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The New York Institute has never been a place that radiates any level of warmth with its clinical floors, its bland decor that favors function over style, and the abundant stream of floating teal-lit monitors that seem to be eternally compiling data. There’s also the stagnant scent of low-grade body spray that suffuses its way onto every surface, reminding Magnus that very little of the Institute’s budget goes towards proper hygiene. In fact, the aroma screams of something generic that comes in a white plastic tube, and it’s always difficult for him to hide the way he wants to wrinkle his nose the moment he steps through the Institute’s many winding halls.
It’s rare he ever stops by when none of his favorite Shadowhunters happen to be around, leaving him alone in a room full of angelic rune-warriors who look like they’ve never seen a single warlock in their lives. Nothing but a sea of suspicious gazes clothed in skin-tight black garments that emphasize the Clave’s strict adherence to monotony. Magnus would rather be anywhere else at the moment, but Alec had sent him a text earlier to meet him here for date night, which feels like something of a strange yet important step to take. Magnus wants to be a part of Alec’s life just as much as the other is slowly working his way into his –that means not every date has to be expertly planned out by Magnus. And not every date has to start and end in his apartment. They can start in the Institute, too. He’s perfectly fine with that. More than fine. Beyond accommodating even!
It’s just that all the stares pinning their way onto every inch of his body unsettle him, and Magnus has to hide his restlessness by pretending to glance at his phone for a text that never comes. Alec is rarely late, but Magnus imagines there are plenty of circumstances in which texting mid-mission is a very bad idea. It’s nothing he could hold against the Shadowhunter because he would rather Alec come home hours late and still alive than the alternative.
However, it leaves him pacing about, idly examining and re-examining the wards of which haven’t been disturbed at all since his last inspection, and quietly humming to himself until one of the Shadowhunters, whose name he never bothered to learn, shoots him an unpleasant stare. Magnus’ lips pull back a little tightly around his teeth, showing off his best impression of a smile, before he decides it might be better if he just waits in Alec’s room. As loath as he is to enter it without his boyfriend’s permission, he’d also like to escape any further scrutiny by his peers. He doubts it would take much for them to find an excuse to toss him out, considering he’s already on thin ice after he’d nearly thrown one of Alec’s many fine, fine cohorts through a wall.
Fortunately, doors are meaningless barriers to a warlock, and he slips through with ease then tells himself he’ll just sit down in a chair, do nothing, touch nothing, and simply wait. Alec should be back soon. There’s no need to get impatient and allow curiosity to wear his good judgment to threads. It’s a thought he repeats to himself until it starts to feel like a lost cause because Alec is already over an hour late, and there’s still no message from him.
Worry exacerbates Magnus’ restlessness; restlessness leads to pacing; pacing leads to fidgeting; fidgeting leads to general poking around and mischief. He tries to at least keep the mischief to a respectable level as he convinces himself he’ll only give Alec’s furniture a casual glance.
His boyfriend has a small bookcase by the window with a couple of books in it –typical Shadowhunter tomes outlining all the runes and their meanings, weapon maintenance manuals, books on fighting forms and their proper application. All advanced, Magnus is sure, but nothing of particular flavor. What little fiction he possesses are on the many philosophical pursuits of the Shadowhunters of yore, a few who Magnus knew personally. A quick flip through one of their voluminous celebratory texts makes it rather obvious how much and to what extent they may have embellished their adventures. Maybe Magnus should write a tell-all book and dispel some of their myths, but who’s petty? Oh, certainly not him.
He slides the book back before blinking when he finds a bit of resistance from the shelf. It seems something is buried behind it –something he probably shouldn’t rifle through–, but who is he kidding at this point? Of course, he’s going to peek.
Just a little.
His hand stretches its way through the shelf, feeling along its worn cardboard backing then carefully extracting what appears to be an early 90s comic book from behind it. Green Arrow it says on the cover, which makes Magnus snort softly. Of course, Alec would have one of these, although how he procured it is a complete mystery. Did his siblings smuggle it for him, or did Alec see it in a window one day and trade some of his Shadowhunter stipend for it?
It appears to be the only issue he has since Magnus can’t feel anything else stashed behind his bookshelf. The fact that he felt the need to hide a mundane comic book at all is probably the biggest testament of the Shadowhunters' disdain for anything that falls outside of their culture. Then again, this is the same culture that made it next to impossible for Alec to embrace himself and to admire a dashing, bow and arrow-toting blond in tight clothing. Okay, he’s starting to realize, flipping through its pages, why Alec would hide it. If this man wasn’t some young boy’s sexual awakening, then he doesn’t know who would be. He’s never been quite into the whole superhero phenomenon himself, but he can appreciate their cape-wearing aesthetic and overzealous muscle mass.
Sliding the comic book back in its place, Magnus returns to pacing and checking his phone. Still no message. Still no Alec.
Some of the dresser drawers just magically happen to come open, although there’s nothing of particular interest inside of them. Alec is a serial folder and has almost martial neatness when it comes to putting his clothes in order. Magnus has never met anyone who folds their underwear into neat squares and color codes their socks –wouldn’t be surprised if this all is just a standard part of the Shadowhunter manual. Probably filed under the excuse that strict orderliness leads to an uncluttered mind.
Magnus honestly prefers his own clutter, and as much as he loves Alec in anything and everything, the fact that the most colorful garment he owns is denim blue does wound him in a very existential place. He would look so lovely experimenting with patterns and colors, but because it’s not tactical, Alec would never consider it on his own.
His nightstand drawer seems almost barren compared to everything else. There’s a worn copy of White Fang which is so charmingly Alec that Magnus can almost picture him lying on his back in the evenings and re-reading the same comfort passages he had since he was a child. It’s a surprise he was allowed even this much at the Institute, but Magnus supposes it would be too cruel to ban all mundane literature.
Next to the paperback is an unused keychain from the Met Museum and a small photograph from when Alec, Izzy, and Jace were younger with Alec holding a baby he assumes is Max. Alec has a small smile on his face, slightly ruddy-cheeked while looking obviously tense about carrying his brother mid-squirm. It’s absolutely adorable and maybe too personal, which makes Magnus instantly regret sleuthing around. Maybe, in time, Alec might have let him in and shown him all these small glimpses of his personal life while telling him stories of how he snuck out into museums when he wasn’t hunting demons. Spent a few hours too long in the Greek sculpture wing making eyes at the beautiful warriors, if he ever even allowed himself that much revelry.
It takes another mere wave of his hands to put everything back in its place before Magnus glances once more at his phone. An hour and a half. Normally, he’d call it quits and return to the loft for the night, but with worry gnawing at the edge of his stomach, he doesn’t want to leave without seeing Alec’s face first to make sure he’s healthy and in one piece.
He can afford to wait a bit longer, even if he’s worried about overstepping more than he has already. Would Alec be upset to find him here? Would he be relieved to see him after a particularly harrowing mission? Magnus would like to believe the latter, but things are still too fresh and new between them. It’s difficult to tell where Alec’s hard limit lies in terms of being on the receiving end of Magnus’ concern and comfort. If he’ll come across as –too much– to him.
If he were to ever abandon him on an evening where Alec might need him the most, Magnus would never be able to forgive himself. Whether or not Alec would need physical healing or a shoulder to lean on, Magnus does want to be there for him –let him know that he’s not only invested in the funner, lighter parts of their relationship. That he’ll take Alec’s anguish along with his joy.
If Alec is willing.
This being Alec’s first relationship, he might not even know what he wants yet, and pushing him too fast and too soon might fracture the very fragile foundation holding them both up at the moment.
On the other hand, Alec had seemed fairly decisive the other night when he walked Magnus backwards into his own bedroom and kissed him breathless. That was the action of a man ready to go deeper into this unnamed thing stirring between them, enough that it scared Magnus to think of how easily Alec could lay his heart on the line. How raw and flayed open he made him feel in return. How every boring stare ate through flesh and bone and reached the very core of him.
The echoes of it still leave sparks crackling beneath his skin and fill his stomach with something more primal than butterflies. He pictures ravenous bats, beating feverishly against too-sensitive stomach lining, drawing hot blood from tissue inside that dribbles through him and scorches its way down his veins. His body pulses from the sheer memory, and he feels his back hit Alec’s pillows as he releases a soft sound into the room’s stillness.
Surrounded by the onslaught of his scent everywhere, Magnus suddenly wants to dig his nose face down into it. Inhale Alec into his lungs and keep the memory there. Replay the moment he nosed through sweat-soaked hair and moaned quietly into the thick of it. A more depraved part of his mind wonders how it would feel to be bare-skinned on his sheets, wrapped in nothing but his smell –to lie where Alec must have at some point, touching himself in the dark.
But that’s probably way too much, too soon. He isn’t even sure if Alec would react positively to the idea or be disturbed by tangible proof of Magnus’ baser proclivities. It’s one thing to learn about them through hearsay and another thing to walk straight into them after a mission that could have very well taken his life.
What is Magnus thinking? He almost wants to dissolve on the spot –settles for burying his face in Alec’s pillow because he doesn’t know how and if he can handle this sometimes. Starts to doubt and doubt until it digs its way through him and scoops out all the confidence he’d built up over centuries.
The whole tenuousness of their relationship makes him feel like he’s walking on invisible ground, unsure if he’ll step on hard surface or plummet. That lack of assurance is both terrifying and invigorating, setting his heart to a frenzied pace and leaving his nerves vibrating in place.
Attraction, sex– he can contend with these things. But finding someone who makes him want more, someone who makes him fall just a little bit further in love with him with every new tidbit he learns about them. That terrifies him. Even just touching Alec’s books and lying in his bed makes him yearn in a way he can’t describe to himself. It’s like he’s magnetized to the idea of Alec pressed between these sheets, tickling his senses deeply, making him dizzy, aroused, anxious, and safe all at once.
His eyes eventually fall shut as he buries himself in deeper, wondering if he could stubbornly dig his fingers into his sensation and hold himself from slipping, but exhaustion starts to roll over him in escalating waves, darkness hugging the corners of his mind, lulling him –against all better judgment– into a pleasant dream.
☆☆☆☆☆
When he opens his eyes again, the lights in the room are off, and the Institute is covered in an eerie silence that has Magnus wondering if everyone just deserted it while he slept. It fills him with a cold, needling sensation in the pit of his gut that only dissipates when he realizes there’s something warm lying across his stomach. A limb, to be precise. One clearly not his own.
He can’t make out whose it is in the pitch black, and his sleep-addled mind nearly roils itself into a panic before common sense kicks in. He’s in Alec’s room, meaning the owner of said arm should be apparent. Magnus seriously doubts any other Shadowhunter would wander in here with all their swift-footed tiptoeing to cuddle a warlock in the middle of the night. The fact that he can feel his familiar runic magic thrumming just beneath his skin solidifies that truth even further.
It’s tempting to simply close his eyes and roll back to sleep, especially when Alec’s slow, measured breathing tickles the back of his neck, but he’s still not entirely sure he’s even supposed to be here. They hadn’t really talked –he hadn’t really asked– about this. And even if he knows they’ve already slept together, there’s something even more intimate about actually sleeping together. Magnus chalks that up to the fact that there’s an implicit trust that comes with letting one’s guard down that much next to another person.
It’s not easy to feel safe and to let himself feel safe around someone else, but Alec has this way of slithering through all the growing cracks in his walls and finding his way to the root of him. Which is terrifying and makes him want to instinctively pull away, to start making up excuses for how he wound up in Alec’s bed, no matter how childish it seems to lie about the simple fact –he was waiting for Alec.
“You’re awake.”
The voice cuts through him, and his body tenses in spite of itself because he doesn’t know what to say. His tongue weighs like iron between his cheeks, and his heart is ready to burst right through the rest of him.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up, too.”
He could have easily magicked himself away from here, made Alec believe it was a dream or an illusion, but the arm around his waist makes him want to do otherwise. Makes him want to bare himself and accept the consequences.
“It’s fine,” Alec assures him, and he can feel his muscles loosening their hold, his body shifting behind him.
The sheets rustle slightly with his movements before Alec switches on his bedside lamp, and the light is too much. Magnus feels exposed by it, like he’s about to be interrogated. There’s nowhere else to hide, nowhere else to go but further beneath the sheets, something he manages not to do as his eyes struggle for a moment to adjust to the brightness.
It takes him another moment to register that he removed his jacket and boots at some point –maybe even got a little help in that department. He’s not sure what else to conclude from the way his boots are lined up against the wall and his jacket is nicely hung on the back of Alec’s desk chair.
“Sorry I got back too late. I didn’t think you’d still be waiting.”
The quiet words make him finally turn around to face Alec just so he can see what expression he’s making. He’s forlorn. Disappointed. Not that Magnus is here, he’s sure, but perhaps of the missed opportunity.
His own fingers reach out to try and soothe away some of the solemnity there, dragging them down the length of Alec’s cheek and over the strong curve of his jaw, feeling the stubble already growing there.
“I wanted to make sure you got back to the Institute in one piece,” Magnus tells him, pointedly avoiding calling it home. How could any place this suffocating be a home?
Maybe Alec thinks differently, but Magnus doesn’t want him to. You belong home with me, he’d rather say, but it’s not his place to tell him that. It’s too much, too soon. It’s always too much.
“How was the mission?” he asks instead, face breaking into a slight smile when Alec’s larger hand cups his, holding his grip hostage.
“Messy.” Alec’s fingers tighten a little around his too, and Magnus tries not to read too much into it. “There was a whole nest of demons all the way up north in the Bronx. Then the subway was out of order because of the demons. My phone wound up face down in demon venom so that was a lost cause.”
It definitely explains quite a bit.
“How’d you get back?”
Alec’s face twists into a grimace. “Took a cab until Jace got into a fight with the driver over directions. He dropped us off…I’d say around East Harlem.”
Magnus stares at him incredulously. “And Jace couldn’t have waited till you reached Midtown before picking a fight?”
“Pretty much what I said. Stamina rune is the only reason we made it back in one piece. Izzy split cabs with Clary, so they got here way before us.”
Would they have been better off with a different arrangement? Probably not given Clary’s detrimental effects on Jace’s rational thinking. This was most likely the best-case scenario even if Magnus would have really preferred it if he wasn’t given more reasons to worry about Alec and everyone else’s well-being.
“After that harrowing tale, I feel like I should be the one to apologize to you.” If Magnus hadn’t been there, Alec could have just simply passed out right away when he got home without having to bother tending to a near-comatose warlock in his bed.
“It’s fine,” Alec says quickly, “I don’t mind you being here. I know you’re not exactly comfortable being in the Institute, so it means a lot you made the effort.”
The way his lips tip upwards slightly and so sweetly make Magnus want to fall asleep here every night just to welcome him back after each mission. Endure all the unpleasant Shadowhunter stares and sneers just to feel the bed dip with Alec’s weight at the end of the day.
He tries to keep his own expression neutral, which doesn’t work. His mouth cracks, and his fingers find their way to the back of Alec’s neck, weaving through the short strands there. “And here I was worried you’d scorn me for stealing all of your blankets.”
Not that he had really done any such thing –at least, not to his recollection. As far as he remembers, he had passed out on top of the comforter and had occupied only a conservative amount of bed space.
Alec’s body shifts noticeably closer, and it feels like he’s swarming him in, preventing him from escaping. “If you had, I’d have just found another way to stay warm.”
He probably did not intend for it to sound that suggestive, but it does things to Magnus’ body that he’s not prepared to deal with, his brain still half-asleep and full of cotton. His own eyes crawl to Alec’s mouth, wanting to be ridiculous for a moment. Wanting to kiss him numb and offer to be every way and method to keep Alec warm. Maybe a few weeks ago he would have, but the different sides of Alec he keeps unwittingly running into make him feel unsteady all the time. Make him yield to caution instead of impulse.
His fingernails press a little gently into the skin on Alec’s neck just beneath his hairline, pushing his own face against his shoulder instead. “How long have you been rehearsing that in your head?”
“Only the past few seconds,” Alec replies honestly, in his very Alec way, and Magnus is really fighting a losing battle not to kiss him at the moment. Not to fall apart thinking about being in the same bed Alec’s slept in for years, breathing in every inch of his skin and grafting the scent straight into his lungs.
He shivers a bit when Alec moves a hand down the length of his spine, following the curve of his vertebral column down to his tailbone. His fingers pause against Magnus’ belt, plucking the leather of it abruptly.
“Do you need sleep clothes?”
It’s not what Magnus expects him to say next –thinks Alec might have wanted to ask him something else–, but Magnus won’t push it. He’s already taken too much from him this evening. Any more would be over-indulgent.
“It would make things easier.”
He means sleep. Doesn’t phrase it like that and internally smacks himself for it because of the way Alec’s eyes widen and how fast flecks of flaring red stipple along his neck and lower cheeks.
“Right. They’re um– let me get you some.”
Alec wastes no time in pulling away, making Magnus think he may have messed up somehow. Too much are the words that continue to bounce off the walls in his mind, leaving scathing dents everywhere. He should know better. He should–
He should probably remind Alec that he can just magic sleep clothes from his closet, but he can’t bring himself to. He’d rather press Alec’s clothes to his skin, wrap them around every inch of himself, sink into them, and let them drown him.
The only magic he allows himself to use is to will the fabric onto himself, his evening clothes all banished to his apartment for the night. It makes Alec double-take like he’d been expecting Magnus to change into them the ‘normal’ way. Maybe Magnus could have if he didn’t think he’d already done enough boundary-pushing for the evening.
“I know they’re not really your style,” Alec starts, but his eyes say something different when they comb over Magnus’ body.
That ‘something different’ makes him almost regret his previous decision not to undress in front of him.
“They’re fine, Alexander.” More than fine. “I can sleep in plain cotton, too.”
Alec’s gaze doesn’t waver where it lands on his shirt, and Magnus is treated to the stomach-scorching sight of Alec tonguing the corner of his own mouth.
“You can come back to bed now.” Magnus’ voice comes out barely above a whisper, afraid he might shatter something if he goes a decibel too high.
What that elusive something is, he still doesn’t want to give a name or shape to yet. Just rides the feeling as it makes his skin prickle all over, and the air around him suddenly feels thicker, like he’s sucking in concentrated bubbles of Alec’s scent.
It’s more overwhelming than he’d care to admit, finding his thoughts prey to more lurid images of rubbing the soft, grey, worn fabric of his t-shirt between his own thighs. How would Alec feel if he told him he wanted to wear him like his favorite cologne, dab him against his neck, behind his ears, dribble him down into the spaces only Alec could taste? Would he still look at him the same? Would he indulge him if he knew how recklessly he pushes Magnus’ buttons sometimes?
He feels his desire more acutely as Alec crawls into bed with a hunter’s grace and tugs him against his chest. He wonders if Alec can feel his pulse through all the skin and bone between their bodies. Is it bludgeoning him like it is Magnus? Does it make his entire chest cavity vibrate on impact?
Containing the onslaught of desire welling up inside feels almost impossible when Alec presses against him, body a solid wall of honed muscles that melts straight into his until he’s sure there’s nowhere where their limbs aren’t touching. His mouth ends up parted over Alec’s collar bone, feeling the angular jut of it rub against his lips, and he’s struck with the overwhelming urge to bite down. Only stops because he keeps telling himself Alec is tired. Alec just nearly walked the entire length of Manhattan to get here. Alec doesn’t want this.
But Magnus does. He does so badly, and he doesn’t know what to say to someone who he already bared his soul once before. Who didn’t reject him when he did. Who should have moved with Magnus’ easygoing flow but instead turned on him like a crashing tide.
He feels helpless now like he did then, the sensation of it a foreign invader inside his body that he wants to expel because it shouldn’t be hard to be with someone a second time. To ask, to initiate, to want.
Alec shouldn’t make him second-guess himself, but oh, how he does until Magnus finally reaches his boiling point.
“Alexander.”
Please tell him no. Please rub ice into his raw nerves. Please tell him yes. Kiss him until his mouth bleeds.
His voice is still a tentative whisper against cracked glass.
“Hm?”
He can’t tell if Alec’s half-way to being asleep, wishes he could see his face to convince himself differently.
“Exactly how exhausted are you?”
The question makes Alec noticeably tense against him. “Why?”
“I was just thinking–,” Magnus starts.
He doesn’t finish because Alec kisses him right then, fingers looping around Magnus’ hair, pulling it loose out of its style. He blindsides Magnus with a punctuated bite against his lower lip, the act so feral that Magnus’ brain short-circuits for a moment. All he can focus on when Alec pulls back is the utter lack of fear in his expression. Like it would never even occur to him to be afraid of rejection.
“Yes,” Alec tells him. “Yes,” he repeats emphatically.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
If only Magnus could dive into sex head-first like Alec does. Well, usually, he can, but the intensity of it with Alec had already barreled into him tenfold once before simply because Alec doesn’t know how to be coy. Doesn’t know how to shield the way he enjoys being kissed and touched. Peels himself open like he knows Magnus would never hurt him. A part of him thinks he should discourage it because Alec doesn’t know if he’s signing his life away to him. Except, Magnus would never do anything to shatter that unwavering trust in him. Not if he can help it.
Alec’s arms release him so he can sit up, giving Magnus his full attention now. The lamp light makes his runes look even more stark black against the backdrop of his skin, and Magnus can’t help but stare at the way the lines move when Alec’s muscles expand and contract. Almost forgets what he’d been trying to ask while getting lost in the elegant loop of his soundless rune.
“Fine, what were you going to ask?” Alec prompts, snapping Magnus’ attention back upwards.
Now, how does he phrase all his abstract wants into something that Alec can digest –and how does he do so tactfully? He tastes the words in his mouth before sitting up too just so he can meet Alec at eye-level.
“As much as I adore your newfound enthusiasm for the more physical aspects of our relationship, you are allowed to say no at any time. If you are ever too tired or if there is something that makes you uncomfortable–”
“Magnus,” Alec cuts in before taking one of his hands between his two. He doesn’t know if he is imagining the tremor that runs through them or not. “You already said all this the first time.”
“I’m aware, but I feel it bears repeating given how your night went.”
Alec’s mouth finds his knuckles, pressing a kiss over them like he’s trying to soothe over a centuries-old festering wound, which isn’t terribly far from the truth. “I’m fine. I’ve jogged farther than that before and with demons chasing me the whole while. That’s what the runes are for.”
A solid point. Alec’s angelic strength and fortitude isn’t to be underestimated, having chiseled himself into a knife’s point since he’d been old enough to walk. It’s the sad truth surrounding Shadowhunters, who are born to a cruel world then become more tool than men, women, or otherwise. That had always been his own biggest criticism of their culture –along with all the bigotry, discrimination, and adherence to ancient laws that even mundanes would have tossed out years ago.
“You’re not indestructible,” Magnus finds himself murmuring back.
“Neither are you. That doesn’t stop you from over-exerting yourself for me all the time.”
Touché. Were their situations reversed, no amount of exhaustion could stop him from saying no. If it’s Alec, it’s always yes.
“Fine, but you’re not allowed to do anything but lie back and enjoy yourself.”
Alec grins brighter than the lamp light and props his back against the pillows. It’s not completely lying back, but Magnus will accept it. All that matters is he’s not putting any strain on his weary muscles.
“You still haven’t told me what you wanted.”
Oh…that. Magnus has enough sense to snap his fingers and make the room completely sound-proof. For extra measure, he magically binds Alec’s door shut so that not even an unlock rune would make it budge. The last thing he needs is one of the hundreds of Shadowhunters lingering in the Ops area to come bounding in because they think Alec is being attacked. Which is, again, not terribly far from the truth.
Once that’s taken care of, his palm flattens over Alec’s stomach, feeling the firm outline of his muscles through his flimsy shirt fabric. Alec’s previous question lingers in the air, a solid weight between them that Magnus starts to dispel when he leans over to whisper in Alec’s ear–
“I would very much like to take you down my throat, smear you on my mouth, let it run down my neck, thread between my fingers –I want to smell and feel you on me, Alexander. I want to smell you even hours later, decorating my skin.”
The admission seems to drain all manner of thought from Alec’s head because he just stares at him with a stupefied expression for several seconds, and Magnus isn’t sure how to interpret the reaction. Starts to doubt himself again and think he went too far.
But Alec stops him from moving away with a steely grip on his upper arms. “You mean...with my–”
Alec’s mouth tries to feebly form more words as the tips of his ears fill with blood.
“Yes, Alexander.”
Which had been such a crass way of saying it, but it really does get straight to the point without too many euphemisms and poetics in the way just so Alec knows what he’s fully consenting to.
“If that’s too revolt–”
“No,” Alec interrupts sharply, eyes boring into him with his pupils blown open wide, “It’s not. It’s really not. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life.”
The words come out like they’re all fighting for dominance inside his mouth. Even so, Alec’s expression is unwavering, and Magnus yearns to be pulled apart by him. To be made a mess of.
Maybe one day he’ll show him exactly how, but for now, he kisses Alec, tasting the remnants of toothpaste on his tongue as he allows Alec’s arms to pull him on top. It’s a mirror of their first time, thighs slotted on either side of Alec’s, hearing and feeling him go breathless trying to chase his mouth even when oxygen becomes a pressing concern.
It’s like magnets are sewn beneath their lips, perpetually craving to be touching one another, and Alec’s tongue is soft and unskilled where it unfurls beneath his own, trying to lick him back. Magnus lets him, feeling his own body melt straight into his skin, feeling the bone-deep shiver that runs through himself when Alec’s hands push beneath his shirt and curl against the base of his spine.
Rough finger pads move along his vertebrae, tracing their way over the edges before dipping lower, and for a moment, Magnus wonders just how bold Alec feels like being tonight. Is disappointed when he doesn’t move any lower even while Magnus is twitching for just the opposite.
He doesn’t want to push. Knows he’s already asked for too much, but his heart, body, and soul ache for more. It blooms in waves down his stomach into his own thighs, and he tries not to rock impatiently into Alec’s abdominal muscles. Dismisses the thought that he could come just from rubbing against them alone, painting thick lines on them in return because that’s not what he asked for.
Stick to the plan, Magnus.
He sucks hard on Alec’s bottom lip, watching the way the skin swells gradually, bruised red from the force and snap-release of it. Magnus then traces down his chin with his teeth and bites on the tip of his jaw until he feels Alec’s body arch sharply underneath him. More flesh swells under the onslaught, skin purpling fast between his teeth in a way that will become impossible to hide the morning after. If it bothers Alec that much, he can just iratze it clean.
He continues his unsteady descent, mapping his way down Alec’s pulse, feeling the wild drum beat of it against his tongue before he bites again. Alec hisses his name out between clenched teeth, fingers dragging a little too sharply down the back of Magnus’ neck, leaving blunt marks on his skin.
“I hope you weren’t planning on wearing one of your ravishing tight v-necks tomorrow,” Magnus teases before rucking his shirt up until it’s bunched under Alec’s armpits so he could trail warm air onto his chest.
There’s something about the wild curl of chest hair there that makes Magnus want to rub every one of his body parts on it. Feel the texture of it against his cheeks, arms, and legs. He’s never been more thankful Alec doesn’t shave much more than his face because he loves this. He loves the gleam of sweat on it, the musk and clean earth smell on his skin, the way his nipples peek out between the strands.
His tongue draws across one as he hears Alec’s breath sucked in too loud, watches his eyes quiver shut.
“You’re making it hard not to want to,” Alec huffs out, and his voice is low and hoarse in a way that rolls down Magnus’ back like liquid flames.
“By all means then. I can promise you the results will be very much to your liking.”
Alec’s whole chest vibrates when he chuckles, a pleasing rumble that makes Magnus want to pillow his head against it. If there were ever a body made for sleeping against, it would be Alec’s.
As he moves lower, he feels Alec’s muscles tightening more, the tension of arousal clamping around them and turning their tissue into tight, tight coils. It’s most pronounced against his core abdominals, the lines of them protruding through skin, hard and mouth-watering. Magnus can’t help but trace between with his tongue, striping the skin with wetness then blowing onto Alec’s skin just to hear him suck more air down into his throat.
One quick glance upwards, and Magnus finds himself lost in the way bliss smooths out the lines of Alec’s face, leaving darkening shadows from his thick lashes and his too-red lips frozen on the syllables of words that don’t leave his throat. Magnus drinks it in like he’s parched and on the verge of death, unable to help himself. If ever there was a sight to make him believe in a kind and loving god, it would be the existence of Alec Lightwood tangled deep within the throes of passion.
His hands draw Alec’s sweatpants down to his thighs, baring the outline of dark fabric wrapped like a second skin around his hard cock. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him, certainly more generously-sized than a lot of his previous lovers, a fact he has kept firmly to himself because isn’t sure if Alec would appreciate the comparison even when it runs in his favor.
He doesn’t lower Alec’s underwear yet, wanting to mouth every crease through the fabric first, treat himself to Alec clenching his thighs around Magnus’ face as his body threatens to buckle in half. Both Magnus’ hands fasten around his hips to hold him down as he darkens the fabric around the tip with his tongue, stroking it with heavy laps and feeling his saliva start to hang in threads.
“Magnus,” Alec groans, fingers impatiently scrabbling over the sheets and twisting them in hard.
Magnus ends up plucking his face away after a moment and grinning ear to ear. “Yes, dear?”
“Not going to finish the way you want, if you keep that up.”
It’s easy to forget at times, given his years of combat-hardened experience, that Alec is still very, very new to this. Very new and very quick to get riled up.
Logic dictates that he’ll improve with time and practice, but a part of Magnus wants him to stay this flustered and sensitive forever because he’s alluring when he’s on edge. When his hips start to stutter off the bed, when his fingers itch to pry their way through Magnus’ skin. When all his control unravels and his bones turn soft and pliant.
The last barrier between his mouth and Alec’s dick is removed, peeled out of the way with care and tucked under Alec’s balls before Magnus runs his tongue against the length of him. There are already a few drops gathered at the tip of his dick that he smears over his mouth and chin, rubbing it firmly into his skin before he flicks his gaze up to watch Alec’s reaction.
By now, his own glamour is completely gone, laying him out bare in a way that makes him feel vulnerable even when he’s more dressed at the moment. Alec’s hand reaches out to him, shaking at the ends where it combs Magnus’ hair back from his eyes to return his gaze, but there’s fog rolled out across his handsome features. He looks intoxicated, rung-out, and orgasm-addled already, and it sends his own body into chaos, feeling the wild throb of blood rushing through his veins and the heated pressure between his thighs.
It might be him who shatters first at this rate.
His own eyes shut against the overwhelming unsteadiness he feels at that moment, having to exhale to get his breathing under control before he drags his tongue over Alec’s cock once more. He hears Alec bite out a curse from somewhere above, the word desperate as he fights with his own body not to thrust into him. Magnus almost tells him it’s okay, but that’s a whole other conversation he’s not ready to have just yet.
The rings on his hand disappear in a wave of blue-tinged mist before he slides the long digits between Alec’s balls, being very careful with the pressure as he massages him gently. It has the desired effect of making Alec pull on his hair sharply, the white-hot sting of it one of his many hidden turn-ons, one he’s not sure Alec will key into when he’s this distracted. Magnus practically aches for him to do it again, his own hips subtly rolling into the mattress, desperate to get any kind of pressure against his own cock. It’s not enough at all, only managing to work him up towards frustration, but he’s too focused on making Alec feel good to care.
His mouth slides around the head of his cock as he delivers another soft squeeze to his balls, loving the way more come beads loose between his lips like Alec is on the verge of bursting inside of him. Magnus has to hold back a groan at the thought, has to contain the full-body shudder edging its way through him when he takes more of Alec in, feeling him twitch against the back of his throat and press deeper on his own.
More of his taste dribbles down his tongue, making Magnus reflexively swallow, which he realizes is a bad idea when Alec lets out a hoarse and urgent sound. It’s primal and guttural in a way that makes Magnus want to abandon his own idea. Makes him want to fuck more of noises out of Alec or to sit on his cock and see if Alec loves that more. If Alec would cry out his name with the same ferocity if he fucked himself over him.
He unconsciously sucks him down harder at the thought, cheeks hollowed in, a low hum building in the back of throat, entranced by every new sound and gasp he can wring out of Alec. So entranced he doesn’t expect Alec to suddenly yank his head back, the movement on the right edge of painful.
“I-can’t, I can’t–”
It’s the only warning Alec can manage before he’s spilling his release on Magnus’ mouth, letting it dribble down slowly in a stream over his neck and onto Alec’s shirt. Magnus can’t help tonguing a few drops clean to taste it –wonders in some distant part of his mind if there’s something about angel blood that makes him taste so good.
He doesn’t expect to be hefted up almost immediately after, Alec’s fingers clawing at the sides of his head as he devours his mouth. It loosens another languid groan from him, and Magnus can’t help sitting on Alec’s thighs, trapping his own neglected cock between them as he kisses him back.
When Alec pulls away, he’s breathing out desperate drags of air on Magnus’ lips and looking positively destroyed by his mouth.
“That was–,” he starts. Stops to swallow thickly. “You’re really good at that.”
Magnus doesn’t want to kill the mood by reminding he’s had a lot of practice. Instead, he swipes another loose drop from his chin with his thumb and licks it clean with a smile, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Lightwood.”
Alec’s hands slide down his neck to his shoulders, using his grip to pull him forwards again so he can lick the side of his neck. His head swims at the gesture, both warmed and impossibly aroused by the fact that Alec’s just as into it. Just as into him and the mess of strange proclivities that come with it.
Or at least, he hopes this is the start of a lot more, but it’s difficult to convince himself to hope. Even more difficult not to try and read too much into it when Alec asks him, “What can I do for you?”
He’s already done so much just by being with him. By allowing himself to be pleasured and indulging his strange tastes.
“Oh, Alexander, it’s fine.”
Magnus doesn’t expect Alec to leave it at that because he’s far too stubborn and far too kind.
“Come on, tell me what you like. Are you afraid I’ll think it’s weird?”
“More like I wanted you to find out what you enjoy first.”
Alec’s lips land on Magnus’ shoulder as he pulls him into a tight embrace. “I enjoy being with you. I don’t care how that happens.” Another kiss drops a few centimeters to the left of the last one, but Magnus barely notices over the way his heart suddenly feels too warm and heavy inside his chest cavity.
“And I want to make you feel good,” Alec continues, “really, really good. So let me?”
It loosens another self-made lock inside, the impact echoing through his soul when it drops and shatters.
“Alright, we’ll try something. Give me your fingers.”
Alec obediently holds one hand up for him, and Magnus leans over to blow on his fingers gently, magically coating them with slick fluid that rolls its way down all the calloused edges. He watches Alec rub his thumb and middle finger together a few times as if testing the consistency before he waves them under his own nose to sniff, a move that highlights his charming cluelessness too well.
“What is it?”
“What I used on you the first time. Please tell me you remember.”
“I mean, I was kind of...distracted by a lot of things at the time.”
That response makes Magnus snort with amusement, more pleased than annoyed really. “I suppose I share the blame on that one.”
Did he ever, but he couldn’t really resist when Alec looked amazing spread open for him. His own thoughts had just about abandoned him back then, too.
“Does this mean you want me to try...with my fingers? Are you okay with that?”
“Beyond okay.”
He watches the way Alec’s lips purse together, obviously still trying to process the request.
“In fact,” Magnus continues as he edges the sweatpants Alec loaned him down the edges of his hips, making it very obvious he also banished his underwear away when he sent his clothes back to his apartment. He doesn’t continue talking until he’s shifted his weight fully onto his own knees and is craning his neck downwards, lips hovering precariously over Alec’s. “I’d have let you do more to me if I hadn’t made you promise not to exert yourself.”
Alec’s adam's apple bobs noticeably as he swallows, his un-lubricated hand forming a white-knuckled grip on Magnus’ now bare waist.
“Fuck,” he ends up hissing, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. It feels like an eternity of silence stretched into just a few seconds, and Magnus doesn’t expect Alec’s room to suddenly tip over the way it does. Can barely even steal a breath before he’s pushed on his back with Alec sliding his body between his legs.
“I want to.” Alec kisses him hard, tugging Magnus’ (his) sweatpants down, down while Magnus’s head is still spinning from having his whole worldview tilted on its axis. “Forget the promise, I want to.”
Magnus wants to forget more than that. Forget how to keep himself closed. Forget all the reasons he told himself that Alec wouldn’t be any different than the rest. Forget that there’s a canyon of dissimilarities between them. Forget how to be patient and how to be responsible.
Alec makes him want to be utterly reckless with his own heart.
“Are you even able to –well, I know you’re young…”
“I can,” Alec says with a nod, “just need a few minutes.”
Magnus certainly isn’t going to time him. Thinks this might even work in the Shadowhunter’s favor because now that the edge is off, the total shock of being inside someone won’t completely melt through his self-control. It might just obliterate Magnus’ instead, but he can live with that.
His hips rise to finish removing the sweatpants from himself before he takes Alec’s wrist and adds a second coat of lubricant to his fingers just to be safe. He imagines all that jostling around had likely rubbed off a good amount on their clothes and on the bedding.
“Alright, start slow. One finger until you get used to the sensation.”
Part of Alec’s mouth quirks up with amusement as he tickles Magnus’ perineum and draws a slick trail to his hole. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”
“Trust me, I can handle it.”
Alec looks like he wants to ask but thinks better of it. Probably doesn’t want any further excursions into Magnus’ sexual history, so he just accepts it then wriggles a single finger into him in a way that tickles more than hurts.
Magnus’ legs bend and draw upwards to give him more access. “You can slide it in deeper, explore your heart out.”
He doesn’t know if Alec needs the vote of confidence, but he seems to grow more bolder regardless from the encouragement. His finger moves in deeper and presses upwards, still tickling him more than generating any real mind-numbing pleasure.
“Try another.”
A subtle flick of Magnus’ fingers coats his own insides with further lubricating oil, making Alec’s touch glide in easier. With two in, they naturally crook together in a way that keeps just barely brushing across nerves thrumming desperately for more. Magnus has to bite his lip and bury his own hands into the bedspread to keep from re-directing Alec –which proves to be noticeable enough that Alec stops altogether.
“Is this hurting you?”
Magnus shakes his head frantically.
“Why are you tensing up then? Tell me what you want.”
Anything. Everything. Mostly he just wants Alec to stop being careful and to start pulling at all the loose, frayed threads spilling out from Magnus’ body. Make him feel unspooled and wrecked.
Alec starts to tug his fingers away when he doesn’t answer immediately, but Magnus moves quickly to grab his wrist and stop him. Pulls his own bottom lip free after, feeling it tingle from the deep bite wounds.
“Like this,” he shows Alec, guiding him in more firmly, knowing exactly how and where to thrust to make his own toes curl against the sheets. He adds one of his own fingers along with Alec’s, stretching and pulling, making room for Alec to angle himself deeper until Magnus starts to feel the nerves in his lower spine awaken, crackling like gentle burning embers that want to rage, left urgently awaiting for the right spark to ignite them.
“You keep hesitating,” Magnus notes out loud, pushing his hips onto their fingers now, rocking down when frustration and impatience entwine to make him feel even more reckless, “I won’t break, Alexander.”
Or rather, he’s already been broken and put back together more times than he can count. Doesn’t doubt Alec’s ability to do the same when he looks down at him with green-brown eyes smoldering like a forest floor, equally ready to rage.
Perhaps, Alec just needs the right push.
“Don’t stop,” Magnus orders as he withdraws his hand from between his legs just so he could twist his fingers in the shirt Alec gave him, toying with the fabric in a way that gradually exposes more of his stomach until it draws Alec’s full attention upwards.
“You know, earlier when I was on your bed. Before you arrived.” He circles his fingers around his own stomach muscles, letting the tips of them idly dance along the equator between flesh and fabric. “I thought of doing just this to myself, slowly working myself up, wrapped in your sheets –your scent. Twining the fabric between my thighs. Wondering if you’d notice afterwards if I got myself off by rubbing against them.”
That makes Alec abruptly stop and stare at him for what feels like yet another terrifying collection of seconds in which Magnus doesn’t know if he upset him or turned him on.
“Magnus.” His voice wavers around the syllables, and Magnus can see the way the veins on Alec’s neck protrude from the rising tension in his jaw muscles.
“Yes?” he asks with feigned innocence.
It’s a question Alec answers by thrusting his fingers hard, rubbing more firmly against muscles lined with delicate nerves, stimulating them with vision-whitening fervor. Magnus’ head falls back in response, hips snapping up, unable to stop the moan that rolls off his tongue. Yes, more of this he wants to say, but the words are drowned out by the sound of rushing blood inside his body.
“You,” Alec hisses, punctuating the word with another sharp thrust, “are the worst.”
It’s hard for Magnus to really feel bad when Alec fucks him that sharply with his fingers, sending jolts of pure heat singing through him at the contact. His body opens itself up to him completely and without shame, meeting his fingers by grinding down into them, his cock growing too heavy and engorged against his own stomach. He can feel from the first pulsating ripples of pleasure that he’s growing too close. Almost doesn’t want to stop when Alec crooks his fingers and applies too much pressure, making him glad he soundproofed the walls as he twists his upper body from pleasure and chokes out Alec’s name into the sheets.
Alec seems to sense just how close he is because he pulls away and holds his fingers to Magnus’ lips. It takes him a moment to realize what he wants, and he has to fight through all the haziness licking the inside of his brain to blow more magic-infused lubricant on them.
There’s a squelching sound when Alec spreads it over himself, and Magnus can’t help glancing down to watch. Instantly regrets it because his own cock twitches at the sight of Alec looking beautiful under the soft glowing lamp light, already hard and straining to be inside of him.
He knows he won’t be able to endure waiting any longer, quick to reach out and help Alec guide him inside inch by inch. His teeth clench a little at the sensation because Alec’s still very blessed and stretches in him a way that his body hasn’t endured in a long time. It also leaves him feeling full –convinces himself that his body was made for Alec because of how well he fits inside. Like there’s nothing in him left untouched. Like he can feel the veins in his dick pulsing through him if he concentrates hard enough.
Once he’s in all the way, Magnus takes a moment to just savor it, shuddering around him as he stares up at Alec with hooded eyes, wishing he could convey to him in one look how perfect he is. How breath-taking the connection feels. How no one has ever looked down at him mid-fuck like Alec –has made him think of himself as someone worthy of that level of worship.
It’s Eden to him, gates swinging wide open, an angel welcoming with open arms, embracing even the demonic parts of him. Magnus’ arms are just as open, pulling Alec closer onto his own body as he adjusts his legs around him.
Alec’s lips find his ear, exhaling humid air onto the shell of it before whispering, “Magnus, you feel incredible.”
Magnus smiles as his fingers slither up the back of Alec’s neck to comb through his sweat-dampened curls. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He punctuates his choice of words with a tight squeeze around Alec’s cock and relishes the way Alec jerks inside him, his control hair-thin and ready to snap. It’s a good look on him, and Magnus wouldn’t mind testing the limits of that control on another night. As it is, he’s too restless to keep waiting for release, feeling his own cock throb from neglect.
“Alright, raise my legs a bit higher,” Magnus adjusts Alec’s grip and helps him find the right position, one that makes him slide a little too snugly against his prostate. He has to bite his lip for a moment to stop from cursing because he’s sure at that moment Alec will be the death of him.
“What is it?”
Magnus reacts fast before Alec can pull away –has to tighten his legs to hold him right there.
“Was trying to go slow…,” Magnus manages to get out, voice worn and hoarse from the cry that’s still stubbornly lodged at the bottom of his throat, “but I really want you to just fuck me, Alec.”
There’s no patience left to guide him more, his nerves all spun into coils ready to spring out from underneath his flesh. Fortunately, Alec’s also at his wit’s end, and he doesn’t waste any time, pulling out of him just to sink back in deeply, leaving a trail of heat wherever his cock rubs against.
It numbs the world around them fast, bleaching it out of sight and out of mind, only consumed by the way Alec feels when he stretches him inside. Pulls him apart. Magnus’ back arches from the intensity of it, hands falling to the sheets by his head so he can bury his fingers into them. He can still faintly feel and smell Alec everywhere in this room, crushing him on all sides with sensory overload as he swallows him into his body.
It leaves him splintering fast like this, body growing frenzied to meet Alec’s thrusts as he pushes his hips off the bed and downwards, and he knows he can’t last much longer when he sees Alec sweat-glimmered, all powerful limbs and muscle straining. It’s beyond alluring watching Alec fall apart alongside him, feeling his every desperate twitch inside of him, biting his lip, fighting to hold out just a bit longer.
It’s a sight Magnus latches onto hard, holds inside his eyelids when he has to squeeze them shut, feeling ripple after ripple of pleasure crash through his body. His head ends up snapping back, neck bared, stretching out Alec’s name like it’s the only word he knows at that moment, and he feels his orgasm rung out of him as Alec continues to fuck through it, pushing into hyper-sensitive nerves that can’t bear any more stimulation.
Alec follows him too soon, dropping Magnus’ legs just to embrace him and kiss him, open mouth and just as wrecked, as he lets go of all control. Magnus feels him shake all over, hears the near-growl that spills out of him vibrate down his lungs until he collapses heavily on him.
When he does, Magnus doesn’t immediately push him away, uncaring if Alec is little more than deadweight over his body. Feeling him inside even soft and spent is still a vivid memory he wants etched into his skin for days. He wants to remember this every time he walks or moves. Wants to especially remember the way Alec’s eyes burned into his as he came, starved and untamed.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Alec asks after a moment, pressing a soothing kiss over his shoulder.
“It’s sweet you think you can.”
Alec snorts and pinches the side of his hip before sliding out so he can lay down next to Magnus. “You know, you’re the only other person aside from me who’s ever slept on my bed.”
“Not even Jace or Izzy?”
Alec shrugs. “What’s the point? Their rooms are close by. Jace’s used to be right next door before, you know...”
“Yes, but siblings can still share beds sometimes. I promise, it’s less strange than you having a warlock in your bed.”
“We did used to when we were little back in Alicante. Things just changed when we came to the Institute. It was like a rite of passage...we knew we were no longer kids but soldiers.”
Which is a sad realization to digest, especially since Alec is still so young, but he’d been indoctrinated into this lifestyle as soon as the Clave believed him old enough to die without giving them a guilty conscience. Magnus doesn’t want to think about how nerve-wracking those first few days in the Institute must have felt when they’d stepped in as still just kids, surrounded by oversized monitors and sterile walls closing in on them fast.
“Well, I hope you know, if you ever want a break from this place, my loft is always open to you.”
His words draw a soft smile from Alec, who eventually pulls him into his side to kiss him. “Thank you.”
“Besides,” Magnus continues, curling in towards Alec’s side and resting his chest on his shoulder, “looking after Jace is a two-person job.”
“Is that supposed to encourage me to come over?”
“No, I think I firmly talked myself out of ever going back.”
They both laugh this time before Alec reaches towards the lamp to turn it off for the night. Even with the endless symphony of beeping monitors from the Ops Center, the blue-green light sneaking in from under Alec’s door, and the industrial-strength whirl of the air conditioning fans, Magnus supposes being in the Institute isn’t all that bad.