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queenslayerbee) wrote2026-03-18 07:27 am
FANFIC: we stand up peerless (Shadowhunters)
Title: we stand up peerless.
Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV show).
Character/Pairing: Camille Belcourt/Magnus Bane
Rating/Warnings: M. References to off-page torture.
Summary: Every time Magnus offered his blood to Camille.
Word count: 3.6k.
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It wouldn't have surprised anybody to hear that the first time it happened was in the middle of sex.
Magnus and Camille had left the Queen's party just in time to arrive home before sunrise. Two creatures of the night, both of origins that the guests would've found more than questionable, mocking everything and everyone on sight. Mocking their pomp, their demureness, their fleeting pretensions... Magnus couldn't remember the last time he laughed so hard.
And her. Oh, her. She laughed too, high and improper and irresistible. She dazzled and scandalized everyone around them in equal parts. None of them would ever forget her.
When they arrived home, with the heavy curtains closed to avoid the smallest ray of light, Camille was still laughing, at some witty joke he couldn't remember despite telling it himself less than ten seconds before. This laugh was softer, but just as striking. And while she laughed, he couldn't tear his eyes of her, content with just that.
Pathetic, in hindsight.
She returned his look —Magnus never doubted that she could read him like an open book— and regaled him with an indulgent half smile and a hungry gaze that had little to do with blood.
By the time they made it to the bed they were completely naked, their evening wear describing a path through the house. They knew each other plenty, so they didn't waste any time. Before the next blink, Camille was over him, riding him and keeping him in place with a strength that contradicted her size.
It wasn't the first time the idea had crossed his mind, not by far. But it was the first time he felt euphoric enough and reckless enough to propose it. So he presented his neck to Camille, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.
Camille didn't even stop to think it over. She bit his neck, and after the first flash of pain, the pleasure came. A rush like he hadn't felt before, that made him see the stars and grab her hips hard enough to bruise. He held his breath as to, so to speak, not embarrass himself by ending things too soon.
After a few more seconds she moved away, licking her lips. When he felt her tremble above him, he didn't resist longer, feeling all his muscles loosen up. He felt drowsy, like he was floating over a never-ending lake.
"You really enjoyed that." Camille laid now next to him, staring at him with a probing gaze as she caressed his chest.
"It won't become something regular," he clarified. "But I wouldn't mind doing it from time to time."
She smiled, satisfied, and kissed him on the shoulder —right next to the bite mark.
The second time wasn't nearly as fun.
They had travelled to New York by boat, an experience neither of them was particularly fond of. But the truth is that the both of them fell madly in love with the city as soon as they saw it.
The feeling didn't seem to be mutual, seeing the welcoming party.
Shadowhunters attacked them during one of their outings. They had made a bet about who would try to attack them first: them, or some opportunistic mundane. So he didn't only had to fight, he owed her a gift.
They had been joking when they talked about it. But even if it didn't caught them unaware, they were a lot more than what Magnus would've predicted. A dozen young Shadowhunters, seemingly ready to gamble with their lives if that got them to kill a couple Downworlders.
By the time they finished them, they both were hurt and he had just enough strength in him to vanish the corpses.
It couldn't have been a legal mission, with the Accords on the table and negotiations in such a delicate state. But that wouldn't win them any sympathies from the Clave if they were caught, so he made his best effort to erase any trail they had left. The next morning, he would make sure to wipe out the memories of anyone who could place them in the city that night.
He helped Camille walk to their rooms, thankfully nearby. Her clothes were ruined, stained with her blood and theirs, and she had burns in her face and arms. He placed a small glamour over them, so that they wouldn't call any attention to themselves if someone crossed the street.
"Magnus," she said, with a cold and tight voice, "we can't go back yet, I need to feed."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of that."
Once they arrived, he helped her sit on the bed and rolled up his sleeve.
"You're weakened, Magnus."
"Magically speaking, sure. But this will be fine. Take what you need to heal."
Still reluctant, she grabbed his arm and complied. This time, with the bite came an instant bliss, the feeling that the night's fatigue escaped his body by the tips of his fingers.
Despite what he'd just said, he felt himself faint and fall over her lap.
"Oh, come on. Stay a little longer. We're having a great time, you don't have to leave yet."
"I'm hungry, Magnus."
They'd spent the whole day in their room, hiding from Ra's light and the overwhelming heat of the streets. They talked, laughed, danced and fucked; hours and hours together that left Magnus wanting more.
They were laying in bed and, despite her words, Camille hadn't made any move to leave. Her hair still rested on Magnus' stomach, as he played with her hair. He couldn't imagine someone more beautiful in all the world. And she never looked more beautiful than exactly like this: naked, relaxed, with closed eyes and a cunning smile adoring her countenance. The moonlight that filtered through the window gave her such a radiance that Magnus could understand why she claimed not to miss the sun rays. He didn't miss them that much himself, and when he had to go out during the day, he was even a little resentful of their light, knowing it was what separated him from Camille.
He opened his arms and said, "I'm right here." He laughed to himself, thinking of how crass that would have sound if he wasn't talking to a vampire.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, silently asking if he was sure. Magnus nodded, presenting her his wrist.
But she moved it away, standing up, and sat on his legs, supporting herself with her hands on his chest. With a smirk, she went down and bit him on his hip, right next to the place his navel should have been. Magnus felt himself get hard immediately, and when Camille raised up, looking smug, Magnus grabbed her and turned them around. Ironically, it felt as if her poison had given him strength.
She laughed, and Magnus kissed her slow and steady, as she surrounded him with her arms to pull him closer.
They sat at a Downwordler luxury bar in Saint Petersburg. Albeit in Magnus opinion, the luxury level of any Russian place would necessarily leave a lot to be desired. He would've never let himself be dragged into that country if it wasn't for business. And even then, before he had the power to create a Portal that could get them out of there in seconds, he might still have refused.
He was there to talk with a couple of Warlocks to exchange ideas, and Camille had accepted to come along to sight-see. If she wasn't with him, he'd question her taste.
The aforementioned Warlocks hadn't arrived yet, and Magnus was getting bored. They were in a sofa covered in furs, slightly separated from the centre of the establishment, with a direct view of the entrance. The place was full of Downworlders, each more outlandish than the next, and even a couple of mundanes with the Sight.
Magnus let his head fall into Camille's lap, and she immediately started playing with the strands of his hair. The furs might not be such a bad idea, he thought, if maybe a little tacky. They were extremely comfortable; a little longer and he would fall asleep.
That's when they came in. It was impossible to mistake them for anything else: dressed in black tactical gear, runes sticking out of their necks and arms. He could almost smell the instant tension their arrival caused. But Camille never wavered with her caresses or her conversation.
It was only three of them. Surely, they weren't going to raid the place just by themselves, though you never knew if they had backup waiting outside. If that were the case, they'd hopefully freeze before they could be of any use to their companions.
The Shadowhunters must have come to speak with someone in particular. One of them, a woman, appeared to be trying to locate whoever they were, her gaze travelling intently through the place. The other two didn't dare to stare at much, casting furtive looks to their surroundings.
One of them saw Magnus and Camille and looked away as quickly as he could with unmistakable disgust. It wasn't hard to guess what caused it: Magnus never bothered to hide his eyes in places like these, and Camille always left her teeth uncovered —a warning that there was a predator in the room.
Magnus felt a cold rage arise in his veins. This place was theirs. A haven for Downworlders. Shadowhunters didn't have room in there. They were, at best, mere guests, and that was only if the owner had the courtesy to allow it. How dare they come inside, defile the place with their angelic airs of grandeur—and instead of showing a modicum of respect, of decency, choose to judge them all? Accords or no Accords, they were no one in that bar. It was a lesson they had to learn sooner or later.
Without moving, he raised his arm to Camille. She stopped speaking with the vampire sitting next to her, and looked at him questioning. He let one of his fingers caress her lips, her fangs, and she smiled slowly. She rolled down his sleeve and, staring straight to the Shadowhunters, she bit him.
The rush was as sudden as every other time, and he let them see it. See his feline pupils react, enjoy the show. The truth is that they appeared frozen with terror, incapable of tearing their eyes away. The woman said something quick to the barman and the three of them left the place as if they were running from a burning building.
Camille stopped then, wiping a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. She laughed raucously, a sound that spread through the bar, in an unusual moment of Downworlder solidarity.
Magnus always thought there was something particularly beautiful about the romance between two immortals. At the end of the day, what other love could compare? Eternal love, true love. Two concepts that, in his opinion, went together.
He didn't love Camille because she was immortal. He loved her because he loved her, because she had fascinated him from the moment he first saw her, because she was unique and incredible, because next to her every experience intensified, multiplied.
But maybe her immortality made him cling to her. Way longer than he should have, seeing what happened with that little friend of hers. Russian, to add insult to injury.
How naïve. What had he expected? Eternal love?
Magnus liked things to fulfill a perfect circle. Perhaps that's why the last time he offered his blood to Camille, it too happened during sex.
It wasn't as if they never had rough sex. They had, dozens of times. When one of them needed the release, or both did, or simply for fun.
But that night felt different. Maybe because the violence wasn't mutual, a give and take between them. Magnus was the only one lashing out, and Camille just let it be, as if she was amused by his uncouth attempt at punishing her.
Magnus couldn't stand to watch her act like she hadn't done anything wrong. Like she hadn't just thrown away a love story worthy of a ten-volume epic.
He raised her in his arms, pushing her against the wall with such force that the painting next to them fell on the floor, the crystal covering it in shatters. She just laughed, with a mocking pout on her mouth, surrounding his hips with her legs and his neck with her arms, dragging him closer.
He grabbed her arms, that he now felt like they were chocking him, and pushed them too against the wall, holding them in place.
"If I had known this is what jealousy does to you, I would've done this much sooner."
Like another stab at his chest. He raised her from the wall and sank her to the floor, placing himself over her, between her legs, as he pushed his pants down. She got rid of her own clothes, pulling him in with her legs. But that, he though after a few thrusts, wasn't the catharsis he was looking for. It wasn't enough.
After a moment of inspiration, he reversed their positions, which seemed to be the first moment of the night where Camille didn't seem to know what to do. Confusion and doubt painted her face when he ordered, "Bite me."
Camille frowned, apparently disliking were things were headed.
"Bite. Me."
Camille, reluctant, as if she wanted to make sure she could stop if he changed his mind, and with a tenderness she'd never showed before, complied.
This time Magnus didn't make any efforts restraining himself and the effects of the poison made him came in barely a minute. He then rested on the cold floor, feeling loose. But the rush was gone too soon, and reality hadn't changed with it.
He moved Camille, brusquely. She still seemed disoriented. He fixed his clothes and intended to walk through the door without looking back.
"Until the next time, love."
He stopped, and turned back to look at her. She was standing up, and even if she looked dishabille, she had recovered her airs of dignified and amused indifference.
"I don't want to see you again, Camille."
And the worst part was that, for over a century, he kept his word.
Magnus walked through the Institute as he made sure to always do: determined, with his best clothes on, and like he owned the place.
A Shadowhunter he'd never spoken with was the one who greeted him. He took it as an insult, and made sure everyone knew it.
At the elevator doors both Lightwood siblings were waiting for him, on twin military stances.
"Thanks for coming, Magnus."
Alec nodded at his sisters words, straight-faced. All business.
Of course.
He send them a vapid smile as they entered the elevator. "I still don't see why you'd need my help with an interrogation. In my experience, you're plenty skilled with that yourselves."
Isabelle seemed uncomfortable, and Alec rolled his eyes. He rolled his eyes, for fuck's sake.
"It's a delicate case;" Isabelle explained, apparently the only one who was going to bother to speak to him, "they couldn't get anything from her, and she kept requesting to talk to you. The Clave thought you might have it easier given your... history."
The doors opened right that second, like they knew what dramatic timing was. Magnus felt like all the joints on his body were suddenly stiff, and almost couldn't believe that he managed to walk the necessary steps to get to the hallway.
"What does the Clave want from Camille?" The voice was so calm it didn't sound like his.
Alec answered him, talking for the first time. "We believe there's evidence that she's involved with Lilith, but we don't know how. You just have to go in there with her and try to make her feel comfortable. You'll be able to visit her until you've gained her trust and she tells you what they're planning. You don't have to hurt her. Besides, your magic won't work in there anyway."
There were so many things wrong with those sentences that Magnus didn't even know where to start. He was about to turn back to the elevator without bothering to respond to them when he saw her.
Other than its prisoner, chained to the wall, the cell was completely empty. Camille wore clothes similar to Magnus's when he was in Valentine's skin. She was thinner and gaunter than he ever saw her in all the years they'd known each other, with a paleness that seemed unnatural even for an undead; her hair was withered, and it fell over her face without grace.
It disturbed him. Magnus hadn't been able to stop himself from imagining her with her captors once or twice, but he couldn't picture her looking so vulnerable. In his mind, she was still wearing the same dress, and she appeared majestic, cold and sardonic, enduring with composure anything those miserable mortals could throw at her.
But hunger was hunger, he guessed.
He started walking towards the cell, without thinking. Alec took that as acceptance, since he opened the door for him. There was no way but forward.
When he came in, he became even more aware of her deterioration. She had noticeable rings under his eyes, her lips were dried and wounded, and she had scars on her face that resembled the ones Raphael had brought with him after his visit to Aldertree.
Magnus tried not to think about the consequences that what he'd done might have for Camille. It had been the right choice, because now that he was face to face with her, he was sure he would've never been able to turn her in if he'd known.
It wasn't easy to see someone like her hit rock bottom. Specially if it was someone you loved.
Camille raised her eyes and gifted him one of her little smirks. "Hello, darling."
Only two words, and he let himself fall next to her, caressing her head. He instinctively called to his magic, wanting to heal her wounds, even knowing it'd be useless.
"What have they done to you?"
"Nothing they won't pay back for tenfold."
He couldn't help his smile. She spoke with mathematical certainty. He didn't know if she truly had a deal with Lilith or Jonathan or whoever, or if she was completely alone. When he saw her state he'd forgotten for a moment one of nature's oldest laws: people like Camille didn't hit rock bottom. Nobody was strong enough to drag them that far down.
"I guess this visit isn't to remember the old times."
"It could be. And there would be many more visits."
She raised her eyebrows, curious.
"I could tell you how the Clan is doing without you."
"I know a few details," she said, dismissive, "but we can leave that for later. How are you? I've heard very... interesting things."
That put him on guard. The last few months of his live hadn't been exactly boring, so that could mean anything. Did she know that Alec and him...?
"Things about demonic spells."
That made him tense even more. He didn't know how she could have known that. Would Jonathan know? Probably, he must have come from Edom alongside Azazel. The Inquisitor knew it too. The story might have travelled around Idris and reached Camille. The idea of anyone talking about it, of Shadowhunters delighting in his tale of pain and humiliation, made his body itch all over.
"How are you?" she asked again.
"I've had better days."
She snorted quietly, laying her head on the wall and closing her eyes.
As much fight as she had in her, she looked miserable. It was painful to see her like that. She looked famished.
He rolled up his sleeve almost by instinct; ridiculous, for he'd done it a mere half-dozen times over several decades. Camille reacted immediately; her fangs grew, her eyes opened with a feral look. Magnus raised his arm in offer.
"Stop me if it's too much." She bit him without another word.
Magnus hadn't exactly abstained from drugs over the last century, but none of them could compare to this. He was hard as a rock in ten seconds flat. His mind floated above him, and any pain or discomfort he felt lost all meaning.
In the middle of the high, he had a moment to wonder if Isabelle stayed to watch, or if she had time to leave.
Camille drank from him longer than she'd ever done before, but when he patted her arm she stopped without making a fuss. His head felt light, and he probably had lost more blood than he would've recommended anybody else, but it wasn't anything he couldn't fix as soon as he got out of there.
When he looked at Camille, seeing how the blood stained her chin was even more unsettling than her initial state. Camille was supposed to be all grace; she never lost control, nothing was ever out of place.
She hadn't taken her eyes off him. She caressed his cheek and told him, with reverence:"If you hadn't been immortal when I met you, I would have turned you."
Absurd, he thought. It was absurd that the tiniest affectionate comment from her could have the power of making his heart beat fast, after all this time.
"Oh, really?"
"A face like yours has to be preserved for future generations."
He laughed, mostly at himself.
They kept gazing at each other, and everything about the situation made all those memories he'd tried so hard to repress come back to him. Memories of times together, with the world laid at their feet, the unofficial king and queen of the Downworld.
He bent down to press a gentle kiss on her lips, not minding the taste of his own blood.
-A/N (c&p): This work was inspired by this post.
I know almost nothing about book canon, and the little I know I've mostly chosen to ignore.