[ Training; years of dedication and practice, those skills (in most circumstances) leave Jace acutely tuned into his surrounding. all that’s required is her presence, her touch, and it’s forgotten. people fade away; even though music takes on a dull hum in the background, holding no sway over their movements, the languid dance they’ve locked into despite it all. His lips pull towards a lopsided smirk; his gaze remains on Clary, watching shadows play across her face ]

Not exactly afraid, no. Artists tend to be graceful. [ An intimacy exists in his words regardless of subject matter; soft and low, as if they could only ever be meant for her ] There’s a few runes I still need to show you later. [ Innuendo? The knowing glint in his mismatched eyes hint at exactly that.

[ Experience isn’t an area Jace lacks in; everything up to her though has been casual, his defense mechanisms, doubts about his own self worth, keeping others at bay. It’s telling, how he exhales when her fingertips glide over his clavicle, smearing the body paint ] Izzy’s idea, again. I’m thinking this was her plan from the start.

[ lifting his own hand, two fingers are run through the neon paint, and the distance between them closes. ] Clary. [ carefully, deliberately, he traces a symbol on the expanse of her skin, fingertips feather light in their touch, boldly drawing it above the plunge of her cleavage, just to the left...near her heart ] That one...is opportunity.