Chapter Text
In Magnus’s defense, healing venom from the bite of an alpha werewolf is genuinely draining. He may be ancient and the High Warlock of Brooklyn, but he has limits. He knew he would need a transfusion of strength. It just so happened that it would work best with Alexander, because Alexander had the prettiest eyes and stammered adorably when Magnus flirted with him and had a smile like a ray of sunshine.
Okay, Magnus just wanted to see Alec again. Still, he wasn’t completely stupid- that’s why he kept Clary around. If the situation demanded it, he could draw strength from her almost as easily (it always worked best with someone you cared about, and he’d seen her regularly since she was a child, of course he cared about her).
But then she said “Bring it, warlock” and suddenly her resemblance to Jocelyn faded away and all he saw was Valentine in the set of her mouth, sneering “warlock” like a slur.
He was kneeling by Luke’s side and he could feel Luke ebbing away. Magnus was starting to ebb away too, strength failing as he poured his magic into this venom-ridden body. Clary and the others were dealing with the potion and Magnus was alone to fight this and he was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, fuck damn it, he could keep this at bay for another moment. He was willpower and centuries and killer goddamn fashion sense, he was Magnus Bane-
He had never been happier to see anyone than when Alexander Lightwood knelt by his side just then, a steady hand on his back to keep him (somewhat) upright.
“Help me,” Magnus said, stretching out a hand. “I need your strength.”
Alec’s beautiful eyes flickered, unsure, between Magnus’s face and the offered hand. “Take what you need,” he said finally, wrapping his fingers around Magnus’s own.
(This was the second time magic had necessitated Alexander’s hand in his and thank you, magic. He was all archery callouses and Nephilim strength and yes.)
Alexander’s strength burned through Magnus like a drug, like falling in love. With one of Alec’s hands feeding him magical strength and the other keeping his torso upright, Magnus bore down on the venom inside Luke, burning it out with centuries of warlock willpower and years of Nephilim ferocity. He was, however, careful to keep a part of Alexander well out of it- Magnus was more than happy to burn himself up to save the werewolf, but Alec Lightwood hadn’t asked for that. Alec Lightwood trusted him implicitly, giving his strength to Magnus without reservation. That kind of trust was rare, Magnus had found in his long life.
Magnus could feel more than see when Clary poured the potion down Luke’s throat, like a rope going slack as he pulled on it. The collapse against Alec was genuine- the recoil from the release of magic left him a little weak, a little dazed, and backlash always had some kind of a physical component.
But Alexander Lightwood was firm. His chest and arms… damn. Nephilim. Who knew?
“You okay?” Alec asked, looking down at Magnus, and suddenly he felt so safe. Held by strong arms, concerned blue eyes looking down at him, he felt sheltered and protected and safe. So often he was the protector, the guardian (or avenging) angel, the strong one. It was nice, to be allowed to feel weak, to be the protected and the guarded instead.
However, he wanted the worry in those eyes to go away and so he said, “Yeah.”
The others went off flickering around Luke and talking of Valentine and the Mortal Cup and while under ordinary circumstances Magnus would be bouncing back to his feet, keeping up with the best of them and hiding what weakness he felt, he was in the arms of a beautiful blue-eyed boy who was built like Adonis, Christ, what do they feed Nephilim?
“Could you help me?” Magnus asked, nodding at a nearby chair. “I should probably rest.”
The Adam’s apple in Alec’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Uh, sure.”
And then, glory of glories, Alexander Lightwood was scooping him up, tipping him against that firm chest and cradling him in his arms, and there was that feeling of safety and security again, overwhelming even the familiar burn of attraction Magnus felt whenever he saw pretty eyes or strong arms. It’s like Alec was home, like Magnus had come home after a long stay away. He never wanted Alec to put him down.
So Magnus had a not-so-great brilliant idea.
Alec set him down on the chair and Magnus let himself loll a little against it, looking as weak and pitiful as possible. He kept his fingers locked around Alec’s. “That was a little more exertion than was probably wise,” he said quietly.
Glancing between Magnus’s face and their locked hands, Alec asked, “Do you- do you still need my strength?”
No. “Yes,” Magnus said emphatically. “Backlash from major workings can be devastating-“ true- “so it would be best if you stayed nearby. Just for a while.” Partially true.
The tiniest hint of a smile played at the edges of Alec’s mouth. Magnus wasn’t sure if the man himself was quite aware of it, but Magnus was. He’d seen a full-blown Alexander smile and he was dying for another one. Of course, he hadn’t meant that quite so literally, but tonight had taken a sharp turn, so he shouldn’t be surprised. “Okay.”
“It’s good you came, Alexander,” Magnus said.
Alec’s blue eyes burned into Magnus’s catlike ones. Happiness flared in Magnus’s chest and he was about to say something a little more forward, a little less coy-
“Bane!” Jace came barreling into the room, eyes angry as ever.
Magnus rolled his eyes and shifted a little to more easily see the Shadowhunter. Honestly. He hadn’t seen stubbornness like this since Will Herondale, and at least that boy had good reason. Jace was just- well, Jace. “Is there something else you need?” Magnus asked testily.
“Jace, he’s kind of wrecked,” Alec said, “Whatever you need, I think it should probably wait until he’s rested a little.”
Smiling just a little to himself, Magnus arranged himself a little more comfortably on the chair and tried to look like he was half-asleep. He pulled a hand under his head to make a pillow, and it just so happened to be the one still holding Alec’s. When he rested his cheek against the back of Alec’s hand, he saw the other man freeze like he’d been caught in wrongdoing.
Oh.
He was interested. But how could Magnus have forgotten- Alec was Nephilim, and Nephilim have very strict rules against men dating other men. Even stricter rules against men dating Downworlder men.
So go slow. Magnus could go slow. He was hundreds of years old, slow was practically his middle name.
“Fine, another time,” Jace growled, and stalked away.
Alec shifted slightly, looking at Magnus with a mixture of concern and fear- well, Magnus understood that a little better now. “Just rest. Is there anything you need, like food or something?”
So a part of Magnus was ready to waggle his eyebrows, ask for a kiss to make it better, but instead he let his eyes slide shut and said, “A little shut-eye and I’ll be right as rain.”
He didn’t let go of Alec’s hand, however. He was going slow, not stopping.
Even though he didn’t mean to, he actually fell asleep. Like he’d said- the magic was actually draining, and with Alec looking over him like a guardian angel, Magnus dropped into sleep alarmingly quickly. He woke up without a hand in his (boo, no more strong calloused fingers) but- but with a pillow under his head, a blanket over his shoulders, and a tray on the table a few feet away with a steaming mug and a banana and toast.
He was being cared for. Like he was fragile. Like he was real.
Living for centuries, it made him unreal. In the last hundred years, he’d started to forget, how to feel, what being alive was like. This. This is what being alive was like, being held and taken care of and treated like something important.
He pulled himself upright, the blanket pooling in his lap, and reached for the mug.
“Hey, you’re up,” Alec’s voice said from behind him. “You feeling better?”
Much- a little sleep, plus Alec’s help at the end of the working, meant Magnus was fit as a fiddle again. But Alec’s concern was so sweet… “A little,” Magnus lied. “It was kind of you to bring me food.”
“And tea, it’s what my mom used to bring me when I was sick,” Alec said. His eyes locked on Magnus’s and a flicker of something ran through them- interest? Fear? A combination of the two? “I- uh, I thought you- uh, might-“
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Magnus cupped the mug in his hands- chamomile with lavender, it turned out- and sipped it carefully, examining the boy in front of him.
Alexander Lightwood might be more than an infatuation.