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It’s the sensation of lips traversing his spine that wakes Magnus first. There isn’t much to it, just a gentle skim over the arch of his back, a quiet, subtle greeting that ends with a teasing nip to the lobe of his ear that makes Magnus exhale into his pillow, body awake and attuned to the man still pressing kisses to his shoulder.
“Hey,” Alec says, draping himself over Magnus, bare chest molding to Magnus’ back while the jut of his hip digs into Magnus’ thigh. His voice cracks a little, still gravelly from sleep, and the sound of it makes Magnus close his eyes, a smile blooming on his face.
“Hey yourself,” he answers softly. On any other day, he would push up onto his elbows, turn around so that he can see Alec, his mussed hair and stubble against the sharpness of his jaw, and he’d crane his neck to kiss the drowsy grin off of Alec’s lips until they’re bruised red and slick. Maybe he’d flip him so that Magnus can straddle Alec’s legs and admire the stark curves of his runes against pale skin and golden silk.
But today, he says, “Don’t you have a meeting at eight with Brussels?” before he slips smoothly from underneath Alec, hearing Alec’s grunt as he flops onto the sheets while Magnus pulls on an emerald robe and ties a neat knot at his waist.
“Yeah,” Alec says, “but that’s in an hour. Don’t you want to…?”
Magnus turns to see Alec still sprawled on the bed, a flustered frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, a flush lingering on his cheeks from sleep. He knows that Alec is thrown off – on mornings like this, when there aren’t immediate catastrophes that require their attention, he expects Magnus to wrap his arms around Alec, drag him back to indulge in a minute or ten of lazy kisses, or indolent touches while they let sleep pull the both of them back in its grasp. And Alec, who stubbornly insists on memorizing Magnus’ weekly schedule every Sunday, knows he has no clients today, no reason to be rushing off.
“Of course I want to. I always want to,” Magnus answers with a wink, “but I’ve got a few important errands I need to run early today.” He reaches out a hand, cocking his head toward Alec with an affected jerk and gesturing toward the shower. “Come on. Bathroom’s all yours. I’m going to make coffee.”
“Summon coffee from that cafe on Prince Street, you mean,” Alec grumbles, a line forming between his brows though he acquiesces in the end. Slowly he rises to his feet, unfolding his long length from the dip of the mattress as he places his hand in Magnus’, the roughness of his fingers tracing careful lines over the creases on Magnus’ palms. He’s soft and pliant from a good night’s rest, and Magnus feels something ache in his throat at the sight of it.
The moment Alec straightens to his full height, bare toes peeking out from beneath his sweatpants, he draws Magnus toward him with a firm, insistent tug until their chests are pressed close, his hand on Magnus’ jaw, his thumb gliding over Magnus’ cheek. Alec’s expression is content, his wide, plush mouth a faintly upturned crescent, the hazel of his irises clear and luminous.
“Good morning,” Alec says softly, like he does every morning, and the heaviness in Magnus’ chest lightens for the space of one breath.
“Good morning, Alexander.”
The kiss he lays on Alec’s lips is sweet, though his fingers tremble when he pulls away.
***
When Alec leaves for the Institute after coffee and a bagel, disappearing with a wave into the swirling whirlwind of a portal, Magnus grins back, feigning a nonchalance that doesn’t quite mask the burgeoning weight in his chest. He hopes he hid it well enough; he knows how hard it is to keep anything from Alexander, not when Alec has learned to catalogue Magnus’ every motion and read them as if they were as clearly defined as words inked on a page. After the ordeal with Valentine so early in their relationship, Magnus found out all too quickly that his half-smiles and attempted deflections were weak defenses against Alec's keen gaze.
With a long sigh, Magnus re-enters the kitchen to make himself a cup of jasmine tea, losing himself in the monotonous routine of it as he pours boiling water into the teapot. For now, he’s grateful that Alec’s role at the Institute keeps him so busy and away from the loft, and that his own clients didn’t put up much of a fuss about rescheduling. The empty space makes it easier for Magnus’ mind to clear, to find stillness.
While he waits for the tea to steep, he snaps his fingers while he holds his left hand up.
The ring appears in a puff of cerulean mist.
It’s simple; a solid white-gold band that gleams cheerfully under the pale sunlight streaming in through the window. If any of the people who knew Magnus saw it, they’d comment on its plainness. In a sense, Magnus would agree. It’s nothing remarkable, nothing exceptional, nothing unique but for the fact that Magnus bought it months ago with Alexander in mind.
He rolls it around between his thumb and index finger, warming the metal against his skin, pulse picking up as he concentrates on the ring.
He wants to marry Alec.
He wants it terribly. He wants it with every fiber of his being, with every thread of magic that exists in his body. He thinks… he knows he wants it more than anything he’s wanted in centuries. But admitting it is a daunting thing, because staring at the ring and imagining it on Alec’s hand ignites a fear inside Magnus that he hasn’t felt since before he and Alec reunited in the back alley of the Hunter’s Moon.
His hands are shaking now. Impulsively, he picks up his phone and hits the number four before holding it up to his ear.
There’s a muffled thump and a long groan, before he hears, “Magnus, I literally – shit, I just got home, can you please –”
“Cat.” His voice wobbles a little.
He hears the sharp intake of breath when she cuts her words off, followed by her steady inhale, exhale. Something wells heavy behind his eyes at the sound of it as he imagines her toeing off her sensible white sneakers, slumping onto the couch still in sweat-stained scrubs.
“Are you asking him today?” she asks quietly, tone deep and warm and comforting. He wants to sink into it.
Magnus sets his elbows on the counter, forehead falling to the hand holding Alec’s ring. He can feel it digging hard into his skull as he closes his eyes. “I’m afraid,” he murmurs.
“Do you want me to come over?”
Magnus shakes his head, though he know she can’t see it. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
He hears the refrigerator opening, then closing, followed by whoosh of something being poured into a glass. Orange juice, he thinks absently – Cat isn’t as much of an advocate for early morning drinks as he is.
“Of course you’re nervous, Magnus. It’s marriage,” she says. He opens his mouth, then she plunges on, likely anticipating his next words the way so few can. “It’s not the same, you know. You’re thinking of Camille, and everybody else and – Magnus, god, I’ve known you so long and this is not the same.”
Magnus chokes out a laugh. “I know that. I can’t stop thinking about that. It’s why I’m – it’s why I want this so badly. It scares me how much.”
“Magnus. We’re not talking about anybody else. We’re talking about Alec. He loves you, Magnus. You don’t need me to tell you that.” She pauses, and he hears her taking a long drink. “I’ve seen how you look at each other, Magnus. And I’ve spent – hours, days, maybe, listening to him talk about you. God, if you could hear even one word of it.”
Magnus frowns, distracted for a moment. “You guys meet without me?”
He hears something that sounds vaguely like a curse from the phone, before Cat says, “Ah, it’s – it’s not important. Look, Magnus, it’s never been easy for you, but trust this. Alec’s heard your dumb meat puns and he’s still with you, for god’s sake, so you know this is special. He’s going to say yes.”
“Maryse said that too when I asked her,” Magnus mumbles, ignoring the jibe as he tries to compose himself.
He knows, in an abstract, instinctive way, that things will be okay. Because Cat is right – he’s been in love before, but something, everything about this time is different. Because it’s Alec, who’s seen Magnus weather his father and Edom and friends passing on, and it’s Magnus, who’s seen Alec deal with mistakes and pressure and cruel words from his own people. These years with Alec have changed Magnus so thoroughly, the loneliness that used to live in his bones gradually becoming nothing more than a memory. And then they’d talked about marriage in passing a few months ago, looking at each other withan implicit little someday in their shared smile, and Magnus had been so indescribably joyful.
But fear is illogical, making sharp turns where Magnus can’t predict, and his stomach has been in knots for days over tonight. Even though Magnus knows that Alec loves him – god, he’s never…he’s never loved, or been loved like this before – the uneasiness churning in his stomach has been incessant. Because Magnus has never been someone worth marrying, and never is a hard thing to overcome.
“Are you going to be okay? I can keep you company until tonight, if you want. I can bring Madzie. She always likes to see you,” Catarina says.
Magnus sighs. “I – I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, Catarina. You’re too good to me, you know?”
She laughs, a rolling thing that drips warm down his spine, a familiar sound that he’s grown so fond of over the past few centuries.
“Shut up, Magnus. And good luck tonight, okay?”
Pulling the phone away from his ear as he says goodbye, Magnus spares the ring another glance, as if he hasn’t already spent hours looking at it. He pictures it on Alec’s hand when he wakes up in the morning, or when he’s walking through the Institute, glinting under those harsh artificial lights.
At that moment, his phone starts to vibrate, clattering a little against his own silver rings, and Magnus startles before unlocking the screen.
[From: Alexander <3] Jace just backflipped into a bush.
The snort that Magnus emits is unbecoming, but since no one is there to hear it, he contends it never really happened. Flicking his wrist, he lifts the teapot with a cloud of magic, staring at his phone while he pours himself a cup of over-steeped tea.
[To: Alexander <3] I know you love him but he’s an idiot.
[From: Alexander <3] Well, I love you too so what does that make you?
Definitely an idiot, Magnus thinks. He stares at the tiny letters on his screen, those three words, and sighs, letting the familiar thrill of seeing them rush over his skin like a temporary balm on his mind.
***
There isn’t much to prepare when he has magic at his disposal. Magnus spends the most time on himself, losing himself in his closet, shuffling through centuries of clothes and letting it distract him from his own head. Eventually, he picks a black jacket with silver threaded throughout, paired with a crisp cobalt shirt and pants that are tight on his thighs before he goes to sort through his jewelry.
Blue-polished fingers parse through organized rows of gleaming metal, selecting his favorite ear cuff, his usual rings, and that necklace Alec bought him for his birthday last year because the little snake pendant reminded him of Magnus. Similarly for his makeup, he doesn’t do much differently, though he takes more time than normal to combat his unsteady hands before he goes to set the dining table.
Magnus hears shuffling from the living precisely at seven, the muted thump of boots falling to the floor, the snick of the front door closing. He quiets his breath and closes his eyes so that he can concentrate on the familiar sound of Alec over the hummingbird patter of his heartbeat.
“Babe? Where are – whoa.”
“Hello, Alexander,” Magnus says, lips quirking at the sight of Alec’s comically wide eyes as he draws close to Magnus, who’s pouring two glasses of a bold Barbera d’Alba, the fragrance of baked plum and licorice wafting into the air.
“What’s the occasion?” Alec asks, tracing his archer’s hands over the soft cream tablecloth and the little vase of roses and baby’s breath tucked between plates and silverware. Candlelight flickers warm on Alec’s face, casting long shadows from the sweep of his lashes to the bump of his nose, and his half-smile tentative and sweet.
God, he’s lovely.
Magnus shrugs, sending his necklace swaying calmly against his throat. He catches the way Alec’s eyes linger on the exposed skin at his collar and laughs when his expression goes glazed. “Nothing special,” he says, trying for something casual as he puts the heavy bottle down and makes his way toward Alec. He places his palms on Alec’s chest, and presses a kiss to Alec’s mouth, once, then twice, then three times when Alec’s hands settle on his waist.
Alec licks his lips. “I missed you today,” he murmurs into the air between them. “Imogen was driving me up the wall for letting that Seelie go last week. If I invite her to the next council meeting, can you banish her to Dudael for me? I’m sure Azazel would love her company.”
“I would do anything for you, Mr. Lightwood,” Magnus replies, spelling the truth under the airy lilt of his voice. “But I’m afraid the Clave would protest.” He pushes a dark lock of hair from Alec’s forehead, then draws away as he tugs Alec toward the table, pulling his seat out and chuckling when Alec rolls his eyes.
Alec sits without further protest, waiting until Magnus joins him on the adjacent seat before he immediately scoots his chair closer and presses his leg against Magnus’ under the table, foot looped around Magnus’ while he stares at the table setting. “I thought we were ordering in Chinese tonight,” he says, blinking owlishly. “Did I forget… wait, did I forget an anniversary?” he asks sharply, brow furrowing, before he mumbles, “I swear I marked all of them down.”
“Oh,” Magnus says without meaning to. “I – I didn’t know you did that.”
Alec has his phone out now, artificial light dimly casting a blue glow on his face as he scrolls through his agenda. “Yeah, I remember them but just in case, except… no.” He squints, then looks up. “What’s going on?
Magnus shakes his head as something warm balloons in his chest. He should be used to it by now, this feeling that always comes when Alec is near, but it still surprises him, the little ways that Alexander cares. “I just want to pamper you tonight,” Magnus confesses, because that, at least, is a total, honest truth, and he can give Alec that, “so please don’t overthink this like I know you’re doing.” Then he waves his hand over the table, sending lazy blue sparks everywhere.
Magnus admits that he goes a little overboard, as is his tendency when it comes to things like this. Half a dozen burgers appear on a central platter, surrounded by an overwhelming mound of fries and three milkshakes – one vanilla, one chocolate, and one strawberry, all complete with a Maraschino cherry and two straws. Even Magnus has to concede that, despite his flagging appetite, it smells delicious, all salt and grease and sugar.
“Oh my god,” Alec blurts out. “Are you seriously pairing $300 wine with cheeseburgers? Is there –” He tentatively lifts a bun. “Bacon?”
Magnus just lifts his glass, offering it toward Alec for a toast. “The wine’s not that expensive.”
“I can’t believe you,” Alec mumbles. But when he fails to hide his pleased grin as he raises his own glass to clink it gently against Magnus’, Magnus knows he’s won this battle.
Alec’s never been much of a conversationalist over dinner, but Magnus doesn’t mind. It’s temporarily calms his nerves to sit back and watch as Alec digs in, eating with a relish that makes Magnus glad he was a little over enthusiastic when he conjured up more than the average human’s dinner portion. That embarrassed smile Alec offers when he takes a too-big bite, as if Magnus would care that Alec doesn’t have the queen’s manners. That under-his-breath groan when he alternates between his wine and that chocolate milkshake.
Magnus likes Alec in all his variants, but especially like this – loose, relaxed, happy.
“Why aren’t you eating? You’ve barely had one,” Alec says when he’s finished two burgers. Leaning forward, he reaches out for Magnus’ hand, thumb playing with the bumps of his knuckles. “Are you feeling okay? I can make you some tea?”
Magnus doesn’t say anything. He just props his chin on his other palm, tilting his head, watching Alec and his concern and his bared-open heart, and feels the emotion he’s been holding in all day bubble and burst as a fissure splits quickly between his ribs.
“Do you know,” he hears himself say before he can stop himself, “just how much it is I adore you?”
Alec begins to smile, a similar phrase likely forming on his tongue, but he freezes when he catches Magnus’ eyes and the earnestness of his expression. Magnus had wanted to make tonight sweet and romantic, to charm Alec with his favorite dinner and good wine, but right now his lungs are expanding with the desperate need to tell Alec everything on his mind, everything Alec makes him feel.
“I never thought it’d be like this,” he continues, voice hushed and raw. “That day in Pandemonium, the first time I saw you… I never expected we’d get to this place. And I know we’ve only been together for the smallest fraction of time, but…” Magnus bites his lip, watching Alec’s eyes intent on his own. “I don’t know, my love. I wish I had better words to articulate just what it feels like to have you to come home to.”
Alec’s hand twists in his own, until their fingers are interlaced. “Magnus,” he says. His other hand reaches up and traces the fragile skin next to Magnus’ eyes, and it’s only then that Magnus realizes his glamour is gone.
Magnus grabs that hand, pressing a kiss to the center of Alec’s palm, pulse stuttering when Alec’s fingers brush against the bridge of his nose. He takes a breath. “Every time I’ve said this, I’ve meant it – that I’d have forever with you, if I could. Whatever that means for us.”
Alec’s face does something complicated at that, that fond expression lighting up, then settling into something resolute. “Magnus,” he says, “Magnus, you need to know that I’ve been talking –”
Magnus forges on before his nerves get to him. “Wait, Alexander, first – I... I love you. I love you. So much. And I know I tell you that all the time, every day, but it’s terrifying to – well, to have lived as long as I have and realize you’re feeling something this intense for the first time in a long time. Or -” Magnus pauses. “Or at least to feel it so much that I want to do this.” Magnus rises from his seat.
“Magnus,” Alec says again, still clutching Magnus’ hand when he rounds the table.
“All I’m trying to say is that… Alexander, just let me –” Magnus starts, trying to get one knee, but now Alec’s standing up and taking his own step toward Magnus, eyes burning something fierce as he pulls Magnus toward him, hands in a vice-like grip on his hips.
“Magnus,” he repeats, soft and low.
Without another word, Magnus snaps the ring into existence and holds it up in that meager space between them, watching Alec and every minute shift in his beautiful face, that little, unanticipated inhale when lamplight reflects off the warm gold of the ring. He feels vulnerable beyond belief, like he’s pulled his heart from his chest - a heart so well-kept by Alexander these past few years, yet still undeniably breakable - and is offering it up in the center of his palms for the man in front of him to do as he will with it.
“Marry me, Alexander?”
The look in Alec’s eyes is indescribable, the quiet curve of his lips that grows and sets, and Magnus finds his breath coming short and fast and nerve-wracked as he waits for an answer. He can feel his magic pushing against his skin, beating against his veins, needing an outlet from the storm brewing in his head. Meanwhile, Alec isn’t doing anything, his body still but for the steady in-out of his breath and the slow transformation on Alec’s face, that tranquility giving way for something tender and -
And then Alec hauls Magnus to him, arms sliding tight around Magnus’ waist to clasp behind his back, Alec’s face buried in the crook of Magnus’ neck, Magnus’ hand and the ring crushed between them.
“You know,” he hears Alec say thickly between the ringing in his ears, “I had this image in my head of how I’d get you to portal us to Tokyo, and I’d ask you the same thing when all the cherry blossoms were falling around us.”
Magnus blinks, and his heart quivers in his chest. “Alexander.”
Alec lets out a wet laugh. “I guess I can’t really do that anymore, but I don’t think I can be mad, huh?”
Somehow, that - that’s it. Because seeing the look on Alec's face that shines with affection, Magnus thinks: Catarina had been right. His gut had been right. And now, that nervous anticipation that’s been building up all day sputters into smoke, that ceaseless fear of not being enough, and in place of it all Magnus can do is beam into Alec’s hair, stroking the dark strands of it before trailing his hand down Alec’s jaw and tipping his head back up so he can look at those stunning eyes.
“So?” he asks, chest full to aching.
The answer is already there before the words are spoken, evident in that glorious, lopsided smile that stretches across Alec’s face, that devotion flaming in the depths of Alec’s eyes that mirrors what’s in Magnus’ heart.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll marry you,” Alexander says.
Then he catches Magnus’ mouth with his own, a soft press of lips that’s languid and effortless. Magnus cheeks hurt from elation, and he lunges closer until the kiss is unsteady and messy, tasting of chocolate and wine and Alec. His hands scrabble at Alec's shirt, dragging him in, while Alec pull hard at his hair, and the two of them laugh as they stumble together, that always simmering passion they have for each other tempered by sheer, heady happiness. Magnus' eyes are still closed when they pull away from each other. He wants to look at Alec, because he always wants to look at Alec, but he lets other senses savor everything about this moment: the sound of Alec's laughter, the cotton-washed scent of him, the constant touch of his calloused fingers on Magnus' skin, all blanketed by the feeling of peace welling deep in the marrow of Magnus' bones.
Because Magnus chose Alec.
And Alec said yes.
Do you know, Alexander?, Magnus wants to ask him. Do you know how much you mean to me? He refrains though, diverting his attention to the fullness of Alec’s bottom lip instead, his erratic breath, the way his happiness spills over the edges. That fear, those centuries of rejection laid over his skin that Alec's miraculously managed to scrub away... those are things Magnus hopes Alec will never understand. For as long as Magnus lives, he promises himself that Alec will never understand it.
“Hey,” Alec says. Magnus blinks to see Alec’s face all scrunched up, the brackets around his mouth deep from the width of his smile, eyes beautifully crinkled. “Can you, uh…?”
He raises his left hand between them.
Oh. Oh.
Shoulders shaking with irrepressible laughter, Magnus takes Alec’s hand, kissing the tips of every finger, every bony knuckle, before he slides that golden ring onto Alec’s fourth finger, loving the way it sits there like an augury for even better things to come. He kisses that too.
“So,” Alec says. He takes a moment to touch the ring – his engagement ring – a look of bright-eyed wonder on his face, before he turns back to Magnus. “I guess I need to mark today down in my calendar.”
Magnus laughs, and draws him in for another kiss.