#warlock alec

“The man is 200 years old, and we don’t have one high quality picture of him?”

Hodge gives Magnus an exasperated look and carries on with the presentation, “Alec Lightwood is High Warlock of Brooklyn. As Magnus blatantly put it, he is 200 years old, which is deemed young for warlocks. The fact he has this position shows how intelligent, resourceful, and clever he is. He’s dangerous and sharp as a nail. If we’re going to find him and interrogate him, we’re going to need to be smart about this.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, flipping his dagger between his painted fingers. He squints at the pictures on the screen, presumably the only four photos they have of this Alec. One is of a group of French and American soldiers, and many of them have their arms bandaged and blood and dirt on their faces. They’re standing in rubble and smiling goofily at the camera. There is one man in the back with his face turned, blood and guck dirtying his face. His black hair is long and disheveled with a beret on top.

Magnus has no idea how anyone found this picture, or narrowed down the identification of the soldier to be Alec Lightwood. Though, the man in the photo was staring off and had a way about him that differentiated him from the others. His body posture and the one side of his exposed face was calculating, showing an envious amount of knowledge and experience. Like he knew something everyone else didn’t.

The other photos are of him on the battlefield with only half his face, and then one is a faraway photo of him standing in front of the Titanic when it was still docked in England. There are a few question marks on that photo, but Magnus highly doubts this extremely smart man who avoids cameras and attention like his life depends on it would sink a ship.

“Why do we need to find him anyway?” Catarina asks beside Magnus.

“The Consul needs to know where the warlocks are with Valentine. More and more of them are disappearing, whether from Valentine kidnapping them for his experiments or they’re going into hiding,” Hodge explains with a sigh. He scratches his neck. “Magnus helped us out with knowing Clary. She didn’t say where Alec lives, but she slipped and said a group of them are meeting at Pandemonium.”

“So he may not even be there,” Ragnor dulls, rolling his eyes. He stands with a dramatic huff, patting his pockets for his seraph blade.

“It’s our best chance,” Hodge clips. “We’re leaving in thirty.”

*****

Magnus goes to Pandemonium on a weekly basis. He tells Robert and Hodge he goes there for researching purposes, but he knows they know that’s complete bullshit. He’s a people person. Always will be. He enjoys being surrounded with fun people and partying the evening and night away. He may be a shadowhunter, but he will never say no to a round of shots and dancing.

The first night he had gotten dirty looks when they saw his runes, and he was ignored by most of them. It was fine with him. He can get down with any crowd. He knew a few vampires, including Raphael who introduced him to a group of vampires and werewolves there. Once they realized he wasn’t there to interrogate or had any shadowhunter gear on, they slowly loosened up and treated him like one of their own.

Safe to say it was weird walking into the club with his gear and runes on display. His throwing stars are hitched on his hips and lower thigh, and they glow in the neon room. His normal acquaintances throw him second glances, hesitance and worry on their pensive faces. They step back, their backs straight and ready for anything as he walks by.

Magnus already lost Cat in the crowd, and he can count on her to scout out the suspects. The only details they have on the High Warlock are black hair, pale skin, and he is slightly taller than Magnus.

The shadowhunter eyes up the taller men, taking note of their clothes. The man has to have either a good or an old taste in clothes, since he’s lived many decades. He also has to be rich based on his age. One doesn’t live for a very long time without learning how to make profit.

Nobody fits the bill, and he’s walked the entire building. Cat finds him in the middle and informs him she’s leaving. The warlock is obviously not here, and they’ll have to get in contact with Clary again if she’s willing. Magnus spots her dancing with a blond boy, Jace. If he wasn’t dressed and armed, he would make sure to shove into him. He’s never been a fan of him, and he hates how he’s immortal and will be a pain in the ass for a long time to come.

Magnus waltzes over to the bar and orders a hard drink for his troubles. Everyone avoids his stare, and he even has to call for the bartender a few times to be serviced. He takes a seat next to a man in a rugged gray sweater. He’s slouched over his drink like he’s protecting it, and he’s got his chin in his hands. A hood covers his hair, and black tufts poke out from underneath. They’re unruly and fluffy, and Magnus really wants to run his fingers through it. The AC in the room blows at the stranger’s hood.

Magnus turns and throws the stranger a wide charming smile, and he makes sure to tongue the thin red straw that’s used to stir his drink. The bartender must not have wanted to be bothered again because his whiskey is stronger than he expects.

“Hi, handsome,” the shadowhunter drawls, placing his chin on his hand and fluttering his lashes. Yup, very strong drink indeed.

The man tenses and gives him a blank stare, and his hazel eyes look Magnus over. Magnus really wishes he brought another set of clothes, especially when the man responds with an unimpressed, “Hi.”

Magnus is not one to give up easily, and he turns his body to face the hot stranger. “What are you drinking?”

The man blinks, appearing to have remembered he had a drink in the first place. He must be sitting right underneath a draft because his hood moves subtly, and he reaches to adjust it. He thumbs his own straw, “I don’t know. Something Meliorn made me.”

Magnus hums, taking a glance at the man’s hands and how large they are. His fingers are long and have an admiring way about them. The alcohol is getting to his head. He treads a thin line when he moves his chair an inch closer, “I’ve been here a lot. Regular customer really. I bet I can guess your drink.”

The man’s mouth twitches in what Magnus hopes to be humor, “Regular customer is an understatement.”

Magnus gapes in humiliation, before realizing what the man just admitted. He throws the stranger a wicked grin, daring to pull a fake piece of a lint off the man’s shoulder. “So you’ve been keeping an eye on me, handsome?”

The man doesn’t answer him right away. Magnus wonders if he’s going too far with this and making the man straightly uncomfortable, but all he does is fidget and straighten his back when Magnus starts playing footsie with him. “You’re, uh, usually wearing more colorful clothing.”

Magnus grins like a cat, becoming more daring and toying with the hood. The stranger’s cheeks are pink and flustered, and he’s always been a sucker for blushing men who don’t know what to do with their hands. His hazel eyes linger over his face, taking longer at his lips.

Magnus chugs the rest of his drink, purposely allowing a few droplets to slide down his chin. The man watches it happen, and his full lips part completely mesmerized. Magnus licks his lips for good measure and stands incredibly close to him. Their shared body heat rises in temperature, and Magnus wishes he would take off his sweater.

He fiddles with a string he finds, eyes never leaving the man, “I can wear whatever you’d like, baby.” The man shivers at his words, pupils enlarging and chest heaving faster as if he’s never been approached so unabashedly before. Shame, really, he’s blushing so pretty.

“Your sweater is cute and all,” Magnus whispers loud enough for only them to hear. “I would much rather see you take it off.” Maybe he’s too tipsy for this because the moment he touches the hood, the man’s hand snatches his wrist firmly. He is about to apologize, but then the man reaches out with his other hand, caressing Magnus’s cheek and bringing their lips together.

The kiss is awkward at first, as Magnus is more than tipsy right now. But once the room stops spinning, he goes all in. He tilts his head, fitting their lips together better and tasting the peach rum on his lips. The flavor is heavenly, and he curses the angels before slipping his tongue into the deepening kiss. The man sighs into his mouth, and Magnus feels uncertain hands on his waist.

Magnus must have climbed into the stranger’s lap because he’s towering over him now. He runs his hands down his chest, feeling the defined muscle hiding underneath. He doesn’t even know this man’s name, but he wants this man under him or on top of him. He’s not picky, and he smells so enticing.

“Hey!” an angry voice calls. “None of that here. I don’t care who you are. You can’t have sex in my bar.”

The man immediately tries to pull away, and Magnus has none of it. He grabs a hand and pulls him out of the chair and towards a hallway. “This way. Come on, beautiful.”

The man obliges and as soon as they’re out of view down the hall, Magnus shoves him into the wall and kisses him. He hears a deep groan, and it makes his legs weak. He needs to hear it again.

Without thinking, he reaches up and tugs on the man’s hair. The man groans, as he runs his fingers through his hair and slightly yanks. The noises he gets in return is encouraging, and he reaches farther up until he feels soft fur.

Wait.

His focus drifts from the kissing to the mass of soft fur twitching under his fingers. He leans back, sliding the hood off the stranger’s head and freezes.

Two cat ears black as their owner’s wild hair twitch and flutter under his gaze. Feeling his staring, they shift and lay flat against his head, hiding entirely in his hair. Magnus thinks of his own cat, Chairman, who lives outside and occasionally feeds when he turns up.

What a precious look on a beautiful man, who pulls his hood back up with a scowl not aimed at Magnus. His cheeks are rosy red and his eyes are downcasted in shame. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to let this get that far. Here, I’ll just go-“

“No, no, honeybun,” Magnus stops him gently and cups his heated cheeks. He should really ask for his name. “You are more adorable than I originally thought. What a precious warlock mark. Do you like to have them scratched?”

“I, uh, I don't know-“

“Alec?”

Alaska in January has nothing on the ice that grows throughout Magnus’s entire body the second he hears someone say that name.

Jace stands in the doorway of the hallway, protectiveness showing in the guarded way he’s standing. Magnus turns back to Alec, who refuses to look at him.

“Oh my angels,” Magnus mutters and backs away with his hands up. He curses, “I was just molesting the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Shit.”

Alec’s face hardens, “So what, you worry about titles now? Would you not have approached me if you knew who I was?”

“No!” Magnus scoffs and freezes when Alec gets more pissed. “I mean, uh, shit. I don’t know. You mean you don’t want to hex me?”

“Did I give off that I wanted to hex you?” Alec asks, appalled and annoyed. His fists are clenched and little sparks of purple filter the area around his hand.

“Well…no,” Magnus weakly answers. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “No one knew what the High Warlock of Brooklyn looked like, at least no shadowhunter. I didn’t expect you to look the way that you do.”

Alec pinches his nose irritably, “I’m so sorry I didn’t meet your standards.”

“No! I mean,” Magnus sighs. He waves over Alec’s still form, “You’re adorable and cute. I didn’t think…”

“The one correct thing you’ve said tonight,” Jace cuts in. Magnus flips him off.

“Just,” Magnus groans and gets back into Alec’s space. Thankfully, the warlock lets him, but anger still swims in his hazel eyes ready to snap like a coiled snake. “Let me take you out? I really like you. Please let me fix this?”

“Like him? Did you have a conversation I missed somehow?”

Magnus flips Jace off, and Alec throws him a look. “Fuck off. Go be miserable somewhere else, guard dog,” Magnus growls.

“Excuse me?”

“Jace,” Alec scowls before taking a deep breath. “Go. I’ll be right there.”

Magnus smiles wide at Jace when he finally leaves. He turns back to Alec, and the smile turns genuine. “Please? You just surprised me. I do like you, and you’re very cute.”

Alec blushes and nods a moment later, “Fine. I’ll text you my address.”

Magnus watches him leave before calling out, “You don’t have my phone number.”

Alec waves his hand, forming purple swirls in the air. There’s a grin on his face when he answers, “I got it.”

**********

Magnus gets a better look as the clouds shift, allowing for just enough moonshine to break through and illuminate the darkened surface, it catches on Alec, creating the illusion of a divine glow. Magnus’ breath hitched in his throat, for a moment he’s so transfixed by the sight that he has to physically shake his head to snap out of it. He’s overthinking it, he’s jumping to conclusions, and even worse; he’s growing even more captivated by this man.

A strong gust of wind ruffles Alec’s ruined shirt, diverting Magnus’ attention to the marble white skin, tense lines clearly defining every muscle of his gloriously wide back. He’s marvelous. Magnus thinks, feeling weak.

Alec doesn’t turn, he doesn't even stir. Not at the ice cold breeze, not at Magnus as he approaches, not even when he sits down by his side. He’s looking forward into the distance, saying nothing as the wind plays with his pitch black hair.

The silence enwraps them both, not perfect, there’s wind and waves and trees ruffling behind. And yet, there’s also silence. Heavy, deafening, all consuming.

Magnus faces the same direction as Alec, there’s nothing there but void, vast and overwhelming. The ocean air is salty on his lips, the stone he’s sitting on is uncomfortably hard, and the chill is crawling up his spine. What is it that he came to ask?

He had harassed Alec relentlessly, asking him again and again to share his mark. Probably to the point of being rude, most definitely to the point of it being tiresome, and yet... something about Alec simply intrigued him. This unexplained pull, the startling trust, this all consuming heat Magnus had developed way too soon, way too fast.

Magnus cannot explain this with logic, Alec is nothing but a mysterious warlock that appeared out of nowhere one day, a stranger, possibly a danger—and yet.

Titling his head slightly, he glances at Alec. He looks so lovely, pale and perfect, sitting still like a Greek sculpture of old, made out of the finest stone. He’s too beautiful to bear, too perfect, too.... angelic.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Alec cuts through the silence, voice flat and features placid. As if he did not just storm off after shocking an entire party of warlocks into stupor, a feat not many could pride themselves of.

Magnus doesn’t avert his gaze, there’s no need to,  Alec is not facing him anyway. Instead of answering, he studies his profile, the straight line of his nose, the strong jaw, set firmly into a frown.

Alec looks definite, warrior-like, strong. He looks nearly defeated to Magnus.

Magnus bites the inside of his cheek, hot shame pooling at the pit of his stomach. Does he truly need to know? Does it really matter?

Somehow, his need to know feels intrusive all of the sudden, not the fun little game they had shared for weeks now. If he’s truly being honest, and hating himself a little for this, yes, yes he needs to know.

Magnus thought he had known all of the warlocks that inhabited New York City. As High Warlock of Brooklyn, it was his job to keep his people under control but more importantly, to protect the warlocks in his jurisdiction. With the Circle rising again and the shadowhunters of the New York Institute remaining as incompetent as ever, Magnus was providing a lot more protection than he would have liked. 

He had just placed his key into the lock of his building when a splash of blue magic soared past his head and slammed into the wall beside him. He turned with his hands up in defense, a deflection shield covering him as he waited for another blow. Instead, he saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen running directly toward him with eyes like pure silver and heat in them Magnus would never want to compete with. 

“What are you doing?” Magnus shouted but before the man could answer, a seraph blade nicked his shield and clattered to the cement. The Circle. 

“Apparently, saving your ass instead of asking you to save mine,” the man spat as he twirled his hands with much less finesse than Magnus was used to and fired a flaming red cylinder at the Circle members that were quickly approaching. “Can you make yourself useful and open the damn door or at least portal us somewhere away from the people threatening our lives?” 

Magnus grumbled, “Charming,” before conjuring a portal behind the two of them. He considered leaving the warlock to fend for himself for a moment but relented when he saw the flicker in the color surrounding his hands. He was running low on fuel which must have been why he came to Magnus in the first place and the Circle members seemed to be multiplying with every passing moment. 

Before the Circle members could advance on the pair any further, Magnus gripped the back of the man’s leather jacket and tugged him into the shimmering portal. He made sure the grip on the man’s jacket never strayed as he led them through the spiraling portal and into Magnus’ loft a few stories above. The other warlock grunted as he tumbled onto the couch and when Magnus turned he saw those piercing silver eyes glaring back at him. 

Magnus couldn’t resist his eye roll as he said, “Cold or hot?” The glare turned into a confused furrow of his eyebrows and a squint of one of his slate eyes as Magnus snapped his fingers and conjured a cup of tea into his hands. “I prefer tea after I’ve drained my magic but my dear friend Catarina prefers Diet Coke,” Magnus noted with a shrug. The man eyed him suspiciously before they were interrupted by voices echoing from the street. The warlock shot up from the couch and sprinted toward the balcony, ducking as he caught sight of the Circle members below. 

“You brought us up to your loft?” The man shouted from his spot on the floor. “Do they give the High Warlock position to just anyone in this godforsaken city?” Magnus gaped at him before he sauntered out the balcony doors and waved to the Circle members below. Magnus had wards so tight, the poor excuses of shadowhunters wouldn’t be able to see him anyways. 

Before he could explain that to the cowering warlock, a hand circled his ankle and pulled him down until he landed on his back with a gasp. When a warm body covered his and a smooth hand pressed over his mouth, his senses were overwhelmed with sandalwood and coffee and an icy gaze connected with his. The man was clearly an idiot, but Magnus was only human - well, half-human - and he couldn’t resist a little flirting when he had the chance. He tore his mouth away from the man’s hand and shot his own glare at the beautiful eyes narrowed on his. 

“You know, I usually get a man’s name before I let him get on top of me,” Magnus teased with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows. The warlock’s eyes flashed, the silver in them brightening just a little in a way Magnus hadn’t read as only annoyance, before he pushed himself off of the ground and smoothed his hands down his jacket. 

“Alexander Lightwood,” the warlock introduced himself, holding out a slightly trembling hand. Magnus gaped at him in recognition for a moment before shaking the outstretched hand hesitantly. 

Magnus had heard of the warlock raised by shadowhunters - ex-Circle members if he was specific - but had never had the pleasure of meeting him prior to that moment. He was known for his silver-eyed warlock mark that he was unable to glamor because of a rune burned into his back when he was only a child. Being one of the only warlocks in existence to survive a rune was only a glimmer of his infamy; he was also the warlock that defeated Valentine in the first uprising and due to that, the entire species was suspicious of his involvement with the Circle when the group started to expand again. 

Deciding to choose his words carefully, Magnus said, “So, tea or pop?” He let go of Alexander’s hand to snap his tea back into his hands, relishing in the warmth as ice shot down his spine. It wasn’t quite fear - Magnus had no reason to be fearful of Alexander just yet - but tea was his comfort and he had needed it after the day he had and continued to endure. 

“Coffee, iced if you can,” Alexander sighed as he glanced around the loft, taking in the surroundings suspiciously. Magnus waved a hand at the coffee table before gesturing to the couch, offering Alexander a chance to at least try and make himself comfortable. “Thank you,” he whispered as he took a few large sips of the coffee before he relaxed back into the soft cushions. Magnus let his eyes sweep over the tired bags under Alexander’s sterling eyes and the way his skin almost seemed to match, and noted to himself that Alexander was gorgeous. 

“Are you going to tell me why you arrived at my home with a slew of Circle members on your tail?” Magnus asked after a few tense moments of silence. Alexander straightened his back as if ready to defend himself and Magnus held up a finger and said, “I’m not accusing you of anything, Alexander. I am High Warlock and I made an oath to protect all warlocks in this city whether my people are doubtful of them or not.” 

Alexander nodded before finishing his coffee with a long slurp, his skin gaining color with each replenishing sip. He rested the cup on the table as he glanced in Magnus’ direction, his eyes trailing Magnus from head to toe before they stared at each other for a few moments. Magnus could feel the tension in the air but he couldn’t be too sure what it was from; the obvious instant attraction between them or the air of mischief and suspicion clouding his usually clear loft. 

“The Circle wants me gone,” Alexander said easily with no fear in his tone, “but more than that, they want you dead.” Magnus tilted his head in thought as he flashed his golden eyes at Alexander as a sign of almost respect. Alexander’s own went wide, but his shoulders seemed to relax at the sight and Magnus felt just a little trust grow between them. 

“And you thought bringing them to me was the best idea?” Magnus asked, twirling his pinky finger around the stringed bag of tea that steeped in his cup. Alexander laughed and rolled his bright eyes as he gestured toward the balcony. 

“While you had your back to the dark, fiddling with your keys - what kind of warlock doesn’t just portal into their home, by the way - I saved your ass from a Circle attack. They were waiting for you, Magnus Bane, and you’re lucky I was there to stifle them before the rest of us were stuck electing a new High Warlock,” Alexander said as he leaned his elbows on his knees with clear challenge in his eyes. He had a point and Magnus was well aware of it, but that didn’t stop Magnus from narrowing his eyes at the much younger and less powerful warlock that seemed to provoke him with every word. 

“You drained your magic in a few short minutes and if I recall correctly, I saved your ass by portalling us into my loft that’s so heavily warded, the imbeciles wouldn’t have been able to find it, let alone enter without my consent,” Magnus retorted as he shoved Alexander back into the couch with a small burst of magic to his chest. 

To his surprise, Alexander’s power had replenished enough to twist around the blue strands protruding from Magnus’ fingertips and break them away as Magnus tried to hold him back. With a cloud of powder, his magic receded back into him beyond his control and he noticed with wide eyes that Alexander’s seemed to do the same. It wasn’t often that magic responded to magic in that way, but Magnus felt the pull of Alexander’s power from the second he arrived and it was apparent that there was no ignoring that any longer. 

“I’m not here to beg for your help.” Alexander started to stand but Magnus stopped him with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive tilt of his head. 

“Oh, but I do think you’d look pretty if you begged.”

Alexander stared at him with that confused puppy look that Magnus had grown to adore in the few short moments they had spent together before holding up a hand as he said, “Don’t-- flirt with me.” 

“One thing you should know about me, pretty boy, is that I flirt with everyone,” Magnus replied because it was the absolute truth. Alexander seemed to balk at that and if Magnus hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he saw some green in those silver orbs. “But,” Magnus continued, “I don’t agree to take on Circle members for just anyone.” 

Alexander’s eyes seemed to widen as he whispered, “You’re going to help me?” Magnus nodded in response and reached a hand out to rest on Alexander’s knee. 

“You’re a warlock in distress and while it’s my job to help you, there’s something about the way my magic has felt this evening that I’m interested in exploring further than just providing you a service. So, yes,” Magnus agreed, “I will help you.”

“Thank y--” Before Alexander could finish, Magnus squeezed the hand on his knee and shook his head. 

“You’re going to have to deal with my relentless flirtatious remarks and my obvious attraction to those silver mirrors you call eyes, though. Can you handle that?” Magnus asked, because if there was one thing he was sure of, helping Alexander would turn into so much more than either of them could anticipate. 

Alexander nodded as he rested his hand over Magnus’, silver eyes meeting gold and magic colliding with magic, and said, “I can handle anything.”