Yo, oh my gosh, I didn't realize that you write for TMI! No problem if this isn't up your alley, but I'd love to see something where Alec wakes up in the middle of the night and, like, immediately throws up over the side of the bed, but he's worried that Magnus will be angry, so he tries to clean it up himself until Magnus wakes up and takes care of him. I love your work/blog!!!
This is The Fastest I have ever filled a request. Iâm pretty sure I got it like an hour ago and I already filled it. Elliot, who have you become? You have 45 unfilled requests you fucking reprobate.
Warnings: graphic depictions of vomit (operative word being graphic), fever, illness, chinese food
Alec had been practically unconscious at 9pm. After the dinner Magnus had made, they both collapsed into bed, planning on cuddling or talking for a while. They hadnât had the chance, because as soon as Alecâs head hit the pillow, he was out.
Magnus didnât mind. Alecâs family had been giving him a hard time lately, and with the death of Max everything had been much harder on the Lightwoods. It couldnât be easy to lose your little brother when he was so young. It couldnât be easy to lose your little brother ever.
For a while, he had watched Alec sleep, watched him snore occasionally, murmur sometimes, drooling slightly on the pillow. He never usually drooled⌠It didnât matter. Eventually, Magnus fell asleep as well, allowing himself to curl up and succumb to the warmth of the body next to his.
Alecâs eyes shot open. Something was wrong, but he couldnât place it yet. He looked around the room, trying desperately to find the clock that would tell him the time. In the near-pitch-darkness, he couldnât so much as orient which side of the bed he was on. This kind of disorientation was new for the Shadowhunter, who was used to having his compass rune at all times.
A weight settled into his stomach before he could think about it, or maybe it had always been there. He came to notice its existence too late. His stomach still felt swollen with last nightâs dinner, like he hadnât digested it yet. It might make sense if he could find the damn clock. His mouth was filling with saliva faster than he could swallow it, and he didnât exactly want to swallow it. He had to fight each swallow, desperate for it to go down, and they only succeeded in making him feel fuller.
If there were ever a time to swear, this was it.
He had no time. In the blink of an eye, vomit was rising up his esophagus without the need of so much as a gag. He covered his mouth desperately, trying to think of a plan. His brain was moving so slowly his thoughts might well have been molasses. There was no time for a plan.
Alec leaned over the side of the bed and opened his mouth, gagging softly once, and unleashing a tide of vomit to the shag rug beneath them. Fuck, oh fuck. Before he could think, he was hit again with the urge to gag, the sick instinct to bring up whatever was in his gut. The chow mein he and Magnus had made was horrible coming back up, and he suddenly had to fight the urge to cry. He shuddered weakly instead.
He was sick again, a heave pulling more sick from his aching stomach. It was louder this time, getting more audible as his body struggled to bring up the contents of his stomach. His skin burned, sore and aching, like he was one big bruise. He wanted to let himself be swallowed up by a black hole.
He and Magnus had only been together a few weeks, and them staying the night was rare. Alec usually had to sneak out, or at least just not tell his parents he was leaving. If he were to ruin this, he would be ruining the best thing in his life. Magnus was something else, unbelievably kind, and generous, and thoughtful and funny, and a good cook and â
Alec bit back a groan and once again tried to think of a plan. He was still leaning over the side of the bed. He wasnât sure if the vomit smelled as bad as it seemed to him, or if he was simply being hit double time by the sour taste in his mouth. He wasnât even sure how you could clean a shag rug, especially of something this volatile.
Magnus was, incredibly, still asleep. Alec slipped out of the foot of the bed, not wanting to step over the puddle of sick in case he stepped in it. He padded gently to the bathroom, which wasnât much of a problem for him: the soundless runes on his calves made it easy. He closed the door behind him and turned on the light. It stung his eyes, forcing him to push the heels of his palms into his head.
After a quick look in the mirror found him to be looking awful â vomit clinging to his lips and dripping down his chin, skin pale except for a flush over his cheekbones, broken blood vessels under his eyes from straining so hard to vomit, lips chapped and cracked â he set off looking for cleaning supplies.
Being someone who could clean messes with a snap of his fingers, Magnus didnât keep many around. There was a roll of paper towel and a glass cleaner under the bathroom sink, and that was about it. Sighing, he grabbed the roll of paper towel and turned off the light.
Even with enhanced vision, he couldnât see his hand in front of his face. He didnât want to turn on the light. He fumbled for his phone, or maybe it was Magnusâs, on the dresser. At this point, he didnât care. Turning on the flashlight, he located his mess. It was awful.
Between strands of shag rug were noodles that hadnât been digested yet. The whole rug was coated in stomach acid and whatever Alec had been drinking last night. He couldnât remember. With Magnus, it was probably wine.
Gingerly, he knelt town in front of the puddle. He wasnât quite sure how to start. He didnât even get the chance.
âAlexander,â Magnus groaned. âWhat are you doing?â He flopped over to Alecâs side of the bed, and Alec pushed the light against his leg, trying to stifle the harsh light. It didnât fool Magnus for a second.
âOh,â he sighed gently. âYouâre sick.â
Alec wanted to protest that no, he was fine, but he hardly ever threw up, and the pounding behind his eyes was beginning to be impossible to ignore. His skin prickled more under Magnusâ gaze, and he had to fight the sudden urge to sob.
Magnus twitched, and the lights turned on. They were dim, not bright enough to hurt Alecâs head, but enough to see what was going on. He pushed himself up on his arms and examined Alec and then the mess in front of him. He sighed softly again, more a noise of empathy than of exasperation.
âYou donât have to clean it up yourself, darling,â Magnus soothed. Alec tried to steel his features. He felt himself blushing. He couldnât look at Magnus, and looking at the floor was making him want to be sick again. âCome on, get back in bed.â Magnus patted his side of the bed. Alec didnât move.
âPlease donât be mad,â he whispered.
âMad?â Magnus questioned. âAlexander, how could I be mad at you for this? You didnât do it on purpose. Besides, who hasnât thrown up on shag carpeting?â
Alec didnât smile. Magnus reached a hand out and touched Alecâs cheek. He rested it there a moment, letting his cool fingers soother his boyfriendâs hot skin.
âYou have a fever,â Magnus observed. âCome on, back in bed.â
Magnus snapped his fingers. âWhat mess?â
It had disappeared from the carpet as if it had never been there. Magnus dropped his hand to Alecâs arm, trying to lift him onto the bed. With a sigh, Alec stood and crawled over Magnus, settling into his side of the bed. Magnus pulled him in for a hug, but stopped short. He summoned a washcloth.
âHere.â Magnusâ voice was soft as he wiped Alecâs chin. The towel was warm and damp, and felt good against Alecâs skin. He sighed.
âCan you fall back asleep?â Alec was already out.
