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#1
“Well, this is a sight I could certainly get used to,” Magnus purrs from the kitchen doorway.
Normally, that particular tone of voice would've sent a thrill down Alec’s spine, but, as it is, he doesn’t even glance up.
“Did you get the radishes?” he asks, inspecting his work station critically. Everything is laid out properly: cutting board and knife, frying pan and spatula, casserole and ladle, the ingredients ordered into chronological groups of what to prepare first and how to prepare it.
Alec Lightwood is used to finding himself in difficult situations: he’s a big brother to three headstrong siblings, Head of a department in a conservative and prejudiced organization, and an openly gay man who is in a relationship with a male Downworlder. He is no stranger to dealing with judgment, or to have his professional as well as his personal life be put under the microscope.
But this, cooking for his mother? He’d rather face that Asmodei dragon thing again.
“I did,” Magnus assures, coming up beside him and placing the small bag on the cutting board. Alec takes it and transfers it to its assigned group. “And even if I hadn’t, need I remind you that I am a warlock?” Magnus tugs at the apron tied around Alec’s waist. “Where on Earth did you find this atrocity?”
“The Institute,” Alec mumbles, gaze once again roaming the organized chaos on the counter. His eyes flick to the recipe – a worn piece of paper – lying next to the cutting board. He has already read it enough times that he shouldn’t need it much, but for some reason, the measurements keep slipping his mind.
“Alec.”
Maybe he should move it, he muses. Where it is now, it’ll probably get soaked when he’s cutting the tomatoes – that, or he’ll somehow mistake it for one of the ingredients and end up serving his mother his grandmother’s actual recipe.
“Alexander.”
He should’ve had it laminated, or at least made a digitalized copy. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? If he loses or damages this one, that’s it, he’s screwed…
Hands grip his arms and pivot him around, and then Magnus’s lips are on his, kissing him hard enough to obliterate thought. The scent of sandalwood invades his senses, Magnus’s rings blessedly cool as his hands travel up Alec’s arms to cup his face.
Just like that, the nervous fluttering in his lungs calms.
Magnus nips at his bottom lip, once, twice, before pulling back. Alec sighs and opens his eyes, finding Magnus still crowding his space and smiling at him. It’s the one that means that Magnus is exasperated with him but still thinks he’s adorable.
“You’re panicking,” Magnus says. His thumbs sweep across Alec’s jaw. A slow, soothing motion. “It’s going to be fine. You’ve got this. But you need to calm down, or that vein on your forehead is going to burst.” His smile morphs into something sly. “And, since you won’t let me help you with dinner, at least allow me to make you a little less tense.”
“Magnus,” Alec begins, but then Magnus’s eyes are suddenly gleaming a golden ember, and he momentarily forgets every word in the English language.
“That’s not fair,” he grouses – after an embarrassing amount of time has passed.
Magnus smirks knowingly.
“Trust me, you need this. And, as it happens, I am more than happy to extend my services.”
Alec swallows. Gaze flickering to the work bench.
“Magnus, I have to—”
“Breathe,” Magnus finishes. “Indeed you do.” His lips brush the corner of Alec’s mouth and Alec’s next exhale gets stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. “Don’t worry. We have time.”
Alec sighs – but there is no denying that he’s already feeling slightly less frantic, only from being enveloped in his boyfriend’s calming presence.
“You are impossible.”
“I come home to see my ever-stoic Shadowhunter boyfriend fluttering around my kitchen in an apron and mittens, cooking for his mother. Even my self-control has limits.”
Alec snorts.
“Since when do you have self-con—” He doesn’t get any further, and for the next twenty-odd minutes, food – and his mother – is the furthest thing from his mind.
When the stew is puttering away on the stove an hour or so later, Alec is back to being somewhat of a nervous wreck. But Magnus is right there with him, teasing him for his soldier’s approach to cooking and picking wayward radishes out of his hair.
Despite the stress of the situation, it’s actually kind of nice.
#2
Magnus is a master storyteller.
He somehow manages to describe all the places he’s been to so vividly that Alec has no problem whatsoever picturing what it looked like, the smells and the sounds, even if it’s some obscure part of the world that doesn’t exist anymore. Whenever other people feature in his stories, Magnus imitates their voices and their mannerisms, rendering life to people who have been dead for centuries. With words and gestures, he is able to transport Alec to a time he will never be able to experience firsthand.
Alec loves hearing about all of these foreign places and all of the people Magnus has met. Some selfish part of him is thankful for all that Magnus has had to go through, even the bad things, because it’s all part of what shaped Magnus into the man he is today, which is someone whom Alec loves with all of his being.
But the best part of these stories is, by far, Magnus’s enthusiasm. His whole person is engaged in recounting these scenes from lifetimes ago, eyes sparkling, hands weaving through the air, face scrunching up adorably when he takes the role of a grumpy old woman that he met in Tibet in the 1780s.
That’s what he’s doing now, adopting this woman’s squawking voice and outraged hand-flailing as they’re making their way through Brooklyn to the restaurant, and all Alec can do is smile. He’s not embarrassed to admit that he stopped listening minutes ago – it’s undoubtedly an entertaining tale, if only because Magnus is the one telling it, – too preoccupied with watching Magnus so enraptured in his storytelling, laughing and smiling and so unburdened by responsibility.
If Alec had to pick, his favorite image of Magnus would be the moment he opens his eyes in the morning, the color of the sun and just as warm as they meet Alec’s own, smile sleepy and content. But this is a close second.
“You’re beautiful.”
Magnus pauses mid-sentence, arms frozen mid-air. He turns around and stares at him, eyes wide. Alec shrugs, lips pulling into a crooked smirk. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but. It felt wrong, keeping what, by all accounts, should be universally accepted as fact to himself.
“You are the most beautiful, thoughtful, incredible person I’ve ever met,” he continues, when all Magnus does is blink at him. “And I’m the luckiest guy on the planet to get to share my life with you.” He raises their joined hands, sweeping his lips over Magnus’s knuckles. “Choosing you is easily the best decision I’ve ever made.”
A firmer press of lips into Magnus’s skin, and he gets them moving again.
“Sorry, I interrupted you. What happened n—”
The yank on his arm takes him by surprise, and he would’ve lost his balance if Magnus hadn’t used the momentum to spin him around and push him up against a nearby wall.
“Magn—”
The rest dies an abrupt, inevitable death as Magnus smashes their lips together. Alec’s hands automatically settle on Magnus’s waist, whole system shocked into overdrive. They’re pressed flush against each other, shin to chest, and the contrast between the heat of Magnus’s body and the coldness of the wall at his back makes Alec pleasantly light-headed.
“Magnus,” he manages after a while, in between heated kisses and panted breaths. “We’re gonna miss our reservation.”
Magnus hums, his lips brushing against Alec’s own. The vibration travels all the way down to Alec’s toes.
“We are indeed,” Magnus agrees. There’s a raspy quality to his voice that makes Alec thankful that he’s propped up against a wall. “It’s your fault, really, making me swoon with such pretty words.”
Alec manages a snort.
“Why? All I said was the truth.”
Magnus’s head drops to his shoulder, but not before Alec catches the helpless smile, the sudden shine of his glamoured eyes.
“Sometimes, Alexander, you are so endearingly oblivious.”
“Uh,” Alec says, finding it increasingly hard to think as Magnus starts nosing along his Deflect rune, peppering his neck with featherlight kisses. “Thank you?”
Magnus chuckles into his skin.
“Home?” he asks, before nipping at Alec’s neck rune and obliterating every possible objection Alec might’ve had.
“Home,” he rasps in agreement, unresisting as Magnus tangles their fingers together and starts dragging him into a nearby alley to open a portal.
They’re two blocks from the restaurant. At least it’s closer than last time.
#3
Alec means for it to be a short thing, a way for him to follow up on his spoken apology by also showing Magnus how sorry he is. Things are still fragile between them after Valentine and the body-switch fiasco and Alec’s role in it all, and he hadn’t exactly made matters better by asking for Magnus’s hair earlier, treating him like he was the one who had something to prove although that responsibility was solely Alec’s.
He knows that Magnus is hurting, that he violated his trust and that it will take time for him to earn it back. He doesn’t intend for this to lead anywhere.
Magnus, it seems, has other plans.
Alec makes a surprised noise when Magnus pushes him bodily against the balcony railing, his tongue forcing its way into Alec’s mouth. It isn’t like their morning kisses, a gentle and languid slide of lips, or like their greeting kisses, brief but brimming with the potential of turning into more – isn’t the open-mouthed, sloppy kisses that they exchange in moments of passion, when neither of them have the wherewithal for elegance. No, this is hard, almost angry, with a definite undercurrent of desperation that Alec doesn’t like at all, so when the surprise has subsided, he allows for one last kiss before drawing back.
Magnus’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted to allow for short, gasping breaths. His shoulders are curved inwards, his brow lightly furrowed, and although he clearly tries not to, he flinches ever so slightly when Alec places a gentle hand on his forearm.
It’s a new kind of pain that Alec never wants to experience ever again.
“Magnus,” he says, hesitant. “I don’t think—”
“I need to forget.” When Magnus raises his head and looks at him, his eyes seem to be drowning in the memories dredged up by the agony rune, in the pain caused by the torture Alec put him through. “I need you to help me forget, Alec. Please.”
Alec, Alec’s treacherous mind supplies. Not Alexander.
He swallows, his own throat tight.
This isn’t about him.
“Are you sure?”
When Magnus’s only answer is to start kissing him again, slightly less frantic but still with that sharp edge to it, Alec doesn’t fight it. He’s still not sure that this is a good idea, but he would rather draw agony runes over every inch of his body than deny Magnus anything right now.
#4
Alec emerges from the bedroom, fiddling with the cufflinks of his suit jacket and hair still damp from his shower. Magnus had chosen the outfit for him for his first official announcement as Head, saying that it made him look like the natural born leader that he is. The jacket is a metallic gray, wool or maybe tweed, framing a deep blue shirt the same material as their bedsheets. His slacks are black and close-fitting, accessorized by a black belt with a gleaming silver buckle. The tie is black with a fine crisscross pattern of silver, nearly invisible if you don’t know to look for it.
Although it’s toned down, the whole setup feels ridiculously expensive – the jacket alone is probably worth more than all of Alec’s other clothes combined – and it is definitely tailored, for how comfortably it hugs his body in all the right places. It’s professional, yet comfortable. Exactly the way he wants it.
“There, done,” he announces, coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway. He’s still fiddling with the damn cufflink. “Are you sure the tie isn’t a bit much, though?”
When he receives no answer, Alec glances up to find Magnus with his teacup raised midair and studying him with a calculating, very familiar look in his eyes.
His throat goes dry even as he raises a hand.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, Magnus, I really, really can’t be late for this…”
Magnus smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“One could argue that being the Head,” he says, almost purring the word, “would mean that you get to decide when to give your announcement.”
“Magnus,” Alec says, mouth twitching despite himself. “I’m serious.”
Magnus sighs and waves him off.
“Fine. I won’t distract you with my wanton ways.” Magnus puts down his teacup and reaches for the thermos standing on the counter. “Here, I made you coffee to go.”
Alec squints at him, unconvinced by the easy dismissal – but not suspicious enough to pass up on his morning fix. When he is close enough to reach for the thermos, Magnus moves it just out of range.
Alec rolls his eyes.
“Magnus…”
Magnus tuts – quite an accomplishment, with how he’s very obviously fighting a smile. He looks like the cat about to eat the canary. Alec doesn’t feel anywhere near appropriately apprehensive about his role as prey.
“Don’t be such a grump,” Magnus says, and continues over Alec’s indignant protest, “You should know by now that, as a warlock, I require payment for all of my services – especially the ones involving kopi luwak. A kiss in exchange for a taste of coffee made from the world’s most expensive bean sounds like a fair transaction, don’t you think, Mr. Lightwood?”
Magnus’s head is tilted, his eyebrows lightly raised in expectation. Alec knows exactly what he’s doing and he would grumble about it, except, well. Who is he trying to fool?
Magnus tastes like that new herbal tea that they bought on their latest trip to Mongolia and that Alec is surprisingly fond of (he has no illusions of that being a coincidence). It’s harder than he’d like to admit to break the kiss and lean back.
Not that he gets very far.
Alec groans, kept in place by Magnus’s grip on his tie.
“Magnus…”
“Five minutes.”
Alec just looks at him.
Magnus purses his lips, reconsidering.
“Fifteen, then. I’ll portal you,” he adds before Alec can think to protest, which, again. Why does he even bother?
Remarkably, he gets to the Institute in time to make his announcement about the Downworld Cabinet, feeling far more relaxed than he had that morning.
He has no idea what happened to his tie, though.
#5
They undress each other in silence, movements slow and ungraceful. Alec tries not to let it show how impatient he is to get their clothes off, to feel Magnus’s skin against his body - he spent those nights in his rooms at the Institute reviewing mission reports and supply requests because he’d forgotten how to sleep without Magnus pressed against him – because the last thing either of them needs is for Magnus to use more magic and collapse again.
But, by the Angel, why does there have to be so many buttons?
There is a soft sound in front of him, and when Alec looks up, Magnus is watching him with amused fondness glittering in his eyes. Alec smirks sheepishly. Clearly, he wasn’t as discrete as he’d thought.
His smirk immediately turns into a frown when Magnus snaps his fingers, leaving them both in only their boxers.
“Magnus,” he chides, and momentarily forgets anything else he might’ve been about to say when Magnus cups his face in both hands and smashes their lips together.
When the need to breathe eventually forces them apart, they’re both panting. Alec knows, from the quality of the air in the room and the look in Magnus’s eyes, where this is going, and while he doesn’t have any objections per se, he’s still acutely aware of how weary they both are, and Magnus especially.
“You need to sleep,” he points out, carding his fingers through Magnus’s hair to rid it of product. After how much magic he’s used today, closing the rift to Edom, blasting the Asmodei demon, and portaling them across the city and to Idris and back, Alec is surprised he’s still standing.
Magnus hums noncommittally, eyes fluttering. He grips Alec’s wrist, his lips brushing against Alec’s pulse point enough to make Alec shiver.
“Later,” he mumbles, and captures Alec’s lips again.
It takes longer than Alec would like to admit for him to separate the fluttering in his lungs from the slight tremor of Magnus’s hand against his chest. He presses a few more, softer pecks to Magnus’s lips before he draws back. Magnus blinks slowly, watching him through half-hooded eyes, a sleepy, content smile on his face. His eyeliner is smudged, the spikes of his mohawk slightly wilted, as if even his hair is exhausted.
But there is enough stubbornness and desire swirling beneath the fatigue that arguing would be pointless. They both know how this is going to end.
“Just.” Alec waves at the bed. “Lie down. Don’t move.”
Magnus snickers, ducking his head. The ground under Alec’s feet finally stops moving.
“Such a sweet-talker, Alexander. I’m swooning.”
“You’re exhausted,” Alec deadpans. He kisses the objection from Magnus’s lips before it’s allowed to take form, mumbles into the nonexistent space between them, “Let me take care of you.”
Magnus’s expression softens. It’s his turn to card fingers through Alec’s hair.
“I’m not the only one who has had a difficult day.” Alec knows that he’s referring to Jace, and while he’s not about to argue the point, he doesn’t want to dwell on it, either. Not tonight.
“True. But.” Alec licks his lips, feels his cheeks heating. “You weren’t the one who saw your boyfriend close an interdimensional rift and simultaneously blast a dragon to bits.”
“My, oh my,” Magnus says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Do we have us a little power kink, Alexander?”
Alec groans, ducking his head to hide his by now blazing face – but he can’t help but smile at the sound of Magnus’s unrestrained laughter. He has missed that sound.
“Hey, don’t tease. It was really hot.” He glances up and catches Magnus’s amused gaze. “You were really hot.”
Magnus’s smile dims to something softer, the look in his unglamoured eyes almost shy. Alec wonders if he’ll ever be able to map out all of the different nuances of Magnus’s person, every facet of what makes him who he is. He wants to discover it all.
Maybe if I had forever.
Maybe it’s because of the exhaustion, but the thought isn’t nearly as alarming as Alec had expected it to be.