinned athlete was laid down in
front of him, delicious and so fucking horny. He watched Camille smiled and
walked up to him; her dress swaying softly around her legs, her breasts swaying
sensually beneath the silk, nipples hard and chest flushed. She told him to
straddle the woman’s legs again, or basically just fuck her senseless and be
done with it, and he did.
Simon took off his jeans along with his shoes and his boxer, heaving a sigh of
relief when his cock was finally free. He positioned himself in front of the
woman’s entrance, leaning close to her neck and handed her wrist to Camille.
She sat beside him on the floor, fingers toying with the hem of her panties,
and he fought the urge to run back to her and rip the garments apart like he
had done so many nights before. He torn the woman’s shirt instead, both of his
hands seeking her breasts, big and soft and beautiful, squeezing them hard
enough to bruise as he pushed the head of his cock past her entrance. She came
before he was fully inside of her, and he realized that Camille had sunk her
fangs into her wrist first. He laughed—the vibration made the woman hot and
horny for him all over again—snapped his own fangs out of their cages, sank
them into the pulse on her neck, and started moving his hips sensually against
hers.
Camille always drank gracefully and lady-like even when she’s like this. He had
seen Raphael and one of the vampire women in his clan did the same, yet none of
them looked as beautiful as Camille was. The sight of her, stunning and
gorgeously sexy and simply perfect beneath the transparent red dress made his
erection growing more impossibly harder than before, and he started ramming
furiously in-and-out of the woman’s entrance even after she came for the tenth
time already. He didn’t stop even when she’s sobbing and moaning and kept
saying his name and that she couldn’t hold for long but she didn’t want him to
stop yet she kept thrusting her hips against his for more. She grew limp and
her body spent, blood drained out of his face and neck, and finally, Simon
pulled out, still hard and unsatisfied as ever.
Before he could do anything, Camille threw him back against the cold tiles,
ripping his clothes to shreds and kissing him senseless. Her lips tasted of
blood and wine and chocolate, eager and wet and more delicious than the woman’s
blood. He pulled her panties down because he knew she didn’t like it when he
ruined her clothes and thrust into her rough and quick without any hesitation.
He suddenly remembered why they never did a quick sex before.
Camille was tight and hot and fucking tight around him. She threw her head back
when he entered; a loud throaty moan escaped her red glossy lips, nails digging
painfully into his back. He liked the pain. It aroused him and encouraged him
to finally move, even though he’s near orgasm and he’s already high on the
seventh plane. He rolled his hips, relishing the sound of her hips slapping
against his, memorizing the beautiful sounds she made as he fucked her, and
finally kissed her full on the lips as they both came on each other’s lap.
None of them needed to breath, but they liked role-plays and she liked the
sound of his ragged breathing as much as he loved hers. They waited for a
moment, hair messy and bodies glowing, smiles of pleasure on their flawless
inhuman faces.
“You’ll miss me when you’re gone,” she said, licking her lips. Simon leaned
close, brushed his lips softly against hers, and said nothing. “The three weeks
you’ll have to pass, for your Shadowhunter friends and Magnus, you will—“
“I know, Camille,” he whispered, smelling the scent of grapes and apple from
her soft golden hair, pulling her close. “I know.”
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