Alec goes downstairs to work, to his stacks of paperwork and anxious downworlders seeking assistance on law-breaking shadowhunters. Magnus goes through a portal to one of his clients, to fix their wards or to sell them a potion or a spell.

Sat at his desk, buried in case files brimming with downworlder mistreatment needing to be rectified, Alec scrawls recommendations on a form and paperclips it into a file. It is almost midday. The workload has gone slowly, but productively. He had promised Magnus they could have lunch together today. He often forgets to eat if they don’t schedule it.

A commotion from outside makes him lift his head, a frown crossing his brow as his door is shoved open.

“Mr. Inquisitor,” a harried-looking shadowhunter gasps as they rush into his office. “Pardon the interruption, sir—”

“What’s happened?” Alec asks, setting his pen down and standing to meet the young man, setting a hand to his shoulder when he has to pause. “Breathe, Kieran. Tell me what’s happened.”

The boy gasps his breaths and shakes his head. “It’s your husband, sir, Mr Bane. The other Mr. Bane I mean. He’s been called to spearhead the assault against a demon attack in New York.”

“Called by who?”

“Lorenzo Rey,” says Kieran. “High Warlock of Brooklyn. He said the demons… they needed the power of a greater demon to stop them.”

Alec shakes his head in panic. “Magnus is the son of a greater demon. He isn’t a demon. He doesn’t have his father’s power.”

The boy just shakes his head. “We thought you should know about it, sir.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Alec says, gives his shoulder a brief but meaningful pat. “I need to get to New York.”

“I know, sir. There’s a warlock outside who can portal you in.”

Alec runs out of his office, greets the warlock who stands there, thanks her quickly as she whisks a portal into being before he jumps through. It spits him out on the streets of New York and a demon immediately swoops at his head. With a duck and a roll, Alec evades it. Climbing to his feet, however, he sees it is not the only one.

Dozens of demons flock the streets, screeching and roaring and beating furious wings. Warlock warding shimmers in a wide circumference, trapping the demons in a single square of Brooklyn intersection. Cars are overturned and afire, sirens blaring and lights flickering. Alec assumes the warlock’s have glamoured the place as a cover.

Magnus is right in the centre of it all.

The warlock is stood upon the roof of a badly damaged car, bleeding heavily from a cut above his eye, trailing a dark stain of crimson down the side of his face. His magic is as red as the blood, a stark and startling colour to match his rage. Alec knows his magic alters its shade to line with his emotions.

“Magnus!” he yells, but his husband doesn’t hear him.

A demon screeches and dives at Magnus and the warlock shoots a bolt of magic, disintegrating it in the air and sending ash raining to the concrete below. Alec shouts a warning, but too late. Another demon slams into Magnus’s back, knocking him from the rooftop of the car and sending him down hard to the road below.

Alec is running now, a seraph blade materialising into his hand as he summons it. The blade is not his preferred weapon by any means, but it is easier with so many of them so close. He slashes at them as they come for him, fighting to reach his husband’s side.

Magnus is climbing to his feet now, but trembling and with his hands clenched into fists in front of him. His arms slam down to his sides and a vicious shockwave emanates from his body, gold sparks like lightning cracking from his body.

A yell of shock escapes Alec as he is thrust backwards, hitting the ground hard and painful, his eyes closing against the blinding light. He curls on his side as the rushing wind of the pulse rushes over him, a hurricane in a sealed dome. It ends as quickly as it came.

Alec heaves for breath as he sits back upright.

The demons are gone. Ash scatters the ground. Warlocks are rising to their feet, breathing as hard as Alec, clearly just as shaken as he is. Despite that, Alec still stumbles forward to Magnus, who has his back to the shadowhunter, his shoulders heaving and shaking.

When Alec touches his back, Magnus turns on him with the rage of battle in his eyes and flames sparking his fingers. Alec grabs him, pulls him into a close hug. His hand cradles the back of his husband’s head.

“Magnus, relax,” he says, holds him, strokes a hand through his hair to calm that wild anger from his mind. “It’s okay. I’m here. Please…”

Magnus breathes heavily a moment, but the tension slowly eases from his shoulders and he sinks into Alec’s arms. “I’m fine,” he says, turns his face to Alec’s neck. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Alec shakes his head, pulls out of the hug a little so he can look into Magnus’s eyes, darker now under his glamour. “What was that? I… I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Magnus lifts a hand to touch his temple, absent in the light fingertips across his skin. “Alec, I… I’ve been noticing these changes for a while now. I should have told you, I’m sorry I didn’t.” He takes a breath. “Since I banished my father and since Edom fell, I’ve been… my magic has been getting stronger.”

Alec narrows his eyes. “Stronger? Like… Like your father?”

“No,” says Magnus, and the tension has taken him again. Alec regrets saying anything. “I am not like him.”

“Magnus, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m stronger than he was,” says Magnus, his eyes hard and dark. “When Edom fell, the magic there had nowhere to go. Magic can never be destroyed, only misplaced. Some of the edomai escaped and the magic was drawn to them… but most of it… most of it came to the strongest force remaining of its home.”

Alec’s eyes widen. “To you…?”

Magnus inhales deeply and nods. “Yes, Alexander… I am Edom now. I hold the power of my father’s realm.” He glances around the ash that was once demons. “All of it now…”

Alec doesn’t know what to make of this. He knows Magnus is afraid. The warlock never wants to be compared to his father, or even to have anything to do with him whatsoever. It will be even more difficult now. The warlocks around them as lingering back, wary eyes on their former leader.

Magnus lifts his own gaze to Alec, glamoured now. “Can we go home?”

Hesitation on Alec’s part makes his husband frown. The shadowhunter lifts his hand to trace absent fingers along the curve of Magnus’s temple.

“Show me your eyes.”

Magnus frowns. “I am.”

“No, your real eyes.”

There is a spark of confusion in Magnus’s dark gaze, but he does as Alec wishes. The glamour falls, reveals golden irises and slit pupils. Alec breathes out slowly. Tilting his head up, he presses a lingering kiss to Magnus’s forehead, ducks to his lips and keeps his eyes closed even when they break apart.

“I love you,” he says simply. “I love you just like this. Whatever changes, you won’t ever change enough for me to stop.”

Magnus swallows hard. “I love you too, Alexander.”

Having the same power doesn’t mean that Magnus is anything like his father. Whatever happens, whatever Magnus thinks that this new power means, Alec will always love him. That is something that will never change.

Alec lifts a hand to his cheek, coaxes his head to turn so he can place a gentle kiss to his husband’s lips. When they part, Magnus blinks up at him. His eyes are soft and gorgeous and gold and Alec loves him more than anything in this world.

Even a brief trip such as this one is sufficient enough. Her power can be felt throughout the realm. The demons know her. As long as she keeps a strong command, they will continue their fear of her.

Another presence closes in, however, and Lilith frowns her disapproval as she glances over her shoulder. There is someone in her castle.

“Do not presume you can linger in the shadows,” she says, not caring to raise her voice. “I know you’re there.”

There is a moment of stillness, a few seconds of uncertain silence, before a man slinks his way into the room. A cane taps the floor as he approaches, the demon relying heavily upon it to walk; she had always secretly wondered why that is. Golden cat’s eyes flicker in the firelight.

“Asmodeus,” says Lilith in a simple acknowledgement of his presence.

“I hear the strangest rumours here,” Asmodeus says, his voice smooth and careless, as if he hadn’t just waltzed into the Queen’s castle uninvited. Though she didn’t plan of ever expressing it, she felt a spark of admiration for his bravado. “The edomai are restless. It seems you’ve been creating some trouble on Earth… In New York.”

Lilith curls her lip. “Why does it matter to you what squalid corner I choose to carry out my plans?”

Asmodeus lifts his head, tilts it a little. “The edomai whisper many things. They say you meddle with nephilim. I know that, whatever you’re doing on earth, you do it for your son… I have a son too. One who may yet oppose your plans… I would thank you not to harm him.”

Lilith doesn’t try to hold in a laugh, high and surprised and causing her head to throw back with the sheer force of it. The greater demon before her remains unamused, however. She controls her laughter, yet still holds the amusement in a smile as she shakes her head in disbelief.

“Oh, Asmodeus…” she croons. “I didn’t take you for one who cares for his family. This boy of yours… why would he oppose me?”

“He is burdened with empathy,” says Asmodeus, a brief hint of disgust sparking his eyes, “and he holds a love for one of the nephilim. That is the price of creating a half-breed with a mortal… But he is mine.” His head lifts a little higher, almost challenging. “You don’t seem to grasp my meaning, so I will speak plainly… If you kill my son, I will wage war upon you.”

Lilith blinks slowly. It isn’t often that she receives a threat from anyone, let alone someone who may actually pose a danger of following through on it. “I understand,” she says. “You have my word, although I’m unsure how much that means to you. I am not exactly known for my binding oaths, but I won’t harm your son.”

“I’m grateful.”

Lilith hums, regards him a moment before she returns her absent gaze to watch over her kingdom. Desolate and barren as it is, Edom is hers. “As long as he doesn’t harm mine.”

Demons though they are, and despite the humans and the nephilim dubbing them as monsters, they are capable of more than mindless cruelty. They are parents, and ones who will go to great lengths to ensure their children’s safety. To those who threaten that safety, they will see that demons can live up to their monstrosity.

It took a little searching to find him.

Stood before the wall adjacent to the doors of the main room, Magnus was dressed in a long-tailed, lavender cardigan with a white vest top beneath, black leggings ending in fluffy grey socks. He was painting the wall with a roller, a deep, dark yellow. His hair had been getting longer and longer. He usually kept it swept backwards and sideways. Now, it was long enough to be tied back in a messy bun, albeit with a few loose locks framing his face.

Alec’s throat went so tight it was a miracle he could still breathe. Magnus glanced up, noticing him for the first time, and a fond smile curled his lips. If Alec was having trouble before, he was entirely breathless now.

“Hey, you’re back early,” Magnus said as a way of greeting, placing the roller down in the paint tray and sauntering forward to peck a welcoming kiss to his cheek. Alec leaned into it. A curious frown furrowed the warlock’s brow as he pulled away a fraction, still smiling as Alec stared at him. “What is it? Is there paint on my face?”

Alec shook his head, swallowing hard. “You look wonderful.”

Magnus tilted his head, smiling his gratitude. “Thank you, Alexander. You’re pretty handsome yourself.” He fixed the lapels of Alec’s jacket, smoothing them out with a smile. “I love seeing you all dressed up in your finery. A diplomat must have exquisite sartorial taste, of course. I’m sure the Detroit Institute were very impressed.”

“No, I mean it,” Alec muttered, lifting a hand to Magnus’s cheek, openly admiring him. “I’ve never seen you with your hair up before.”

“Oh,” said Magnus, lifting a hand to absently touch his tied back hair. “No, I don’t suppose you have. It’s getting a little long. I suppose I just haven’t found the energy to cut it.”

“I like it,” Alec assured, knowing that Magnus didn’t need his approval, but wishing to compliment him all the same. It was one of his favourite things in the world to do. Magnus deserved to hear every compliment that Alec could come up with. “You’re so beautiful.”

A soft, pink blush dashed Magnus’s cheeks and he smiled into the kiss that Alec pressed to the corner of his mouth, turning his head to align their lips and giving Alec another chaste, close-lipped kiss. When they broke apart, Magnus hummed his satisfaction and rested his forehead against Alec’s own.

“Out of curiosity,” Alec begins, looks to the recently decorated apartment, “why are you painting the walls?”

“Oh, I… You know,” Magnus shrugged, glancing around the apartment, “it’s just to pass the time. I think I’ll leave the rest just bare brick. I’ve done the wall in our bedroom and the one by the door.” He paused and sighed softly. “I’m sorry, uh… things haven’t exactly been busy for me lately.”

Alec swallowed hard, fought not to duck his gaze in guilt. He and Magnus had been in Alicante for almost three months now. The warlock had convinced him to take a diplomat job when it was offered and Alec had convinced The Clave to accommodate a warlock in the city. Sometimes Magnus was allowed to accompany Alec on his trips. More often, he wasn’t. Most days, he was home alone.

Alec tried to help his boredom, but he was so busy with his new role that there wasn’t a great deal of time for them to be together. The timetable was less than ideal, but Magnus never complained.

Because of their separation, however, and Magnus’s aversion to shadowhunters, the warlock was forced to fill the time with a plethora of new hobbies. Alec himself had filled his spare time with training during Magnus’s baking phase, not wanting to lose his physique, but still needing to indulge Magnus’s skills and interests.

There was no denying: his husband was a damn good cook.

The loft was Magnus’s safe space. Outside these walls was a city full of shadowhunters. Alec was doing everything he could to integrate more downworlders into the city, but, in all honesty, he was travelling so much that he was barely in the city either. It wasn’t easy. The downworlders didn’t want to be there and The Clave didn’t want them there. If truth be told, it was a bit of a nightmare.

“So,” Magnus said, touched Alec’s cheek just so briefly, “tell me about your day. How was the Detroit Institute?”

Alec let out a slow breath, shook his head. “You don’t want to hear about my day. It’s boring.”

“Hey,” Magnus chided, clutched Alec’s face in both hands. “You could never bore me, Alexander.”

Lifting his hands, Alec gently prised Magnus’s touch from his face, holding him and tugging him forward. “Regardless, I have other plans right now if you don’t mind.” He tilted his head in soft query. “Dance with me?”

Magnus chuckled. “What?”

“Dance,” Alec echoed slowly and purposefully, “with me.”

Humming his intrigue, Magnus obediently followed his husband to the main room, casting a magic-flared hand out to push the sofas aside and give them some floor space. A surprised kind of laugh escaped his lips when Alec pulled him in by the waist, so their bodies were pressed flush together.

“Looks like someone wants to lead.”

“Is that okay?” Alec asked, worried now that Magnus might not want him leading. Dancing is something important to Magnus, something beautiful and sacred, and the last thing Alec wants to do is ruin it for him. He still wasn’t hugely experienced with the technique.

Magnus snapped his fingers and the stereo began playing out the first chords of a soft melody. “That’s perfect, my love,” he murmured, falling easily into position against Alec’s chest, one hand on his shoulder, the other clasping Alec’s own. “Why the sudden urge to dance…. if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Because you love dancing,” said Alec, placing a hand on Magnus’s waist to pull him in, “and I love you.”

Magnus hummed his intrigue, pressing close to Alec’s chest, allowing the shadowhunter to lead him through the gentle sways of the slow dance. “Still, I didn’t think you liked dancing. Why did you decide to do this all of a sudden? Admittedly, I didn’t take you for the random gesture type.”

Alec frowned and his mouth turned downwards. “What, I can’t do nice things for my husband?”

“Of course you can, Alexander. Don’t be defensive.” He lifted his head to meet his husband’s gaze. “You’re just so purposeful, my darling. This feels so… out of the blue.”

Alec quirked a smile and spun Magnus around, making the warlock chuckle softly as he was pulled back in. “Well, the purpose of this is that I want to be romantic every once in a while, because I love you. You deserve a random gesture type. So, I’m going to dance with my husband in our home, and he’s not going to complain about it.”

“I was not complaining!”

“Then he’s not going to question it,” Alec corrected himself with a smile. “He’s just going to let me dance with him.”

He did.

Magnus didn’t say another word about it, but he was smiling so Alec took that as a win. It made him sad sometimes when Magnus was like that; so surprised to be treated kindly without cause. Even now, when Alec presented him with a gift—just small things like flowers or chocolates—he still seemed so shocked by it.

For someone so loved, Magnus was still the very definition of humility.

He laughed when Alec span and dipped him, his hand coming to the back of Alec’s neck to pull himself into the kiss that his husband pressed to his lips. Alec pulled him up, never daring to break their lips, and, even after so many times, it still felt like magic. The touch of Magnus’s lips on his own still burst fireworks behind closed eyes.

It was still so overwhelming. Alec loved him more than life and Magnus was here and his and he could hardly believe it was true. It still felt like a dream sometimes.

“I love you,” he whispered, one hand to Magnus’s hip, the other still clasping together with the warlock’s own. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Alexander.”

Alec breathed out slowly, pressed his forehead to Magnus’s own, desperate to remain as close as possible but still needing to talk. “I want to stay here,” he said, barely more than a breath. “I want to stay in this moment forever. I want to stay with you forever.”

The hand Magnus had on his shoulder lifted to cradle the side of the shadowhunter’s neck. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

Alec hesitated. It was the terrible truth of their relationship. Magnus wasn’t going anywhere, but Alec would have to one day. Angel-blooded he may be, he was mortal.

“Hey,” Magnus uttered, giving him a knowing kind of look, impossibly soft. “You need to learn how to switch off that busy brain, alright?” He kissed Alec softly. “How about we have a quiet night in, yes? We can find an old movie and I can conjure up some food, whatever you want.”

“I want what you want,” Alec said, the pad of his thumb across Magnus’s cheek. “This is my favourite place in the world.”

Magnus angled his head a little to the side. “Your favourite place is the loft, or your favourite place is with me?”

Without makeup and forgoing all jewellery besides his wedding ring, Magnus was dressed down in his sleepwear: black boxers with an unfairly low-cut vest top to match. Above that, however, he donned a grey dressing gown.

This one was different from his robes, all silk and satin, and intricate embroidery. Alec loved this one the most simply because it was soft. He had been the one to convince Magnus that he needed a proper dressing gown, one that was so soft it was feather-light to the touch.

“Hey,” Alec greeted properly as he wandered over, sitting himself beside his husband on the sofa, lifting an arm to go around Magnus’s shoulders. His husband leaned into his touch. “What’re you reading?”

“It’s just some old age herbal remedies,” said Magnus, glanced back to Alec briefly. “It would bore you.”

Alec didn’t try to argue. His husband was a wonder and Alec was still is awe of his magic and his skill, but there were certain aspects that he simply couldn’t get into, herbs being one of them. There were too many plants in the world. No one could be expected to remember them all.

“How about angel?”

Alec curled his lip in disapproval. “No.”

“Angel is perfect!” Magnus insisted, turned his head to Alec with determination in his eyes. “It’s cute and semi-accurate!”

“Sure, it’d be like me calling you demon,” Alec countered, tilting his head when Magnus pouted his thought. “You’re not telling me you’d like that.”

Magnus is quiet a moment. “… I’m considering it.”

“No, you aren’t,” Alec complained, one arm pulling him close and leaning to kiss the crown of his head forcefully, chidingly almost. “You aren’t so determined to give me a pet name that you’d accept me calling you demon. That’s why angel is absolutely off the table.”

Humming softly, Magnus shifted and went back to his book. He wasn’t done with his quest. Alec wasn’t sure he’d ever be done, but that wasn’t his main focus anymore. His attention was taken by his husband’s newly angled legs.

Thanks to that small shift, Magnus’s thighs were now peeking out from beneath his dressing gown, revealed right up to the fabric of his boxers, his skin dark and smooth and his legs crossed over one another under the fabric. Alec set a hand just above his knee, his thumb stroking absently at the skin. It was hot beneath his hand.

Warlocks ran hot. It was something Alec had grown accustomed to from his time with Magnus. During the summer, or simply on unseasonably warm nights, however, Alec sometimes found himself waking up in the morning on the floor, having rolled out of bed to escape Magnus’s additional warmth. He always took the duvet with him, woke up with it draped halfway over him. Magnus never noticed until morning, when he would chuckle at Alec’s mop of hair sticking out from under the duvet.

After mornings like that, Magnus would adjust the temperature in the loft, made it cold at night so Alec could be comfortable sleeping with him in their bed again.

The predicament of summer was nothing compared to the joy of winter.

Magnus was like Alec’s personal radiator. He was always warm. When Alec came home from work, returned from patrolling the streets on those unbearably cold nights, Magnus would hold him until the chill had fled from his skin. His touch on those nights was like fire. Alec loved every second of it.

He loved it now.

Magnus cast him a side-eyed glance, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Should I put my book down?”

“If you want,” Alec murmured, not looking at him, his hand slowly creeping higher up Magnus’s thigh, his fingertips skating over warm, smooth skin.

Magnus uncrossed his legs without looking up from his book and Alec grinned as he realised that his husband was challenging him. Luckily for Alec, he knew exactly how to get Magnus’s attention. Their time as husbands—albeit brief so far, barely more than six months—had taught him much.

His fingers dipped lower to the inside of Magnus’s thigh, teasing under the edge of his boxers.

Magnus bit the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes, and Alec knew he was lost. His other hand went to Magnus’s waist, untying the loose belt of his dressing gown and pushing the fabric aside so he could slide a hand beneath Magnus’s shirt. Alec ducked his head, pressing his lips and the tip of his tongue to the now exposed skin of Magnus’s abdomen.

Magnus put his book down.

His hand came to the back of Alec’s head, coaxing him back upright. “You have... officially got my attention,” he said, staring at Alec’s lips. Alec didn’t mind. He was staring at Magnus’s too. “It’s very bold of you. Maybe I should be going for something a little raunchier…”

“Don’t.”

“Hmm, sexy? Would you like me calling you sexy? That is one hundred percent true at least; you can’t deny it.”

“You’re biased and it’s an awful pet name,” Alec murmured.

“I’m not biased, sexy baby,” Magnus whispered. Alec felt like he could have said anything in that tone—slow and sensual—and Alec would have agreed to it. He realised then that he might be a bit of a pushover when it comes to Magnus. He would do anything for his husband. Maybe not this, however. This might be his line.

“Gentle reminder that I’m a grown man and babies aren’t sexy,” he managed to get out, and Magnus pouted in soft thought.

“My Alexander,” he murmured, kissed the underside of Alec’s jaw. “So eager to prove his strength; as if any of it needs proving. My strong, beautiful husband. Such a stud.”

Alec took his hips, squeezing them firmly. “Do not start calling me stud.”

“Loverboy?”

“No.”

“Tiger.”

“Do not start with the animal things again.”

Magnus grins and leans in to press a lingering kiss to his husband’s lips. “I suppose I’ll have to keep trying then.”

Alec hummed and slid his hands around to Magnus’s back, pulling him in close to kiss him again, deeper now and more heated. Magnus’s own hands came to brace either side of Alec’s neck. His lips were soft and hot and they tasted of cherries. Alec sometimes imagined what it was like for Magnus to kiss him. His lips were rougher than his husband’s.

He wondered if that was a good thing or not. Maybe Magnus preferred women’s lips. They must be softer than Alec’s.

Regardless of his preferences, Magnus never complained.

“I love you,” Alec says when they break for air, “even if you’re an absolute menace sometimes.”

“Oh, I love you too, darling.”

Alec pouted his consideration, smiled into another kiss. “Maybe I’ll let you keep that one.”

Magnus canted his head and Alec watched shamelessly as his husband turned, swung a leg across his own so he could straddle himself over Alec’s lap. “You like ‘darling’?” he asked, leaning forward to mouth at Alec’s neck over the deflect rune. His knees pressed into the sofa beside Alec’s hips. “My darling Alexander…”

It was on pure instinct that Alec leaned his head back, giving Magnus untethered access to his neck. “I guess I don’t hate it,” he muttered.

“Shush, you love it,” Magnus uttered, kissed his throat. “Sweetheart.”

Alec hummed his uncertainty, his steadfast reluctance to let Magnus give him a pet name. He knew that he was just being difficult now. Magnus could probably choose whatever name he wanted and Alec would be compliant. Anything to make his husband happy.

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Magnus said with a smile, lifting his head to fix dark, glamoured eyes on his husband. “Sweetheart.”

“My mother calls me that sometimes,” Alec admitted.

Magnus kissed his forehead. “Perfect,” he said. “That means I’m definitely allowed to use it.”

He tilted Alec’s chin back a little further, the pad of his thumb stroking across the slope of Alec’s throat. The shadowhunter swallowed hard, making the warlock grin wickedly. Alec recognised that sharp glimmer in his eyes better than anything—that glint of brightness just before he dropped his glamoured—and he shifted as anticipation coiled a knot in his stomach.

“Sweet Alexander…” Magnus uttered, his true eyes catching the light, gold and gleaming. “Shall we retire to the bedroom, my love?”