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“Darling, could you hand me the - “
Magnus doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before the salt shaker shoots towards him and comes to a screeching halt a few centimetres away from his face where it hovers in the air, wobbling back and forth like an overexcited dog wagging its tail so hard it makes its entire body move. Magnus blinks at it, perplexed, before his expression morphs into something carefully neutral that still manages to look somewhat pinched.
“Sorry,” Alec says sheepishly.
“No need to apologise.” Magnus’ tone is deceptively breezy, which is how Alec knows just how bothered his husband truly is. “I don’t think I’ve ever been passed the salt this quickly, unless, of course, I summoned it myself.”
Yikes. Alec flinches a little. “You know I can’t control it.” It comes out more defensive than he intended, and much more defeated as well.
Since their return from Edom, his - Lorenzo’s - magic has popped up during unexpected moments, without rhyme or reason. No one can really explain why it keeps happening; Magnus suspects it’s a certain overreaching magical residue that their stint with the alliance rune left behind, and by all reason, it should have been used up by now. None of the others seem to have had problems with their partners’ powers manifesting after they left the collapsing dimension of hell. Alec wishes that Clary’s connection to Simon could lead her back to the Shadow World, or that Jace still had moments in which he couldn’t lie – that, at least, would simply make for funny moments instead of occasionally embarrassing or even dangerous ones.
The problem, Alec thinks dourly, is less the spontaneous bouts of magic he can now perform but rather his lack of control. There’s a certain manic energy to it when it bubbles up under his skin, announcing itself in a hot rush rising to the surface, but always far too late for him to try and center himself and keep his emotions in check, pushing it down.
The first time it happened is actually quite funny, in retrospect. They’d left for their honeymoon, portalled from the Institute to the loft to grab their bags, and when Magnus had bent over to pick up the suitcases, all Alec could do was stare at the delicious swell of his ass in his expertly tailored trousers and think: God, I can’t wait to get him naked. A second later, Magnus had been, and Alec had honestly thought Magnus was a mind-reader - or maybe just as desperately horny as Alec was after being subjected to the glorious sight of his husband in a tux for hours without being able to do anything about it - and told Magnus as much, until he saw the panicked look in his eyes when he said “I didn’t do this.”
That thoroughly ruined the mood for a while, until Magnus had checked him over three times and established that it wasn’t hurting Alec and also very likely not permanent.
Two weeks later, and the magic still hasn’t subsided much. It’s not a constant presence, so Alec can’t claim to be a warlock, or even warlock-adjacent, really, but at this point, the only good thing about it is knowing how fucking eager it is to please Magnus, like it’s a manifestation of Alec’s soul, his innermost wishes. So far, he’s accidentally dyed some of Magnus’ shirts when he complained about the colour being just a little bit off to match his waistcoats, nearly slammed a book Magnus had considered reading into his face, dumped a rather sizeable number of drinks in front of Magnus (or on him - it’s not like he can aim) and made an entire orchard worth of almond trees bloom when Magnus lamented that he hadn’t been able to bring Alec for their season. On one particularly memorable occasion, he had made the bed float two feet above the ground as Magnus fucked all conscious thought out of him. Thankfully, Magnus had ignored it while it was happening, and only teased him about it a little afterwards. It also marks the only time Magnus had reacted with something other than a startled expression that soon turned a little sour, and probably only because he had been particularly smug about the demonstration of his sexual prowess.
Alec hates the strange tension that arises whenever the magic decides to show its face. They’re supposed to be in the honeymoon phase of their marriage, goddamnit, not dealing with – whatever this is.
“I know, darling. It’s fine,” Magnus assures him, plucking the salt shaker out of the air and seasoning his eggs. He studiously avoids Alec gaze as he’s doing it.
“Okay, what?” Alec asks, more brusquely than Magnus deserves.
Magnus blinks at him. “Pardon?”
“Look, I get that this - “ he wiggles his fingers around like Magnus usually does when he’s performing magic and ignores the slightly alarmed look on his husband’s face, “- is super annoying, because I can’t seem to get a grip on it, but you have to stop looking at me like that when it happens.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Alec bites his lips, searching for the right word. “Disapproving.”
“I don’t look at you like that,” Magnus protests.
“Yes, you do, Magnus. So what is really bothering you? What’s so bad about me having magic?”
Magnus hesitates.
“You promised not to lie to me,” Alec reminds him, and it’s pettier than it should be, to throw their weddings vows back in Magnus’ face like that. They aren’t even fighting, really, and God, Alec is an asshole.
Magnus just sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes, before Alec can start to apologise. “It’s just…it’s kind of stupid.”
He looks kind of shifty. Alec has seen that expression on his face only once before, when they were sitting in Alec’s office after Magnus had moved into the Institute.
Oh. Oh.
The penny drops.
“Are you jealous?” Alec asks, somewhat flabbergasted, because it makes even less sense this time around than when Magnus thought Underhill was any sort of competition.
Magnus makes a wounded noise. “I wouldn’t quite call it that this time.”
“This time?” Alec repeats a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So we’re finally admitting that it was jealousy last time?”
Magnus throws him a half-hearted glare but doesn’t otherwise react. So it’s serious, then. Alec reaches out, tangled their fingers together and squeezes gently. “Explain it to me,” he says. “Please.”
“It doesn’t bother me that you have magic,” Magnus says after a long moment. “But it bothers me that the magic you are wielding is Lorenzo’s magic.”
“Why?” Alec asks. For the most part, Lorenzo and Magnus seem to have buried their hatched and jumped straight into an odd friendship that will certainly consist of still constantly trying to annoy and one-up each other, just, well, fondly instead of angrily.
“I just -” Magnus stops, sighs. “I know it’s – childish, and sort of selfish, but I had thought, with how close we are, that if you ever got a taste of magic, if you ever got to wield some yourself…I wanted it to be mine.”
Alec stills. “Oh.”
“I never believed it would be possible, of course, and when it turned out that it was, I wanted so badly to share this part of me with you. Because I want you to see, to –”
“Understand,” Alec finishes. “I get it.”
He does. All his desperate attempts aside, he never truly could understand what it means for Magnus to lose his powers. He probably would never have understood Magnus completely, but to wield his powers, to get to experience the very essence of him so intimately – he knows he would have cherished it immeasurably, and mourned its loss once it was gone.
Magnus smiles, a little brittle. “And now it will never happen.”
“You don’t know that,” Alec argues. “We still have the alliance rune, and we might still need it one day. I mean, I hope not, but…”
“Clary lost her runes over this,” Magnus reminds him quietly. “I don’t think I should like to risk it.”
He’s right, of course. The angels had made it very clear that they hadn’t approved of the new runes Clary had created, and her last, most powerful ones especially. Her punishment was a clear warning not to meddle with the status quo again or suffer the consequences.
Alec grips Magnus’ hand a little tighter. The loss of possibility stings, now that he has been made aware of it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I really wanted it to be you.”
“There’s no use crying over spilt milk,” Magnus says, shrugging. “And I do mean it, you don’t have anything to apologise for. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“Yeah, maybe. But it hurt you every time you had to see it, and I didn’t realise.” He hesitates. “Could you…take it away?”
“Why would you want that?” Magnus asks, surprised. “It’ll go away on its own.”
“It may go away on its own,” Alec corrects. “We don’t know for sure. And I could handle it, but if I end up hurting you - even accidentally - all the time, then I don’t want to.”
Magnus sits back, looking a little overwhelmed, like it still astonishes him, the length to which Alec will go to try and make him happy. “I - I could try. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Alec says firmly.
“I - alright.” Magnus grabs both of his hands gently, turns them around. “Close your eyes, darling, and try to concentrate on finding the source of the magic in you. Push it to the surface, if you can, it should make this much quicker and easier.”
Alec tries. He’s never been good at meditating or quieting his mind, but as he probes around, thinking where are you, please, please, he suddenly feels a spark of it, perking up at his call. I’m sorry, he thinks, feeling vaguely remorseful as he gathers it up and tries to nudge it outward, I have to let you go now.
It pulses once, warming him from inside out, as if to say goodbye, and then it’s gone. Magnus gasps a little, and when Alec opens his eyes, he sees the tendrils float up towards the ceiling and dissolve into sparkling flower petals that sink to the floor slowly before disappearing entirely, much like the ones Magnus threw into the air at their wedding.
“That was very pretty,” Magnus says. “If a tad overdramatic.”
“Made you smile,” Alec shrugs, and pulls him in for a kiss.