Jace: I just don't understand why it bothers you so much that she comes with us.
Alec: It just seems to me that she gets involved in everything, we hardly have anything of OURS anymore.
Jace: Hunting is not OURS, literally a giant supernatural creature mixed his magical blood and gave it to drink to a random group of humans that he found for us to do THIS. OUR work. As a 'race'.
Alec: So, we don't have anything special?
Jace: I did not know that this was somthing important to you, but in that case we can have pizza thuesdays at Richard's. What do you think?
Alec: *almost crying*
Alec: Fine, okay, bring your pocket-sized girlfriend with us.
Jace: I love you too, Alec. Thank you for telling me how you felt.
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For @incorrect-malec. This is the first part to a larger fic which will be updated sometime after the reveal, as the plot ran away from me! I tried to incorporate as many of the proposed likes as I could to make this an interesting and fun gift! Happy holidays, dear giftee, I hope you sincerely enjoy your present â€ïž
Minor content warning for some cursing and small mentions of blood.
*****
find me here (amidst the chaos)
âMr. Lightwood-Bane? You have a special visitor.âÂ
Alec glances up from the spread of ridiculous red tape sprawled across his desk. An antique grandfather clock nestled in the corner behind him ticks away the idle seconds.Â
âAh.â Alec leans into the high-backed support of his office chair. âMr. Lightwood-Bane, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?â
Magnus glides into the room, shutting the ornate door behind him with a heavy thud. âYou forgot your lunch. I assumed it was all a simple ploy to trick me into bringing some for you.â
âA reasonable assumption.âÂ
âI probably shouldnât be indulging in such skulduggery,â Magnus skirts around the desk, his magic tidying the paperwork into neat piles off to the side. âAlas, it has been some long six hours since I last saw my husband, and Iâm little other than a fool for love.â
Alec stands and sways into Magnusâ space. âIt is known to be a great weakness of yours.â
âLove?â Magnus wraps his arms around Alecâs neck, soothing his fingers against the nape. âHardly. Love is too often fleeting. You, however?â He brushes the ghost of a kiss against the corner of Alecâs mouth. âYou have always been my greatest weakness.â
Alec kisses Magnus, because it says more than words ever could, because there are no words in any language that he knows which could be enough to express how he feels, how his core is alight and burning hot, how he canât get close enough without knocking them both over, and even that wouldnât soothe the ache.
âYou didnât even bring any food with you,â Alec points out, pressing a fleeting kiss to Magnusâ temple, lest he kiss any lower and come away with a shimmer upon his lips. His hands are broad and firm against Magnusâ hips, drawing him close until the ornate buckle of his belt is nestled against Alecâs belly button. Heâs slouched, relaxed and calm.Â
âAn easy fix.â Magnus pecks the very tip of Alecâs nose, grinning easy at the way it scrunches. âWhat are you in the mood for?âÂ
âI really want to visit Sky,â Alec sighs, his shoulders drawing up. âI miss their chebureki. Iâm craving their chebureki. But I have to file through this paperwork, or the Clave are going to be breathing down my neck.âÂ
Magnus traces the love rune against the nape of Alecâs neck. âI mean this with every breadth of my soul.â He pulls back, drawn to the mirth that draws Alecâs brow together before staring into hazel eyes which have always held his own gaze with such resolve itâs a wonder he ever questioned them. âFuck the Clave.â
Alec laughs, hearty and full. Magnus kisses the lines of his eyes, warmth cloaking him like a homemade blanket. This, right here. This is all he needs.Â
âIs that a proposition? I think I have a form somewhere for interdepartmental relationships, Iâd be happy to sign it for you.â
Alec feigns to pull away, his hands falling to his sides. Before he can even turn his body, Magnus takes both of Alecâs hands in his own, kissing the space on his ring finger above his wedding band and the ridges of his knuckles while the other intertwines their fingers, squeezing tight and holding their joined hands against his heart - or, rather, a rough estimation of where his heart is, hidden beneath his unbuttoned silk shirt and floral blazer.Â
âBurn it.â Magnus insists, resting his chin on the back of Alecâs hand, still held tight within his own. âOr shred it. Do you have a paper shredder? We can start a recycling plan! Saving the planet is really something the Clave should care about. Maybe they can investigate that, and then while theyâre busy saving the world - I know that you Shadowhunters love that - we can steal away and pretend you never insinuated that I would ever break our sacred marriage vows for the Clave.â
Alec leans back, tapping the side of Magnusâ sleek ankle boots. âIâm sorry. I shouldnât have even joked about it.âÂ
âI wouldnât break our vows for anything.â Magnus pulls a face. âSuggesting I would do it for the Clave is just insulting, Alexander. I have far better taste than that.â
âIs that so?â
Magnus hums, turning Alecâs hand to kiss down his wrist. âIâm pretty sure I have a certificate somewhere that proves it.â He murmurs, tilting his head into the cup of Alecâs palm against his cheek. âUnless thatâs how you tested out your paper shredder? We havenât cleared up whether it exists yet.âÂ
âYour environmental concerns are heard and are being considered by the Inquisitor at presentâ Alec teases, before adding. âIâm pretty sure that Aline has a paper shredder in her office. Itâs definitely the kind of thing that Helen would have gifted. Probably wrapped in a bow, too.â
âThat does sound like our Helen.â Magnus steps forward into the gap of Alecâs thighs. âIâm afraid that all I am hearing is that there is in fact no reason why you canât take an extended lunch break.â He leans forward, teasing a kiss along the cut of Alecâs jaw. âPerhaps we can even enjoy it in the comfort of our own home.âÂ
They would have, Alec prepared with a half-hearted protest that Magnus would just as quickly swallow, bending the pretence of Alecâs revolve before whisking them away in a portal that would have to be created on the balcony to protect the furniture. They would have enjoyed a lovely meal, and each otherâs company, and Magnus would have sent Alec back with a sweet kiss and a promise of reservations for some late night ponchiki, conveniently forgetting to mention that heâs missed a button of his shirt.Â
Unfortunately, none of that happened.Â
âInquisitor Lightwood-Bane? High Warlock Lightwood-Bane?âÂ
Magnus rolls his eyes and steps away from Alec, although his hand skims Alecâs hip. The shadowhunter at the door seems familiar ⊠Montclair something, maybe ⊠yes, Eva Montclair. A sort of glorified P.A for various members of the Clave. Her sudden appearance in Alecâs doorway is not a terrible thing by nature, but Magnus has a feeling given the tightness of her knuckles around the hilt of her seraph blade that it is not good news that she couriers this time.Â
Eva inhales deeply, her shoulders curled in defensively. âI was told to come and tell you both immediately, Iâm sorry if Iâve interrupted anything.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong, Eva?â Alec asks, kind but firm.
âThereâs been an instance near Piccadilly. A warlock appears to have recently come into their powers and is struggling with gaining control over them. The Head of the London Institute called them ârogueâ, but I personally donât think thatâs fair. From the descriptions received all the magic seems to be defensive rather than offensive. The High Warlock there is currently unavailable but suggested that you, Mr. Lightwood-Bane, would be a ⊠âfitting substituteâ in his absence?â
Magnus fixes a pleasant smile even as a laugh hiccups in the back of his throat. Ragnor truly says the kindest things. âIf this is as you describe, Eva, Iâm sure there wonât be any further problems.â
âPlease alert the London Institute that we are on our way.â Alec requests. âAnd please make it clear to them that they are under no circumstances to harm the young warlock. This is no longer any of their concern.â
The hint of a smile toys at the corner of Evaâs mouth, and itâs then that Magnus remembers that sheâs married to a warlock herself, and in fact he has met Mars on a few occasions as part of the Downworlder council. Small world.Â
âAbsolutely.â Eva nods, curtly, and ducks out of the room.Â
Magnus nods towards the balcony doors. âPortal?â
Alec sighs, reaching for Magnusâ hand. âThis has to be the fifth call this year alone. Iâm starting to think those pamphlets aren't working.â
The balcony doors swing open with a flick of Magnusâ hand.Â
âMaybe the Institute Heads are just environmentally conscious.â
---
âAngels,â Alec whispers, when they come through the other side of the portal onto a wet cobblestone side-street, the air heavy with unshed rain. âTheyâre so young.â
The warlock couldnât possibly be older than eighteen. Their torn jeans are stuffed into worn and muddy old boots, their denim vest is missing sleeves, torn at the shoulder, and the faded band tank underneath looks far too thin for a London evening. Thin, white lines stand out against brown skin, forming stars on their arms like tattoos of varying size, a mark unlike any that Alec has ever seen before and given the slight furrow to Magnusâ brow, itâs not a common one. Their hair is cropped short and pink, which could be a warlock mark, although Alec has his doubts.Â
âTheir mark is glowing.â Magnus comments. âIt pulses, see. Itâs directly connected to their magic.â
âIs that unusual?â Alec asks, casting an eye around for anything to gain the warlockâs attention without spooking them. âYour eyes glow.â
Magnus drops his glamour. A point is being made, but it isnât Alecâs. âThe pulse is frantic, like their magic, their emotions. Their powers are so new that they havenât figured out how to control any of it yet. Warlock marks, although rare, do sometimes come with the magic itself. Thatâs a lot to discover about yourself at once. No wonder they look so frightened, poor dear.â
Alecâs throat tightens when the warlock grips their head and folds over. âWe have to help them. I donât even know how but ⊠we have to help them.â
Magnus grips the back of Alecâs neck, turning him until theyâre facing each other. âWe will.â Magnus says, firm but kind. âWe are their best hope right now, Alexander, and we will help them.â He grazes his thumb along the column of Alecâs nape. âWeâre good at this.â
Alec nods, rolling his shoulders back as Magnusâ hand falls away. Magnus gestures and Alec follows his gaze, towards a portable store sign advertising 25% off coats and knitwear - itâs not terribly wide or tall, but if heâs careful he should be able to hide behind it, if temporarily. The last thing they need is for the warlock to feel as though theyâve been trapped, so letting Magnus talk first and providing support without being obvious about it is their best chance at this point in time.Â
The first time they talked a warlock down Alec had gotten his eyebrows singed off for getting too close, too fast.Â
âExcuse me?â Magnus has procured a coat, probably from the store behind Alec, his hands shoved into the pockets.Â
To the unassuming eye, he probably appears to be a concerned citizen, his eyes glamoured once more, although there is an undeniable electricity to him that couldnât be mistaken by those who know for a thunderstorm. There is a chance that the warlock, although presumably new to their powers, will be able to sense it as well. If thatâs the case, their reaction is anyoneâs guess. Alec tightens his grip on his bow.
âIâm Magnus Bane.â The warlock glances up with lightning speed, their arms wound tightly around their chest, as though doing so would keep everything in place. Alec is familiar with the feeling. âIâm not going to hurt you. I promise. Iâm like you, see?â
Magnus must have dropped his glamour, for the warlock takes a step back, but they lose some of the tension around their shoulders. âMay I ask for your name?â He asks, rocking back on his heels.
The warlock hesitates, the stars on their arms pulsing even faster. âNova.â They say, after what feels to be an hour. Alec lets out a heavy breath and relaxes onto his haunches. This is good.Â
âHello, Nova.â Magnus flattens his palm against his chest. âItâs a pleasure to meet you. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? You donât have to answer any that make you uncomfortable. My only motivation is helping you if I can.â
âWhat makes you think that you can help me?â Nova spits out. Theyâre shaking. âI donât even know whatâs happening to me. The other day I was fine, I was normal and then I woke up yesterday and I have these weird tattoos on my arm and today Iâm sending things into different rooms with just my thoughts - and none of it makes any sense! None of it!âÂ
Magnus takes a lone step forward, but Nova doesnât appear to notice. Alec feels a chill crawl down his spine. âYou donât know me, so what Iâm about to ask of you probably goes against every instinct you have. Nova, I need you to trust me.â
âWhy?â
Magnus takes another step. The hairs on the back of Alecâs neck stand to attention. âBecause Iâve been where you are.â Magnus explains. âLost. Confused. Angry. I was a child when I discovered my magic, what I could do with it. I didnât have anybody to help me, and I always vowed that I wouldnât let that happen to others, if I could help it. I want to help you.â
âWhat am I?â Nova furiously shakes their head, gripping at their elbows so tight little pinpricks of blood skate down their arms. âWhy is this happening to me?â
âI prefer to call myself a warlock. Many of us do.â Magnus explains. He holds out his palm, letting a blue flame collect in the centre. âYou can refer to yourself however you like. You can just be Nova, and nothing more, if you want.â
âBut the magic ⊠that wonât go away?â
Magnus shakes his head. âNo. Take my word for it, you will only cause yourself more harm if you try. Itâs not all bad.â The flame in Magnusâ hand turns into a cupcake, with a small sugary rainbow on top of the cream white frosting. âOnce you learn how to control it, the things youâll be able to do are incredible.â
âI lost a mug.â Nova laughs, a fragile thing. âItâs so stupid. I just threw it at the wall, but it didnât smash or anything it just ⊠disappeared. I looked for hours. Itâs not even important, it was a quid or something but it ⊠itâs gone. I did that. I donât know how but wherever itâs ended up is because of me. What if - what if I do that to somebody? Make them ⊠disappear.âÂ
âI donât think so.â Magnus is a few feet away now if that. âThe kind of power that takes is ⊠astronomical, not to mention the technical restraint. The worst you might do is cause some minor injuries, but even that is rare.â
Novaâs stars are glowing steadily. âHave you ever made someone disappear?â
âNot without the intent to do so.â
The answer seems to appease Nova. Alec stays hunched down, it doesnât look like Magnus needs his support, although it would be nice to stretch his back soon, although he still trains from time to time, he isnât exactly as young as he used to be.Â
âMagnus Bane. Step away from the rogue warlock at once. This is no longer an issue for the Downworlder Council to handle, this has become an Institute matter and will thus be handled by Shadowhunters. Your services have not proven useful, and this warlock must be subdued before any harm is caused.âÂ
The electricity in the air gets sharper. Alec hesitates but eventually rises slowly from his crouched position. He catches the minute the Institute Head, Stephen Highsmith, sees him and the flood of blood to his cheeks and forehead. A second later, his head whips towards Nova, who is clutching at their head, their wide eyes caught between the three of them. Alec doesnât have the time to search for the Shadowhunters positioned around them, knows on instinct that theyâre surrounded, that the only way out is through talking and, if that fails, a little violent liberty.Â
âThe warlock is a child.â He states, stalking out from behind the sign. He grips his bow tight and positions himself diagonally from Magnus, firm in his defence. âSurely you have higher morals than that, Stephen.â
Highsmith, a weasely man riding the coattails of his family name, sneers and draws his seraph blade. Heâd never been too good as a Shadowhunter, from all accounts, but power is a currency and money talks. âIt was very honourable of you to leave your post and flock to my streets, Inquisitor Lightwood, but Iâm afraid your presence is simply not necessary. My men and I have it handled.â
âIâm sure youâre very capable of handling precarious situations, Mr. Highsmith.â Butter wouldnât melt in Magnusâ mouth. âHowever, as High Warlock Fell is currently out of the country and has given permission for Alexander and myself to fulfil his duties in his place, I do believe it is a case best left to us. We donât intend to intrude upon your delicate sensibilities, Iâm sure youâre a very busy man who has much better things to do than to waste your time on such a small affair.â
âFor the record.â Alec smiles with no heart. âItâs Lightwood-Bane. A simple mistake, Iâm sure, but an important thing to rectify. Names carry a lot of importance and weight, you know.â
Highsmith splutters. âI do not have time for this!â
âNeither do we.â Magnus stalks closer, until heâs within arms distance from Highsmith. Alec inches closer to Nova, now bent over with their palms pressed against their eyelids. âThis is a matter for the Downworlder council, and as itâs representatives, we will take care of it. The longer you argue and fight with us over this, however, the longer it will take until we are out of your hair.â
The back of Alecâs neck prickles with heat. Magnus continues to admonish Highsmith. âNeither Alexander nor I will budge until Nova is safe. Believe me when I tell you that there is nobody more equipped to handle this than us, and if you donât take your leave quietly and with what little grace you can summon, you will be responsible for whatever harm or damage is caused.â
âHow dare you speak to me like that!â Highsmithâs face is blotchy and red.Â
âQuite easily.â Magnus twists his fingers, a white-hot blast landing at Highsmithâs feet. His shoes turn into fluffy bunny slippers. The ears flop when he pounds his feet. âRespect is earnt, Mr. Highsmith, and quite frankly you have done nothing worth receiving mine.â
A low muttering draws Alecâs attention. Nova has sunk onto their knees, the heel of their palms digging into their eyes. Alec quietly side-steps closer, holding his bow behind his back so as not to terrify Nova even more.Â
âI just want to go home. I just want this all to end. I want to go home.â
Alec sneaks a glance towards Magnus, still holding defence against Highsmith, who has acquired shocking green hair and a yellow high-visibility vest alongside the bunny slippers. Perhaps it wonât go as smoothly as if Magnus were the one talking Nova down, he can connect with them in a way Alec never would, but he can offer support - just as long as he can calm Nova down, draw them away from the conflict, thatâs all ⊠then they can dismiss Highsmith because there would be no âwarlock problemâ and Novaâs safety and comfort could once again take priority.Â
âNova?â Alec crouches down, rocking back on his heels. âMy name is Alec. Iâm a friend of Magnusâ. Weâre going to do our best to get you home, okay?âÂ
Nova starts rocking back and forth. Their tattoos glow brighter than before, a luminescent blue that pricks at the back of Alecâs eyes. âI want to go home.â They continue to murmur, in a voice that takes on a warbled effect, as though they were speaking underwater. âI just want to go home.â
âWhere do you live?â Alec asks. âDo you live in London?â
Nova falls to their knees. In the distance, Alec hears Magnusâ tone getting sharper, although he canât make out exactly what is being said, it doesnât fill him with much confidence that a productive conversation is being had. Nova keeps rocking, folded over into themselves. Blood streaks down their forearms, small droplets collecting behind their ears from where their fingers had dug into their scalp.Â
âEnough is enough!â Highsmith shouts. Shadowhunters spill out from the dark, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons, seraph blades and a few staves, the odd throwing star attached at the hip. Archers are scattered across the rooftops around them, arrows notched and aimed.Â
âHighsmith.â Magnusâ hands crackle as blue flame licks at his fingertips, wrapping around his arms. âIâve made an attempt at civility, but you are clearly not interested in politics. Fine. Take this as a warning. Recall your soldiers. Stand down. I cannot guarantee everyoneâs safety if you do not heed this warning, and the dangerous consequences your refusal could inflict are limitless. This young warlock is frightened. Let us look after them, and I assure you, nobody will get hurt.â
âI have had enough of your whining.â Highsmith spits. âThis is now Shadowhunter business. Perhaps a few days in a cold cell will teach this young warlock how to control their powers.â
It all happens in a flash. Literally, an actual flash.Â
Alec rushes forward to protect Nova, futile as it might be, his bow poised towards the nearest threat - a Shadowhunter only a few feet away with a seraph blade drawn and pointed at the back of Novaâs head. A static roaring fills his ears, but he pushes through, hardly aware of his own body as an arrow is sent flying into the Shadowhunterâs shoulder. His skin starts to prick and burn, from his hands up to his neck and rushing down to his ankles like a wildfire coursing through a forest. His heart beats in tune with Novaâs words, I want to go home, thud thud thud thud thud.Â
Alec shuts his eyes against a luminescent white light, stumbling as the ground falls out from beneath him and an echo calls out for him, a desperate plea of his name shouted underwater.
Magnus?Â
I just want to go home.Â
---
Alexander? Alexander!
---
The air smells like metal and thunderstorms. Magnus whirls on his heel, angry tears racing down his cheeks. Hell, hath no fury like a warlock scorned.Â
âListen to me you weasely git.â Magnus spits. âIâm done playing civil. My husband is missing because you wanted to play hero for the first time in your poor, forsaken life. Sad you never got to play soldiers with the big boys? Well, guess itâs your lucky day. I am going to take Nova with me back to Alicante, and while Iâm there, Iâm going to ensure that my lovely friend Consul Penhallow is updated with everything that occurred here today. Unfortunately for you, her wife has family in the area, some of whom I am sure wouldnât mind stepping up to keep an eye on you. Iâve seen how you conduct yourself, and if it is any indication of how your Institute is run, I guarantee it is not a position that you will retain for much longer.â
Magnus raises a hand. The Shadowhunters flanking Highsmith sheath their weapons. âWithdraw your forces and go slinking back. This is not a request. You did not heed my warning, but you will weather the consequences.âÂ
He turns, uninterested in sparring Highsmith another second of his time. Magnus didnât see the flash, but he recognised the sign of a portal, although ⊠thereâs something about this one that is bugging him.Â
Today Iâm sending things into different rooms with just my thoughts ⊠I donât know how but wherever itâs ended up is because of me ⊠what if I do that to somebody? Make them disappear?Â
âFuck.âÂ
Nova is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at their hands as though theyâre something alien. Magnus collapses in front of them, a mirror-reflection. Theyâre shaking, tremors like the ground before an earthquake.Â
The earthquake has come. This is the aftershock.Â
âI donât know what happened.â Nova whispers, harshly. âI just wanted everything to stop. I kept wishing that I could go home, and everything got really muffled, like I was wrapped in cotton or something, but I was still here and there was so much noise, so much shouting and I was so scared-â
âMight I reach for your hand?â Magnus asks. Nova glances up, their cheeks stained with dried tears. They nod, wordlessly. Magnus turns their palms over, tracing the lines with his fingers where they glow intermittently, as though a light was shining from beneath their skin.Â
âYouâre not mad?â
âNo.â Magnusâ smile is a little thin, a little bittersweet. âNot at you. I know that Alexander is okay, wherever he is, and thatâs all that matters to me.â
Nova shakes their head. âHe could be dead, I could have-â
âYou didnât.â Magnus assures them. âI would know if he was, as sure as you knew when your magic appeared. Which, if I recall correctly, you said was behaving volatile today?â
Novaâs fingers curl against Magnusâ. âThat flash. I felt like an exposed wire. I feltâŠâ Nova frowns. âRight as it happened, I felt really calm all of a sudden, but also ⊠like my magic? I guess? Was being pulled out of me. I wasnât scared anymore, though, I felt ⊠comforted. Safe? But then I opened my eyes, and everything was the same, and all that fear came flooding back.â
Jagged pieces are coming together in Magnusâ mind. Itâs a working theory, and a weak one at that, but itâs something and thatâs enough for him to cling onto, to keep his sanity.Â
âNova. I donât mean to pressure you, so please do not take it that way, you are of course free to go wherever you please - I promise the Shadowhunters, the lot dressed in all black with their pointy egos, wonât cause you any harm, but ⊠if youâre willing, I could use your help.â
âMy help?â
Magnus wicks a portal into existence. The wind around them picks up leaves and twigs but in the little bubble he creates for them, they are safe. âThis is a portal. I sort of invented them. I have a feeling that what you did is not all that dissimilar, but I need your help to figure that out. I hope that Iâll be able to help you better understand your own powers, and get my husband back, but only if it is something you are comfortable with.â
Nova stares at the portal in wonder. They nod, hesitant at first and then firmer with every movement. âWhatever happened ⊠it was my fault. I know you donât blame me, somehow, but if I can help ⊠I have to. You and your husband were willing to do anything to help me, itâs the least I can do.â
âIt only takes a word, if at any point you want to bow out, or you donât feel comfortable or safe, your commitment ends. Thereâs no obligation here, okay?â
Nova nods. Magnus stands gingerly, wiping the dirt of the back of his pants and extending a hand to help pull them up. âYouâll need to keep tight hold of my hand.â He instructs. âDonât let go until I say itâs safe, otherwise I could lose you too.â
Nova squeezes Magnusâ hand. âWeâll find him.â They promise.
âOf course, we will.â Magnus smiles, wishing he could even half-convince himself.Â
---
Alec focuses his landing on the balls of his feet, leaning back to distribute his weight to his heels to cushion the impact. Itâs fortunate that, despite the length of time heâs spent behind a desk instead of in the field, heâs managed to keep up with his training. That fall could have wiped him out.Â
He takes a few seconds to focus on what he can hear, smell, see; the floor beneath him is a dark mahogany, freshly polished, the sunlight leaking in from the north facing window between drawn burgundy curtains. Outside the window echoes a busy street, tolling bells and warm chatter and ⊠horses?Â
âQuite a grand entrance. Most people just use the doorbell.â Â
The voice, familiar in the wrong ways, sweeps under his feet and knocks him backwards, scattered along the floor. Itâs only magic, which he recognises beneath its coldness, that saves him from knocking over a beautiful porcelain vase sat precariously atop an equally beautiful, engraved end table.Â
âThen again, Iâm not sure I would have invited a Shadowhunter into my home.âÂ
The voice belongs to Magnus, but he is ⊠not himself. At least not the one that Alec knows. Itâs rather like seeing a distorted mirror image for all that stands out to him as wrong.Â
The hardened glaze of Magnusâ glamoured eyes. The sneer of his mouth. The white of his knuckles curled around the top of a hardback novel. The muted colours, from his hair to his makeup-free face, to the dark pants with thin silver lines and matching suspenders over a plain black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The line of his body along the gilded lounge is carefully constructed to suggest a nonchalance which is betrayed by the tension Alec can see in the rigidity of his limbs; heâs poised to attack.Â
This is not the Magnus that Alec recognises, this is a stranger with his husbandâs face, his history, and his memories but not his present - or, rather, as Alec is quickly coming to suspect, his future.Â
âIâm sorry.â Alec tries to stand up, but as soon as his hands touch the floor, they become stuck, as though someone has glued them to the wood. His feet too are rooted in place.Â
âOh, no. Please donât apologise. Itâs not as though you barged into my home, my private sanctuary, with no warning.â Magnus purses his lips. âYou did not pull a weapon on me. I will admit that is a nice change.â
Alec canât feel along his back for his quiver, but heâs fairly certain his weapons hadnât travelled with him. Magnus had cloaked them to appear when he needed them, but itâs unlikely they were spelled in preparation for a situation such as this. Not that he is 100% clear on what this even is.Â
âWho are you?â Magnus waves a hand dismissively. âPlease donât say âShadowhunterâ, I am quite aware of that much, even if your runes werenât visible only child soldiers hold themselves with such rigid arrogance. I will concede the outfit is quite out of the ordinary, however.â
Alec clears his throat. He has to be delicate about this. âMy name is Alexander.â He shifts his weight and draws his shoulders in as best he can. âAlexander L-uh, Wayland. Alexander Wayland.â
Smooth.
Magnus hums, folding his book and letting it fall onto the glass table in front of him. âI had suspected for a fleeting moment that you might have been a Lightwood. No matter.â He elegantly sweeps his legs over until both are flat on the ground, his hands clasped between his knees as he leans forward with a seamless, lethal grace. âThe real question I need an answer to would be how a lanky Nephilim such as yourself made it past my wards to crash into the very room in which I had been trying to enjoy some peace and quiet. London isnât exactly known for such these days.â
âLondon?â Alec echoes, without quite thinking much of it.Â
Despite his foolish hope that he might have been wrong, the evidence was insurmountable and quite literally staring him in the face - however it might have happened, when heâd moved towards Nova heâd been sent falling and inevitably crashing into 1884. Magnus had only stayed in London for a year, hadnât been back since, and Alec has seen the photos of him, Ragnor and Camille, recognises the darkness in Magnusâ gaze as when he first talked about Camille, and how she had torn him to pieces, discarding him without a thought after she was no longer satisfied with him.Â
âMagnus, Archibald has two extra tickets for tonightâs - oh. I do not recall you informing me that you were intending on having company for the night.âÂ
A tall, slender blonde man hovers in the doorway, staring at Alec with equal parts vague intrigue and thinly veiled distaste. Everything about him exudes taste and elegance, but there is a familiarity to his features that itches at the back of Alecâs mind. He knows the manâs face, has never met him, he doesnât think, but knows him in the distant way that one knows legends and heroes. Â
âThe tickets are all yours, Woolsey.â Magnus doesnât take his eyes off Alec. âI am afraid it appears I will be a little preoccupied, I have some unexpected business to take care off. Enjoy the play on my behalf.â Â
Woolsey Scott. The founder of the Praetor Lupus.Â
This isnât funny anymore.Â
âOf course.â The corner of Woolseyâs mouth ticks up. None of the documentation around him could have ever come close to capturing the real thing. Magnus had mentioned him a few times, off handed, but Alec can see how they would have gotten along. âDonât wait up, my dear. I certainly wonât be.â
Just as quickly as he had come sweeping in, Woolsey is gone, and Alec is left to sit glued to the floor while Magnus picks him apart by gaze alone. After a few uncomfortable minutes where the distant ticking of a grandfather stirs Alec a little mad, a chair slides across the polished floor, coming to a stop seamlessly next to Alec. The magic around his hands and feet disappear. He can wiggle his toes again.Â
âI kindly suggest that you take a seat.â Magnus states in a tone that leaves no room for a refusal. âI have a few questions that need answering.â
Soooo, @incorrect-malec and I went and wrote a very sexy, very hot Malec fic! Most credit to them, because theyâre amazing and Iâm in awe constantly.
And when I say sexy, I mean like... sexy (is it bad form if iâm blushing already?)
Read it, and let us know what you think!!!
Rating: Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Chapter 1 / 2 (if you just want some hot sex this is all you need, i promise!)
Summary:
Magnus Bane has lived for centuries, has derived so much pleasure from more bodies than he could ever count. But, not like this, never like this. No person has ever looked upon him with such reverence, with so much love.
It will perhaps be the greatest irony of his long life that out of everyone else, he went and fell in love with a shadowhunter.
And when Alec kisses him, his full lips swollen and hot against his inner thigh, staring at him through those long lashes, a challenging smirk quirking his mouth to one side, time stops for Magnus.
He reaches out, slow and tentative, afraid to let go of the moment just yet. Afraid, because the brazen lust and greed and want in Alecâs eyes, all for him, will very soon morph into service for his pleasure, and suddenly, Magnus isnât sure if it's the fragility of the moment, or of his heart that heâs most afraid of.