#malec drabble

Based on this prompt

Magnus leans back in the rattan chair and chooses 'truth'.

"Are you a top or a bottom?" Jace asks.

Alec hits his parabatai over the head with one of the firm pillows from the sofa. They started to play stupid party games after realising that the born and raised shadowhunters never had heard of them. Alec is already regretting agreeing to it.

"Ouch!" Jace hisses, rubbing the painful spot. "It's just a question."

"He needs to answer," Izzy points out, sounding as if she were a judge proclaiming a sentence, and takes a sip from her wine glass.

"I have no problem answering that," Magnus says. Alec grabs his arm, eyes full of concern, but his boyfriend pats his hand. "It's okay, Alexander. I'm not ashamed of who I am." He leans closer to Jace and says, "It depends on the cuddle pile. I don't want too many people on top of me. But if it's six or less, I'm fine being at the bottom."

Jace blinks at him while Clary falls giggling against her boyfriend's shoulder.

"That's not what I meant," Jace grumbles.

"Wait," Simon calls. "You're fine with six people on top of you? I know you're immortal, but as a warlock you still need to breathe, right?"

"Of course. But I actually like it sometimes—the pressure, the surrender, the feeling of being one with everyone around. Back in the 1960s, we did it all the time. We cuddled a lot. I think at some point I had The Stones and The Beatles all over me, if you know what I mean," Magnus says and winks at Simon.

"You married the best and worst liar of all time, bro," Jace chuckles.

"I'm not lying, Jonathan. I'm embellishing the truth," Magnus says and snaps his fingers. Two photographs appear in his hand, one showing Paul McCartney kissing Magnus' cheek, the other Janis Joplin sleeping wrapped over his chest.

"Damn!" Simon breathes.

"Did you sleep with them?" Clary blurts out.

"A gentleman never tells, biscuit," Magnus replies and cuddles against his husband.

"Smooth," Alec whispers into his ear.

"I always am, my love."

"I still don't believe it. No one can enjoy lying buried under a pile of people," Jace says, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"Is that a challenge, Mr Herondale?"

"It sure is, Mr Lightwood-Bane."

Magnus snaps his fingers, and the coffee table is replaced with a pile of pillows.

Magnus swirls around elegantly and lands in it with a giggle.

"Challenge accepted," he chuckles.

Alec rolls his eyes but joins him. Izzy, Clary, and Simon follow soon after, building a giggling and snickering pile of bodies.

"Come, Jonathan. I can take it."

"Why can't you say anything without sounding naughty?" Jace asks.

"It's a natural talent," Magnus quips.

"C'mere," Alec orders. "We all know you want to."

Jace rolls his eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"You started it," Magnus points out.

Jace shakes his head and carefully lowers himself onto Simon's back.

Magnus is chaos, he knows it. He breaks too many times. Himself, everything. People around him tend to quiver, unable to look at him for more than a few seconds. He is nothing more than a respite in their life. A distraction. So, he decided to act like one. For a century, he acted like everyone expected him to, the best way to get exactly what he wanted.

But then, came Alec, Alexander, his angel, the Shadowhunter with a heart bigger than the Sun in his eyes.

Sometimes, when Magnus worries sick in their empty bed and closes his eyes until he hears his sweet angel come home, Magnus thinks Alec has been conceived just to torture him.

Like a conspiracy between his heart that felt neglected for all those years and a deity who he must have offended in a previous life or a previous century… Because Alec is everything he has ever needed. Alec is everything.

And Magnus can’t lose him. Ever.

11. Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

Alec wakes up feeling warm. A feeling that is unlike what he felt the night before. He almost doesn't notice the soreness in his muscles, the lingering pain from the bruises left on his body.

He gives in to the comfort he is feeling, despite the slight pain. He sighs, and without opening his eyes, burrows himself further into the pillows and the body curved around his back. The arm around his waist tightens a bit, but still careful to not hurt him, which makes him smile almost involuntarily.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. He just wants to keep feeling warm and comfortable like this, with his husband's arms around him all day. He deserves that, he thinks, after the hell that was the night before. Not like Magnus is going to let him out of his sight, much less the house, today.

Alec feels Magnus shift behind him, so he turns around in his lover's arms. He breathes in the familiar sandalwood scent, eyes still closed. Cuddling further into Magnus' chest, Alec sleepily mumbles, "Thank you for taking care of me last night."

Magnus squeezes the arm that is holding Alec in response. "How do you feel?"

"Warm," Alec says with a smile.

Magnus hums and starts rubbing up and down Alec's back in a slow motion. Alec can feel Magnus' breath getting even again as he slips back into slumber, his own breath doing the same.

When he wakes up again, he suspects it is somewhere around noon, because he feels way more rested than he did before, like he slept for a few more hours. Magnus' arms are still around him, and he takes a breath full of that sweet sandalwood scent again.

"G'morning," Magnus whispers in a groggy voice as he starts waking up too.

"Morning," Alec whispers back. "I hope you're not too tired from healing me last night."

"Mm, I'm alright," Magnus says.

Alec feels the lightest press of Magnus' lips against his forehead so he tilts his head up, searching for Magnus' lips, his eyes still closed.

They chuckle in unison as Magnus' lips find Alec's jaw. They blindly seek each other's mouth, never opening their eyes, just letting the feel of the other person direct them. Alec thinks he lets out a sigh as their lips finally meet, immediately opening up under each other's touch. The kiss is slow, not unlike the morning. They know there is no rush, just lingering feelings of last night. Of being in each other's arms. Of love and relief.

Alec doesn't want to stop; he just wants to keep kissing Magnus. But Magnus finally pulls away a little, and whispers against Alec's lips, "I hate when you get hurt, even a little."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry," Alec says, his breath caressing Magnus' lips before his mouth follows.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," Magnus says when he pulls back again.

Alec finally opens his eyes for the first time that morning and looks at Magnus, whose eyes are still closed. He brings up one hand to cup his husband's face, his thumb slowly caressing Magnus' cheek. He presses a kiss to Magnus' nose and whispers, "I love you."

“Was it scary for you, Alec? Coming out?” Alec looked at the teen before him. “It was. Sometimes you come out because you’re ready. Sometimes.” He thought of Magnus. “You come out because someone helps you finish figuring things out. Sometimes you don’t have a choice. It’s a scary lesson to learn. But know that you have the support of this center. You’re definitely not alone.” The teen smiled before his friend called him over and he ran off. “You’re good with the teens.” Magnus said, coming up behind Alec to hug him. “I’ve been in their shoes.” Alec murmured.

Alec (pull-away-to-see-Magnus-follow) Lightwood does indeed stand taller to see Magnus stand on his tip toes to reach for his lips. 

The first time is entirely unintentional.

Alec’s neck begins aching, when he leans back to relieve the pressure–Magnus follows suit, continuing the kiss.

Somehow Magnus feels taller–he’s standing on his tiptoes–the fact settles with a jolt of arousal.

Unable to resist, Alec tests it again–and again.

Magnus, refusing to allow the kiss to be interrupted, follows each time. It’s exhilarating, knowing that Magnus would follow his lead and crave it enough to–

“You’re overdoing it, pup.” Magnus growls softly, biting at his lower lip, his fingernails digging into Alec’s waist to anchor himself.

He moved like Atlas, with the weight of the world settled on his broad shoulders and weighing down each step he took.

He was always moving, constant and steady as any other natural force. Like all of the energy that he stored up throughout the day wasn’t able to be harnessed and had to be released in the subtle shifting of muscle and bone under tanned, ruined skin.

He'd seen him moving under the gold of the tuxedo that he’d almost married a woman he didn’t love in, his shoulders a taught line of tension and anxiety. He’d watched his clenching around words that had been unspoken, and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he’d swallowed hard and made his decision. He'd felt more than seen the way that his jaw had worked as he'd kissed him, passionately and without reserve, in front of every person in the world that he cared about heedless of the consequences.

There had been the way that he’d moved on the balcony of his apartment after he’d been possessed. The bunching and sinew of tendons in his hands as he pushed on the bleeding and torn skin. The swivel of his head to turn miserable, aching eyes to look at him with a silent plea to help him know exactly what he was supposed to do.

He’d seen the stretch of muscle when he’d dipped his head for a kiss. The lean muscle of his neck and the tendons that curled over his shoulders under threadbare t-shirts. The slide of slim, graceful, archer’s fingers into the lapels of his jacket to pull him into the kiss.

There was the constant movement of his hands as he spoke. They sliced through the air to punctuate a point, or they whirled in absent circles to help move his train of thought along while he tried to find his way through a sentence. His favorite was the way that his fingertips found their way under his chin to bring their gazes together as he spoke in hushed tones into the space between them.

He’d seen the way that he cradled a scared warlock child to his chest, protecting her from the melee around them and whispering hushed reassurances into her ear. His large hand had cupped the back of her head, holding her fast to him as he wove around sparks of magic and sprays of ichor. He'd used the back of his fingers to brush the tears from her chubby cheeks outside of the homestead that they'd been in as he knelt in front of her and told her that he wasn't going to let anyone hurt her and that she shouldn't be ashamed of her beautiful, lavender-colored magic.

He moved so effortlessly with his parabatai, their steps never seeming to falter around one another, in battle or simply in existing. He and Jace were like two magnets, counterbalancing enough to keep the other in close proximity but never quite colliding despite how closely they moved together. When Jace needed him, he was always across the space between them in a shockingly small number of steps, his arms wound around Jace to comfort him without words needing to be spoken to ask for the gesture.

He moved like a force of nature when he was in battle, his hands moving swiftly to send his arrows through all that wanted to do his family harm with a righteous fury. He was truly a force to be reckoned with as his muscles flexed and moved gracefully, propelling him into deadly, fluid motion. He was like a crouched tiger, all power and stealth, stalking through the tall grass and ready to spring forward as soon as the time was right.

He moved like a rolling wave under the silk sheets of their bed, an ebb and flow against his own body that was always in perfect rhythm. He moved with a confidence and ease that wasn’t always easy for him. When his nails dug into his shoulder and his forehead pressed to his neck with his mouth dropped open in silent ecstasy, there was nothing more perfect.

Even with that knowledge, he’d still never seen him move like he was.

There was sweat clinging to the runed skin of his arms as he moved. It was all consuming and the movement of every single muscle was like a beacon of perfection, drawing him closer. He walked silently across the room, stopping a few feet away to continue taking in the sight in front of him.

He was mesmerizing, the way his fingers moved over the strings. It was evident as the slipped and slid along the metal that there was blood welling on his fingertips. He’d obviously been playing for far too long.

His throat bobbed and strained as he pushed the lyrics out with heartbreaking sincerity, his eyes closed, and his chest heaved with ragged breaths around the words. The shine of his wedding band caught in the low light of the room and immediately drew his gaze.

His husband was beautiful and the way he moved never failed to make something shake loose in his heart but watching him put everything he had into the guitar across his lap as the song came to a haunting close was enough to send chills down his arms.

“You’re staring again, Magnus.” Alec had whispered, his hand flat on the guitar, not bothering to swivel on the stool to face him.

“You’re beautiful, as always.” The blush that moved up the back of his neck was deep and swift. Magnus stepped forward and slipped his arms around his shoulders. “You move me, Alexander.”

just a lil malec smut inspired equally by a post i saw one time about alec eating trans magnus out and my burning anger towards james charles.