#darquebane

 Afterwards, they stayed in bed a little longer, a little more sweaty and with bones heavy with satisfaction. They talked in pieces, words substituted by fingers dancing across skin and noises, nothing substantial, silence just as comfortable as words. Yet, they couldn’t bum around all day, so when Magnus had to pick up a work-related call that popped their post-sex bubble, Alec occupied the shower, leaving Magnus to do the same while he went to prepare them breakfast.

  Magnus’ hair is swept messily to the side and slightly damp when Alec cards his fingers through it and presses in for another kiss, a close-mouthed little thing tasting of peppermint . The goatee tickles against the ridge of his upper lip and when Alec pulls back, he stares for a moment, as there’s something so homely about Magnus sans his dark make up, something that makes him look softer and much more human, something that makes Alec want to kiss him again and he does exactly that. It never feels enough, to press his mouth against every centimeter of skin on Magnus’ body and still be starved for more.

  “Those for me?” Magnus asks, tilting his head towards the steaming pancakes with a mirthful smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, his nose bumping against Alec’s as they stand close, pulled together like magnets and unable to leave each other’s space.

  Alec lifts himself onto the counter island and sits cross-legged, a grin settled across his face.  “I might share if you’ll be nice.” He pushes the large plate towards Magnus and they both pick their portions, piling on enough pancakes for half an army.

  “I’m always nice.” Magnus says as he takes his first bite and after a moment of silence and a pointed eyebrow raise from Alec, he purses his lips in consideration, stern in contrast with his stuffed cheek. They share a glance, resulting in laughter and a roll of brown eyes. “Okay, I’m nice most of the time.”

  Alec has his plate resting dangerously on his knee and Magnus sits at the edge of a stool with his ankles crossed.  They don’t bother with full cutlery, instead picking at the food with forks sticky with syrup while they talk about work and exchange previously heard gossip. While Magnus animatedly tells the story of Catarina’s last funny patient encounter, Alec’s mind drifts, only half-registering the words.

  The rain keeps falling, Alec is warm and sated, his mind hazy at the edges and his body feeling full even without the food that coats his tongue with a sugar-sweet gauze. There’s spots of gold light dancing across Magnus’ sternum as he shifts to rest his elbow against the cabinet top, before swiping his fingers across his lower lip. Alec sighs, sips his coffee, just shy of burning his tongue.

  He’s been thinking lately, snagging his attention on daydreams and details that he never noticed before. When they work at home, Magnus in his favorite armchair with his feet up on an ottoman and books floating all around him, Alec curled into the couch surrounded by papers, he looks up, just to admire Magnus for a moment, take in his focused expression and the way he fiddles with the jewelry on his fingers, especially the one on his ring finger, twisting and turning it relentlessly to the tune of his thoughts. It draws attention, makes Alec consider how a gold band would look against Magnus’ skin.

  In boring meetings at the Institute, he doodles – it starts off with flowers, roses and gardenias, something mindless just to pass time, shapes and lines and words that don’t make much sense, but before he knows it, there are cat eyes staring up at him from the page and Alexander Lightwood-Bane is scribbled in the margin in his own handwriting. He keeps that page tucked into the back of his notebook, strangely sentimental.

  It gets worse – the idea never leaves him, but instead accompanies his every day, strangely pleasant and comforting. It makes him pull the golden suit jacket out from the back of his closet, the bitter memories lingering along the edges of the sleeves, but there’s something else now. Alec starts to understand why Shadowhunters wear gold at weddings.

  When he first realizes he wants to marry Magnus, it startles him, only for different reasons than most people, probably. Not because it’s a lifelong commitment and a huge milestone, but because he never thought he’d be allowed to see it as a possibility, of being with a man - out in the world, proud and present. But it is real, it is visceral, it is on the horizon, because they are in love that feels like a bottomless sea. A couple of years back, he would’ve thought that since Shadowhunters die young why bother, that he’s not allowed to have love, that it’s going to bring more grief than anything worthwhile. A couple of years back, he would’ve ran from himself and settled for a loveless life, a marriage that was nothing but a lie to keep other people happy.

  Now, he’s eating breakfast on a Saturday morning with the man he would give his life for, a man he would go down on one knee for this very moment if only he had a ring in his pocket, a man that is his future, no matter what life brings. He’s found his home and he’s found his heart and finally, he belongs somewhere, with someone.

  “Alec? Are you with me?”

  At the sound of Magnus’ voice, Alec blinks rapidly, bringing the world back into focus. Everything is muted, like his head’s underwater and he’s just surfacing; the coffee he’s holding is dangerously close to spilling over his lap until he tips it back straight with a sheepish smile and fingers dancing over the chipped ridge of the mug. There’s no pretending he wasn’t listening. “Sorry.”

  Even without picking his head up from where he’s watching the frayed threads at the bottom of his sweatpants,  Alec knows he’s being studied – there are careful and attentive eyes dancing across his face, over his chest and down to his fidgeting hands. Then, the clink of a fork set down, a quiet sigh, the scrape of wood against tile, a tender touch of warmth over Alec’s wrist.

  “You’re overthinking something, aren’t you?”

  Alec lifts up his head, tangling their fingers together, absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb over the smooth polish covering Magnus’ nails. He fights a smile, his upper lip twitching.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “You’re just easy to read sometimes.” Magnus shrugs, doesn’t push for the answer, instead just picks up his mugful of coffee and takes a large gulp, patient and understanding and too good for Alec.

  Even if sometimes a question is bright and sharp at the edges, it’s hard to get it out, something keeping the air in his lungs. So instead of talking for a moment, Alec takes in the different jars lined along the shelves, watches raindrops race down the glass, focuses on the feel of Magnus’ skin against his.

  “Have you ever… um- you’ve lived for a long time, so have you thought about marriage? Have you ever wanted to get married?”

  The saying goes – expect the unexpected; judging by the way Magnus’ eyebrows go up, that wasn’t a question he was ready for, his lips parted around silence before slowly shifting into a curious smile. He wets his lips before he speaks, fingers tightening their grip on Alec’s. “Of course I’ve wanted it. I thought, Camille and I, that it would be with her, but she quickly shut me down, cynical as always.”

  There’s a wrinkle between Magnus’ eyebrows, his faced pulled tight with memories and Alec shifts, stretches out his legs to let them hang off the counter at Magnus’ sides;  closer, closer, until he’s able to rest his forehead against Magnus’, who sighs from the bottom of his lungs. Things like these never come easy, even after decades.

  “She told me marriage would just be a ball and chain at my feet. That I should just be free, because nobody will want to marry a warlock anyway.”

  Alec doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes, as he lifts their hands closer, presses his coffee-warmed mouth against Magnus’ palms, over his knuckles to where the wedding ring usually sits.

  “I want to.”

  At the words, Magnus pulls back, the expression on his face unreadable for a moment before he shakes his head minutely. It’s something Alec notices pretty early on – any show of affection, whether by words or actions, results in the subtle gesture of disbelief, as if it is new, as if Magnus has to get used to reverence again. It makes sense, in a way: to isolate himself from hurt and to sever the ties with his past is often to forget.

  Still, soon the initial surprise melts into a fond smile with a playful edge; Magnus keeps looking, eyes brighter than before. “Did you just propose to me, Alexander?”

  The significance of Alec’s own words finally kicks in and a wave of warmth rushes out of his chest, reaching to color his cheeks and neck ruddy, not with embarrassment, but pleasure, a giddy spark deep in his heart. He’s not afraid anymore to reach for a happy ending.

  “If I did, would you say yes?”

  “Yes.”

The last few weeks have been a lot of change in a short amount of time, but that Alec is in Magnus’ loft—with a blanket draped over his legs, a book in his lap, and a conjured glass of craft beer next to him—has swiftly become more normal than not.

Magnus flits around the loft, levitating jars and potions—returning them to their proper spots from the concoction he just finished creating for a client.

Alec shivers at the slip of sun-kissed skin at Magnus’ wrists and forearms, revealed when Magnus rolls his cuffs up to place a metal box on the top shelf in lieu of snapping it magically into place. His skin prickles when Magnus sweeps past him, leaving a wake of sweet herbs and unassailable authority trailing behind him. Alec aches to have all that power focused solely on him.

Instead of reaching out, though, he curls one hand around the edges of the book and sifts his fingertips over the yellowed pages. He brings the glass of beer to his lips with the other. He swallows both the bitter hops and the request building in his chest that he absolutely can’t vocalize.

The thing is, Alec doesn’t know how to ask to be touched.

He sets his beer aside and buries his nose back in the book instead of stammering to find the right words. This tome—a collection of poems by an ancient writer Hafiz—is a recent find in Magnus’ vast library. Alec has always had a fascination with poetry. With the gift to mold words into meaning with sweeping, clear certainty. Something his own lips will never be able to do. Until Magnus, he’s had to satisfy himself with brief trips to mundane bookshops. Where he can sit in a dusty corner, glamoured away from prying eyes, and spend even a few minutes indulging in reading for fun.

But now, his explorations of the world follow paths laid out on a vastly different map.

He spends hours here, and the books are only a part of the reason. Okay, not really a reason at all, but definitely a bonus. Especially on nights like tonight when he arrives to a Magnus who is entrenched in the mysterious daily duties as the High Warlock of Brooklyn. But there’s only so much…visual appreciation he can accomplish without tumbling over the line of leering—a fact Izzy likes to remind him of when he gets lost in the movement of Magnus’ hands, or lips, or eyes, or…fuck, well, anything. So he flips the pages to a random place and begins to read again.

I caught the happy virus last night

When I was out singing beneath the stars.

It is remarkably contagious -

So kiss me.

Alec presses his finger into the words, as if he can soak their meaning into his skin with enough pressure. Allow this uncomplicated view of intimacy to run through his blood and forcibly evict the tangle of desire taken residence in his head after too many years of restraint and denial.

“I could use some fresh air. Join me for a drink?”

Magnus’ sudden pronouncement startles Alec into slamming the book shut, as if he’s been caught with his thoughts lingering above his head like a cartoon bubble in one of Max’s comic books.

The doors to the balcony sweep open with an effortless flick of Magnus’ wrist, and Magnus’ chest expands on a breath that seems to be clearing him out just as much as the wind flowing over the river pushes away the acrid hint of hellfire from the loft.

Alec folds the blanket Magnus placed over him, and rests the book on top. By a magic Alec is growing accustomed to, a glass appears in the hand not occupied with his beer—filled to the brim with a shimmering purple liquid. Alec takes a tentative sip of Magnus’ drink and splutters against the overwhelming burn of top-shelf vodka.

When he steps into the nighttime, Magnus is manifesting targeted rainstorms that drench the balcony’s greenery in summer rain, humming some melody that Simon or Clary would identify in seconds. One that Alec has no hope of ever guessing. But that doesn’t keep him from smiling.

All he can think about as he gazes at Magnus is that this is it. He’s caught the happy virus, and it indeed is remarkably, beautifully contagious.

“Kiss me?” he asks before he can overthink it.

The words taste just as sweet as the pastries he and Jace stole the first time Jace cajoled him into forgetting the rules and having a bit of fun.

The glamour slips from Magnus’ eyes. The golden vastness of a harvest moon illuminates the lines of Magnus’ mouth as he smiles.

Alec’s breath catches in his chest.

Magnus’ tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Alexander. Frankly, you don’t have to ask me at all. Please feel free to indulge yourself whenever the moment feels right.”

Alec squelches the impulse to toss the drinks over the edge of the balcony—so his hands will be on Magnus that much faster—and places both glasses on a table that appears at his side in a pulse of blue light.

Even with his hands emptied, Alec grips the railing instead of Magnus’ hips, his arms bracketing Magnus in, and leans down.

The shape of Magnus’ mouth is familiar, as is the softness of his lips. There’s no urgency—not like their first kiss, there will never be another quite like that one—and Magnus is drawing back before Alec even has a chance to lose his breath.

“While your lips are an otherworldly delight, Alexander, I get the feeling your hands would be even more so.” The smirk that stretches across Magnus’ face leaves Alec stomach swooping as if he’s in freefall. “If you want to, of course.”

“I, uh….”

The heat of his cheeks is an inferno, his desire even more consuming. He lifts the edges of Magnus’ shirt, and seeks out skin. An insistent press of palm to back that coaxes Magnus’ body into his.

This time, Alec decides he may never need to breathe again.

Maybe this Hafiz guy has it right. He definitely knows more than Alec does.

It’s only one book in a collection that spills from room to room, and Magnus doesn’t even hesitate when Alec asks to take it home.

Those brittle, time-worn pages change everything....

 When Magnus can actually breathe again without inhaling hot liquid straight into his lungs, he looks up to find Bastion – a pet hellhound, pretending to hide while carrying a familiar combat boot between the multiple rows of teeth set in his maw. He almost looks smug in a way, maybe it’s the four squinted eyes or the overly large fluffy ears perked straight up, but before Magnus can fully comprehend what is going on, there’s a dichotomy of quick steps – a stomp, a soft tap, a stomp, a tap and then Alec is marching into the room.

  Magnus takes him in – breathing in huffs with his hair more messed up than usual, leather jacket in hand and one shoe on; with lips pressed into a thin line as to not explode into laughter, Magnus watches Alec furrow his eyebrows and point an accusing finger at Bastion, completely unaware of his audience.

  “Bad hellhound!” Alec jabs the finger in the dog’s direction and the muffled bark that comes as an answer sounds eerily close to a laugh. Still, Alec is fighting a smile, failing to hide his amusement at the whole situation. “You’re being naughty, so no sleeping in the bedroom tonight!”

  At that, Magnus can’t help himself anymore – a pearly sound rings out in the living room as he throws his head back and laughs until tears prick at his eyes and threaten to smudge his make up; as soon as he calms down enough to sit straight up, he’s met with a disapproving, halfhearted glare from Alec, the one that says ‘Et tu, Brute?’.

  “That sounds like something you’d say to me if we were in a bad romcom and I pissed you off.” Magnus explains, carefully wiping his eyes with the sides of his knuckles. Alec is still rooted to his spot on the carpet, mild annoyance shifting into indulgent enjoyment and something unbelievably soft underneath as he presses an open palm against his sternum.

  “You did nothing wrong and I love you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but there is warmth in the words that works its way up Magnus’ chest faster than the hot tea and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment, before the attention is turned back onto Bastion.

  His large tail is wagging quickly, thwapping against the armchair with a hollow noise, but he doesn’t seem to particularly care, his unseeing eyes focused on Alec, who feigns disinterest as a tactic before lunging forward and grasping at the boot.

  They play tug of war and Magnus chuckles behind his hand pressed against the edge of his goatee, almost childish-like glee building up inside him at the sight of his Shadowhunter boyfriend playing with a hellbeast like it’s nothing more than an unruly golden retriever. Alec is laughing too, his eyes crinkled up around the corners as his feet slide over the polished floor; he stumbles back, arms pinwheeling, but keeps his balance when Bastion suddenly lets go and barks again as if to point out that he won.

  Alec unceremoniously pulls the missing boot on and laces it up, grumbling about being late under his breath. He stands to his full height not without sparing Bastion a pointed look, before shrugging on his jacket, positively sinful in all black and with a blade at his thigh.

  When Alec moves behind the couch, Magnus tips his head back to look at him upside down – they’re both smiling, the aftermath of laughter and simple affection rushing through their veins. There’s a kiss pressed into the corner of his mouth as warm fingers rest against the side of his neck.

 “Love you.” Magnus murmurs against Alec’s lips, running a hand through that messy hair and earning a pleased noise.

  “Love you too. Have a nice day.” Alec kisses him once more, this time on his forehead and then turns to leave with a whistle, Bastion following closely, almost pressed against the side of his hip. When Alec reaches the door, he pauses and looks back, fingers drumming a rhythm on the wooden frame.

  “Dinner after work?”