Archive of Our Own

I love you
is that a fact
or a weapon?

-Margaret Atwood, “We are hard”

i.

To be honest, Magnus had expected this.

Well, not this exactly, no, but something with similar results anyway. The anxiety had been gnawing at the back of his mind from the very beginning, reminding him just how easily this could be ruined. How easily he could fuck this up.

It was all so new and unexplored, even for him.

Stupid of him to be so naïve and endlessly hopeful, but then again, it was in his nature; something so indelibly carved into his soul.

And yet he thought that he had more control over this. Over his reckless, untamed heart.

Stupid warlock.

Haven’t you learned anything?

It was almost infuriating. He had managed for so many decades already, effectively suppressed his needs and desires for something deeper and more meaningful than mere skin against skin. It had been unimaginably difficult at first, of course. Almost impossible.

But he had managed.

Slowly but gradually smothered down the once bright burn of his bonfire heart.

“Someday, someone will tear those walls of yours down again,” Ragnor had said.

Magnus had just rolled his eyes and scoffed, successfully hiding the cold fear that was spreading in his chest. Because as hollow as he had felt, as starving as he had been for love, the pain was worse.

Ragnor’s expression had been annoyed but Magnus had always been able to detect the silent worry in his eyes. “Fine. Deny it then, see if I care.”

But Ragnor had been right, as usual. Of course he had been, the arrogant bastard. Someone stumbled into Magnus’ life and did exactly what his friend predicted: disarmed him.

And oh, how completely and effectively he did that.

It should’ve been more alarming, the ominous way he stripped Magnus from his impassive layers; easily destroying the thick walls around his bruised heart, shattering them into dust.

Quietly, effortlessly. Without even meaning to.

Leave, the voice in his head pleaded sometimes, but only when he was alone. Never with him. With him, all Magnus could feel was warmth and familiarity, mixed with bubbling excitement.

You know how this ends.

Leave now.

He should have. Since the whole thing was probably doomed from the very start.

From the second Magnus laid his eyes on him, pulse fluttering from the sight of messy ebony hair. Of strong forearms carved full of runes and dark brown eyes with shadows of emerald in the middle. He was cold and distant; the Clave’s perfect soldier, interminably loyal and obedient.

He was imperfect, but God, Magnus wanted every single piece of him.

It didn’t take long for him to notice the hesitation underneath the hard lines of Alec’s jaw. At first Magnus thought that it was only because of his repressed emotions and hidden sexuality, so it took a bit longer for him to detect the other conflicts in Alec’s head.

About the Clave. About what was right and wrong.

Magnus couldn’t say that he wasn’t surprised, because he was. He didn’t expect to find so much potential behind those dark, dark eyes. Surely there hadn’t been many reasons for the Nephilim to question the acts of the Clave before, but still, Magnus wasn’t an optimist. Not usually, at least.

He had definitely thought that he would be immune to this kind of hope already.

Welcome to the world of gray, he catches himself thinking as he watches how the line between black and white in Alec’s mind slowly starts to blend away.

Magnus was also positively sure that he hadn’t met a Nephilim with such fire and acumen as Isabelle. He honestly admired the young woman who was strong enough to resist the corruption and brainwashing of the Clave. And even though Magnus didn’t believe that people were capable of total change, he had to admit that daughters weren’t their mothers.

That the new generation wasn’t prone to make all the same mistakes as their parents.

Still. He should have known better.

Stupid, stupid warlock, the voice in his head howls as Magnus lets himself to be devoured. As he cracks his own chest open, rib by rib, until his heart is bare and aching again.

Stupid warlock.

Blood is still blood.

He won’t choose you.

Probably the most surprising thing was that Magnus wasn’t bitter. The anger didn’t wash over him (although he still felt like drowning). Not even now, heart ripped from his chest, wrecked and stomped on, then tossed back at his feet. Again.

Why was this always the outcome, he didn’t know. What made it so easy for them to destroy him so thoroughly? Did they think that all those years had made him unaffected, unattainable, invincible even?

Sometimes Magnus wished that they had, indeed.

Was he too much?

Or not enough?

Or was this, too, a part of his very nature. Something unavoidable. Maybe he was meant to be alone – the price of immortality, perhaps? His own, personal curse with no chance of remedy.

Or more simply, maybe he was just hard to love and easy to leave.

Perfect for one night but never for anything more.

Whatever the reason might be, it was cruel of nature to make him crave so deeply something that would unquestionably always leave him bleeding. Always, yes, because here he was again.

He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. It had been only seven months, after all. He had thought that he had a few years, at least.

A few years of bittersweet happiness before Alec would realize that Magnus wasn’t what he wanted, not when there were much better options anyway. Some pretty Nephilim boy that his parents would more likely to approve instead of a centuries old warlock.

Someone uncomplicated.

Someone acceptable.

Someone mortal.

Anyway, the point was that Magnus had seen this coming.

But not like this, not so suddenly and so brutally, all the choices ripped away from both of them. Not in the cold, dark alley with Alec staring down at him, his shoulders tense and sharp eyes showing barely any remorse at all.

But like he said before.

Inevitable.

ii.

The man was as tall as Alec and had twice as much muscle mass, which, okay, was quite impressive. It didn’t, however, give the man the advantage he thought he had.

He was slower. Stiffer. Even with the runes.

Alec ducks away from the imprecise swing of the seraph blade, blocking the next one with his bow. The man growls, frustrated, and swings again. Sloppily. Carelessly. Relying more on his power than skill.

Assuming that he had some, of course.

Alec moves fast – dodging the hasty attacks that are focused on him rather easily – before he sees his chance. A sharp kick to the man’s right knee and he’s down.

Alec takes a few steps back, pulling out an arrow and drawing it, little finger twitching.

Breathe in. Out. Aim for the head. Release–

He freezes.

It’s not a loud crack, not by any means, but with his enhanced hearing Alec catches it anyway. And he recognizes it. It’s a bone breaking. The intense hum of the transparent magic around them drowns out many noises, but not that.

Alec also hears everything that follows.

The airless gasp; the beginning of a scream that gets smothered before it even hits the air.

The snarl that follows – from a different set of lungs this time.

Bodies twisting, clothes rustling, ripping against the asphalt.

He hears everything.

“Well, look at that,” the brawny man leers, still kneeling in front of Alec, waiting for him to make his move. “They do break after all.”

The bottom of Alec’s stomach drops.

Actually ‘dropping’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. It feels like someone clawed his insides out, replacing every vital organ with cold, hollow fear.

He reacts with an adrenaline fueled fury, kicking the man in the face with every ounce of strength he has. The loud crunch that comes from his boot meeting that obnoxious face doesn’t quite give him enough satisfaction. Neither does the howl of pain that follows.

The man falls backwards and Alec redraws his arrow, twirling around just fast enough to see another Circle member flying through the air with wild, blue sparks. The body hits the wall with such a force that the man is probably dead already, but Alec can’t take any chances.

Not now.

He narrows his eyes and releases the arrow, watching it pierce the left eye socket as he pulls the next one from his quiver.

His eyes scan over the area in a mere second, searching the next target. He hears Raphael growling somewhere around his left side and the sharp crack of Izzy’s whip behind them both.

Breathe in–

The air is suddenly much heavier, electric and full.

–out.

It’s almost difficult to breathe.

Alec’s gaze quickly finds the lean body that’s curled up on the ground. There’s a quiet gasp of pain, a flash of yellow eyes, and fuck – Alec swears that he can feel the magic seeping inside him, all the way to his bones. And although it’s familiar, it’s no less intimidating.

No.

It’s deep and all-consuming and getting stronger with every breath Alec takes it in, pumping through his veins stronger than adrenaline. As if his blood held the very same magic as the air around him.

It’s mesmerizing. And terrifying.

And over in seconds.

The wave of magic dies down as quickly as it had risen.

Alec greedily inhales the fresh air in his lungs, fingertips tingling from the magic (or the sudden volume of oxygen). He blinks a few times, feverishly thinking that you’re not okay. You’re not okay at all, but you’re alive and at the moment that’s all that matters.

“You picked the wrong side, kid.”

Alec doesn’t turn around immediately. He doesn’t bother to answer, either. Instead he holds his breath and tightens his grip on the bow, carefully listening to the puffy exhales of the man behind him. The heavy steps that approach.

“What kind of man betrays his own, anyway?” the man continues with a tone that is something between amusement and disgust. “But I guess that every species has its twisted individuals. The ones that forget whose side they belong to.”

Closer, Alec thinks. Come on, just a little closer.

And the man comes. Of course he does.

Alec clenches his jaw and draws his bow again, turning around only when the Circle member is approximately three feet away from him, and shoots – right through the arm that’s holding the weapon.

The man staggers back, screaming, but Alec follows, pulling out his dagger and burying it deep into the flesh under the carotid artery. Warm blood slicks his grip on the blade, trickling down Alec’s wrist and messing up the sleeve of his jacket. Irritatingly enough, even that doesn’t bring him sufficient gratification.

He wants to kill the man again. Slower this time. More painfully like he deserves.

The brutality of that thought is a bit worrying but Alec can’t bring himself to care. Not now.

You can reflect on it later. Continue now.

“Guess every species has its twisted individuals, huh?” he finds himself whispering as the man’s knees hit the ground. “Couldn’t agree more.”

iii.

Two hours earlier

“Come on...”

Magnus is very, very tempted to flick his wrist and break his brand new iPhone.

“Seriously?” he mumbles into the pillow as his phone keeps vibrating loudly against the wooden nightstand. It wasn’t Alec’s ringtone, so he couldn’t bring himself to care too much, to be honest.

Last night’s negotiations had stretched far past an appropriate hour, leaving Magnus very little time to sleep before the morning meeting he had with the Seelie ambassador. So, an early wake up call? Thanks but no thanks.

But the buzzing continues.

     And continues.

         And continues…

Magnus cracks his heavy eyes open. Maybe it’s an emergency, he thinks as he fumbles for his phone in the dark. At this hour, it must be.

He can already imagine a needy voice urgently telling him that ‘this is a situation that needs to be dealt with immediately.’

Right. As it always is.

He is so going to overcharge. Sleep deprivation bonus, that’s an extra 30% at least.

It’s not a client, it’s Raphael.

Magnus rubs his tired eyes and swipes the screen to accept the call.

“I know that you are a night animal and as much as I love hearing your gorgeous voice, I’d still hope that you’d place your calls at a more appropriate time,” he says for a hello.

He catches a quiet sigh from the other end of the line, “Idiota,” and then, “why do I even put up with you...”

The half-hearted, pretend annoyance reminds Magnus of Ragnor, and for a moment his throat constricts painfully. The loss of his friend was still too new, too raw.

“So, what can I do for you?” he says, managing to keep his voice light enough.

“Sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep, God knows that you need it,” Raphael says and continues before Magnus can even think of a witty comeback, “But I need you–” Magnus sits up better, “–well, I don’t, but your lover-boy here does.”

The clock on the opposite wall freezes.

Magnus swallows and reaches for the covers with his free hand, feeling briefly distressed for losing control like that. It doesn’t matter that it was only his clock. He is the High Warlock; he should have more control than that.

Well, this wasn’t the first time for Alec to wreck his carefully maintained balance.

Magnus exhales and the clock spurs back to life, ticking uncontrollably fast. Same beat as his suddenly rapid heartbeat.

The fact that Raphael can probably hear his increased pulse even through the phone surprisingly doesn’t bother him much at all. Although he isn’t sure if the dread in his gut is any better, even if it effectively overpowers the shame of his unusual act of fragility.

“Is he okay?”

Magnus wants to move – he should move – but he can’t. Not before he hears the answer.

He can hear Raphael licking his lips, contemplating what to say. The knot in Magnus’ stomach tightens painfully, weighing him further down with every slow second that ticks by. Or maybe it isn’t seconds at all, maybe in his fear-fueled state it only feels like it.

But still, it’s taking too long.

“Raphael,” he hisses. The glass of the clock cracks in the middle and the ticking stops altogether.

The sharp noise of it somehow manages to pull Magnus from his paralytic state and he forces his body to move, gracefully sorting himself from the tangled sheets. He feels cold without the warmth of them (without the warmth of Alec’s body). A shiver runs down his spine when his bare feet meet the chilly floor.

“Yes, yes, he is fine,” Raphael sighs, finally. “He is fine, but it’s his – fuck, I don’t know – his sister, I think?”

“Isabelle?” Magnus asks as he dresses up, hastily pulling off his night shirt – Alec’s grey, tight t-shirt: soft, used cotton – and snaps his fingers to put the new one on.

“Yeah, her.”

“Come on, you should know them better by now. Samuel isn’t the only person in this world, you know.”

Magnus hears a suppressed growl from the speaker, momentarily regretting attacking Raphael’s pressure point like that. But he’s worried. And when he’s worried, he becomes snappy.

There’s a quiet rustling before Raphael speaks again, voice lowered. “Look, I don’t know the details, just get here as soon as you can. He’s not telling me much, just keeps asking for you. And I know that he doesn’t trust me, but there’s something that feels – I don’t know – off.”

Magnus hums as the laces of his black, snake-skin shoes tie themselves up.

“I’ll be there,” he quickly combs his fingers through his hair to shape it up with magic. “Where are you?”

“Pandemonium.”

iv.

Something’s amiss.

It’s so apparent that Raphael can almost feel the cold touch in the base of his spine. It’s just an instinct, really, but an anomalously strong one. The kind that made his fangs drop involuntarily.

Something was definitely wrong. So utterly twisted and out of place, and yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

It was like those gag-paintings where you had to find the aberration in the picture. Ragnor had loved those; the more difficult, the better.

Raphael absolutely hates them.

The error was usually hiding in plain sight, somehow managing to seamlessly blend into the environment; like someone driving a car in a painting from the 1300s. The flaw was obscure, cheekily on display like it belonged there. It was often extremely hard to find, but after you did, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

So here Raphael was, shoulders tense and snarl just on the tip of his tongue, imperceptibly trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Alexander Lightwood?

To be honest, Raphael hadn’t taken enough interest in the man to know much of anything about him. That, admittedly, slightly complicated this task of his. He didn’t know what to look for, and even if he did, he couldn’t possibly know if he found it.

Magnus had sounded distressed on the phone, yes, but Raphael suspects that the worry was merely for the young Lightwood, not for his notice of something being off.

If Raphael wasn’t so concerned, he would probably be amused.

Magnus had fallen so quickly it was almost ludicrous. And bizarre. How someone so young, someone so restrained – a Nephilim on top of that – managed to do that to him. Magnus had even called him first, chasing him like he hadn’t chased anyone in decades.

“He is just adorable, Raphael.”

“I don’t know. He seems kinda grumpy. And rigid.”

“So you two have something in common.”

“I didn’t know that I was your type.”

“It suits him much better than you, I must say.”

Raphael licks over his currently blunt canines and leans further against the wall.

The Nephilim had taken a seat opposite of him on the large, black leather couch. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. The stillness of his body radiated false calmness, almost hiding the uneasy, agitated look in his eyes.

It didn’t look right, though.

It isn’t the right kind of agitated, Raphael realizes suddenly. He tilts his head, carefully examining the Nephilim.

Yes. That’s it.

It wasn’t the right kind of distress. He didn’t look like a young man worried for his missing sister, no, he looked...nervous. Like he was more worried for himself than anyone else.

Afraid of getting caught, perhaps?

Maybe Raphael should just ask.

Blunt but efficient. Why beat around the bush, anyway? He didn’t even need a proper answer, the reaction to his question would be enough.

Magnus would probably threaten to shatter his favorite bottle of whiskey for interrogating his beloved Nephilim like that, but Raphael needed to be sure. He wouldn’t ruin Magnus’ happiness over some feeble, imaginative conspiracy theory that may or may not have some truth to it in the end. He cared for the warlock dearly, even though he’d rather take a bullet than admit that out loud.

Over the low beat of the music Raphael hears the soft and agile steps before the door is pushed open. And obviously so does Alec because he’s on his feet nearly three seconds before that.

Magnus’ eyes flicker briefly over the room before settling on the Nephilim. “Alexander?”

God, you’re so in love, Raphael rolls his eyes.

How annoying.

“I need to talk to you,” Alec is quick to step closer, hand hovering over Magnus’ bicep. “Alone, if possible.”

And yes. Raphael can see it even across the dim room. The almost imperceptible change in Magnus’ eyes, the way his movements halt for one fleeting second. So you notice it, too.

“Of course,” Magnus’ voice doesn’t reveal any of the doubts he might have, “Raphael? Would you mind giving us some privacy, please?”

Raphael shrugs and walks out of the door, carefully closing it behind him while internally cursing himself.

He trusts Magnus to handle the situation, it’s not that. It’s the warlock’s heart that Raphael doubts. After all, it has betrayed Magnus before, and honestly speaking, Raphael had a really bad feeling about the whole thing.

He should’ve asked when he had the chance.

Well, too late for that now.

He heads away from the private rooms of the club and squeezes through the crammed dance floor until he reaches the bar. The fact that he saw the same doubt flicker in Magnus’ eyes doesn’t do much to calm his anxiety so he keeps checking his phone. Just in case.

The bourbon doesn’t taste as rich on his tongue as it usually does. Or maybe he’s just growing hungry. Been a while since he last fed, after all.

“Wanna ‘nother?” the bartender gestures to his glass, empty except for the two slowly melting ice cubes.

Raphael flattens his tongue over his sharpened fangs.

“Bloody Mary. The original, please.”

He keeps sipping the red liquor and checking his phone until they emerge from the back room about ten minutes later. Raphael abandons his drink when he spots them and pushes past the sweaty bodies so he can pull Magnus aside before they manage to slip out.

He ignores the dark glance that Alec throws in his direction when he does so.

“So?” he asks as soon as they’re out of the Nephilim’s hearing range. Thanks to the loud music and drunk people they don’t have to go across the whole building to have a private conversation.

Magnus’ face is carefully blank. “It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think?”

“It’s not a demon, Raphael.”

No, it wasn’t. That much he had figured out himself.

“But it’s still something?”

The well-hidden uncertainty that glimmers in Magnus’ eyes is not a good sign. Not at all. “I’m not sure.”

Shouldn’t you know? Raphael wants to ask. Of all people, shouldn’t you know? He almost does, but in the end he can’t bring himself to twist the knife in the wound. He can see how it’s already eating Magnus from the inside, how it’s gnawing at his thoughts. How he can’t be sure.

“Magnus, don’t be stupid, it can’t be–”

“What?” Magnus cuts him off, voice tight and quiet. “If it’s not a shapeshifter – and it’s not – then what? It has to be him. It’s probably just stress.”

Raphael sighs. Maybe he should just stay away from all of this. Separate himself from everyone but his own people. Especially from that red headed girl. She was practically walking, talking trouble, turning the whole constellation upside down.

A strained smile graces Magnus’ face. “Thanks for calling me. Really. I won’t forget it.”

Wait, what?

Magnus turns to leave but Raphael captures his wrist and tugs him back and further into the darkness of the corner. Magnus frowns but Raphael only tightens his hold.

“What are you doing? Are you going with him?” he asks, trying to suppress the low growl that was rumbling somewhere deep in his chest.

Magnus narrows his eyes and tries to pull his hand away. Raphael doesn’t let him.

Some primal instinct whispers at him to retreat; to let go of that slender wrist that may not hold the overpowering physical strength, but something more dangerous instead. Something way more destructive than mere muscles were within those exposed nerves and delicate bones.

Magnus straightens his back, eyes hard. He isn’t trying to pull away anymore. “I’m going where Isabelle was taken. Alexander suspects that the Circle has–”

Raphael snaps. “Alone? You are planning to go alone with him, hm? Such a good plan you have, Bane.”

Magnus tenses even further but his pulse stays steady under Raphael’s fingertips. He shouldn’t push it, Raphael knows that he shouldn’t, but this was becoming ridiculous. Magnus had always been a little reckless when it came to his loved ones, but this was over the top.

High Warlock or not, the Circle was running strong again and Valentine’s men weren’t stupid. Racist and undervaluing the lives that they thought were worth less than theirs, sure, but not stupid.

“Are you really so fucking sure about him?” Raphael inquires lowly.

Magnus leans closer and Raphael notices how his pupils start to grow thinner, how the round orbs slowly take their natural oval shapes.

“It’s not a shapeshifter,” Magnus repeats. Raphael isn’t sure who he is trying to convince, Raphael or himself.

“It’s not Alec, either.”

“Who, then?” Magnus contends.

Raphael winces as something cold sneaks around his own wrist, pressing bones together and wringing the tendons of his hand. Dark, blue smoke encircles his forearm and hand, undoing his fingers around Magnus’ wrist, one by one.

For a second those animalistic eyes gleam dangerously in the low light and Raphael isn’t so certain anymore that Magnus wouldn’t break his arm.

Maybe he finally crossed the line?

But then Magnus blinks and the pressure disappears. The glamor is back again, just like that smooth, distant mask, perfected by time and practice.

“I appreciate your concern, I really do, your opinion is dear to me, but this isn’t your problem to deal with.”

His eyes soften when he catches Raphael rubbing his aching hand and his voice is much quieter when he continues, “I can’t abandon him now. Not when he needs me.”

Slender fingers brush against the back of Raphael’s hand, this time only easing the discomfort. The blue smoke fades quickly into the thick air of the club.

“Go home, Raphael,” Magnus whispers, almost pleading, and turns to walk away.

I know you, Raphael wants to call after him. I know the look you have when you’re unsure, when you don’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t. Saying that wouldn’t do any good, not now.

So Raphael watches him go, cursing the warlock under his breath as he wipes the glitter off his favorite jacket. He pulls his phone from his pocket only when Magnus’ lean frame is out of his sight.

All right, fledgling.

Now would be a good moment to pick up.

v.

The narrow alley is dark and quiet, almost eerily so.

And by dark, Magnus means pitch black. There are no lamp posts or light coming through the dusty windows. Even the moon is hiding behind a thick curtain of clouds.

He narrows his eyes, trying to see to the end of the alley. The dark walls, however, eat every gleam of light that manages to come across so all he sees is the deep, obstinate darkness.

It isn’t right.

He rubs his fingertips together, debating if he should just light up the place or – or what? Step back? There is no ‘or’. He needs to examine the place. Needs to see the exact spot where Isabelle disappeared.

Knowing that doesn’t ease the heavy weight in his stomach. The fact that he also feels oddly naked without his usual makeup doesn’t help the matter either. The thin line of eyeliner above his lids is way less than he normally uses.

All of these feelings are so unusual, so rare, that Magnus almost ignores them.

He isn’t afraid of the darkness, per se. Or course he isn’t. He was the darkness himself, born into the night, impure and seducing. It wasn’t about the enemies or dangers that the shadows could hide, either. He was the High Warlock. There weren’t many people in New York who could match him.

No. This was something else. Something wrong and twisted.

“There,” Alec murmurs behind him. As if he, too, was expecting to find someone looming in the shadows of those absurdly black walls.

Magnus nods. Ignoring his instincts when they kicked in so vigorously felt just plain wrong, but what were his options? It was the beautiful, charming Isabelle they were here for, and honestly speaking, Magnus would probably do this even if she wasn’t Alec’s sister.

Come on, Bane. If Ragnor could see you now.

Magnus takes a wary step forward, his whole body tense and palms open.

The magic is simmering strong in his fingertips, bringing him some composure. He is almost overflowing, the electric feeling of it filling him to the brim, violent and ready to spill over.

Alec’s presence is reliable behind him, too, but somehow it doesn’t bring Magnus any comfort. If anything, it’s oppressing. Alec had never been the most verbal person, but this silence between them feels oddly uncomfortable.

Get away, get away, get away–

Magnus stops abruptly and turns enough to see Alec’s face. For a second he thinks that he sees something in those eyes; a cold, spurious glint, but it’s gone immediately.

Alec lifts one eyebrow quizzically.

“Where is your bow?” Magnus whispers when he realizes that Alec is holding a seraph blade instead of his usual weapon.

Alec wets his lips and fixes his hold on the blade. “I broke it on a mission. Haven’t got it fixed yet.”

For a second Magnus lets his doubts take over.

All the small things, like the posture of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way he blinks and moves and holds his weapon. Even the way he smells seems somehow different. It’s the same touch of cologne and the familiar scent of skin, intimate and familiar and twisted all the same.

But the blade is glowing in those long, pale fingers. Another solid proof that it couldn’t be a shifter.

Maybe he is just being paranoid?

“Is something wrong?” Alec steps closer, and for the first time ever, Magnus doesn’t want him to.

You tell me.

“No. Nothing, darling,” Magnus assures even though his body is screaming for him to do something – attack, flee – anything.

He turns around again.

Stupid, stupid warlock. It’s Camille’s quiet mockery that echoes in his head again. Last time wasn’t enough for your little broken heart?

The next few seconds are nothing but a blur, but, well…it would be stupid to claim that it was unexpected. Because it really wasn’t.

The sting of the needle is quick and sharp as it pierces the sensitive skin of Magnus’ neck. His body reacts quickly, twisting away from the pain, but his magic has always been his fastest reflex.

Except that it isn’t his normal, reflexive burst of magic, no. More like an overflowing.

He is too tense – the frenzied magic has been coiling so vigorously under his skin – that when the push finally comes, he doesn’t even have a chance to contain it. It explodes uncontrollably from his core; a ferocious wave that throws everything off balance, including Magnus himself.

The world whirls – a mess of darkness and blue sparks – before he hits the wall.

Tidak, Magnus grits his teeth before stumbling back on his feet.

He is momentarily blinded by the bright blast, eyes no longer used to the darkness. He is also distantly aware that his shoulder throbs from the impact, but it’s an obscure ache, adrenaline already starting to numb the pain.

It’s disturbingly quiet again.

“Alec?” Magnus calls and flicks his wrist to create a bright light in his palm.

It illuminates the alley enough for him to spot Alec who was already standing up next to the dumpsters, reaching for his fallen blade.

Magnus pushes himself away from the wall, searching for the attacker with narrowed eyes. The fact that he finds no one doesn’t calm him at all. On the contrary.

The light he created pulses brighter few times before it dies down.

Magnus swallows, dread descending into his stomach.

It’s not a coincidence. In a situation like this, it never is. He snaps his fingers and the light appears again, dimmer this time. He tries to ignore how much effort that little act of magic takes.

“Shit,” Alec curses, frowning at his bleeding palm. The cut isn’t too deep, Magnus can see it from the way Alec can still move his hand and fingers. The sight is still effectively boosting up his already urgent need to protect.

Magnus rubs the aching spot on his own neck. He doesn’t mind the sting, but the way the substance burns under his skin worries him.

He can still feel his magic, strong and urgent in his veins. The trouble seems to be that he can’t control it, not with his usual ease. Whatever it was, they need to get away before it starts to really affect him.

Both ends of the alley seem to be deserted for now so Magnus lets his gaze find Alec again.

“We should go and come back when–” he freezes, words dying on his lips.

There is no one else, indeed.

No one, except Alec, with a seraph blade in his right hand and a half-empty syringe in his left.

vi.

Alec didn’t like to be in debt.

In fact, he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

And when he couldn’t, he was quick to pay it back. Because if you didn’t, you would never know when people might decide to knock on your door and insist a service in return.

Something to evade, definitely.

So if someone had told Alec that he would be owing one of his most important debts to a mundane (former mundane, vampire, whatever) well – Alec would’ve probably laughed in their face. Or rolled his eyes since he wasn’t really one for laughing.

But oddly enough here he was, running through the narrow alleys and dark shortcuts with Izzy fast behind him. And if anything, this might just be the kind of favor that Alec would consider big enough to start using the vampire’s first name.

The autumn night is cold and calm, like a bad omen for the oncoming storm. It was like waiting for the venomous snake to strike, racing against time; against your own destruction.

Not yours, Alec’s mind reminds him unhelpfully. His.

His lungs ache with the chilly air but he only runs faster. Or maybe the pain was just his wildly beating heart, the panic that was inevitably building up in his throat.

You are fast, the darkness around him whispers, taunting; but are you fast enough?

vii.

Magnus feels numb.

And hollow. Almost painfully so.

They are slowly coming closer, quietly emerging from the shadows and dark corners. The dim light in his palm allows him to see them moving, cautious but cocky, sure that they’ve won. And maybe they have.

Magnus doesn’t spare a second glance at them. His eyes are glued to the man in front of him.

Alec returns the gaze, dark eyes cold and unblinking.

Did you really expect any other end to this?

Loving a Nephilim doesn’t mean that they love you back.

Magnus should feel betrayed. He should be angry – no – he should be fucking furious. He should feel something, anything, except this all-consuming emptiness that was threatening to swallow him whole.

Betrayed, violated, exposed; any of those would do.

He should, but there’s a void in his chest, an empty space exactly where his heart used to be. Guess every toy breaks when you throw them to the ground hard enough. Especially the already cracked ones.

Alec keeps staring at him, inhumanly and unnaturally still, while the others continue to prowl closer, weapons ready.

Magnus should attack. Or at least try to. He should flash his white teeth and vow death to anyone who dares to take even one step closer. And he most definitely should leave. Preferably now, when he still has some kind of chance for that.

He should, he should, he should.

“Is it affecting him yet?” one of them asks with a thin voice, obviously nervous.

It’s Alec who answers, his impassive eyes never leaving Magnus. “It should be.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” the next one growls and surges at Magnus, fast and determined.

And stupid.

So interminably stupid.

Magnus rends his gaze from Alec and moves it to the man who makes it five feet towards him before stumbling to the ground, choking.

Using every bit of his rapidly fading control, Magnus begins to squeeze the man’s internal organs, bending tendons and tearing veins with an invisible hand until there’s nothing left to damage. Until there’s nothing mendable for those bones to protect.

It doesn’t take long. Four seconds, if that.

The man doesn’t scream, just gargles on his own spit and foam. Besides that, the only external affirmation of his suffering was the thin rivulet of blood that was steadily running from his nose to his chin, dripping on the ground.

“Don’t,” Magnus hisses between his clenched teeth, “Don’t you even think about it.”

The sudden rage that ignites in his chest is slightly surprising, but it’s something, so Magnus welcomes the bright burn of it eagerly. It’s better than nothing, even if it doesn’t manage to fill much of the void between his ribs. It’s not even for the right reason – it’s not directed at Alec, as it should be – but it’s enough.

It’s all he can do right now.

A quiet snap echoes through the air and the man goes slack, eyes rolling back before he falls face down on the ground. Permanently this time, with his broken spine and twisted organs.

Magnus exhales. Five left plus Alec. And that’s only as far as he knows.

Five left and his magic feels so frail already, thanks to the drug that was burning in his veins like salt on an open wound.

The Circle members who had backed away during the mauling of their colleague were now creeping closer again, dread and determination equally bright in their eyes.

So they weren’t going to retreat or flee as easily as Magnus had hoped.

“Alright, calm down, calm down,” one of them appeases with a rough voice, “Can’t you see that it’s affecting him? The warlock will be down soon.”

And so will you, Magnus thinks as he lets his glamor slip away.

“So awfully sure of himself, this one,” he taunts, arranging an amused and slightly bored smile on his lips. He makes sure to relax his shoulders and straighten his back, too, to create an illusion of power. Of a false upper hand. “So you wanna try next, hm? Or are you not as suicidal as your friend here?”

The man hesitates.

“Come on, boys,” Magnus purrs, low and ominous. “I’m a sitting duck here. You won’t get an easier target.”

The rest of them start to fidget, too, clenching and unclenching their sweaty hands around their weapons. Alec is still standing right in front of him but Magnus doesn’t look at him again. He can’t, too afraid of the things he might find in those dark eyes.

Or more accurately, what he might not.

What he thought he had seen there.

“No,” one of them snarls, spitting the words out like poison, “He’s bluffing. Toying with us.” The man flashes a hollow smile – although it’s more grimace than smile – and starts to encircle Magnus from his left.

Magnus is careful to maintain his relaxed posture as he follows the man with his unglamored gaze.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he vexes and lets the light in his palm grow even dimmer, preparing his remaining magic for an attack. “I won’t get any younger, not that it matters.”

The man sneers and steps closer, eyes ablaze.

“Jaxon, don’t be stupid. He’s just provoking you.”

“Oh, I know,” the man, Jaxon, growls. “That’s his mistake.”

Magnus tenses, bracing himself for the strike that was most likely to follow. And it does, just not from the direction he expects.

It’s the smallest one who lunges at him from the right – the one with the thin voice and nervous eyes – and Magnus barely manages to turn around before the blade hits him. But he does, thank God he does, and raises his hands to hit the attacker with an electric fire.

The magic never hits its target. Not like Magnus means to.

Instead of the precise hit, the flames flare from his fingertips all around him, blazing hot and uncontrollable, like a beast set loose. The man gets close enough for his blade to nick Magnus’ raised arms before the flames swallow him whole.

And Magnus tries to control it. He truly does, but the azure fire spreads like a disease, growing higher and wider in mere seconds. As if the cold air was filled with gasoline instead of oxygen.

The Circle members are in disarray around him, backing up from the fire and shouting curses and warnings to each other.

“Get him!” one of them barks over the loud roar of the fire. Magnus snarls and twirls around, ready to find the source of that fury laced voice and burn down the next one who tries.

The man is positively huge. Almost a head taller than Magnus and probably twice as wide, muscles bulging against the black fabric of his combat jacket.

“Gonna crush that pretty little head of yours,” the man drawls before striding at Magnus, something acutely like madness glinting in his narrowed eyes.

Magnus smirks dryly, summoning everything and anything his magical blood still had to offer. Never mind the control. If he was going down, he was going to burn every single one of them on his way there.

His opponent, however, halts before Magnus gets that far. A foul smile rises on that sardonic face, as if the winner was already clear.

Magnus frowns and takes a small step backwards. He can feel the fire warming his back so he isn’t expecting the warm fingers that curl around his throat and yank him backwards against an equally warm chest.

“I’m sorry,” the words are low, breathed hotly against the shell of Magnus’ ear. The rushed apology is followed by a familiar sting in his neck, burning his veins again.

Something leaves Magnus in that moment. Something vital.

He isn’t sure if it’s his anger or his hope. Maybe both since he feels so terrifyingly empty again.

“I’m sorry, Magnus,” Alec keeps murmuring, “I never wanted it to go like this, but you need to understand. I need to get her back.”

And the worst thing is that Magnus understands. He truly does.

Alec was all about family. It was the center of his world, the grand reason why he got up in the morning. He would do almost anything, legal or not, in order to protect the ones he loved. Magnus knows that.

Maybe that’s what kills the last flicker of light in his chest. To know that this was his worth in Alec’s eyes – apparently low enough for him to sell Magnus to Valentine.

Stupid, stupid warlock, this time the voice in his head is his own.

As if a Nephilim would choose anyone over their own.

viii.

Raphael has to admit that he’s mildly surprised by the Nephilim’s speed. He knows exactly how fast they are, so maybe that’s why he didn’t expect to be left behind.

Fuck it, he thinks as he drives himself to run faster. As if he’s going to lose a race to the Lightwoods.

He catches a glimpse of a bouncing black ponytail before it disappears around the corner.

Raphael sincerely hopes that the location he pushed out of the man is right. They didn’t have time to run around the city like headless chickens. And losing Ragnor had been hard enough.

The sounds of fighting aren’t hard to detect, the cold air carries them well enough. The heavy stone in Raphael’s chest gets a bit lighter after hearing them. That meant they weren’t done yet. That Magnus was still fighting.

That they weren’t too late.

Alec and his sister are already halfway up to the rooftop when Raphael reaches the side of the building from a different direction. 

Well, fuck.

He follows the same path with the fire escape ladders and the pipes until he manages to hop onto the roof, too.

The shouts have died down but there’s still a low drone of magic coming from the alleyway below. Raphael allows himself to hope that he’ll find the Circle members down and not Magnus.

That is before he hears a slightly hysterical laughter that certainly isn’t coming from his friend.

Raphael barely manages to reach the edge of the roof before the elder Lightwood turns around. His bow is drawn and pointing precisely at Raphael’s chest but it’s not that what makes him halt. It’s the look in Alec’s eyes.

A dark storm of fear and rage and – oh.

Who would’ve guessed?

Raphael smirks and bares his canines long enough for them to catch a gleam of light. “Wrong target, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec’s eyes narrow, gaze lingering for a second before the tip of his arrow moves down towards the tall figure in the narrow alley.

The arrow flies silently.

ix.

Nothing could be worse than this, Magnus is sure about that.

He had thought that he knew darkness, perks of being born from it, but this was an entirely new kind of inscrutability.

This one eats you from inside, first consuming you and then draining you out. Leaving your bones protecting only a hollow charade of a heart, one so thoroughly shattered that it was barely recognizable as one.

Alec is still talking.

Magnus can hear his voice. Putting meaning to his sentences is harder. He can’t focus, and frankly, he doesn’t have any motivation to even try.

The hand around his throat eases its hold finally. Then it leaves his skin altogether.

The pain stays though, somehow far more tangible than the verbiage flying around him.

Nobody stops him when he moves to the wall and slides down against it. The fact that there’s no seraph blade against his chest is kind of uncanny, but then again, what kind of threat is he at the moment? Nonexistent. Even the flames were dying down around them, and as much as Magnus wants to incite them into a fatal conflagration again, he knows his limits.

Hell, he can barely breathe normally with his bruised throat, let alone keep his eyes open.

The low lights blur together and the ground is slowly lurching under him.

Not yet, Bane. Not yet.

Magnus forces his eyes open and lifts them to the man above him, desperately searching for any remorse. He meets the same cold eyes and stoic expression. A hard wall. Nothing else. Unsurprisingly the ground isn’t shifting under him, although it very much feels like it is.

Magnus wants to throw up.

At the moment he can’t see any outcome that’s worse. Nor hear one.

In fact, probably none of them hear it coming.

The black arrow flies fast and quietly, ripping through the flesh of Alec’s throat with deadly accuracy.

For one prolonged moment everything stills before Alec’s eyes widen and the blood starts pouring. And it’s everywhere. Literally everywhere. All Magnus can see is red, so – much – red.

It’s horribly quiet, only a searing white noise filling Magnus’ head, breaking and shattering his every rational thought. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

He hears a distant scream from somewhere before the blue flames come alive around him once again, wild and bright. Magnus is only vaguely aware that the scream came from himself, his throat and lungs aching with the force of it.

Miraculously enough, he finds enough strength and balance to move himself next to Alexander, knees scraping against the asphalt. He tries to force his magic into the twitching body under his palms but it isn’t enough – he can’t do enough, not with the drug messing up his system.

And Alec is choking. On his own blood. The dark, crimson fluid keeps pouring out of his body too fast. Alec can’t breathe–

–neither can I.

It’s like living Ragnor’s death all over again, but somehow it’s even worse, because this was Alec and Alec wasn’t supposed to die. Not now. Not like this. And never because of Magnus.

“Alec, Alec, Alec – don’t you fucking dare, Alexander,” he echoes Alec’s name with a hoarse voice. The edge of his vision is starting to fade out again with the strain but he keeps pushing, bloody fingertips glowing with the soft, blue smoke.

Because if he stops, that means it’s over.

It’s already over, the reasonable part of Magnus’ brain whispers, unhelpfully.

He ignores the dark voice in the back of his head, just like he ignores the way life slowly abandons Alec’s body, leaving only hollow eyes and parted lips behind.

No. You can’t die. Not y–

Something collides hard against his side, knocking him aside.

Magnus gasps, trying to force the oxygen back into his lungs as he blinks the dust out of his eyes. The piercing pain that flares in his ribs barely slows him down as he attempts to gather enough magic to send his attacker to the hottest pits of Hell. Or at least to the other side of the alley.

He isn’t fast enough.

The world turns around again as he’s roughly pushed against the ground by a young man with a pair of furious grey eyes and face twisted into an ugly sneer. A clammy hand closes around his throat and something hits hard against his injured side.

The scream never leaves Magnus’ lungs, the hand around his throat makes sure of that. All he can hear is the loud crack as the bone breaks and everything turns white.

It’s a lovely few seconds of numbness before the hot, searing pain catches on.

It hurts more than he remembers.

Kill me, he thinks, tasting the coppery blood on his tongue. Kill me now or I’ll come back later and burn your whole world into ashes.

The hand around his windpipe tightens its hold.

Magnus waits for unconsciousness to take him under. He expects it to come pretty soon from the way his lungs burn from lack of oxygen and the world starts fading out once again. Strength is leaving his body rapidly.

But no, blissful oblivion isn’t what comes next.

Instead the body on top of him is brutally ripped away.

He manages to blink his eyes open just before the man hits the wall with a sharp flash of blue light. Immediately after that, before the body even manages to hit the ground, an arrow pierces its left eye socket.

Magnus turns his head enough to see blurry figures but they’re moving too quickly for him to catch on. He tries to focus his hazy gaze but the twist of his neck makes a wave of nausea roll over him so he quickly rips his eyes from the tall shadow and draws a painful breath to his burning lungs.

Alec’s body is still lying on the ground, about ten feet away, unmoving.

Magnus tries to stands up with one arm curled around his side, reflexively protecting his fractured ribcage. The pain in his side is positively agonizing, yet Magnus has a hard time figuring out if it was worse than the one in his chest (–and how an aching heart could be more painful than a broken bone was still beyond his comprehension).

The wet, rough ground scrapes his palm before he manages to stand up. He almost stumbles, the world swaying dangerously, but he grits his teeth and concentrates on his difficult breathing.

In. Out. Ignore the burn.

The arrow is still jutting out of Alec’s throat. The whole sight is just unreal, something that Magnus is only now beginning to understand.

Alexander is dead.

This isn’t something he can amend. Alexander is dead and he can’t fix it, just like he couldn’t fix anything with Ragnor.

Magnus wants to cry. Or scream.

He wants to curl up next to the body and hold it close as it grows cold. He wants to release everything he has and burn the whole city down. He wants to rip apart everyone who had a part in this, shred the muscles from their bones and watch how they howl before they die.

But he knows that none of that will ease the pain.

After two unsteady steps he falls to his knees, shaky hands reaching out for Alec. He doesn’t hear anything: not his own ragged breathing or the quiet steps behind.

He lets out a pained gasp as a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist and middle, grazing against his ribs. The hold immediately gets gentler, but keeps pulling him away from Alec’s body nevertheless.

Magnus snarls and bares his teeth, ignoring the blinding pain from his side as he tries to struggle away. Infuriatingly enough, the body behind him doesn’t even budge. The grip is gentle and yet harder than steel, unyielding and bruising against Magnus’ hipbones and stomach.

Another Nephilim, then.

Why? Magnus thinks as he catches sight of the dead Circle members, scattered on the cold ground in a pool of their own blood.

Why isn’t he dead already? Hell, why wasn’t he the first one with an arrow through his head? Whose side was this Nephilim on if he took out all Shadowhunters, both Clave and Circle members, but left him alive?

Magnus squirms and claws the forearm around his stomach. He isn’t sure why the need to get to Alec’s lifeless body is so strong.

There are hot, damp breaths against the shell of his ear – the man is saying something, Magnus realizes. He can’t hear any of it, though. Not over the searing white noise, over the blood rushing in his ears as he is being dragged through the bloodied alley.

It doesn’t matter what he is saying, Magnus decides as he tries to focus the wild remains of his magic.

Because he is going to kill. He is going to shred the man apart, destroy and ruin him until he’s unrecognizable. Burn until his dark light finally goes out, until he’s as empty as Alec’s dead, hollow eyes.

That, or until the seraph blade slices his throat, too.

Whichever comes first.

Magnus grunts in pain as the hand around his stomach slips up enough to brush against his injured rib again. The pain spreads immediately through his chest and side, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

Focus, he compels himself, but allows his eyes to flutter closed anyway. Come on.

The air around them starts slowly sizzling with uncontrollable sparks and by the time Magnus opens his eyes again, his whole body is trembling. His vision is blurred, black creeping in from the edges. He is going to pass out after this one, he knows that.

This is the only chance he’s going to get.

And hopefully the only one he needs.

He can already feel the electricity in his spine when the strong hands press him against the concrete wall.

The impact isn’t hard, not really, but it leaves him gasping pathetically for air anyway. The wave of nausea rolls over him again, twice as strong this time. His lips feel oddly numb, hands cold and clammy. 

So this is this what dying feels like?

Magnus screws his eyes shut and tries to lean further against the wall, away from the body that’s trapping him there. As if he could get away.

The magic is out of his grasp again, diffused into the thin air around them. Close, but unreachable.

He lost his chance.

The wall behind his back starts cracking from his unrestricted magic, concrete shattering into dust.

Funnily enough, Magnus has never been drugged before. Only drunk. And no, he couldn’t even begin to compare the enjoyable buzz of alcohol to this horrendous feeling of being so completely out of control.

One wide palm of the man is heavy against his waist, other hand tightly around Magnus’ right wrist, pinning it to the slowly dissolving wall. Magnus blinks once, twice, blurry vision finally clearing out and–

–no.

He flinches, skull hitting painfully against the hard surface.

Magnus can only stare, heart fluttering in his chest, because whatever this was – whoever this was – it wasn’t real. He had witnessed Alec’s death only a few minutes ago. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be. It can’t – maybe he is hallucinating? A side effect of the drug, perhaps?

But God, those sharp eyes were far too real to be his imagination.

“–it’s me – it’s me, for fuck’s sake, Magnus, it’s me, stop–”

Alec’s eyes are a mix of desperation, relief, and that deep focus that he always has when he’s working. His voice – now that Magnus can finally hear it – is low and gruff, coming from somewhere deeper than usual. 

Magnus wants to eat the words right from his lips, just because he never thought that he would hear that gravelly sound again.

Alec’s forehead is creased, jaw tight. He looks like he is in pain. “Magnus, come on, you need to calm down–”

But Magnus can’t, why doesn’t Alec understand that? He can’t control it. Can’t use it. Can’t do anything.

“It’s not you,” Magnus forces the words between his dry lips. An odd, strangled sound hits the air. His own laughter, he realizes. Or the hollow echo of it. “It’s not you, it’s not–”

“Shifter,” Alec interrupts him. “It was a shifter, you can tell the difference. This is me–”

“Then why didn’t it turn back?” Magnus demands, breathy voice cracking at the end. He takes a shallow breath in, pushing away the pain that was constantly trying to pull him over the edge. He isn’t sure how long he can keep his broken body running.

The heavy exhaustion starts to settle down on him, weighing down his bones.

He feels confused, head throbbing painfully as he tries to make any sense of this mess. He wants to believe. Oh he so desperately wants to believe the beautiful man in front of him, but there was also a beautiful man laying ten feet away from them – bled dry on the cold, hard ground – and all Magnus can think was that they always turn back.

“–didn’t turn back,” he finds himself repeating.

But it’s the truth. Shapeshifters always turned back when they died. Demonic glamor couldn’t hold after death like that.

Alec leans even closer. So close that Magnus can see every shade of his dark eyes and feel his hot breath against his lips. And well, real Alec or not, Magnus wants to smooth out the lines on his forehead. Absorb away all the pain that was carved so deeply into those beautiful features.

“I promise I’ll explain,” Alec rasps out and uses his taller body to crowd Magnus further against the wall. Magnus hates how safe and familiar that makes him feel because it isn’t real. It isn’t him. “I’ll explain everything once we get home, but right now – right now, Magnus, I need you to trust me.”

Magnus closes his eyes. He wants to say ‘okay’, he honestly does. With all his heart.

He almost flinches at the sudden feeling of a thumb caressing the curve of his jaw. Archery-calloused fingertips trail gently against the side of his throat, careful and soft. Loving. Magnus’ chest aches for a whole different reason now.

“You didn’t sleep with Michelangelo.”

Magnus blinks his eyes open, expecting literally anything but that sentence.

Alec continues before he can process it any more, voice edging on desperate. “You aren’t old enough.”

Alec’s hand – the one that wasn’t caressing Magnus’ face and throat – loosens its hold around his wrist. Magnus is only now realizing how badly he is trembling, immediately missing the grounding weight of Alec’s touch.

“You like to wear those yellow shorts while sleeping. I think they’re horrible, but everything looks good on you,” Alec’s voice is thick as his lips ghost against Magnus’ temple. “If you ever got a cat, you’d name it Chairman Meow, which would be fucking ridiculous if you ask me.”

“It’s not,” Magnus croaks out, still out of breath. “It’s unique.”

He isn’t sure if he feels Alec’s lips smile briefly against his forehead before they press a gentle kiss there.

“I thought of Charlie,” Alec continues, “But you said that it’s–”

“Boring,” Magnus forces the word out, ignoring the excruciating pain in his left lung. “Predictable.”

“Don’t talk, you idiot,” Alec scowls at him, annoyed. Or worried, more likely. Probably both. “Jesus, Magnus…”

Hope starts to bloom uncontrollably in Magnus’ chest. He wants to smother it down. He wants to think about this rationally because he can’t handle the pain and the disappointment, not for the second time around. He just can’t.

“Please,” Alec trails his lips against the arch of Magnus’ cheekbone, voice quiet. “I don’t know how many of them are still coming and it’s really hard for us to protect you if you keep fighting me.”

He acts like Alec, undeniably.

Talks like Alec.

Smells like Alec.

Moves like Alec.

Those things are hard to copy.

Magnus gives in. The pain in his side and lungs increases overwhelmingly as the adrenaline starts abruptly wearing off, fight deserting him with a rush. Every single breath suddenly burns twice as much.

Alec’s hand roams through his hair, messing it up, and Magnus tries to tell him not to ruin it completely but the words won’t come out. He also wants to warn Alec that he might throw up, but his mind is blank and his tongue can’t form any words. Not recognizable ones, at least.

“Shh, no, no, don’t speak…”

Any leftover strength Magnus still had in his aching muscles leave his body at once and he starts sliding down against the wall. He doesn’t get to the ground, thanks to Alec’s hands, firm under his armpits.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

It’s alarming, indeed, how safe those words make him feel.

x.

It’s okay, I got you.

I got you.

That’s all that Alec had managed to say, all that he had been able to repeat as those golden eyes fluttered shut, Magnus’ body going lax in his arms.

It’s okay, I got you.

But he hadn’t.

If he had, Magnus wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

He wouldn’t have been shaking uncontrollably against the cold wall, struggling to breathe, finger-shaped bruises along his throat. He would’ve been in his apartment, safe and fast asleep, instead of the dark alley, eyes hazy and confused, his expensive jacket ripped at the seam.

I’m sorry. I got you now, I promise.

There’s a headache forming in the back of Alec’s head, one that he’s is trying to prevent by relaxing his neck and shoulders. There should be at least something he is able to prevent.

The urge to kill is still strong. It’s burning hot under his skin even now – almost an hour later – as he is sitting on the huge king size bed, holding Magnus’ naked upper body in his lap and watching as Catarina slowly glides her nimble fingers over his injured side. The only stronger feeling at the moment was the overwhelming worry.

Magnus feels unfamiliarly small and breakable in his arms, so awfully still instead of the usual vibrancy and life he had.

Alec swallows and brushes his fingers through Magnus’ thick hair. There are a few knots (probably from the hairspray) and Alec is extremely careful not to pull them. His other hand is lying on Magnus’ chest, just under the sharp collarbones. It was exceedingly calming to feel his flat chest rise and fall steadily under his palm, the same pace as Magnus’ shallow breathing.

You’ll be okay. You have to.

Alec’s gaze moves between Magnus’ closed eyes and bruised ribcage, occasionally going up to Catarina’s concentrating face. He had been a little reluctant to contact her, not trusting Magnus’ life to someone he hadn’t met before, nevermind that she had been Magnus’ friend probably longer than he had been alive.

Maybe he was slightly biased. Sue him.

“This will take a little while,” Catarina mumbles, her skin tinting blue at her fingertips, glamor slipping away as she focuses purely on healing. “The bone has punctured his lung.”

Alec swallows, hand stilling. The dip on Magnus’ lower ribcage is still very much visible where the bone had cracked.

“But you can heal it, right?” he asks quietly.

Catarina lifts her eyes to meet Alec’s. Her voice is calm though there’s a tense undertone to it. “Of course. It just takes a little more time and effort. Plain bone would have been much easier to fix.”

Alec nods jerkily. His fingers continue to brush through the dark strands.

“Don’t worry,” Catarina continues, gentler this time. “He is as tough as he looks. He’ll be fine.”

Alec knows that the comment was meant to comfort him, but if anything, those soft and reassuring words only make his stomach clench into a tighter knot. Because at the moment Magnus didn’t look tough at all.

He looked fragile, vulnerable, and way too young.

Words that Alec had thought would never be used to describe Magnus.

Oh, Magnus was strong, there was no doubt of that. He never appeared weak. Every bend of his neck and twirl of his wrist was full of calm, calculated power. Alec also knew that he had only witnessed a fraction of Magnus’ abilities, but being powerful didn’t mean that you were invincible and being immortal didn’t mean that you couldn’t die.

Alec clenches his jaw and brushes his archery-callused thumb along the arch of Magnus’ cheekbone. The dark lashes flutter weakly but that is all; those intense eyes stay shut, much to Alec’s disappointment.

He isn’t sure which is worse, to see Magnus’ eyes wide, wild and horrified, or not opening at all.

Alec glances at the clock. 7:27 a.m.

The sun is already up, peeking through the closed curtains, hazy and calm, reminding him of all the warm mornings he woke up there with a sleepy warlock nuzzling against his neck.

“I just don’t get it,” he whispers, barely audible.

He had thought about it. Over and over again, from every possible angle and perspective. His head was full of speculations and he hadn’t really dismissed anything, but none of his theories fit either.

“Why him?” he asks quietly, voice rough. “Why expend so much effort just to get him?”

It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t any hasty kidnapping or murder attempt; this was carefully thought through, every little detail honed perfectly.

They knew that Valentine was still experimenting with both demon and angel blood, sure, but this must not have been an easy process; to create a doppelganger with enough angel blood to use the seraph blade, plus make his acting believable enough for Magnus to fall for it.

So the question was: what did Magnus have?

What could Valentine want so badly?

Shouldn’t the missing cup still be the Circle’s main priority at the moment?

“I’m afraid that this isn’t my strongest area,” Catarina says slowly. Her face is paler than a moment ago, but there’s a new flame in her ageless eyes. It was clear that she, too, cared for Magnus dearly. “But what I have learned about war is that they always strike at the leaders. Cut off the head of the snake and so on. Stupid in a way because there’s always a new one to take its place. The snake is never headless...” she trails off.

Alec frowns. “Magnus isn’t–”

“I meant it more as a metaphor,” she clarifies. “He certainly is an important piece on the board. Someone who Valentine sees as a threat. Same goes for you, too, I think.”

Alec narrows his eyes. He is almost too tired to argue but her words disturb him.

She is wrong, she must be.

He understands himself, and sure, Magnus was the High Warlock, but he had been keeping his head low enough, trying not to draw any unwanted attention – there’s no way Valentine would see him as a threat at the moment. And yet the certainty in her voice leaves him doubting.

“No,” he says lowly. “That can’t be. Magnus isn’t even openly fighting against the Circle.”

He can feel Izzy subtly leaning forward from where she is seated in the comfy chair across the room.

“I didn’t say that he is leading some high class rebellion from his lovely little couch, no,” Catarina smiles tiredly. “What I’m saying is that maybe he has more influence than we all realize.”

“Such as?” Alec blurts out.

Catarina tilts her head carefully. Her face stays soft, but something changes in her eyes. Her gaze becomes searching, estimating. Alec doesn’t know what she is looking for, but maybe she finds it, because soon she looks down at Magnus’ exposed body and continues.

“People talk, Alec,” her voice is quiet. “They ponder who to rely on, who to follow, and Magnus has earned their trust and respect extensively. Many Downworlders, not only warlocks, follow him. He is considered highly reliable.”

That’s when Izzy chooses to speak up. Her eyes are sharp and her tongue is even sharper, and in some weird way her fire comforts him.

“So what? He isn’t assembling an army of Downworlders as far as I know. His presence isn’t a threat to Valentine at the moment. So why use so many resources just to–”

“Oh, but he is,” Catarina says before turning her intense eyes back to Alec. “And so are you.”

Warlocks aren’t cryptic. My ass they aren’t, Alec thinks as he holds her gaze. Worry and the lack of sleep had already pushed him to the edge and these vague allusions were only annoying him more. Why doesn’t she just say what she wants to say without having to be so damn surreptitious?

He stays quiet. Mostly so he doesn’t say anything he’ll regret later. Catarina continues soon enough, just like he expects.

“The last thing that Valentine wants right now is to see the Clave and Downworlders unite. He wants to keep us disassembled, wary and distrustful of each other. That’s how he keeps control.”

While Alec agrees, he fails to see how this has anything to do with Magnus. Or with him, in particular. One old – or new – alliance shouldn’t worry the Circle this much. After all, Magnus had assisted the New York Institute long before Alec was even born.

“He isn’t the only connection we have with Downworlders,” Alec demands. “So, why now? Why us?”

Why him?

“True,” Catarina says, “But I think we can all agree that the other ones aren’t like this.”

Her words crawl under Alec’s skin. He had already come to terms with the consequences of choosing Magnus, accepted the disapproval of his parents, disapproval of the Clave, but this – this was different. Because never before had it been a real threat to them.

Alec spreads his fingers wider against Magnus’ chest.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “The Clave isn’t even on our side on this.”

“Let’s speculate a little, hm?” Catarina says but doesn’t look up again. “For example, let’s say that the High Warlock becomes very close with a Shadowhunter. Trusts one. Let’s go even further and say that he even loves one...” Alec ignores the quiet warning in her voice. “You can’t say that it doesn’t have an impact.”

Alec stares at her intently. “You know an awful lot about this.”

He hates that little smile that pulls Catarina’s lips. It’s the one you give a child whose stupidity is both endearing and amusing.

“Maybe you’re just too close to see things objectively, Alexander,” she suggests.

Alec grits his teeth together. He doesn’t know if she’s taunting him or if she’s just unaware of the effect of her words. Either way, it still doesn’t give her any right to call him that.

“So that’s why they chose a place outside,” Izzy says suddenly, realization lighting up her face. “Near Pandemonium. They were hoping that someone would see.”

“You can imagine the consequences of that,” Catarina murmurs. “All that you two have built up would crumble.”

Alec shakes his head. No. That couldn’t be the reason behind this.

And yet, it made sense.

More than his earlier speculations, at least.

He tries to think of any other motive, tries to find any other explanation as plausible as that, because if he doesn’t, it means that Alec was ultimately the reason Magnus was attacked. It means that once again, he failed to protect the ones he loves the most.

“I haven’t actually met any Downworlders that were particularly happy about our relationship, either,” he says quietly, finding no better objections to voice.

“People always whine about change. Yet the last thing they want is to go back to the past,” Catarina answers quietly. “But that’s what it is, Mr. Lightwood. Change.”

Alec rips his gaze from Catarina and settles it on Magnus’ closed eyes, to the line of his nose and the small dip of his upper lip. He can feel his fingers shaking against the warm skin under his palm.

He hates how much it makes sense. The High Warlock of Brooklyn murdered by his own boyfriend, a Nephilim of all things.

All respect for the Accords would be gone.

“Or, of course there’s the possibility that I’m wrong. That this was all just a distraction or some random attack,” Catarina says offhandedly as she straightens her back and bends her fingers.

There’s a quiet crunching sound that startles both Alec and Isabelle. A quiet noise emerges from Magnus’ parted lips and his spine arches slightly off the bed.

Alec almost expects for those dark eyes to flutter open, quickly swallowing his bitter disappointment when they don’t.

But he starts to breathe easier. Deeper.

Alec glances at Magnus’ injured side again, noticing how the dip in the bone is gone, along with most of the bruising.

“He’ll be fine,” Catarina repeats softly.

For the first time Alec actually believes her.

xi.

“This is stupid. No, sorry; this is self-sacrificing idiocy!”

“Raphael…” Magnus sighs and moves away from the door.

“No, Magnus, you of all people should know better by now. A Nephilim? Seriously?” Raphael practically snarls as he steps inside. Magnus knows that he means well but that does nothing to blunt the sting of his sharp words. “People don’t sacrifice themselves for you, no matter what you do for them. The only one who has your back is yourself.”

“You don’t believe that he will stay for me,” Magnus says almost casually and brings the glass to his lips.

“No. He might want this right now, but after three years? Four? It’s going to be me and Catarina who have to pick you up again when it’s over.”

Magnus forces a smile on his lips. “Well, aren’t you always such an optimistic little sunshine, darling,” he quips and turns away to refill his glass.

“You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m a big boy, Raphael.”

“Yet none the wiser, it seems.”

Magnus rolls his eyes.

The silence stretches after that. It’s almost an uncomfortable one, but Magnus isn’t going to be the one to end it.

“I’d say that you’d listen to Ragnor,” Raphael whispers, finally, “But I know that you’re more stubborn than that.”

xii.

It takes approximately fifty minutes for Catarina to heal Magnus’ punctured lung, broken rib, and most of the cuts and bruises on his side, and while Alec trusts her to do the best job possible, he’s still thankful that Izzy decides to stay with them through it all.

Raphael leaves pretty quickly, another thing that Alec is thankful for. He hates that cold, calculating stare that’s focused on him.

Izzy’s presence, though, is calming his fried nerves, silently holding him together when he feels like dissolving at the seams. He would, probably, without her.

Mainly because the worry is exhausting him. Completely.

It’s effectively making him run out of stamina, never giving his restless thoughts or agitated body a break. Along with the heavy air it slips in his lungs with every breath he takes, spreading from there like a cancer. Waiting for him to give up. To combust.

“He will be okay,” Izzy whispers to him at some point, dark eyes searching for his.

It’s almost too much, that burning gaze of hers.

Does he look okay, Iz?

Does any of this look okay to you?

He doesn’t say any of his strained thoughts aloud, though. Partly, because it’s his sister, but mostly because he’s just too tired to argue. It would be pointless, anyway, to waste so much energy for nothing.

So he stays quiet. Presses his lips tightly together and pretends that his chest isn’t aching with the need to scream.

He isn’t even sure what makes his reaction this intense.

It’s not like Magnus is dying. It’s just a punctured lung, broken bone, and the after-effects of some highly developed drug. Hell, he had seen both Izzy and Jace in worse condition through the years and it’s not like he’s never been worried sick before. Neither the fear nor the anger of the situation is new to him in any way.

And it could be worse. A way worse.

So why can’t he breathe? 

Why does it feel like his skin is pulled taut over his bones, too tight and stretched thin? Why can’t he contain his obstinate heart from abusing his bruised ribcage, why can’t he control the wild animal that’s trying to claw its way out of his chest?

He doesn’t know. 

It only eases a bit after Catarina is done. After the golden skin is smooth and flawless again, most of the dark bruising gone.

And that’s when Alec makes his most vital mistake.

He hopes.

He remembers hearing the phrase pessimist is never disappointed from somewhere. His father’s words, perhaps? Alec can’t remember for sure, the voice is gray and faceless in the depths of his mind. Wise words, nevertheless. Easy to apply to missions, even to life itself.

Always prepare yourself for the worst, because hope kills you before anything else. Before any poison or blade.

So he knows it’s risky and naïve to hope in a situation like this, in a situation where you can’t do shit, but he does it anyway.

He hopes with his whole heart because it helps. 

It eases the tight band around his chest, helps him to breathe. Stupid, yes, but it will not matter. He hopes as he runs his hand over the newly healed skin on Magnus’ side, thinking that the worst is surely behind them.

Hindsight is a bitch, no doubt.

Because there’s no such a thing as rock bottom. It can always get worse.

Catarina is just explaining the benefits of some uncommon herb she used when Magnus decides to grace them by awakening for the first time. It’s a brief moment of consciousness but Alec can’t really get any relief from it. In fact, he hates every single second of it.

It starts out with slightly uneven breaths that quickly turn into a shaky panting before Magnus’ eyes flutter open.

Alec’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight. The inky, cat-like pupils aren’t their usual slits, but big and dark, the gold only a thin circle around them. It looks like he’s high. From drugs or the sudden adrenaline, Alec isn’t sure. Maybe both.

And as if that wouldn’t scare Alec enough, Magnus starts to convulse weakly in his arms. He turns and twists, trembling body trying to curl away. At that point Alec’s brain has abandoned him completely and he just holds the warlock against himself while the panic keeps speeding up his pulse.

It gets infinitely worse when Magnus begins to dry heave, unseeing eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Here, here–” Catarina appears in front of them with a bin in her hand, urging Alec to get Magnus in a more upright position.

Alec complies with shaky hands, pulling Magnus up to lean better against his chest. Magnus trembles and almost doubles over the bin, gagging and dry-heaving a few more times before throwing up some clear stomach fluids and acids. The veins in his hand are almost black, skin hot under Alec’s sweaty palms.

Breathe, Alec tries to remind himself. You can’t help him if you pass out.

Breathe.

He keeps his hands firm around Magnus’ sides, grits his teeth together and listens to Magnus emptying plain stomach acids into the bin in front of him. He really wishes that he could block out the sounds. Every gag and cough is too loud and painful in the otherwise quiet room. Every shaky breath Magnus draws in is a cruel reminder of how helpless Alec is.

“Magnus,” Catarina pries her fingers under Magnus’ chin and lifts his head up after the gagging subsides.

“Come on, help a girl out here,” she murmurs and holds a glass of water to his lips.

Magnus’ eyes are closed, but he complies anyway.

“Good. Now spit.”

Magnus doesn’t spit. The water just pours from between his lips as he goes lax in Alec’s arms.

Breathe.

Another set of problems start after that. Catarina can’t brew any potion to reduce the effects of the drug or even wake Magnus up again. The fact that she can’t even identify what the injected substance was is driving Alec up the walls.

“I need to examine the samples before they go bad,” she says, holding four vials of blood in her nimble fingers. It takes a while for Alec to realize what she’s saying.

“You’re leaving?”

“I don’t exactly have the proper equipment here, now do I?” she says wearily. She is visibly paler than a few hours ago, dark circles forming underneath her exhausted eyes. Alec wonders when she actually slept last.

You can’t leave, he almost blurts. Catarina was the only person who actually knew what to do. She couldn’t leave now.

“His vitals are stable,” she says quickly, probably reading Alec’s facial expression correctly. “He isn’t in any imminent danger. I wouldn’t leave if he was.”

Both Izzy and Catarina are staring at him now. Alec swallows and nods jerkily.

“You must understand, though, that even if I manage to identify the drug, it might be impossible to make the antidote,” she says carefully. “And even more importantly, you must know that he’ll heal without it, too. Just slower. He will wake up when his body is ready.”

For Alec it sounded a lot like she didn’t believe in her success.

Which essentially meant that Magnus had to ride it out. Bear it until the drug was out of his system.

Despite her exhausted look, Alec wants to push her further. Go through your books. Reread your papers. Find something, anything. Please.

Asking that would be unfair, though. She has already done so much and Alec is endlessly thankful for that. He just feels so horribly helpless, seeing Magnus like this and unable to do anything except wait.

He will, if he has to. It’s just that waiting indicates doing nothing, and doing nothing means being alone with all the suffocating thoughts. It would be remarkably easier if the seconds didn’t feel so stretched, if every minute didn’t feel like five.

Catarina gives them last instructions before creating a portal out of the apartment.

It’s eerily quiet after that.

Izzy doesn’t speak and neither does Alec. She seems almost wary of him.

Alec ignores that, just like he ignores the relentless urge to get his bow and leave. Out the door. Out of the whole damn city. Run until his legs ache and his knees tremble despite the rune on his side. Forget everything but the rough feel of an arrow under his fingertips, the comfortable movement of the pull and release, over and over again.

But he stays. He stays because choosing between Magnus and the numbing remedy of a hunt isn’t really a choice at all.

He occupies his restless fingers by brushing them through Magnus’ thick hair, trailing them along the elegant lines of the exposed collarbones and bare shoulders.

Like this, Magnus felt even more unreal. Alec isn’t sure why.

Maybe because he looks more human like this, more vulnerable. He bleeds, bones breaking under too much pressure, and yet there’s still something untouchable left. Something that endures every bullet that’s aimed at him.

You’re art, Alec finds himself thinking, then realizing how incisive the parable is.

Made from broken pieces. 

Sharp and beautiful and indefinite.

Maybe now he understands art collectors a little better. Surely it would be reasonable to give everyone a chance to see the most beautiful items that human hands have crafted, but oh, it must be a whole different thing to have them only for yourself. To know that it’s personal; that the feeling it indicates is only for you.

Of course Alec knew that he wasn’t the first one to have Magnus like this. His skin had been kissed by the sun of the past and his lungs had held the air of different decades. Magnus was history and undoubtedly part of the future, blending in time, but for now – now he was only for Alec.

It’s a dangerous, possessive thought, but surprisingly it doesn’t scare Alec much at all.

Maybe because the feeling of it is already somehow familiar.

It’s just slightly twisted, hotter version of his naturally high protective instinct. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that this particular streak of his is extremely strong. He’s a big brother; it’s in his nature to protect, to take care of others. He recognizes very well the urgent feeling of it, the anger that pushes on the surface just to cover the paralyzing worry.

What he feels for Magnus isn’t quite the same, but the same undertones stay. It’s a thick mess of protectiveness, possessiveness, and ten other feelings that he isn’t ready to process just yet.

One of the strongest is the prominent urge to kill.

It’s unexpected, hot and dark, burning under his skin like a disease. Guess Magnus had the ability to bring up every possible emotion in him.

And the thing was, it wasn’t a fleeting feeling.

He would kill again.

If he had those five Circle members and that twisted version of himself in front of him again, he would do it. Instantly. Without a second thought.

And the worst thing? He would most likely take some kind of sick pleasure from it.

He would take his time; carve it into their skin, make them scream it until they coughed up blood, growl it into their ears so the last thing they heard as they took their last breaths was that. No one. Touched. What. Was. His.

The vicious nature of that probably isn’t healthy and Alec considers talking to Izzy about it. He doesn’t get that far before Magnus decides to wake up again.

And just to turn the world upside down, the second time is nothing like the first.

xiii.

The memory of his mother’s face had faded through the years.

Unforgiving time had blurred the details ages ago, leaving only a vague picture of her in his mind. Or maybe he didn’t even remember her in the first place? Magnus had considered that possibility, too. Maybe his ‘memory’ was just a distorted image crafted by his own mind.

And yet that horrified expression of hers was unfairly real in Magnus’ mind.

All the disgust and fear and disappointment wrapped up in one single look.

Dreadful, even though it was most likely just a product of his own imagination. Or maybe just because of that. After all, Magnus can’t remember anything else. Not her voice. Was it low or high? Did she sing? Did she smile? No. Nothing.

Nothing except that disgusted, horrified look and the hollow paleness in her eyes after her suicide.

It was okay, though.

Magnus didn’t mourn her. Maybe at some point he had, but he couldn’t remember for sure.

He didn’t dwell on it and it didn’t bother him anymore. He never thought about it, never tried to pry any more memories to surface from that time. By that logic, he should have already forgotten her mad eyes after 400 years of living, but well...

...the universe rarely showed anyone mercy like that.

It’s dark again.

The dream always started like that.

Dark and empty.

Nothing exists beyond the soft voice; silky like flowing water, yet cold as ice.

“Darling. My beautiful baby. Open your eyes for me, hm?”

No.

“Please. Open your pretty eyes for me. Just for me, my beautiful child. Just for me.”

And he does.

A sharp scream hurts his head. Her pale eyes are wide, her expression almost mad.

Magnus wrenches his eyes shut, trying to curl into his own body. He tries but can’t feel it. Can’t feel his own limbs, can’t move them.

“This iblis is not mine.”

There’s a new face above him when he blinks again. A blurred, scarred face, twisted into a sneer. “A demon child.”

Hands grab him and push him down under the water.

Magnus twists and kicks with his numb body, trying desperately to get back to the surface...the surface that was so achingly close. There’s no magic in his body. None of that electrifying spark in his blood, running intensely through his veins.

His lungs burn with the lack of oxygen.

Everything hurts.

You’re going to drown.

The water is heavy, pulling him down,

     down,

          down...

Someone yanks him up.

Lungs full of water, he can’t scream, can’t speak. The man is above him again, holding a jagged knife in his trembling hands.

His mother is behind her husband, face pale and eyes dead, all emotion drained away from her. She tilts her head, jerkily, like a body brought back to life. Her voice, when she speaks, is hoarse, and Magnus can see the marks that the rope has burned around her throat.

“Not my child,” she whispers. “Carve them out.”

The man tightens his hold on the knife and reaches for Magnus’ face.

xiv.

Alec had been dozing for a while when the air starts to crackle.

In his defense, he has been up over 22 hours, but it still takes an embarrassingly long time for him to understand what’s going on. He only manages to blink his eyes open when the huge mirror on the wall cracks in half and a wave of magic throws him across the room.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck–

Alec gets up, heart hammering in his chest and trying to climb up his throat.

The dim room makes the yellow orbs gleam like pure gold, vivid and dangerous. Alec is fairly sure that they never manage to fail at taking his breath away.

Magnus’ back is against the headboard of the bed, knees pulled up against his chest. He looks surprisingly small. Wounded. Lethal. His expression is blank, animalistic eyes emotionless and mouth slightly agape. Alec can see behind it, though.

He almost wishes that he couldn’t.

There’s pain. Carefully masked, but still there. It’s a raw mix of confusion, anger and vulnerability in those unglamored eyes. Alec is wise enough not to underestimate Magnus’ powers, not even now. He definitely doesn’t miss the ferocity behind the pain.

“Magnus,” he croaks out, forcing the name through his dry throat.

The reaction is imminent. The air crackles once and the sharp line of Magnus’ jaw clenches, his shoulders tensing and nostrils flaring.

Alec freezes.

For a second he’s confused – what did I do, what did I do? – before he realizes that he had unconsciously taken a step forward. 

Idiot, he scolds himself. Someone is pulling at his sleeve but Alec doesn’t turn around.

“Alec,” Izzy’s voice is tight, as is her hold on his shirt. “Alec, don’t. We need to call Catarina. He’s too dangerous now.”

Alec’s brain cling to the word.

Dangerous.

And Magnus was. He was abysmally dangerous, even more so now when he was disoriented and drugged out of his mind. A cornered animal. Hurt and confused and lethal in every possible way. And Alec is afraid, of course he is. He would be stupid if he wasn’t.

But that didn’t mean that he was going to back off.

“Magnus?” he tries again. This time he makes sure that his feet are rooted in the plush carpet.

The hum of the magic gets even louder in the room, various items suddenly starting to levitate slowly through the thick air. Alec doesn’t fail to notice that the items are evading them, never getting close enough to touch.

“Come on, Alec. We need to leave,” Izzy pleads behind him, a desperate tone creeping into her voice as she keeps pulling him toward the door.

Alec doesn’t budge.

“You go,” he murmurs to her. His eyes don’t leave Magnus. “Call Catarina once you get out of the apartment.”

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” she hisses, “Don’t you think for one fucking second–”

“Izzy,” he cuts her off. “Please.” Trust me goes unsaid.

Her hesitation is palpable but Alec doesn’t say anything more to reassure her. The moment is too delicate, too breakable. He can only hope that she understands and trusts him enough.

Alec parts his dry lips and sweeps his tongue out to wet them. His heart is beating wildly against his ribcage, fast and desperate to break free.

Thank you, he thinks as Izzy squeezes his shirt for one last time before slowly backing away from the room.

Magnus swallows and cocks his head to the side, his unblinking gaze never leaving Alec. His wide, almond-shaped eyes are unfairly breathtaking and far too intense for Alec to focus properly.

Maybe it was a bad moment to be so endlessly fascinated by the way Magnus’ black lashes framed the pure, liquid gold in his eyes, or how they swept over his perfect cheekbones as he blinked.

Maybe.

Probably.

His gaze leaves Alec feeling momentarily confused about whether he’s the predator or the prey in this scene.

On the other hand, Alec never watched any children’s tales – no matter how many times Izzy used to ask him – so he wouldn’t know if Cinderella’s teeth were sharper than the Huntsman’s knife.

Not that Magnus was Cinderella.

Not that Alec wanted him to be.

One of Magnus’ trembling hands finds the wooden bed post. It cracks under his touch, the noise of it loud and coarse. When he finally speaks, his voice is full of accusation and raw pain.

“You died.”

And God, Alec can’t take it.

He can’t.

His tongue doesn’t work, a thick and useless muscle in his mouth. Not that he would know what to say even if it wasn’t. He just needs to get closer. Needs to pull Magnus against himself, needs to touch and taste and breathe him in.

Feel that he really was there, breathing and alive.

“You died,” Magnus repeats thickly. “I watched you die.” He manages to say the words just before blood starts to trickle from his nose, running over his chapped lips.

“I didn’t,” the words stumble heatedly from between Alec’s clenched teeth.

Don’t move, don’t move, he reminds himself. As if he was dealing with a deadly, spooked animal.

You are.

“Magnus, I’m here. I didn’t die.”

The blood on Magnus’ face looks oddly dark. The crimson fluid keeps slowly but steadily dripping from his nose down to his chin, staining his pink lips to red petals. Two lone rivulets are also running down his throat and Alec fights the urge to step closer and wipe them away.

But he stays still. For many reasons. Ones that feel wise at the moment.

“I didn’t,” he claims again, desperate. “The one who died was a Shadowhunter, yes, but it wasn’t me. Izzy figured it out. It was genetically manipulated, just like the Forsaken that managed to get through your wards at the Institute.”

Magnus’ voice is harsh, suspicious. “How do I know that you’re not lying?”

“Because you know me,” Alec says before thinking. He swallows thickly, sincerely hoping that his words are true enough. “You know me. Don’t tell me that you can’t see the difference.”

Magnus stares at him for what feels like an infinitely long time before some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders. He blinks and exhales and the few remaining objects that are still in the air fall down with a thump.

Alec counts it as a small victory but doesn’t dare to move just yet.

Instead he watches silently as Magnus deliberately uncurls his body and gets up from the bed. His movements are slow and a little unstable. As if he couldn’t hold his balance. He stays on the furthest end of the bed, not making any indication of moving closer.

Alec tries to swallow down the hurt.

The silence stretches as words abandon Alec once again. All that his unhelpful brain supplies him with is to get closer and touch, which aren’t exactly things to consider at the moment.

So unsurprisingly, it’s Magnus who breaks the silence.

“You look exhausted,” he croaks out. “You should get some rest. And frankly, so should I.” His tone is vacuous and forcedly polite, leaving Alec no doubt if Magnus wants him gone or not. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Alec hides his wince.

The words aren’t unpredictable, not really, but they’re a slap to the face anyway.

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” Alec agrees, insolently ignoring the clear allusion. “Wanna hit the shower before we go to sleep?”

Magnus tenses visibly, throat working as he swallows.

The next thing Alec does is probably not the best move. In fact, it’s probably not wise at all.

He takes a bold step toward Magnus.

“Alec,” Magnus whispers sharply, not even hiding his uneasiness anymore. The blood is tainting his lips and getting into his mouth, coloring the clear warning in his voice.

Alec stops and waits patiently. Desperately trying to ignore the fear that keeps gnawing an anxious void into his heavy chest.

Magnus blinks again, black eyelashes sweeping over his high cheekbones and God, Alec wants to devour him. Reach out and feel the sharp bones and the hard, lean planes of muscle underneath the smooth skin.

“Are you afraid of me?” Alec blurts out before he can compose himself enough to bite the words back.

It’s the one question that Alec thought he would never have to ask Magnus. The High Warlock.

He didn’t even mean to ask that, mostly because he doesn’t want to hear lies. ‘Of course not, Alexander.’ Sure. Of course you trust me while your hands are shaking and you look like you're waiting for me to drive a blade through you at any second.

Because essentially the question ‘are you afraid of me’ means ‘do you trust me’ and Alec dreads the answer.

It doesn’t matter, though.

The words are out in the open and Alec can’t suck them back in, no matter how much he wants to.

But then Magnus does something Alec doesn’t expect from him, not at the moment. He says the truth.

Well, maybe a counter-question couldn’t exactly be seen as a truth, but it’s definitely not a lie either.

“Should I be?” Magnus whispers.

Alec freezes – still thrown even though he should have expected that – before he remembers that it’s a question that actually requires an answer.

“No,” he breathes out. “Never.”

Magnus’ eyes soften just slightly but still enough to bare more of the vulnerability underneath the blank façade.

Alec takes a careful step closer. When Magnus doesn’t say anything he takes another.

And another.

“And you?” Magnus asks when Alec is close enough to touch him.

Alec halts. “And I what?” he asks carefully.

“Are you afraid of me?” Magnus demands, voice barely above a whisper.

There’s an odd glint in his eyes, something that Alec can’t recognize. It’s infuriating.

Alec swallows and takes the final step forwards and lifts his hand. There’s a restrained flinch in Magnus’ shoulders, eyes narrowing just slightly and fingers jerking around nothing. Alec tries not to take that as an insult. Magnus was hurt, vulnerable, on the defense. It’s instinct, the need to survive.

Of course I am, he thinks. I have never seen anything both so deadly and so beautiful.

Alec leans closer.

Closer, closer, closer, until their noses are brushing.

From this distance Magnus’ eyes are even more breathtaking, more vivid, more dangerous.

“I’m terrified,” Alec finally murmurs, almost inaudible, low words nearly drowning under their shallow breaths.

Magnus begins to pull away but Alec slips a hand around his neck, gently tugging him back and pressing their lips together.

Magnus tastes like blood, and although Alec isn’t very fond of the rusty flavor, he can’t really complain. Not when Magnus’ lips feel so delightfully familiar against his. Slightly chapped but still yielding so beautifully under the pressure.

It’s a soft kiss, only lips and ragged breaths mixing together.

Alec doesn’t want to pull away ever again.

So he doesn’t. Not even when their lips separate. He stays close, one hand around Magnus’ neck and the other curling around his waist.

The relief turns into a too-well-known worry much sooner than Alec would like when Magnus opens his eyes again. His gaze is even more clouded, his jaw slack. And Alec very well recognizes when it’s from a kiss and when it’s not.

“Magnus?” he asks lowly. Something cold starts to pool in his stomach.

Magnus makes a small noise in his throat before inhaling sharply, eyes rolling back as he faints.

xv.

It felt a little like swimming. Or floating.

No. Like sinking.

Sinking but without the overwhelming sense of drowning and the panic burning in his chest.

It’s quite nice actually, Magnus muses nebulously.

He can’t move his limbs properly so he must be many feet under the surface already. Yet there’s no pressure. No water in his lungs. He isn’t afraid.

It’s dark, so dark that he can’t see anything. Or maybe his eyes aren’t even open?

It’s okay, though. The darkness protects him.

It has always protected him.

The black color reminds him of something else, too – something hazardous – but Magnus can’t remember what it resembles. He tries to catch the memory but his thoughts are like water, they keep slipping away. He can’t keep himself focused on the question long enough to figure it out.

It doesn’t matter. It’s a distant threat that can’t intrude through all the water and darkness.

How could it?

Excluding the soft murmurs twirling around him, it’s calmingly quiet.

Half of the serene voices are unrecognizable, unfamiliar. Some of them Magnus identifies. A word from Catarina. Imasu. Ragnor’s whispering is almost constant. Odd sentences with no meaning, no head and no tail.

Magnus opens his mouth to mock his friend; mock him and then tell him how much he has missed his arrogant English presence. Not a word comes out, though.

That’s okay, too, because Ragnor knows that he’s here.

It’s a comforting thought because all of sudden Magnus is starting to feel cold. It’s not painfully cold, but cold none the less.

Magnus tries to ignore it, concentrating on Ragnor’s soothing murmur and the weightless feeling of his body.

That’s when he hears it. Another voice.

A new, yet remarkably familiar one. A low, almost inaudible tune; quiet under Ragnor’s slow and blurred driveling. So deep that it’s practically a feeling, vibrating down Magnus’ spine.

This voice gives him an entirely different kind of comfort and Magnus wishes that he could reach for the sound, wrap himself in it and sleep. It’s deep and warm and it keeps saying his name.

The water feels warmer now and his thoughts start slipping away again.

He’s floating.

The deep voice isn’t constantly there, not like Ragnor’s.

Sometimes it slips away, fading into the pull of the calm waves and Magnus misses it immediately when it’s gone. Sometimes the voice comes closer, so close that Magnus is sure that if he could open his eyes he’d see the source of it right in front him. Sometimes Magnus swears that he can feel the breath against his cheek, breaching both the water and the darkness. It comes and goes.

Sometimes it even enfolds Magnus in itself and pulls him to the surface, too.

Magnus wishes that it wouldn’t, though.

It’s too bright and loud up there, a world of nightmares, of fear and pain. The air is hurting in his water-filled lungs and–

–he can’t breathe.

xvi.

“So do you know when he’s supposed to wake up?” Jace asks. “Permanently, I mean.”

He’s leaning against Magnus’ polished kitchen island, mouth half full of the pastry from Clary. Mundane thing, she had said when she handed it over along with a Get Well Soon card. Sweet, Alec admitted, but unnecessary. Didn’t help Magnus.

“Wish I did,” he murmurs.

“Well, what is Catarina saying?” Jace prompts further. The crumbs are falling from his lips as he speaks, making a mess on the black marble.

Alec huffs, annoyed, and reaches for the dishcloth.

“She isn’t giving me a date, if that’s what you’re asking,” he grunts and swipes the crumbs away. “Just that he’ll wake up when the drug is gone from his body.”

The scrubbing is almost therapeutic. It gives his hands something to do, something concrete. A momentary peace of mind; a feeling that he’s doing something more useful than just waiting. Well, at least he’s been efficient, if nothing else. It’s been less than two days and he has already cleaned most of the apartment.

His hands are dry and cracked due to the strong detergents he used while polishing the apartment spotless. He doesn’t mind, though. There wasn’t much else for him to do.

Cleaning and watching Magnus’ unconscious form curled up on the bed. Trying to calm him down when he woke up gasping, sweaty and trembling.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Jace asks. Then, a little more hesitantly (probably because of the lack of enthusiasm on Alec’s part), “I mean, it’s not poisonous. He will wake up even if Catarina isn’t able to make the antidote?”

Alec makes a low grunt in his throat.

Jace tilts his head, eyes narrowing. He swallows the last of his bite quickly.

“Is there something I failed to notice, Alec?” he demands quietly and sets rest of his pastry down on the table, spreading the crumbles even more. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Alec mumbles but doesn’t lift his head enough to meet the waiting gaze. Instead he reaches to wipe away the crumbs, trying to concentrate on that simple task instead of his apprehensive thoughts.

“Would you stop that?” Jace snaps. A hand stills Alec’s wrist.

The grip is strong but not enough to hurt. But then again, Alec doubts that any physical discomfort could overshadow what his mind is giving him. Not at the moment.

“Alec, look at me, man, come on–” Jace keeps urging him with a low voice, “Just look at me, would you?”

If Alec didn’t know better he would say that Jace was begging. In some weird way the thought is deeply satisfying.

He does look up, though.

Jace’s jaw flexes, expression both frustrated and worried. “You need to get a grip, Alec. We are all worried here but he is going to wake up.”

“And after that?” Alec grits between his teeth.

Jace looks confused. Alec can practically see the wheels rolling underneath the blond mess of his hair.

“What do you mean after?” is what he finally comes up with.

Alec draws a long breath in and leans backwards. Jace’s grip loosens, allowing him to pull away.

“Nothing,” he says roughly. His hand comes up reflexively, brushing over the scar on his brow. “Just…nothing. Sorry. I’m just tired. Haven’t really slept.”

Jace looks a bit troubled but nods anyway. He doesn’t push.

He rarely pushes.

Maybe because when he does, it becomes ugly.

Alec kind of wishes that he’d do it now, though. He wants to pour everything out, wants to throw up all his dark fears on the polished marble. Doesn’t he trust me? Doesn’t he feel safe with me? Doesn’t he know that I–

But they will not talk about it, Alec knows that.

What would it help, anyway? Jace would just pat him on the back and tell him it will be okay. Just like now. Izzy would know what to say, she always has the right words, but somehow Alec hasn’t managed to collect enough courage to open his mouth to her either.

“It will be okay,” Jace echoes his earlier words and Alec almost wants to laugh.

How can you be so sure?

How can you always be so fucking sure of everything?

But Jace had his own demons. He didn’t know Alec’s every hardship and Alec could hardly blame him for that.

He didn’t know how much Alec hated the waiting. How much he loathed the quiet hours in the apartment with only Izzy and Catarina occasionally filling the suffocating silence and soothing his burning thoughts. 

And more importantly, Jace didn’t know how much Alec dreaded the moment it would end. How much he feared the very second when Magnus would wake up for good.

Because Jace didn’t see it. He didn’t see Magnus in those few brief moments of consciousness so he didn’t know, not like Alec did. He didn’t see the confusion, the distrust written in Magnus’ hazy eyes; he didn’t see how it was all directed at Alec.

Jace didn’t know how much that little fact was killing him.

“Alec,” Jace sighs and pats a heavy hand on Alec’s shoulder, squeezing the tense muscle. “I love you buddy, but don’t you think that you’re overreacting a little here? He will be okay, you said it yourself. It was a broken rib. I mean, you’ve had worse than a–”

That’s the moment he punches Jace.

Hard.

xvii.

It’s different this time, Alec can tell.

It’s been 29 hours. 29 hours and approximately 35 minutes since Magnus’ first awakening and since then it had been a rollercoaster.

Not the fun kind, but a spiral between restless and peaceful sleep. A few long moments of stupor, something between sleep and consciousness. Seven short times of actually waking up. Two of those times were full of gagging and dry heaving.

Alec had witnessed it all, so yes, he recognizes the difference in the pattern.

First, Magnus wakes up quietly.

Not twisting and turning, no uneven gasps ragging his dry throat. He just opens his eyes.

They are unglamored and slightly blurred, crust sticking to his lashes as he blinks. Alec didn’t dare press too hard while cleaning the makeup from his face, so there are still some traces of eyeliner on Magnus’ lids.

Second, he isn’t confused.

Well, he is, but not remotely as much as before.

Catarina lowers her book and gets up from her chair before Alec can process anything further. She wasn’t even supposed to be there yet but her shift ended earlier than expected. A small mercy that Alec is now extremely thankful for.

“You really know how to put me in an early grave,” she murmurs and helps Magnus sit up better.

Magnus’ gaze drifts before focusing on her. His lips are dry and chapped so it must hurt, but he cracks a smile at her anyway.

“My specialty,” he croaks out, voice hoarse.

Catarina just rolls her eyes and gives him a glass to drink from. Magnus’ hands are surprisingly steady but have just enough of a tremor in them that Catarina has to help him with it.

Alec watches them from across the room, trying to recall what to do with his hands – or with his presence. He doesn’t dare leave. Nor step closer. Not after all the previous reactions. He tries to breathe steadily but it’s surprisingly hard, his body disobeying his every command.

He wipes his sweaty hands against his black shirt, mouth dry.

Should he leave? Should he stay?

Can he stay?

Those anxious thoughts mingle together with overflowing relief.

“So,” Magnus prompts quietly after a few sips. “What is my diagnosis?”

Catarina narrows her eyes at him but the harsh image slips from her face almost immediately. “You’ll live,” she deadpans instead, placing the half-empty glass on the bedside table.

Magnus hums, eyes falling shut again.

Catarina quietly prepares two syringes for blood samples with nimble fingers. When she’s ready she tugs Magnus’ arm into a better position, then clicks and fastens the stasis around his biceps.

“Cat,” Magnus moans quietly, eyes still closed. “Is this really necessary? Give a wounded man a break here. I don’t feel like being your pin cushion today. I think I’ve suffered enough.”

She tries to fake anger for a little longer before a smile starts to tug at her lips. “It really is. Now stop whining,” she tells him as she starts locating a good vein in the crook of his elbow.

Magnus’ groans when the needle pierces his skin, immediately finding the vein.

“I swear to God you get some kind of sick pleasure from this.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t do this for a paycheck if I didn’t.”

“You’re horrible,” Magnus murmurs under his breath. He blinks his eyes open but closes them again right away, his lips parting for a deep breat and brow furrowing. “How long?”

“A day and half. Well, almost,” Catarina mutters as she draws away the needle. “Feeling sick?”

Magnus shakes his head carefully. “Just spinning.”

“It’ll get better,” Catarina comforts quietly.

Alec counts five deep inhales and exhales before Magnus opens his eyes again. This time the glamor is on. His gaze is only a little hazy when his focus wanders from Catarina and over the quiet room.

Alec swears that his heart stops at the exact moment when Magnus spots him.

It stops and stays stopped until the very moment Magnus breathes out a quiet, “Alexander.” Only after does it restart again.

Not Alec. Alexander.

“Are you alright? Have you been sleeping?” Magnus asks while rubbing the bandage inside his elbow. “Cat, say that you forced him to sleep.”

“I’m not his babysitter. Nor am I yours,” she says and stands up, medical kit and blood samples already packed away. “No matter how much I sometimes feel like it,” she adds under her breath.

Magnus seems to be barely hearing her answer, eyes tightly on Alec.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, quietly, throat probably starting to dry rapidly even after the water.

Alec wants to laugh. Hysterically.

‘Are you okay?’

Is this man serious?

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying out loud. The uncontrollable giggles seem to bubble somewhere very deep under the sudden fatigue. He wants to collapse. To give up. “And you?”

Magnus watches him intently before smiling again. This one is much more subdued than the first one. Softer. More genuine.

“I will be,” he murmurs and lifts his hand towards Alec, prompting him closer.

And Alec comes. He does before his legs buckle under him or the tears start falling. He is too tired and the relief that washes over him is too intense.

So he gets to the bed and crawls on top of the mess of sheets, not even minding Catarina who was still in the room, albeit already leaving. He sneaks his arms around Magnus and buries his nose in the soft tangles of the warlock’s hair, only slightly worried that he will get snot on the ebony strands. Magnus tightens his shaky hold, too, squirming closer.

He is pliable in Alec’s arms. Soft and trusting and Alec can’t believe his luck, not after the way Magnus was looking at him mere hours ago.

Like Alec could stab him to the bed.

“You will be, too,” Magnus whispers against his collarbone.

Alec closes his eyes and allows himself to fall.

xviii.

“I know that you miss him too.”

Raphael’s back stiffens under his thousand dollar suit. Magnus waits patiently but the silence only stretches.

His friend doesn’t say anything nor turn around so he continues.

“I also know that you don’t express your feelings like normal people, but I beg you, don’t act like he never existed. Not around me.”

“We should not talk about it. Silence protects me,” Raphael drawls and takes a sip. “It protects us both.”

Magnus sighs. “You know what else protects you, Raphael? Friends. Family. My advice is not to lose the few you have.”

Raphael turns around sharply, eyes dark. “What does it matter anyway?” he hisses. “He is gone and neither of us can change that.”

“No. But it insults his memory,” Magnus whispers. “And Raphael, memory is all I have left of him.”

xix.

Alec doesn’t know what to do.

They don’t talk about it, which is so fucking ironic because this time Alec is the one who actually wants to.

He has even tried, a few times.

It’s just that every time he opens his mouth his tongue gets oddly heavy and the words get stuck somewhere in his throat. He doesn’t know how to start but most of all he fears what he will hear if he asks.

He remembers it vividly; how Magnus had hovered over the dead shapeshifter, body trembling. How he had struggled and clawed against Alec’s hold just to get back to that lifeless body.

At the time Alec hadn’t given it much thought, his attention purely on Magnus’ unfocused eyes and fractured ribcage, but now – now it was bothering him constantly.

Magnus had thought it was Alec’s body, which meant that he had thought so from the very beginning. That he had thought it was Alec who drugged him, who cornered him against the wall, who was ready to hand him over to Valentine.

Had Magnus even doubted it? Or had he just accepted that Alec’s betrayal wouldn’t be that much of a long shot after all?

“Darling, you want some?”

Alec lifts his gaze from the arrow he had been mechanically polishing, lost in thought.

Magnus is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hips cocked and a smile gracing his beautiful face as he holds the menu of his favorite Ethiopian restaurant between two elegant fingers. He looks immensely better than six hours ago when they both finally managed to scramble up from the bed. Apparently food and a shower was all it took for a human being to be reborn.

Alec wants nothing more than to pull him in his lap and bury his face into the sharp curve of his throat and breathe him in.

The silken indigo robe Magnus is wearing only reaches a little over his thighs. Beyond that his legs are bare, crossed at the ankles. Alec wonders suddenly if he’s wearing anything under the gown.

“I have to disappoint you before your thoughts go any further,” Magnus uncrosses his ankles and steps closer, smirking. “No, I’m not naked under this.”

Alec tries to will away the sudden heat that’s flaming up his cheeks. Sometimes he wonders how it was so easy for the warlock to read him.

“How are you hungry again?” he asks and puts the arrow down. “You ate, what – half an hour ago?”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Yes, but I lost like twenty pounds while sleeping. I have to make up for it.”

Alec can’t help the snort that escapes from his lips. “Magnus, you were unconscious a little over a day,” he deadpans and rises up from the couch.

Magnus shrugs, “Felt like more than that.”

It’s an innocent remark but Alec’s stomach constricts anyway.

It’s not guilt that keeps eating him alive, not exactly, although he almost wishes that it was. Guilt would probably be easier to deal with.

He should ask.

If not to make peace with it, then at least to get some clarity. No more doubting.

“I’m sorry,” is what fumbles from his mouth instead. Don’t apologize. Ask.

Magnus’ smile melts away.

“About what?” he asks quietly. His hand moves to grip Alec’s. It’s a gentle touch. Comforting. “None of this is your fault, Alec. None. Do I have to remind you that it’s you I have to thank that I’m still standing here?”

Not me. Raphael, a part of Alec’s brain supplies. “Mmh...”

He can’t quite bring himself to look at Magnus’ eyes so he focuses on the sliver of smooth, caramel chest that’s visible underneath the blue silk. It somehow reminds him of their first time.

It’s a lovely memory, although not a clear one. It wasn’t imprinted on his brain like an HD movie as people told him it would be. (Losing your virginity is the one thing that you’ll remember forever, Izzy had said.)

He remembers that Magnus had been murmuring some kind of encouragement and direction, but can’t recall the way his voice sounded or even what he had said, exactly. He doesn’t remember how fast or slow they were. Was it day or night? He can only guess. Hell, he can’t even remember how his first time felt.

It’s a hazy memory with several black spots, yeah, but a few details hadn’t escaped his mind.

Those are the ones that never will, he thinks.

For example, the way Magnus’ eyes crinkled. He had smiled, all white teeth and warm eyes lighting up, small crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes. Alec remembers his heart skipping a beat at the sight.

There had also been glitter smeared on Magnus’ skin, against his ribs and stomach, in the hollow of his left collarbone. Not much, but enough for Alec to notice.

“It’s not your fault,” Magnus repeats, voice quiet but determined.

Alec sighs and lifts his head, “Yeah, I know. I know it isn’t.”

Magnus watches him intently, glamored eyes dark and piercing. “Good,” he finally breathes out.

The silence drags on until Alec gives up and breaks the eye contact. He drops a quick kiss in Magnus’ hair and snatches the menu from his fingers, eyes sliding over the selection without really seeing it. “You better not get more than you can manage to eat, because I’m not eating four different chicken dishes like last time–”

“Alec.”

Alec swallows and lowers the menu, mouth suddenly dry. “What?”

He doesn’t expect to see the soft veil of vulnerability on Magnus’ face.

He looks, for lack of a better word, exposed. Defenseless and still standing with straight back and burning eyes. The years behind those cat eyes often made Magnus seem ageless, making it easy to forget that he had been young once, even if it was centuries ago.

That physically, he still was.

And always would be.

At the moment Magnus looks exactly that; so uncharacteristically young that it throws Alec off balance.

“Fuck me.”

Alec blinks.

“Only you manage to make confusion look so adorable,” Magnus smiles gently. Alec can’t understand how his voice can be so soft and demanding at the same time. “Alexander, fuck m–”

Alec pulls Magnus against his own lips with a sharp tug. Magnus stumbles against his chest but Alec steadies him with a strong grip on his neck.

It’s too soon, Alec realizes, but the thought is a sinking ship, drowning under the sudden need and desperation.

Eight hours ago Magnus wasn’t even capable of making a coherent sentence, so this was the last thing they should be doing at the moment...but God, he can’t stop.

Magnus is leaning quite heavily against Alec, neck craned upwards and nails dragging against Alec’s sides through his shirt. His lips are soft, only a few chapped spots remaining. They’re smooth and yielding, falling open at the brush of Alec’s tongue, and fuck, the little breathy noises Magnus makes in his throat are like fuel on the fire. Some of them slip past his lips and Alec swallows every sound eagerly.

Alec pulls away, his chest heaving. “Magnus–”

Magnus groans and tries to follow his mouth but is stopped by a hand gripping his jaw. When he doesn’t get any further, he swallows and flashes his eyes open. His lips are slightly parted, wet and bruised.

Unfair. How is Alec supposed to function?

“We shouldn’t. I mean, are you even up to this yet?”

Magnus rolls his eyes. His fingers tighten their hold on Alec’s shirt, trying to pull him even closer, never mind that their bodies were already practically glued together.

“I’m not made of glass, Alexander.”

“Not what I asked.”

Alec forces himself not to move.

It’s extremely hard but Alec is nothing if not stubborn. He doesn’t grind against the lean and solid body in his reach. He doesn’t pull said body down to the couch. He doesn’t latch their lips together again.

Not yet. Not until Magnus assures him.

And he better do it well.

Magnus cocks one perfect eyebrow. “Believe me, I’ve endured much worse.”

Still not what I asked.

When Alec doesn’t react Magnus begins to pull away. A sly smile tugs his lips.

“Come on, Alexander. Be a gentleman here. It’s been ages since I got some–”

“Two days.”

“–but if you’re not interested in helping me out, I’m sure I can manage by myself, too.”

It’s an open provocation, meant to do nothing but tease.

Alec wants to retort that he doesn’t mind watching but bites the words back. He knows Magnus and, more importantly, he knows himself. Both of them could be quite competitive bastards in certain situations. (Alec, personally, would never admit out loud that he felt deep satisfaction every time he managed to fuck that smug smile off of Magnus’ pretty face.)

“My God, I almost forgot I chose the most stubborn one,” Magnus murmurs finally, head cocking to the side and exposing even more of his long, slender neck.

Alec finds himself thinking that it’s too clean. Too empty even with the black choker Magnus has loosely hanging around the base of his throat. It should be tighter, he thinks, jaw clenching with the need to drag his teeth along that smooth skin.

He wants to mark it. Bruise it.

Magnus keeps observing Alec from underneath his lashes. Despite the lighting, his glamored eyes look darker than ever, closer to black than their usual warm brown. The abyss of them is almost all-consuming, and in any other moment, Alec would probably be worried how easily he could drown in their depths.

They’re hot and dark, but then again, so is the hunger that’s slowly coiling in Alec’s stomach.

Magnus smirks devilishly and licks over his abused bottom lip. “You know where to find me,” he says and turns to leave.

Alec narrows his eyes. He knows that Magnus is, essentially, a cat in a human body, but there’s nothing innocent in the way his hips move as he walks away. It’s a blatant move and they both know it.

Alec curses. First himself for being so predictable, and then Magnus for knowing him so well.

It takes about seven strides for him to reach Magnus in the next room and yank him around by his bicep.

Something acutely like victory flashes in Magnus’ burning eyes before Alec pushes him rather roughly against the bedroom door. The triumphant smirk falls from Magnus’ face as the breath leaves his lungs with a quiet gasp.

Alec freezes.

It’s like he’s back there, cold seeping through his leather jacket as he keeps pressing the trembling warlock against the rough concrete wall. He can almost smell the strong burn of the magic around him.

They’re not going to touch you again, he wants to say. He knows that Magnus is more than capable of taking care of himself, but that does nothing to ease the protective instinct that’s twisting Alec’s insides. I will rip apart every single one who tries.

He stays still for a few more seconds after recovering from the flashback, just in case, but Magnus’ face doesn’t falter. Alec finds absolutely no discomfort in his expression at all, just molten desire, swirling like liquid fire in his heated gaze, although some confusion was starting to rise to the surface, too.

“Alec–” Magnus starts, twisting his head away.

“Can you take it?” Alec inquires lowly and crowds him even further against the heavy mahogany door, breath ghosting over Magnus’ sharp cheekbone.

Wrong question, wrong wrong wrong–

The smug smile finds its usual place on Magnus’ face as he tilts his head upward, chasing Alec’s lips once again. He’s so sure. So sure that Alec will crumble.

And he will. Alec knows himself well enough to admit that. But he wasn’t going to fall without getting the answer to his question. It’s not the right one, but an important one none the less. And if Magnus knew which buttons to press, then so did Alec.

He grips Magnus’ jaw before those searching lips find what they’re looking for, then tilts his face up and to the side, leaving Magnus’ throat exposed.

Magnus swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and Alec tries – he honest to God tries – to keep his mouth away long enough to pry the answer out of Magnus.

Needless to say he fails miserably.

He noses along the long column first, breathing Magnus in.

Magnus smells like, well…himself. Sharp but not obtrusive. Like exotic spices and rain, mixed with the slightest hint of some expensive cologne. The scent of him sticks to his clothes, too, but it’s never quite the same. It’s always best like this, coming off in slow waves from the heated skin.

Alec’s mouth follows the same path, tongue dipping out enough to taste the skin over the pulse point. Magnus exhales, head falling back an inch. Enough for Alec to have better access.

He bends even closer, eagerly nibbling and kissing the underside of Magnus’ jaw, taking everything that’s offered.

Magnus’ body is like a wire pulled taut. So when his spine arches off the door, even if just slightly, Alec reflexively tightens his grip on Magnus’ biceps to keep him there.

Fuck, Alec’s brain echoes helplessly as Magnus moans low in his throat, hips jerking against Alec’s. The reaction isn’t unexpected (given how much Alec’s Nephilim strength turned Magnus on) but it was never any less beautiful.

“Can you?” Alec questions lowly against the skin where he’s currently leaving wet, open mouthed kisses. He is careful to keep his voice steady. Careful not to show how utterly Magnus had wrecked him, how thin the line between control and total mayhem was.

“Magnus...”

Say you can take it; say you can take everything I have to give to you–

“Yes, yes,” Magnus breathes out. “Yes, everything.”

His hoarse voice is like sex poured from between his lips, like honey and sin, so who can blame Alec for breaking?

With a swift move his hands find their way under Magnus’ thighs, lifting him up and pressing him harder against the door. The motion makes Magnus’ already cropped black shorts ride up, pushing the soft fabric up all the way to the base of his thighs. The blue robe was almost completely undone, too, revealing miles and miles of smooth copper skin.

“Here,” Magnus urges. His eyes are gleaming and Alec can’t help but grinding their hips together, fingertips digging into the bare skin and transforming Magnus’ airy laughter into a low groan. “I wanna do it here, Alexander.”

“No,” Alec grits out before assaulting Magnus’ throat again. “Not here.”

“Spoilsport,” Magnus grunts and tangles his fingers in Alec’s messy hair. “You are such a tease sometimes.”

Alec snorts against the dark hickey he’s currently creating under Magnus’ Adam’s apple. “I am a tease?”

Magnus hums in affirmation, sounding slightly unfocused.

Too unfocused.

Are you fucking kidding me–

Alec pulls back, lips leaving the damp skin.

“Don’t,” he grunts and Magnus’ eyes flutter open. “Don’t you dare do any magic now.”

The grin that pulls Magnus’ lips is almost childish, proud and slightly guilty, but most of all, it’s taunting. Alec can almost hear the low what are you gonna do about it, love?

“You’re impossible,” he says and pulls Magnus away from the door long enough to open it.

Magnus grips his neck as he holds on, breathing hotly against Alec’s ear. He is still smiling when Alec lowers him to the bed.

Alec swallows, eyes drinking in the sight before him.

Magnus looks like something pulled out of his most exquisite fantasies with the sensuous line of his throat stretched out, smooth skin marred with occasional purple bruises and scratches. His body is like the statue of a God, all lean muscles underneath smooth skin.

Deadly, yet so breakable.

Sometimes it all felt so unreal that Alec couldn’t believe his luck. That he really was here. That Magnus really chose him, wanted him. That this endlessly complicated and fascinating man with the most engaging eyes and deepest heart saw him amongst everybody else.

That now, this sight was for his eyes only.

“This isn’t a museum, you know,” Magnus props himself on his elbows. “You are allowed to touch.”

Alec throws a glare at him and pulls off his black t-shirt, thinking that if he weren’t such a selfish and possessive man, that would be exactly the building he’d place Magnus in.

But he is selfish. And definitely possessive.

Magnus is quick to strip off the blue silk that was somehow still around his shoulders. When he starts to tug off the shorts Alec stops fumbling with his own belt and crawls on top of him.

“Let me,” he whispers against Magnus’ parted lips and covers Magnus’ hands with his own. After discovering the joy of stripping someone Alec hadn’t let Magnus do much magic in that regard.

Magnus smirks and wraps his legs around Alec, making it impossible to do any actual stripping. “Anytime, love,” he purrs.

Alec feels like he’s high. Restless need burns under his skin as he curls his thumbs under the elastic waistband and drags the fabric slowly over the curve of Magnus’ ass. He isn’t even surprised anymore that he finds nothing underneath the silky material.

What startles him, however, is the sudden disappearance of his own jeans and underwear. Only because he didn’t expect it.

The sole thing separating them now is Magnus’ partially pulled-down shorts. The fact that he can now feel the hot outline of Magnus’ cock pressing so clearly against his own isn’t doing much good for his already damaged self control.

Alec wants to wreck the man below him. Wants to break him apart and be the one to put him together afterward.

“Magnus…” he groans as he pins Magnus’ wrists to the bed. They go down easily without any resistance. Alec doesn’t miss that, just like he doesn’t miss the slight tremor in Magnus’ hands.

The only indication that he wasn’t okay. Not yet.

Not if even such a small act of magic left him this drained.

“What?” Magnus murmurs in between the kisses he starts to litter on Alec’s jaw. “I’m an impatient man, Alexander.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He moves his hands from Magnus’ wrists to his sides, quickly intertwining their slick tongues once more before breaking the kiss and moving down, down, down…over the bruised throat and sharp collarbones. It’s probably alarming how much the idea of leaving marks thrills Alec.

It’s absolutely sinful, the way Magnus arches off the bed and the breath leaves his lungs as Alec’s mouth moves down his chest and closes around his right nipple.

Absolutely and unquestionably sinful.

Heat is pooling low in Alec’s stomach and between his legs, thick and unrelenting like molten gold. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from slowly humping against the mattress, just grips Magnus’ hips with both hands as his teeth scrape over the sensitive bud before soothing it with a wet roll of his tongue.

And Magnus whines, he honest to God whines, while arching into Alec’s touch.

Alec almost comes on the spot.

Maybe he should activate his stamina rune? Just in case…

He is just about to continue to the other nipple when he’s stopped by a hand tugging on his hair. He lifts himself up enough to let Magnus squirm under him.

“Jesus, Alec…” Magnus breathes out as he pushes Alec completely off of him.

Alec frowns but backs off without complaint. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching the black shorts fly swiftly across the room before he finds his lap full of horny and very naked warlock.

“I swear to God–” Magnus grunts as he straddles Alec’s firm thighs, “–your patience is going to be the end of me.”

Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes, he grinds his hips down.

Alec gasps, hands reflexively curling around Magnus’ waist and pulling him further down. It’s delicious friction but he pulls back when he realizes that the beads of precome on the top his cock aren’t making the rough slide slick enough.

“One of us has to have some,” he says, lowly and a little out of breath. He isn’t even sure that he’s allowed to say those words since he’s only a hair’s breadth away from ravishing the man on his lap.

Magnus quirks an eyebrow and twirls a colorful tube in his skillful fingers. For a millisecond Alec wonders when he had managed to retrieve that–

He snatches the lube from Magnus. “You’re unbelievable,” he sighs and pops the cap open. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself. If you don’t believe me, then at least believe Catarina.”

Magnus crunches his face and leans in for a kiss.

“Let’s not talk about her when I’m about to ride you,” he whispers when he pulls away.

They’re not the first allusive words from Magnus (they weren’t even the worst by any means) but somehow he manages to make them sound like the dirtiest thing in the world. Like pure sin pouring from between his lips, dark and smooth like velvet.

Alec’s cock is straining and aching for a touch, for any friction, really. Maybe that’s why he can’t keep the preparations too thorough.

He throws the almost empty tube over his shoulder before trailing his hands around Magnus and parting the round globes. Magnus is breathing through his parted lips as he waits, eyes hazy with desire as Alec rolls the pad of his finger against the rim, wetting it. Alec swallows, glad that his fingers are so slick that he is able to push the first one in without warning.

It’s a steady slide to the last knuckle.

Magnus’ inhales as his eyes flutter shut, lashes creating shadows on his cheekbones. He is tight and fervently hot inside, just like he always is.

Alec bites down on his lower lip as Magnus twitches around his digit, gripping it like a vice. He doesn’t stretch Magnus like that long enough for him to become impatient, but instead nudges the second finger in before he’s even asked to. Magnus’ lips part even more, so it’s the right call.

Alec tries to keep his fingertips intentionally away from his prostate and is quite sure that Magnus can tell.

“I still want to do it against that door,” Magnus pants while fucking himself down on Alec’s fingers. “Don’t think I’ll forget.”

Alec smirks. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” is his answer as he adds the third one. Magnus moans for the stretch, head falling back.

Call him weak, but Alec pulls his fingers away almost immediately after adding the last one. He feels like bursting, heart thumping steadily in his chest, urging him to get the fuck on with it.

Magnus is the last one complaining as he’s already stroking Alec’s flushed cock and spreading the transparent liquid that keeps oozing from the tip.

“Oh, now you’re touching me?” Alec grunts halfheartedly. He can’t stop his hips from snapping up and Magnus’ smile just grows.

There’s a sudden cold feeling as the warlock lubes Alec’s cock with his magic.

“Magnus,” Alec warns. “I told you, no–” his words die on his lips and morph into a guttural moan as soon as Magnus begins to sit down on his cock.

After that he just stops thinking.

Magnus is panting, eyes closed and back arching languidly as he keeps taking Alec deeper and deeper with slow circles of his hips. It takes probably under fifteen seconds for him to be more than halfway seated on Alec’s cock, but oh, it feels so much longer than that.

Too long, so he digs his thumbs into the skin above Magnus’ hipbones and thrusts.

The reaction it draws from Magnus is something he’s never seen before.

Maybe the drug was to blame; perhaps the effects of it were still lingering. Or maybe Magnus was simply in a more vulnerable state after it all. But fuck. Alec had never gotten anything like this from him.

Oh, he had surely turned the warlock into a mess, brought him to the edge of his control, even pushed him over it a few times. Magnus was a very vocal lover after all. An extremely sensual being, never hiding the reactions that Alec managed to get out of him.

But even in his fevered and hungry state Magnus was usually always in control. Mentally, anyway.

Now Alec is looking at how Magnus’ wide almond eyes dissolve into liquid gold with vertical pupils before they flutter shut and his mouth falls open.

He is tightening impossibly around Alec’s cock, and God, the voice that is wrenched out of Magnus’ lungs – it isn’t like those usual deep, honeyed moans, no. This one could hardly even be described as a moan.

It’s the most primal noise, ripped from his core. It’s desperate, high and breathless, Magnus’ voice breaking at the end of it. Alec wants to swallow it right from his lips.

That, or grip Magnus’ thighs harder and force another one past his throat.

“Alexanderrr–”

Magnus keeps clenching and unclenching around Alec, trying to relax his inner muscles.

Alec moves his grip from Magnus’ hips to his ass again, spreading and massaging the round cheeks that fit entirely too well into his hands. He trails two fumbling fingers along the slick rim that’s stretched wide around the base of his cock. The lube keeps dripping on his fingers and to his pubes but Alec would take that mess everyday over too little of it.

“Fuck,” Magnus curses suddenly, voice unusually high and breathless. “Don’t move, don’t move just yet–”

Alec assumes that he’s pressing exactly where Magnus wants him to. Pride swells in his chest at the notification, growing wildly in the middle of the mess of need and affection. He stays still and lets Magnus to grind himself against Alec for a little longer, listening to his breathy panting as Alec’s cock keeps nudging right against his prostate.

“It would be cliché to say that you’re perfect,” Magnus mumbles between his short breaths, “But my God, you are. You really are.”

Alec groans against Magnus’ throat when the warlock squeezes again, slick walls clinging to his throbbing cock. The small rolls of those skillful hips are more frustrating than satisfying, and although Alec sees himself as a fairly patient person, this is undoubtedly the most difficult thing he has done in a while.

He’s practically trembling with the strain, dangerously close to just letting go.

“Can I?” he rasps out.

Magnus lets out a low “yes” and Alec’s grip around his hips tightens immediately. His blunt nails scratch a bit against the sweaty skin as he roughly thrusts up again.

Magnus moans shamelessly, fingers digging into Alec’s shoulder blades. It’s too good, too tight, too hot–

“Hold on,” Alec grunts and fixes his hold on Magnus’ slippery skin.

He is careful to stay inside as he slowly stands up and maneuvers them onto the bed again. Magnus’ back meets the soft sheets and Alec almost slips out before pushing all the way inside again. He tightens his slick grip under Magnus’ knees, spreading those lean legs even more before hoisting one of them over his shoulder.

He didn’t actually think that he could get any deeper, but oh...

Magnus’ lips are still parted, a quiet whine slipping past them as Alec presses and presses and presses, deeper and deeper until their hips are flush together.

“Magnus–” Alec breathes heavily. “Mags…”

An unrecognizable noise leaves Magnus’ throat as he blinks his eyes open, irises bright yellow before the glamor flickers back on. Alec can see how hard it is for him, how much concentration it takes from Magnus to keep it on.

“No, no, no, I want to see them,” he breathes out, “Don’t glamor them.”

I want to see the side of you that you don’t show to anyone else.

Magnus swallows and nods, dropping the glamor again. Alec had told him many times before that he likes seeing them but old habits die hard. Especially habits as old as this one.

“I wanna see,” Alec murmurs as he begins to build a steady rhythm.

The first few thrusts are the most sensuous ones, they always are. Magnus’ tight and slick inner muscles keep involuntarily tightening with every pull and push. Alec isn’t sure if that’s the worst or the best part of it.

Magnus looks wrecked.

His chest is heaving, lips parted as the air is being pushed out of his lungs in sync with Alec’s sharp thrusts. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering both of them, allowing their bodies to glide together effortlessly. Magnus licks his swollen, wet lips, drawing Alec’s attention to his mouth again.

“God,” Alec groans, thrusts becoming a little erratic. “You’re so…so–” beautiful, exquisite, astonishing…

Alec wants to say something. He wants to say that he can’t get enough of him, that he’s constantly fascinated by the way Magnus talks, the way he moves, thinks, acts. He wants to say that he’s desperate to learn every single thing about him, both good and bad, body and mind.

“...how are you even real?”

Something flashes in Magnus’ eyes.

It’s gone immediately, but not quickly enough to be left unnoticed.

Alec has seen through the cracks of Magnus’ carefully built façade before, witnessed those few fleeting moments of fragility. It’s not that he wants to see Magnus hurt, no, but he needed to see deeper. Not just the shell that he had built around himself.

Because even though Magnus was an extrovert, he definitely wasn’t open to the world.

A world that must’ve hurt him many times already.

Alec leans down enough for their lips to brush together. It’s not really a kiss, just panting in each others’ mouths. His pulse is thrumming in his ears as he keeps thrusting harder, faster, deeper. The bed rocks slightly with the rough rhythm.

Magnus gives very little warning beforehand.

Or maybe Alec is just too far gone to notice.

He comes with a strangled cry, back arching off the bed and insides fluttering as the hot, sticky liquid stains his stomach and chest. His eyes are open but unseeing, hazy gold. Alec fucks him through it, fast and hard until Magnus’ body goes lax under him.

One last broken moan slips past Magnus’ lips and that’s what finally drives Alec over the edge.

His orgasm washes over him like a bright, hot wave. It whites out every thought and emotion; every fear and doubt and worry that lies underneath the primal need. For a few seconds it’s pure bliss and nothing else.

Magnus keeps echoing his name with a hoarse voice as Alec spends himself inside the warlock’s body with a string of guttural moans, toes curling against the messy sheets. It takes a short while until he’s done. He feels himself pulsing a few more times even after that, filling Magnus with every last drop.

After that he lets Magnus’ leg fall from his shoulder before letting his weight drop down, feeling slightly lightheaded. Magnus can take it, he knows that, so he isn’t worried.

Next time, he decides.

Next time he’ll ask.

They stay there for a few minutes, breathing in unison until Magnus starts to fidget under him.

Alec takes the hint and moves.

He pulls out carefully but Magnus winces anyway. It’s discreet, so restrained that Alec barely catches the flinch in his movements. Barely. But he does.

Maybe it makes Alec a horrible person but he doesn’t feel any remorse. In fact, he wants Magnus to feel it. He wants Magnus to wear his bruises and notice the ache in his hips as he moves. Wants him to feel soreness all the way inside and remember this moment.

Alec trails his damp lips across Magnus’ flat stomach before he rises up to sit on his heels between Magnus’ spread legs. His hands are still tingling as he lets them rest on the sharp dip of the warlock’s hips, feeling the muscles tense under the smooth, bronze skin.

Magnus’ eyes are half-lidded, whole body glowing with satisfaction. His gaze is hazy and more relaxed than Alec has seen it in a long while. He looks exhausted, but in a good way.

Alec’s chest feels suddenly too tight for his swelling heart.

“Some day you’re seriously going to break me,” Magnus murmurs before his eyes flutter shut again, black lashes fanning his cheeks. His voice is hoarse but teasing.

Alec smirks despite the words.

He intends to say something back but suddenly every thought slips from his mind like water through his fingers. All because Magnus bends his legs and lets them fall even further apart.

And that’s nothing, really, but the slight movement makes a few drops of come leak out of him and–

Alec’s mouth goes dry.

Usually, at this point, Magnus would already have them both cleaned up from the bodily fluids and they’d be happily cuddling, but...well. Usually. Now he can only watch as Magnus carefully tenses his body while searching for a more comfortable position and the pearly fluid practically gushes out of him, thick drops slowly messing up the sheets and his round cheeks.

The raw feeling in Alec’s chest is almost animalistic.

He doesn’t know why it affects him so strongly. Maybe it was the fact that it was his come inside of Magnus. Or because he had never seen Magnus this sloppy and wrecked before. Maybe – fuck.

He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to–

He slides his hand from Magnus’ hip to his thigh, then under his knee, spreading those lean legs slightly more apart. Magnus just hums quietly.

Desire ignites in Alec’s veins again.

He wants. It’s almost unfair how much he wants, although he isn’t exactly sure what he craves like air in his lungs.

Magnus’ skin is slippery from sweat and lube as Alec palms his ass with both hands, spreading the round cheeks apart to reveal better the slick and slightly swollen hole. He swallows and traces his thumb along the pink rim, watching how it clenches around nothing and another pale drop oozes out. It looks sensitive and well used already, but Alec really can’t help himself. He sweeps his thumb over it again, pressing and smearing the come.

Magnus makes a quiet noise in his throat but doesn’t protest or even open his eyes.

Alec wets his lips. The air is starting to cool down, drying the sweat on their skin. That’s not, however, the reason for the goosebumps rising on his back.

Should he ask before – before what? What does he want, exactly?

He looks up at Magnus’ face, searching his eyes, but the warlock has half of his face buried in the soft pillow under his head. His head is sideways so Alec can only see his profile, the elegant features of his nose and lips, the arch of his flushed cheekbones and the beautiful curve of his jaw. The sharp and vulnerable line of his throat.

The fact that he still hasn’t cleaned them with his magic tells Alec how off he still is. It makes him feel both protective and a little smug.

He wants to take care of Magnus, yes, but he also wants to wreck him, ruin him for anyone else. He wants Magnus to scream until that honeyed voice breaks and he literally can’t hold the glamor on his eyes anymore.

Okay, ambitious, he knows. He doesn’t have that much experience after all.

But he’s learning.

Alec carefully parts Magnus’ legs even more and settles comfortably on his stomach between those spread thighs.

He’s only a little nervous. More determined than nervous, really, even though he doesn’t know what to do. Or he does, but not quite like that – he had never done this before, but he knows. Maybe? In principle, anyway.

Okay, he’s a little out of his depth here.

Or a lot.

As he grips the sweaty undersides of Magnus’ thighs and guides them over his shoulders he can hear the slight change in Magnus’ breathing. Can feel his body tensing. Alec is almost sure that those bottomless eyes are open again.

Ignoring the urge to look up, he parts those perfect cheeks again, shuffling even closer.

“Alec?” Magnus’ voice is...surprised.

Alec answers by licking a flat stripe over the pink hole.

He isn’t sure what he expected. It tastes like their exotic lube, musk, and his come, mostly. It’s nothing too bizarre. Again, it’s Magnus’ reaction that sparks the fire in his stomach.

The way Magnus’ thighs tense and his spine arches, and oh – that sharp, breathless gasp that is pushed out of him is undoubtedly one of the most arousing sounds Alec has ever heard.

He licks again, more courageously this time. And again. And again.

“Alec – Alexander, love. You know that you don’t have to, if it’s – if you–”

Alec knows this.

He knows this extremely well, more so because Magnus never pressured him in bed. He never asked, just gave and gave and gave, low words dark and alluring; a promise of the sweetest pleasure.

Magnus never asked, never required anything.

But it had been months and Alec wasn’t all that innocent anymore. He had become more confident, received enough blow jobs in public areas that the word didn’t immediately bring a blush to his cheeks. (Talking about Magnus’ kinks, sure.)

He knows that he doesn’t have to, but he wants to.

He wants to give Magnus everything.

So he digs his fingers in the smooth flesh of Magnus’ thighs, presses his face even closer and lets his tongue catch the loosened rim.

He is hyper aware of everything around him, senses on overdrive. They probably would be even without the runes. He can hear how Magnus’ fingers twist the silk sheets, how his breath doesn’t quite leave his lungs.

“Alec–”

The air feels much thicker than a minute ago and Alec is fairly sure that it’s not just his imagination. He spreads Magnus even further apart with his thumbs, fumbling once, twice, the slick skin slipping from his grip, until finally...he licks once more before pressing in.

It’s kind of dirty and obscene but it makes the hunger burn twice as bright under his skin. The way Magnus parts for his tongue, opening up and letting him in. Magnus is wet and velvety and so unbelievably hot inside, clenching around Alec’s tongue.

It’s almost addicting.

But then again, everything about Magnus is.

For a moment he’s a little lost, just trying to press in before he finds some kind of rhythm, steadily fucking his tongue in and out.

Too caught up in his own head, Alec is only now starting to realize that the breathless words pouring from Magnus’ lips aren’t English. They aren’t Spanish either, or any other language that Alec has heard before.

“–sangat nikmat–”

Alec is rapidly growing hard again, cock gently rubbing against the sheets. He wants to pull away and flip Magnus over onto his knees so he can thrust into him again but at the same time he also wants to eat Magnus out until neither of them can take it anymore.

He closes his lips around the rim and plunges even deeper, pressing his tongue as far as he can reach. It’s enough to draw another low gasp from Magnus’ lungs. His thighs are trembling by now, hips starting to make small, circular movements. Alec realizes that he is trying to fuck himself back on Alec’s tongue and God, that shouldn’t do things to his stomach.

But oh, how it does.

“Alec...” Magnus clenches around Alec’s tongue.

Alec keeps eating him out, a little sloppily perhaps, but ever so enthusiastic, soaking in every broken moan that Magnus lets out.

“Alec – Alec, aku tak bisa–”

Alec presses his own hips harder against the mattress, seeking friction for his neglected cock.

“Alec!”

Something shatters in the other end of the room and it’s enough to make Alec to pull away.

“Oh God, sedikit lagi, Alec–”

Magnus’ thick words have a desperate edge to them as he tries to pull Alec up from where he is laying between his quivering thighs.

Alec complies, rising on his knees again. “Yeah,” he breathes out although he doesn’t have a clue what Magnus is saying.

Or maybe he does, if the way Magnus’ hungry eyes sweep over his body is any indication. Magnus licks his already wet lips and begins to sit up.

Alec shakes his head and pushes him back down. “No.”

Surprise lights up Magnus’ eyes for the second time that night, making something electric run through Alec’s spine. But the look is gone quickly, molding into an obstinate hunger.

A smirk begins to tug Magnus’ bitten lips. “That was nice, Alexander.”

“Nice?” Alec tilts his head. He knows that he isn’t that experienced, but Magnus’ moaning had indicated something a little more intense than nice. “Seriously? Nice?”

He also knows that Magnus is only teasing, but come on.

Nice?

“Yes,” Magnus smiles coyly, voice hoarse and seductive, “Very nice, mi amour. Been practicing somewhere, hm?”

Alec doesn’t answer. Just narrows his eyes before curling his hands around Magnus’ hips and yanking him closer.

“Would it be correct to assume that that was a yes?” Magnus hooks one leg over Alec’s shoulder, attempting to pull him closer again.

Alec lets him, but doesn’t lean in like Magnus obviously wants him to.

Instead he traces his fingers along the lines of Magnus’ hips and stomach, completely ignoring his rapidly hardening cock that was waiting for attention. His thumb moves to trace the skin inside of Magnus’ thighs, messing with the sweat and lube and come there.

Fuck. Alec wants to make him look just as unraveled as he feels.

“Alexander, you–” Magnus’ words turn into a gasp as Alec presses two of his fingers inside.

Alec can’t help but watch as they sink in. It’s immorally fascinating, how Magnus’ abused hole swallows them and the pink rim stretches around the two digits. He starts to move them in and out immediately. Steadily.

Surely not fast enough.

A low whine escapes from Magnus’ throat and he tries to move his hips, roll them down to make the fingers go deeper, to make them move faster, harder. Alec presses his free palm against Magnus’ lower stomach, pinning him against the mattress.

Some quiet curses rush out between Magnus’ lips as he bucks against the hold. Alec just curls his fingers harder around the sharp hipbone, effectively stilling him.

“Alec, tidak,” Magnus sounds so deliciously desperate. “Don’t be cruel…” The things he did to Alec, just with his voice.

Alec leans down, pinning Magnus with his whole body. His fingers won’t stop moving at any point.

“What do you want?” he asks as he traces his damp lips against Magnus’ bitten ones, breathing in the small gasps that the warlock lets out.

Something vulnerable bleeds in Magnus’ eyes again, only that this time it doesn’t disappear. For a second Alec feels almost bad for teasing him like this.

“Magnus, what do you want?” he whispers again.

Magnus’ voice is quiet. “I have everything I want.”

Alec swallows around the lump in his throat before nudging his fingers as deep as he can, searching.

He knows the exact moment he finds it as Magnus’ eyes wrench shut and his back arches like a bow. Alec doesn’t pull away after that, instead he keeps grinding his fingers against the spot, massaging Magnus’ prostate with circular movements.

I have everything I want–

Alec comes at Magnus’ next breathless, “Alexander.”

xx.

Magnus’ facade was cracking.

Slowly crumbling, fading from the edges.

It isn’t new, but it isn’t completely familiar either. His camouflage has been ruined before, yes, but only momentarily.

This is different.

Magnus doesn’t know how to fix this, how to mend these fractures. He just keeps dissolving, gradually and inexorably, as if he was still young and intact. He isn’t sure why the usual stability is so impossible to achieve, let alone maintain, and it’s downright terrifying.

It starts properly during their first fuck after The Incident as Magnus was calling it now.

Alec had been hovering over him, effectively turning Magnus’ brain into mush when it happened. It wasn’t the sentence that Alec uttered out in the midst of heat, but the way he looked at Magnus.

Like he was something invaluable.

Something worth saving.

It scares Magnus because Alec looked like he sincerely meant that. And even more he fears that he might actually believe it himself.

Stupid, stupid warlock.

“Can I join you?” Alec asks a few days later, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, voice unfairly low.

For a second Magnus can only stare at him, stunned. Shocked that Alec even finds it necessary to ensure his permission after four months of literally living together. They had moved past the point of asking things like that, after all.

He desperately wants to know why, but manages to keep his mouth shut until Alec strips and joins him in the shower.

After that, he just can’t bring himself to do it.

Maybe Alec had already noticed. Maybe he had already seen through the cracks, got glimpses of the bruises underneath Magnus’ skin. Ugly and incurable. The ones he had been so careful to hide. Maybe that’s why Alec looks at him this way, eyes dark with worry and scrutiny, like he is furtively trying to figure him out.

It shouldn’t be like that. It should never be like that.

Magnus shouldn’t be the one to break apart and Alec shouldn’t try to be the one to bear the ghosts and scars of Magnus’ past – that weight was for Magnus to carry. His and his alone.

Alec squeezes some sandalwood-scented shampoo into his palm and snaps the lid shut, effectively pulling Magnus from his spiraling thoughts.

“Turn around.”

Magnus does, without a word.

The usual insinuations are just on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them back, not daring to voice them since he’s unsure that he can keep the thick emotion out of his words. So instead he smiles over his shoulder (the soft one that’s only reserved for Alec) and braces one hand against the white tiles.

He is almost expecting a light touch against his lower back or inner thighs, so he is surprised, to say the least, when those hands actually go up to his hair.

Alec is gentle, yet he uses just the right amount of pressure as he rubs until the foam starts dripping down along Magnus’ neck and throat. Long fingers move deliberately, slowly and precisely working against his scalp, massaging more than washing.

It’s soothing. Comforting in a way that makes Magnus’ chest tighten with affection.

Magnus has always hated when he’s being treated like something breakable – like he could shatter from the tiniest push, unstable and erratic – but this. This is different. He actually wants this. He wants to feel cared for and appreciated, wants someone to do this for him because they want to.

“Head back,” Alec’s rough voice vibrates through Magnus’ spine.

He obediently tilts his head and lets Alec to guide him under the spray with a gentle grip on his hip. He lifts his hands to help with the rinsing but Alec captures his wrists and guides them away.

“Let me, just...let me. Please.”

Magnus swallows thickly and nods. He isn’t completely sure why Alec is doing this, but he doesn’t want it to be because of some twisted sense of responsibility or guilt.

After his hair is free from the shampoo, Magnus is gently pushed away from the spray.

He doesn’t turn around, not even when he hears the click of a bottle, the sound of squeezing, and the snap again. He sighs and lets his eyes slide shut as the soft sponge presses between his shoulder blades.

The shower stays on. Its quiet, steady noise is almost as calming as Alec’s touch.

Never leave. Please.

Alec washes Magnus’ back first, then systematically goes through his every other body part. Chest, stomach, hands, legs (which Magnus helpfully lifts for him), then back again. The orderliness of it all is almost endearing, reminding Magnus how deeply imprinted these soldier mannerisms truly were.

In the end Alec pulls him under the spray again, his hands gliding over Magnus’ slippery skin; shoulders, sides, hips; until there isn’t a trace of soap anywhere. And even after that.

Again and again and again.

Magnus’ eyes burn so he keeps them tightly shut, glad that the running water hides any evidence of his tears. He feels exposed – chest raw and breathing becoming a little shallow – but for the first time ever it’s illogical.

Because he feels safe. It’s all so natural – so easy and genuine – that it throws Magnus off his radar faster than lightning.

Because it can’t be this simple. It never is. It never has been before.

There had been a few rocks in their way in the beginning, but everything had calmed down pretty quickly after Alec moved in. If you could even call it moving in. There was no voiced decision, it wasn’t anything said out loud. At the time Alec had already been spending most nights at Magnus’ and one day he just stopped sleeping at the Institute altogether.

To be honest, Magnus did expect some kind of bigger conflict to arise literally months ago.

He didn’t want to search for bad omens so habitually, but four hundred years had made him cautious. He couldn’t help but be constantly on his toes, ready to protect the remains of his damaged heart.

You can be vulnerable with him, a voice echoes in his head, some weird mix of Catarina and Ragnor.

I can, but I shouldn’t.

Magnus is still trying to swallow down the lump in his throat when he feels the soft, feather-like kisses against the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He opens his eyes and blinks, just to make sure that there aren’t any tears left clinging on his lashes.

They’re only half under the spray anymore. Alec is behind him again, hands on his waist, gently merging their bodies together. He is breathing steadily against the side of Magnus’ throat, littering kisses there every now and then.

“Didn’t you wash?” Magnus asks when he finds his voice again. He lifts his hands so he can intertwine their fingers and link them across his stomach.

Alec’s thumb keeps stroking against the soft skin above his hipbone.

“I showered after the hunt.”

Magnus nods and squeezes a little harder. There’s a minute of silence before either of them speaks again, a peaceful moment of proximity, chests rising and falling in unison.

“You shouldn’t take any clients today,” Alec murmurs, lips soft against Magnus’ dripping hair.

“Darling, it’s 7 p.m.”

“You shouldn’t take any tomorrow, either.”

Magnus sighs and leans further against the warm expanse of Alec’s body, shamelessly seeking more heat as the water was slowly starting to run cold.

“I can’t keep procrastinating on my work forever, you know.”

Alec’s grip tightens imperceptibly. “Not forever, just tomorrow. Or over the weekend.”

A smile tugs at Magnus’ lips.

“Your negotiating skills really are unequalled, Alexander,” he murmurs, only half joking since he can’t deny anything from the man, give or take. “Have I ever told you that?”

“This isn’t something negotiable, Magnus, not really.”

Amazing how it never really got old, hearing his name from Alec’s mouth. The rough and unique way it rolled off his tongue still managed to make something flutter in Magnus’ stomach.

“Rest,” Alec insists with a low voice that Magnus feels in his back more than hears out loud. “Please.”

“I will, darling,” he affirms. “I’ll rest until my magic is restored enough.”

“No, not enough. Completely.”

Stubborn Nephilim. Magnus rolls his eyes but can’t bring himself to be annoyed. Not at all.

“I can make you rest,” Alec continues, quietly. The threat in his tone is almost playful but Magnus knows that he would try to walk through his promise if needed.

“I rather doubt that, Alexander,” he says anyway, because trying and succeeding were still pretty far away from each other.

“Who said that I meant by force? I know other ways to keep you in bed the whole day,” Alec murmurs, and although his voice is low and admirably steady, Magnus is almost sure that the adorable blush was already rising on those pale cheeks. Alec continues to kiss and nip at his neck. “Done it before.”

Magnus can’t stop his smile from spreading. He carefully untangles himself from Alec’s grip and turns around, pressing his lips against Alec’s runed throat.

“You’re a devious man, Mr. Lightwood,” he whispers against the wet skin.

“Whatever it takes, Mr. Bane.”

xxi.

Alec asks eventually.

It doesn’t go as smoothly as he had hoped but Alec doubts that it ever would have, anyway.

“You thought it was me,” he just blurts out one night, blunt and loud. It feels like dropping a time bomb in the middle of the living room. A time bomb that had only seconds until its explosion. “The whole time, you thought it was me.”

Magnus glances up from the worn-out book he had been reading, sitting cross-legged on the couch. His brows knit together in confusion and his fingers curl tighter around the glass in his hand, still half-full of some exotic (and undoubtedly alcohol infused) juice.

Alec stays still even though he desperately wants to burst, to lash out. He wants to let out every poisonous thought that has been coiling under his skin.

“You believed it,” he continues more quietly when Magnus doesn’t catch up immediately. “You didn’t even question it.”

Magnus closes the book and uncurls his leg. He looks tired. “Alexander…”

“What did it tell you?” Alec inquires suddenly, question burning hot in his mind.

Magnus blinks.

“What did it tell you so that you went with it?”

Magnus sits up better and moves both his glass and the book to the coffee table. His movements are slow and deliberate. Wary. “That Valentine had your sister.”

A humorless snort escapes Alec’s mouth. He had expected something like that, after all.

“I was trained for this, Magnus,” he bites out. He doesn’t mean to sound angry at Magnus but the emotions keep bubbling out, far beyond his control. “Don’t you think that I would have done something wiser than that?”

And it was true. No matter how easily Magnus had turned him into a blabbering and stuttering mess with his lean body and cheshire smile, Alec was, in fact, a leader. A warrior. A tactician. Hell, he was supposed to take over as head of the New York Institute one day.

This is what he had been trained for. What he had been born to do.

Did Magnus honestly believe that Alec would do something so hazardous and utterly reckless if Izzy’s life had indeed been in danger? Did he think that Alec would betray the man he loved for half a chance of getting his sister back?

“I wasn’t thinking clearly at the moment,” Magnus offers but Alec can see that the words are empty, only voiced to calm Alec down.

“Obviously, but that’s not the point here.”

Magnus stands up. His shoulders are tense and the long curve of his back is stiff like a wire pulled taut. Alec recognizes the calm mask that’s meant to guard his emotions.

“Then tell me, Alexander, what is the point here?” he demands, mild frustration covering most of the hurt underneath. “What was I supposed to think, to do? It was your sister’s life I thought was at stake – your sister, and I know how much you love her–”

“Of course I love her, but I love you, too!”

The silence that follows his words is undisputedly heavy.

Magnus’ dark eyes are wide, surprised and ever so beautiful. Alec hastily wonders why he’s reacting to his words like that, why is he so taken aback, like he would never have expected those words from Alec–

No...no no no.

The realization hurts more than he could’ve imagined.

It had been hard enough to think that Magnus might not trust him, but this was an entirely new kind of ache in his chest. It’s nothing like the dull pain that was slowly and brutally tearing him apart, but sharp and urgent instead.

Magnus never doubted his skills.

He never doubted Alec’s abilities or that he was capable of dealing with the situation.

He doubted Alec’s love.

He didn’t think that Alec loved him enough to choose him, obviously sure that he would never be that important to him.

Alec tries in vain to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. He can almost hear something inside his chest shattering but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“You knew that, right?” he asks, voice cracking slightly at the end. He asks even though it’s clear that Magnus didn’t.

He had never said the words out loud before. Well, neither had Magnus, but for Alec it had been somewhat of a baseline. Because of course he loved Magnus. If this wasn’t love then he didn’t know what was.

“Do you even trust me?” Another pointless question fumbles out. Alec knows the answer, after all.

That breaks Magnus out of his frozen state. “Of course I do,” he says as he steps towards Alec, arm extended.

Alec steps backwards before the ring-covered hand reaches him and runs his own fingers through the mess of his hair.

“No, you don’t.”

“Alec,” Magnus’ voice is quiet, painful.

Alec snaps, “No, you really don’t. Or you do, but only to a certain point.”

Magnus’ hand drops to his side.

“You trust me like a Shadowhunter,” Alec continues, gritting the words through his teeth. He’s unable to keep the thick emotion out of his voice. “Like someone who would never take your side when it comes to things like this. Like someone who you can trust to be good to you only in good times. Like I saw your blood as some kind of obstacle. Like I only wanted you. Like I didn’t love you.”

The words taste horrible in his mouth. Maybe because they’re true.

Saying that Magnus looks upset is an understatement. Completely unraveled would probably be more accurate description. He looks vulnerable and cracked open, confidence only a thin layer between him and the world.

Alec wants to pull him close and apologize but doesn’t trust himself at the moment enough to do so. He doesn’t know even what to apologize for.

Other words come out, though. He doesn’t know how.

Compared to his usual difficulties in voicing his feelings this is almost overwhelming. Maybe it’s a detonation of all the emotional stress he had been under the past few days; all his worries, doubts, and fears suddenly compressed into one single emotion.

One that he can’t even identify.

“I know that I might be repressed and all that shit but I’m not the only one flawed in this relationship,” he continues more quietly. “You still keep these walls up. I don’t know if you mean to or not, I just know that you do.”

For once it’s Magnus who seems to be speechless.

“Nobody is flawless, Alexander,” he says finally.

“Exactly.”

Magnus swallows. “Alec, don’t–”

“You think that you should have perfected your character. You think that you can’t show me every side of yourself because you are afraid that I won’t love you because of them. You tell me only the nice stories about your past, thinking that I only want the pretty part of you? The desirable part. Right?”

Magnus looks like Alec just slapped him in the face.

“Because that’s what everybody’s always wanted, huh?” Alec whispers the last part out, voice rough.

As if Alec was the only breakable one in their relationship, the only one who should be protected.

Magnus wasn’t invincible. He bruised when Alec touched him hard enough. He bled if Alec accidentally bit his lip in the middle of a heated kiss. He limped to the bathroom after the roughest nights.

His body was no more unbreakable than his mind was.

Alec wants Magnus to be able to talk to him freely, wants Magnus to share his worries and problems as well as all his joys. He doesn’t want the blood or status to be any kind of obstacle in their relationship.

“I thought that I have proved to you how I feel–”

Alec makes a frustrated noise in his throat. “You have, of course you have, and it’s not that. It’s that you still don’t believe that I feel the same.” His fingers twitch to curl around his bow. That, or to yank Magnus closer and kiss his parted lips. “I don’t care if you doubt my leadership skills. Hell, you can doubt my family, my fucking cooking skills, but don’t ever – Magnus, ever – doubt that I love you.”

His eyes are stinging by the end of his rant.

Magnus reaches for Alec’s hand again and this time Alec lets him. Their fingers weave together easily like countless times before. The touch is familiar, comforting.

“Oh Alexander,” Magnus murmurs and leans even closer. His thumb strokes gently along Alec’s jawline. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know before but I swear to God, I do now.”

How could you not? Alec almost asks.

You’re gentle and kind and genuine, so purely yourself. You’re dangerous, a fucking force of nature. You’re soft and hard and so complex that I can’t even begin to figure you out all at once and I want both the beautiful and damaged parts. You’re so much but I think that I’ll never get enough of you.

Of course I love you.

“Good,” is what he rasps out with a thick voice. “Because I do. I do so much that it hurts sometimes.”

Magnus is pulling him into a hug before he can even properly finish his sentence so he has to breathe the last words against Magnus’ skin.

And that’s all it takes for him to break.

He squeezes Magnus’ solid frame tighter against his chest and lets an ugly, wet sound escape his throat. The burn in his eyes cease when the tears finally fall, blurring his sight, so he closes his eyes and breathes in Magnus’ scent with ragged, uneven inhales.

He suddenly feels very light, probably because of the overwhelming relief.

“Alexander,” Magnus whispers when Alec’s breathing is finally moderated.

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

xxii.

It takes a few times for them both to get used to saying it. And hearing it.

The second time isn’t much easier than the first. Alec says the words quietly but meaning them with every fibre of his being. The uncertainty is still dancing in Magnus’ eyes and his response is quiet, too, albeit an honest one. His body also tenses up a bit, as if he could shatter the moment somehow and scare Alec away.

As if Alec could take his words back at any second.

But it gets better.

Alec starts to murmur it against Magnus’ bare shoulder before he climbs out of the bed in the morning and Magnus begins to say it every night as they start to fall asleep. Alec adds it to the end of his texts sometimes. Magnus says it with a smile every time Alec lets him choose the restaurant.

So yeah, it gets much better and after a month the three words roll off his tongue effortlessly, as easy and true as breathing.

xxiii.

The change is so inconspicuous that Magnus almost misses it.

He isn’t with Alec when he realizes it. Actually, he isn’t even thinking about him. He’s in the middle of meeting his new client, listening to the terms of their new contract as the thought quietly breaches his intent focus.

He hasn’t heard Camille’s vicious, mocking voice whispering in his head for a while now. Stupid, stupid warlock… Ragnor’s voice is still there, but now there’s a new voice next to it.

The soft and low murmur fills Magnus with a sudden warmth, so realistic that he can almost imagine Alec’s lips breathing the words against his ear.

I love you.