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--- Just wanna feel your kiss against my lips ---
Simon never kissed him. That was the first warning sign, no matter how many times they did this, hurried trysts in darkened corridors, lazy languid mornings with purposeful hands and exploring tongues. They still never kissed.
Simon instigated it, which was a surprise, pushing Raphael violently against a wall, shoving a thigh between Raphael’s parted ones and biting at his neck. Raphael works out quickly what Simon likes, for example, he likes it when Raphael tugs on his hair, when he twists his wrist just right, and he really really likes it when Raphael uses his mouth.
Of course Raphael’s going to indulge the kid, with a face like that.
But Simon still won’t let him kiss him.
--- Do you miss me like I miss you? ---
Simon’s betrayal leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he watches as the kid leaves, teeth bared, eyes blazing in anger. How could he, after everything that’s happened between them. How could he do this.
The ache starts early the next day, he’s used to seeing Simon all the time, not even being able to get away from him, avoid him. Not that he’d want to. But Simon’s not here anymore because he left.
He left Raphael.
Betrayed them. The clan. The people who took him in and trained him and looked after (loved) him. And it hurts. The silence, which he once thought he’d appreciate, now stretches on, a painful reminder.
--- I don’t mean no harm ---
When Simon appears, out of the blue, days later. Raphael should be angry, and he is, at first. Harsh words are tossed around carelessly, but Simon talks, and he talks and Raphael caves.
It doesn’t mean he has to be kind though.
That night he pushes against Simon with a rough intensity, fires blazing in his eyes. Simon takes it, he always does, bucking up into Raphael’s touch, mouth open, panting unnecessarily.
And Raphael snarls, he claws and he bites and he pulls far too hard on soft hair. His thrusts are precise, bordering on violent as he presses his face into Simon’s neck, holding the fledgling down with all his strength.
And Simon still doesn't kiss him.
--- Lie to me, lie with me, get your fucking fix ---
Of course he notices when Simon sneaks off, and comes back smelling suspiciously of sweat and angel blood. But still seeks him out, teeth biting more than usual, hands clutching just that bit tighter.
Then the lies come, small at first, about where he is, who he’s with. And sometimes Simon is gone for days, spitting out mild excuses when he returns, blissfully unaware of Raphael’s worry. Either that or he’s just ignoring it.
He still acts like he wants Raphael though, and maybe he does, but not like Raphael wants him. They’ll fight, and they’ll fuck, and when it’s over Simon will leave and Raphael will hate himself a little more.
Because maybe that’s all Raphael is to him, an itch to scratch. A fix.
--- I hate you ---
The first time he says it, he spits it. Halfway through a massive fight over that fucking Lightwood girl “Izzy” Simon insists, Raphael doesn’t care. The words come out easy, like he’s been trying to keep them in, and he realises, with a vicious twist, that he means them.
The second time is when Simon leaves, pulling a shirt over his shoulders as he slips out of the room, leaving Raphael alone and cold. He whispers it to the closing door and convinces himself that Simon didn’t hear it.
By the third time, fourth time, fifth, Simon doesn’t even react anymore, he huffs out a sarcastic laugh. And maybe that’s all it’s worth, because really, who is Raphael trying to convince? Simon? Himself? Even he forgets sometimes.
Because he does hate Simon, he truly does.
--- I love you ---
But he also loves him.
He never tells him to his face of course, he’s far too much of a coward, too weak. He knows Simon will leave for the Lightwood girl, it’s just a matter of time surely.
But he still whispers the words into sweat-slicked skin, bites them into sharp hipbones and mouths them across taunt muscle. He repeats it in his head a thousand times over, the few inches of space between them in the bed feeling like miles.
Because if you love someone you kiss them.
And Simon’s never going to kiss him.
--- I hate that I want you ---
Sex with Simon is something new and wild to Raphael, sex never interested him before, if you didn’t find people sexually attractive then what’s the point. But Simon creeps up on him, he’s different, of-fucking-course he is. Everything from his angry eyes to his tight-lipped smirk drives Raphael crazy.
And he can’t get enough.
Simon’s always unpredictable, likes to play games with Raphael that he can never quite win. And he hates it. Hates the way that Simon licks his lips, maintaining indulgent eye-contact with Raphael. Hates the way his eyes always track Simon when he’s in the room.
Hates the fact that all Simon has to do is mewl his name in that tone and Raphael will drop to his knees, no question. He hates how some days Simon is violent and angry, a time bomb finally let off, scratching and biting and thrusting at an unrelenting pace that Raphael struggles to match.
Then there’s the times Simon’s soft. Raphael hates those the most. When Simon mouths hotly down Raphael’s chest, when he nuzzles against Raphael’s neck, his hips, his thighs. When he holds Raphael like he’s going to break, seeing him through it, hands gentle and smooth.
Raphael’s hands are rough.
--- You don’t give a damn about me ---
When Simon eventually leaves for good, Raphael just about gives up. If his heart were still beating Simon would have broken it long ago, eating away at the pieces until there’s nothing left of Raphael, nothing left except what Simon made him into.
Cold and vicious and closed off. Because after all that, all those months of hands and tongues and Raphael wasting away to fucking nothing. All the near-kisses that Simon could never quite accept, and all the bites and anger, and unrelenting, meaningless sex.
This is what’s left.
Because Raphael may well be a monster.
But Simon made him this way.