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Magnus sips at his bright red cocktail and leans back in his stool, resting against the bar so he has a better view of the club. The colorful flashing lights soothe something in his soul, bringing him the first hint of peace he’s tasted in months.
Wedding-planning has been a blur of to-do lists and errands, suit-fittings and cake-testings, leaving Magnus feeling completely and utterly exhausted by it all. He can’t wait to be married, it’s just the planning of it all that has him struggling through his engagement. So, although he abhors the historical context behind bachelor parties equating a last night of freedom, he’d taken the opportunity to have one night on his own, with absolutely no wedding planning involved.
He loves Camille, more than he can say, but the pressure of their impending wedding has been weighing heavily on his shoulders. And unlike Camille, who took to it with the kind of determination she had with everything that interested her, Magnus was left simply struggling to keep up.
Ragnor, at his side, seems less than pleased by Magnus’ choice of venue. He’s practically sulking against the marble bar-top. “It’s so loud, why is it so loud?”
“So we don’t have to hear ourselves think,” Magnus says, sipping at his cocktail and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.
“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”
Magnus simply shrugs. Pandemonium is the only place he doesn’t allow himself to constantly overthink. It’s nice to have a break from the onslaught of endless self-criticism.
”Everyone’s half-dressed. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why you enjoy this place.”
“I know you can’t, my dear cabbage,” Magnus responds without heat. There are many things he has in common with Ragnor—including, but not limited to, their penchant for ending up in troublesome situations—but his passion for clubbing isn’t one. The taller, bearded, man is sipping from a beer bottle, curled back towards the bar and away from the dance floor. Magnus couldn’t be more different, already nursing his third drink, the pull of the crowd as intoxicating as the alcohol.
He knows not everyone finds comfort in the blaring music and sweaty crowds of Pandemonium, but it’s always been his happy place. He doesn’t have to be Magnus Bane, esteemed lawyer and fiancé of Senator Belcourt. Here, he’s just one more nameless face. There are no expectations, no pressure. “As I told you already, you’re free to leave whenever you like.”
Ragnor looks affronted, his lips curling in distaste. Though that could just be a result of the boring drink he’d chosen; Magnus certainly would’ve had a similar expression if he was nursing a light beer. “I’m not leaving halfway through your bachelor party, I’m not Raphael.”
In Raphael’s defense, he’d made an honorable attempt. But the noise and lights and crowds had been too much for the highly-sensitive man. Magnus had more than understood when Raphael had ducked out early, less than an hour after the three of them had arrived.
“Well, I’m going to dance,” Magnus announces, finishing off his drink. His head spins pleasantly, all of his worries abating under the fog of alcohol. “Coming?”
“I’d only step on your feet.”
“Suit yourself.” Magnus sets his drink down, leaving it on the bartop as he heads towards the light-up dance floor.
The crowd swallows him into its ranks and he feels the last of his tension subside. He moves with practiced ease, following the beat of the music and the shifting of the people around him. There’s a lot of touching, everyone crammed into close proximity, but Magnus has never minded these kinds of touch. It doesn’t go any deeper than everyone searching for the same release.
And when someone does try to take it further, Magnus is more than capable of putting a quick stop to any unwanted advances.
For a while, he loses himself in the music. His thoughts blur, his sense of time slipping away. He cycles through the crowd, dancing with a variety of scantily clad men and women. They’re all beautiful, but none of them hold his attention for long. He’s always been a one-soul-at-a-time kind of guy and though he enjoys the dancing, he doesn’t let it turn into anything more.
Until a tall, dark-haired man with tattoos up and down his arms, steps in front of Magnus.
Magnus feels a tug in his gut. This man, with stunning hazel eyes and a sharp jaw and an inked symbol on the side of his neck, is exactly Magnus’ type.
If he wasn’t engaged.
But the man just smiles. He doesn’t try to make conversation—the music’s volume would render that futile—or reach out to touch. So Magnus goes against his better judgement, allowing himself to dance with the man. There’s nothing more to it. Just because he feels the pull of attraction doesn’t mean he has to act on it.
The handsome stranger’s movements are fluid and skilled, it’s clear this isn’t his first time at a club. Dancing with him is easy, natural. Their bodies move in tandem, finding smooth synchronization to the rhythm of the fast-paced pop music. Magnus closes his eyes, letting the image of the man fade from his mind. Altogether, it’s entirely innocent.
Until they drift a little too close. Magnus doesn’t know who moved, but suddenly he can feel the man’s firm body brushing against his. Heat rockets down Magnus’ spine, curling in his stomach. His hands twitch, aching to reach for the man in front of him, pull him closer until they’re grinding rather than dancing.
Instead, Magnus follows his upstairs brain and takes a step back. He collides with another dancer and quickly turns to apologize. She glares in response and takes a few steps away from him, disappearing into the rest of the crowd.
Magnus turns back to his dance companion and finds the man watching him with a quirked eyebrow. “Want to get a drink?” The guy yells over the music.
Magnus glances to the bar. Ragnor is still waiting for him, so he nods. Without Ragnor there, it would surely be tempting fate. But his friend’s presence will keep anything from getting out of hand. He reaches for the man, grasping his wrist and tugging him through the dance floor so the sweaty crowd won’t separate them.
The music gets quieter the closer they get to the bar, until Magnus no longer has to shout to be heard. He releases the man’s arm and introduces himself. “I’m Magnus.”
“Alec,” the guy answers with a nod, just as they reach Ragnor.
Ragnor studies Alec, a small furrow denting between his eyebrows. Then his lips turn up in a small smile. Magnus doesn’t know what that expression means, and he isn’t sure he wants to find out.
“This is my friend, Ragnor,” Magnus introduces them. “Ragnor, this is Alec.”
“Alec,” Ragnor says slowly. “Nice to meet you.”
Alec’s smile is polite. “You too. You don’t dance?”
“Not outside my house, and certainly not to whatever this kind of music is.”
Magnus throws an arm around Ragnor’s shoulder, and realizes he’s drunker than he thought when he misses and stumbles forward. Ragnor’s grip on his shoulder keeps him from falling flat on his face, but his ego is bruised nonetheless. He clutches the counter and calls out to the bartender for a glass of water.
She nods to show she’s heard and he turns back to his companions, gesturing at his friend. “Ragnor doesn’t enjoy fun things.”
“I enjoy plenty of fun things,” Ragnor instantly refutes. “But our definitions of fun are fundamentally different.”
“I get it,” Alec is saying as the bartender returns with Magnus’ water. She slides it over to him and he sips at it, the cool liquid refreshing after the heat of the dance floor. “I love Pandemonium, but curling up at home with a good book can be just as fun, and less draining.”
Magnus humphs. He can appreciate reading as much as the next person, but he won’t tolerate disrespect for his favorite club in North America. “Nothing can compare to Pandemonium.”
“He owns half the club, he has to say that,” Ragnor informs Alec, much to Magnus’ contempt. Then he does something incredibly un-Ragnor and smiles at Alec. “You know what, I like you.”
Magnus is dreading what will come next. It’s never a good sign when Ragnor decides he likes someone, especially when it’s someone Magnus introduced him to.
“I was going to stay the whole night, despite the fact that this is hardly my scene, but now that Magnus has found seemingly respectable company, I think I’ll turn in early.”
And there it is. Alarm bells go off in Magnus’ head, loud enough that he can hear them over his drunken haze. He’d only accepted Alec’s offer for drinks because he’d known Ragnor would be there to keep him from doing something he’d regret. And now his useless friend is bailing.
“You’re ditching me?” Magnus pleads with his eyes for Ragnor to stay, hoping the older man will understand his fears. But Ragnor is oblivious, nothing like Catarina who can guess what Magnus is thinking at any given second. What he wouldn’t give to have her there in Ragnor’s stead.
“You made it clear I could leave any time I wish.” Magnus silently curses his earlier self. Ragnor gives him a little smile, though his eyes are serious. “Enjoy tonight, Magnus. Maybe something good can come out of this.”
Magnus is too drunk to try to understand Ragnor’s riddles. He isn’t sure he’d get it even if he was sober. But he has a suspicion this is another one of Ragnor’s digs at Camille. “Plenty of good can come out of this.”
“I hope that’s true.” There’s something strange in Ragnor’s voice as he leans in to hug Magnus. “Call me when you get home.”
Confusion and apprehension weigh heavily in Magnus’ stomach as he watches Ragnor leave. Ragnor has never been a big fan of Camille, but Magnus was hoping it’d get better when Ragnor got to know her. It hadn’t. If anything, it had gotten worse. Camille isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but Magnus wishes his friend could be happy for him.
“Is it still okay if I drink with you?” Alec’s voice tugs him back into the moment. Magnus refocuses on the tall man, noticing the new awkwardness that has settled into Alec’s limbs. He can feel it echoed in his own posture.
“Of course.” Magnus perches on one of the tall stools. He can make it through a conversation with someone he’s attracted to without doing something stupid, even if he is slightly intoxicated. He has no desire to cheat on his fiancée, even with someone as beautiful as Alec. “I’m sorry about Ragnor. He’s as cryptic as he is stubborn.”
Alec waves down the bartender and Magnus pretends not to notice his strong hands and gorgeous fingers. He distracts himself by staring at the counter as Alec places an order. “It’s fine. He’s… interesting.”
Magnus hums, sipping his water in hopes it will help clear his head. He probably should’ve switched over earlier. “That’s one word for him.”
“Tell me about you. What do you do for work?”
Magnus waits until the bartender has delivered Alec a colorful martini before answering vaguely, “I’m a defense attorney.” And before Alec has to try to figure out what to say to that—since most people usually flounder or ask how much he makes, he continues on, “What about you?”
“Uh, an event planner. I had a quinceañera yesterday, hence why I’m,” he gestures at the club and his drink, “decompressing.” Magnus nods in understanding, grateful that Alec picked up on his desire to not talk about his own career. People always ask hard-to-answer questions and get squirmy when Magnus talks about the types of people he represents. Not that he can really blame them, he feels similarly about some of his top-paying clients.
“I wanted a bar mitzvah.” Alec blinks, and then stares. Magnus feels his cheeks heat up and promptly sips more of his water, hoping it will help him regain the coherency he usually has. “Quinceañeras are coming of age ceremonies, so are bar mitzvahs.”
He’s not sure his explanation makes sense, but there’s a hint of a smile on Alec’s face. Magnus isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or with him. He’s not sure he cares. “Are you jewish?”
“Nope! Buddhist. But Buddhism, at least the branch we practiced, has no fun age-related parties. And growing up, I had a Jewish best friend. He had a bar mitzvah and everyone talked about it for ages. I… didn’t have the best reasons for wanting one.” Magnus is finding it hard to remember why he’d brought that up in the first place. He blames it on the alcohol.
Alec’s smile has gotten wider though, lighting up his whole face, so Magnus can’t regret it completely. He taps his thumbs against the smooth counter for a distraction. He shouldn’t be ogling this guy’s smile. He should leave. But he doesn’t want to, not yet.
“I get it. When I was twelve my parents adopted another kid. He was my age. And it seemed like he was so talented at everything, the perfect golden boy. I love him now, of course, he’s my brother, but it was hard not to be jealous back then. Even now sometimes.”
Something in Magnus softens in a way it absolutely shouldn’t. But, for the first time in longer than he’d care to admit, he feels heard, understood. And he can’t help admiring Alec’s open honesty, a trait Magnus had always valued. And yet it’s so different from his fiancée’s careful speech, the way she’s always hiding behind some mask, unwilling to let even a sliver of the truth get through unless it serves her. Magnus had thought that made her strong, intelligent. Now he wonders if he really knows her at all. And that, that’s troubling, isn’t it?
Magnus clears his throat. He hopes it’s just the alcohol and the attraction that are putting so many doubts in his head.
A curl of hair has fallen over Alec’s forehead, dangling precariously close to his eye. Magnus shoves down the urge to push it back, curling his fingers into a fist. “You seem like a man of many talents, I can’t imagine this brother of yours being much more skilled.”
“Oh? What talents are those?”
That’s flirting. Isn’t it? Magnus takes a long drink of water, taking time to craft his response. He can’t flirt back. He shouldn’t want to. He’s speaking before he can figure out what he wants to say. “Dancing, party-planning… other things, I’m sure,” he finishes lamely.
Alec chuckles, the sound deep and musical. Magnus finishes the last of his water and signals for the check. Anxiety is gnawing a hole in his stomach. He needs to get out of here before he makes a very big mistake.
“Thanks, but it took me a while to find things I was good at, to try things I enjoyed instead of just doing whatever my parents wanted.”
Magnus hums like he understands. But, really, his father was negligent at best and his mother gone. There was no one pressuring him to follow a certain path. He signs his bill with a distracted, “I’m glad you were able to find what you love.”
As soon as the words are out of his lips, the world seems to tilt, leaving Magnus feeling sick. Love . Find what you love. Has he? He thought so but now… Now he’s suddenly very unsure.
Now he’s realizing he’s spent the last ten years in a job he detests. Now, he’s wondering if marrying the woman he’s spent the last five years with—albeith off and on—might be a huge mistake.
Does he love Camille? Does she love him? Is that enough?
He shoves the receipt to the bartender and stumbles to his feet.
Alec is watching with clear worry in his scrunched brows, a hand half-outstretched, ready to balance Magnus should he need it. And that simple gesture shouldn’t feel so damn lovely. But Magnus can’t remember the last time Camille offered him support, physically or emotionally. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to accept help from anyone. He should be strong enough, capable enough, to handle everything on his own. He doesn’t want to be though.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Magnus blurts. Alec freezes, his eyes going wide and mouth popping open.
“You’re not wearing a ring?”
Magnus looks down at his hands. He has a delicate band around his middle finger, and a bulkier one around his thumb, but that’s not what Alec is talking about. He doesn’t wear an engagement ring. Camille hadn’t seen the point in getting him one when they would be exchanging wedding rings soon enough. He’d pretended he wasn’t bothered by that, not wanting to make ripples in the still, happy waters of their proposal. Now, it makes his stomach twist. “I’m not.”
“But, uh, congratulations. I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” Magnus sighs, rubbing his temples. At the edges of his brain, he can already feel start of the hangover that’s surely going to torture him in the morning. He probably deserves it, for spending the night before his wedding this way. Though he isn’t sure there will be a wedding anymore.
“For what? We were just talking.”
Magnus takes a large step back from the bar. He’s struggling to catch his breath in the overheated club air, his inner turbulence robbing his lungs of oxygen. He needs to sober up, he needs to find Camille. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. You should—you deserve someone wonderful.”
“I—thanks? Magnus, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I have to go.”
He turns and flees, leaving a stunned Alec alone at the bar. He doesn’t stop until he’s halfway down the block and the sound of loud music has faded to a faint buzz of traffic. Cold air nips at his exposed skin, the sky above him an expanse of darkness. Light streams down from the buildings and street lamps as Magnus stumbles down the sidewalk.
A couple embraces near the wall of a tall apartment complex while a woman in a trenchcoat with an expensive bag rushes past. In the middle of it, Magnus feels so very alone.
He steps nearer to the road and signals a taxi.
Magnus spends the drive trying not to be sick, watching the blur of buildings and being blinded by headlights. The sensations are overwhelming, but they keep him from losing himself in thoughts. Thoughts he really doesn’t want to be thinking. He isn’t sure what he’ll do next, he just knows he needs to talk to Camille. It’s not fair for either of them to walk down the aisle with the way he’s feeling right now. Maybe it’s ordinary cold feet. Maybe it’s something much worse. Either way, Camille deserves to know.
By the time Magnus exits the taxi, he feels much more sober. The conversation ahead of him weighs heavily on his shoulders and for a moment, he simply stares up at the apartment building.
But the cold is unrelenting and Magnus heaves a sigh. He can’t avoid this conversation.
He makes his way into the warm lobby and to the too-brightly-lit elevator. There’s no music as he rides up towards the conversation he’d give anything to avoid having, just the subtle beep every time the elevator rises a floor. He stares straight ahead at the metal doors, steadfastly ignoring the mirrored walls. He can’t look at himself right now, knows he won’t like what he finds.
When the elevator shudders to a stop, Magnus nearly barrels through the open doors, desperate to be out of the small space. Though as soon as he’s on the other side of the threshold, staring at the door of the apartment he shares with Camille, he remembers this is only one step closer to what he has to do.
He straightens up, clinging to his resolve. At least he can face this with dignity.
On the off chance that Camille has gone to sleep early, Magnus uses his own key to let himself inside. He’d glimpsed at his phone in the taxi and knows it’s still well before midnight, but just in case. Maybe part of him hopes she’ll be asleep, and he won’t have to do this.
Inside, the lights are still on. The state of the kitchen is Magnus’ first clue that something is wrong.
The table is set for two, but the plates are already messy, the food half-eaten. Two glasses of wine, one half-full, one only a quarter and marked with red lipstick, accompany the plates. And in the middle are candles. The last time they used candles had been when Magnus proposed.
Magnus’s breath catches, his stomach clenching painfully as he turns towards the bedroom. There’s a trail of discarded clothing leading down the hallway. A jacket, too big for Camille and made of leather is thrown over the back of the couch. A T-shirt is on the floor. Camille’s bright red quarter-sleeve jacket and matching heels decorate the path.
He knows what he’s going to find before he pushes open the bedroom door. But he does it anyway. He needs to see for himself to truly believe what he’s already deduced.
The bedroom is dim, lit by dozens of candles on every piece of furniture, casting more than enough light for Magnus to see clearly. He wishes, as soon as he sees it, that he’d turned around at the closed door.
Because seeing his fiancée entangled with another man, in their bed, drenched in candlelight, is going to haunt his memory forever. The romantic setting makes it clear this is more than a one-time fling and a quiet voice scratches at the back of Magnus’ mind. How long?
He can’t see the man’s face from where he’s standing, but he can see Camille, naked and frozen and perched on the lap of a stranger. Her red lips are smudged, her hair messy, her cheeks flushed.
“Magnus—”
“We’re done,” he interrupts firmly. He’s proud when his voice doesn’t come out as shaky as he feels. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep himself composed.
The man beneath his fiancée—no, his ex-fiancée, jolts, and Camille lurches. Magnus doesn’t wait to see if she falls. He turns and flees before he can see anything else.
Magnus spends the next few months on Ragnor’s couch. His friends collect his things from Camille’s apartment even though they never liked her, because they’re saints. Magnus learns then that Camille is living with her boy-toy. A man named Theo that Magnus spends too much time internet-stalking.
He recovers from the betrayal, slowly. It hurts whenever he thinks about it, but with time he begins to gain perspective.
Except the one night he has a little too much whisky and confides into Cat’s shoulder, apropos of nothing, “It’s not fair.”
His heart hurts so much, he almost worries it’s a heart attack. But this feeling is intimately familiar, a near-constant companion.
Cat’s hand combs softly through his hair. “I know.”
“I lost the woman I was supposed to spend my life with,” he bemoans. His eyes close, his lips loosening. “In the same night I turned someone down who could’ve been my soulmate.”
Catarina freezes and Magnus whines. She’s not as comfortable when she’s stock-still, and he’s drunk and sad enough to need as much comfort as he can possibly get.
Finally, Catarina relaxes and resumes her hair-petting. “Who?”
Magnus hums, confused.
“Who did you meet? Your ‘potential soulmate’.”
“Oh.” He finds it odd now, that he hasn’t already told her, but he’d been a little distracted by Camile ripping his heart out of his chest and stomping on with her stiletto heel. “ Alec .”
The way he breathes the name is almost pathetic.
“Who is Alec?”
Magnus chuckles wetly and forces himself to sit up. He brushes the tears from his eyes and blinks against the soft lighting of Catarina’s living room. “Just a handsome man I met at a club.”
“You’ve always been a romantic,” Cat agrees.
Magnus can’t refute it. It’s been his downfall in too many relationships for him to be unaware. But this feels different. “We had a connection. There was… something there.”
“Do you even know this guy, Magnus?”
“No.” His chest aches. He wishes he could know Alec better. Everything about him had been alluring. “We only danced and had a short conversation.”
He stands, wobbling slightly as he does. Catarina follows, holding his arm with one hand, her glass with the other. Together, they walk to the kitchen so she can wash out her glass. Magnus watches, leaning against the opposite counter. The low lights cast dark shadows, but the parts of Cat that are illuminated are beautiful. Magnus has always attracted beautiful people, friends, lovers.
“It sounds like you’re clinging to the idea of this guy to get over what you lost with Camille. Or maybe what you never had. But escaping into fantasy won’t heal you.”
She sets her glass aside to dry and turns to him. Magnus forces himself to nod. Her words are logical, as always. “You’re probably right.”
But he can’t shake the feeling that there had been something more. That there was truly something between him and Alec.
He tries to make himself forget it. After all, what are the odds he’ll ever see Alec again? They’d never traded numbers, or even last names. In a city the size of New York, Alec was probably gone forever, slipped right through Magnus’ fingers.
A month later, Magnus finds himself back at Pandemonium, alone.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He doesn’t truly expect to find Alec again, the man had said he didn’t party much, but Magnus can’t help hoping.
Even if he doesn’t see Alec, the club’s atmosphere is probably good for him. He’s been getting over Camille, but the process has been slow and painful. She’s living with her new boyfriend, and he’s barely going out to search for a fling for the first time since they broke up. He tries not to think about how pathetic that makes him.
He’s sitting at the bar, nursing a cocktail. It’s his first, and only, drink of the night. He’s not here to get drunk. He’s done that enough times since his break up.
No, Magnus is here for fun. Or, at least, temporary respite from his lonely apartment. Maybe he should get a cat. Or a plant. Anything to liven the space.
For now, though, Pandemonium serves as a good distraction.
Magnus spends his evening finishing his drink and chatting with a friendly dark-skinned bartender with a gorgeous afro, before moving to the dance floor. He doesn’t dance long with any one person. He wants to find someone to spend the night with, someone to keep him warm for a few hours, but it feels wrong. He can’t settle on anyone.
The dancing, though, feels good. It’s nice to lose himself in the flow of people, in the low bass of the song. The past months of hardship drift away, leaving him with nothing but the calming sounds of the club.
When he’s sweaty and overheated and in desperate need of water, Magnus finally decides to count his losses. He’s clearly not going to find anyone to spend the night with. Or Alec the annoying voice at the back of his mind whispers.
He ignores it, and the heavy feeling of loss in his stomach, and makes his way through the crowd, slipping between throngs of dancing bodies. He’s barely stepped out of the dance floor when he runs into a T-shirt clad chest.
A hand reaches out to catch him, though he’s already righted himself, and when Magnus looks up, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“Alec,” he breathes, stunned by his sudden bout of good luck.
Alec looks as good as Magnus remembers. Dark wavy hair, the lack of sweat suggesting he hasn’t been at the club long, and strong arms covered in ink. Magnus kind of wants to trace Alec’s tattoos with his tongue, and wonders how’d he’d resisted the man the first time they met.
“Magnus. You’re back.”
“I am.” Magnus is trying to make eye-contact, but his eyes keep slipping to Alec’s tempting lips. He’s spent many nights imagining what those lips would taste like, and is having a hard time forgetting that when Alec is right in front of him.
When Magnus finally tears his eyes up only to find Alec staring at his lips, his control snaps. He raises his hands, settling them to rest at Alec’s neck, his thumb over the top of the tattoo poking out from Alec’s collar. This close, he can speak normally and know Alec will hear him despite the booming music. “I want to kiss you.”
Alec leans in and Magnus’ heart threatens to beat out of his chest in anticipation. And then, before their lips touch, Alec stops, like he’s remembered something. “I don’t fuck married men.”
“Then I’m in luck.” When Alec tries to pull away, Magnus holds a little tighter, hands slipping to Alec’s shirt. “What about single men who dumped their cheating fiancée the night before their wedding?”
Alec’s lips part slightly as he works through what Magnus has told him, his eyes darting down to check Magnus’ finger for a ring he won’t find. There’s a golden chain connecting Magnus’ middle finger and thumb in a pattern that falls to his wrist, but no wedding ring.
“Are you okay?”
His earnest concern has butterflies coming to life in Magnus’ stomach. “I’d be better if you kissed me.”
Alec leans down again, and then, finally, their lips slide together. It’s a quick kiss, barely a brush of lips, but it sends tingles to Magnus’ toes. When Alec moves back, Magnus rises onto his toes to follow. Alec obediently leans in to kiss Magnus again. Their lips are probably moving slower than the atmosphere calls for, but Magnus isn’t one to complain. Alec’s hands find his hips, drawing him in closer until they’re pressed together. And if Magnus wasn’t overheated before, he certainly is now. Every nerve in his body alights with desire at the feel of Alec’s body against his own.
“I live a couple blocks over,” Alec says when they part, his voice husky. Magnus is suddenly desperate to find out what it sounds like when he moans.
Magnus nods eagerly. “Lead the way.”
He’s pretty sure he’s never left a club as quickly as when he follows Alec out of Pandemonium, a night of endless possibilities spread out ahead of them.
Magnus collapses onto the bed beside Alec, out of breath and exhausted, but wholly satisfied. “That was fun.”
Alec chuckles, the sound breathier than the few times Magnus had heard it in the club. It’s delicious. “Yeah, it was.”
They rest in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Magnus takes it as an opportunity to finally survey the room he’s in, since he was distracted when they first entered, attached at the lips. The walls are dark blue, the furniture in shades of brown, decorations sparse. And everything, minus their clothes littering the floor, is remarkably clean. Nothing at all like Magnus’ bedroom, which is brightly-colored, messy and over-decorated. Instead of being put off by the difference, Magnus finds it calming.
“I want this to be more than a fling,” Alec says suddenly. “I don’t want to be a rebound.”
Magnus shifts, rolling onto his side so he can study the other man. Alec is still lying on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling, fingers fidgeting with the comforter pulled up over his waist. His hair is ruffled and damp with sweat, his cheeks still flushed delightfully.
“Good. I feel a connection to you, and I’d like to explore it more.”
Alec’s lips pull up at the corner as he turns his head to make eye-contact. He looks softer here, head resting on a navy pillowcase. “Yeah?”
Magnus hums in agreement, shifting closer to rest his head on Alec’s chest. After a bit of rearranging, Alec manages to loop his arm fully around Magnus’ shoulders, holding him closer. They’ll have to get up to shower soon enough, before they doze off to sleep like Magnus is tempted, but for now, he leans into the buzz of the afterglow. “Can I stay for breakfast?”
“I’ll make french toast,” Alec promises, making Magnus’ mouth water.
He doesn’t know where they’ll go from here, if a relationship will blossom between them, but he looks forward to finding out.