Work Text:
The apothecary is swathed in darkness by the time the potion gives one, silent sizzle, changing from earthy brown to glowing orange, and the tension in Magnus’ shoulders finally eases a little. Apparently, sixth time’s the charm.
He carefully extracts the spatula and magicks it away to deal with later.
Now that that’s done, Magnus thinks with an internal sigh. He reaches for his itinerary, exhaustion seeping deeper into his bones for every new phrase he reads, every word cutting into his dry eyes like tiny splinters. The near constant pressure that’s been building in his head for the last two to three days is finally reaching its climax – or at least, that’s what Magnus hopes, because if it gets any worse than this, he might have to summon that spatula again just to whack himself with it.
The workload is far from insurmountable, doesn’t even come close to some of his busiest periods in the past—but Magnus feels drained to his very soul, and the mere prospect of producing a simple protection spell, or conjuring a glamor, makes his knees go weak, and he gracelessly allows himself to fall into the chair behind him.
He hasn’t been sleeping well since Valentine and the body switch; it’s been steadily getting better, to the point where most nights, he doesn’t wake up with his heart in his throat and the image of his dead mother behind his eyes—and on those occasions when he does, Alec is right there next to him, all warm skin and gentle words and soothing caresses. If Magnus had his way, they’d leave New York on an extended vacation, take some time for themselves, to find a new normal after the blow their relationship had suffered following the chaos of the last few weeks. But the workload Magnus has more or less been ignoring for days has been piling up in terrifyingly thick stacks on his desk: old clients are impatient and new ones are constantly showing up demanding his services. Magnus loves his job, loves being in a position that allows him to help so many people—but it’s in times like these that he wishes, just fleetingly, that he had what the Mundanes refer to as a “nine to five job.”
A floorboard creaks over by the door, followed by a sleepy, “Magnus?”
Magnus looks up and smiles at the sleep rumpled appearance of his boyfriend, the sight instantly sparking a warm wave of fondness that replaces some of the fatigue.
“Hey, you. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
Alec shuffles his way into the room, coming to a stop by the side of the desk and leaning against it. He shakes his head, covering a yawn with the back of his hand.
“No. There was an alert from the Institute.”
Magnus freezes, stomach immediately plummeting through the floor.
“You’re leaving?” Although he doesn’t exactly need Alec’s calming presence in order to fall asleep anymore, the prospect of going to bed without the promise of those strong arms around him is far from appealing.
“No.” Alec rubs a hand down his face, scrunching his nose up adorably. “No. I called Izzy, and she said they got it covered.”
Magnus exhales quietly in relief, the nervous flutter in his lungs settling.
“Then you should go back to bed.” He forces what remaining focus he still has on the words in front of him. “There are just a few more things I need to do before morning, and I’ll come join you.”
“Magnus.” It’s only two syllables, yet Magnus has no trouble visualizing the accompanying frown, creasing Alec’s brow. “It’s 3 a.m.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
As if the fatigue needed another incentive to make itself known, Magnus thinks and leans back in his chair with a deep sigh. He closes his eyes and pushes the tips of his fingers into his temple, hoping that the external pressure will somehow keep his skull from splitting in two. This upcoming passage seemed very promising—if he could just get through these next few pages, maybe a chapter or three, then he might finally be able to call it a night…
He isn’t surprised—or is too weary to feel it—when his chair is suddenly pulled back, Alec coming to stand between his legs. He instinctively relaxes into the hand that comes up to cup his cheek.
“Headache?” A mere whisper of air, because clearly, Alec already knows the answer.
Magnus hums agreement anyway, too tired for words. A gentle grip on his wrist guides his hand down, and then calloused archer fingers press into his temples, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his scalp. It’s the perfect amount of pressure, and Magnus can’t help the soft moan that escapes him.
“Good?” Alec asks knowingly. Magnus can tell he’s smirking, but can’t find it in him to care.
“So good,” he breathes instead.
“You don’t want me to stop so you can go back to whatever it was you were doing before I walked in?” Yep, definitely smirking.
Magnus forces his eyes open and throws his boyfriend a heatless glare.
“Don’t you dare, Alexander.”
Alec chuckles, amused and fond. He closes what minor distance remained between them and carefully lowers himself onto Magnus’ lap. Magnus forces his arms to move, lightly gripping at Alec’s sides to keep him in place.
“How about,” Alec begins, gently digging his nails into Magnus’ scalp, causing shivers to shoot out throughout Magnus’ entire body. “We move this to the bedroom, huh? I’ll even throw in a massage, if you’re interested. Angel knows you need one,” he adds under his breath, scowling at the stiffness that his fingers encounter on their brief detour to Magnus’ shoulders.
Magnus’ eyes traitorously find his open notebook and the pages of things he has yet to do.
“As absolutely heavenly as that sounds, I still need to—”
“Anything gonna blow up or cause any kind of catastrophe if you don’t deal with it right away?”
“No, but—”
“Then it can wait until the morning. Late morning,” Alec amends, glancing out the window as the first, weak tendrils of light start to work their way through the darkness of the room.
Magnus can’t help but raise an eyebrow, amused despite the fatigue clinging to his eyelids.
“Is that an order, Mr. Lightwood?”
Alec leans in and Magnus meets him halfway. For a moment, he simply enjoys the soft, unhurried feel of Alec’s lips against his own.
All too soon, Alec pulls back, a familiar challenge in his eyes.
“And what if it is?”
The retort sitting ready on Magnus’ tongue morphs into a shaky breath when Alec’s deft fingers locate and start working on a particularly painful knot at the base of his skull. If Alec’s goal is to make Magnus melt into the chair, he’s definitely succeeding. All thoughts about work slowly evaporate from Magnus’ mind with every gentle ministration, every single cell of his being focused on the feel, the scent, the sound, of Alec surrounding him.
“You make a compelling case,” he finally manages. As Alec presses into yet another tender area, he sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine.”
Lips brush against his forehead, temporarily taking his mind off the insistent pounding. He feels Alec smile against his skin.
“Okay,” Alec echoes softly.
They stay still for a while longer, simply enjoying the peace of the moment, before Alec rises, pulling Magnus up with him. Magnus steps in close, burrows into the juncture of Alec’s neck and shoulder. He keeps his eyes closed as Alec starts leading them to the bedroom, trusting Alec to protect him from the hard edges of the pillars and the devious creases in the carpets that are no doubt intent on taking advantage of his drowsy, semi-conscious state.
If there’s anyone he trusts implicitly, with everything that he is, it’s Alec; so, when there’s gentle pressure on his shoulders some time later, he immediately knows to sit down, already expecting the soft dip of the mattress under him. He stays pliant as Alec begins stripping him of his clothes with sure, steady hands, only snaps his fingers to remove his makeup—and blindly finding Alec’s mouth to swallow the disgruntled grumble at such a completely unnecessary use of magic, Magnus.
They crawl into bed and under the covers, and Alec weaves an arm around Magnus’ waist, pulling him close. Magnus throws a leg over Alec’s stomach and nuzzles into his chest, sighing contentedly as Alec’s fingers resume their gentle carding through his hair, occasionally pressing into his scalp to chase away any lingering tension.
“Thank you, Alexander,” he mumbles, sleep already halfway to shrouding his mind in blessed darkness.
Lips ghost over his temple.
“You’re welcome. Go to sleep, Magnus.”
Enveloped in this familiar embrace, cocooned in love and warmth, feeling safe and infinitely cared for, Magnus does just that.