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Alec opened the door as quietly as he could, sliding between the gap. He pressed the door shut gently holding his breath as the loft remained silent. He paused, listening intently before stepping closer to the sofa. Shadow hunter training might have taught him to be as stealthy as a shadow but a teething eight month old had honed that edge until he could sneak up on a shadow even in heavy boots.
Keeping his breathing steady, he slipped the bow and quiver off his shoulders laying it softly on the well loved plump sofa.
The loft, as usual since Max had come home with them, had a myriad of toys flung about the floor. The worst offenders, namely those that his absolute darling sister Isabelle and that menace Clary had bought them, were safely de-batteried and hidden out of sight. Why mundanes ever thought that blinding shrieking toys were ever a good idea was beyond him.
He blew out a breath rolling his shoulders and neck. It had been a long hunt.
He carefully placed his feet as he picked his way across the room heading to the master bedroom. He’d already unzipped his jacket and the fly of his jeans outside the door. Anything that could make noise was to be avoided at all costs, it was amazing what Max could hear.
Magnus often wondered if his demon progenitor had been a popobawa.
Alec stopped outside of Max’s bedroom, debating the wisdom of opening the door and risking waking him up. He placed his hand on the doorknob when he felt a brush of familiar magic against his cheek. He looked up to see his husband Magnus shaking his head and beckoning him closer.
Sleep deprived and freshly dishevelled from bed he was beautiful Alec felt his breath catch at the sight. In fact Alec was particularly fond of freshly dishevelled Magnus even though it had been a while since they’d the time or energy for such activities.
Inky black hair fell haphazardly, one side pressed down flat. A face that time could not bring itself to mark, eyes sleepy and tired but that glimmered in the low light and shimmered with love that still made him shy and confident all at once when they fell upon him. Lips curled up into a welcoming and fond smile that made his heart skip a beat; lips that had the power to make him react and harden as quickly as any teenager with a mere twitch or sight of a talented tongue running over them.
A flash of light brought his attention down to the hand bore his wedding band. A band that could still knock the breath from him. Alec ran his thumb over his own ring of gold. A permanent heavy weight of responsibilities and oaths he would gladly swear every day. Oaths he’d breathed into the skin of his new husband, oaths he had traced and retraced with every glide of his fingers. Oaths he’d carved into his own heart, seared into his soul with every breath that night and sworn again with every kiss they’d shared since.
He’d thank the Angel that night. Sweaty, exhausted, satiated. Terrified. Every morning when he rolled over and was met with the sight of his husband drooling into his pillow or onto Alec’s chest. When he, Alec of all people, got to see this wonderful gorgeous man singing some long forgotten lullaby to their son. He thanked the Angel.
He’d also thanked Clary. Not that he’d ever say as much.
Alec stepped forward. Closer to his husband catching up the hand that declared Magnus his, bowed his head and laid a gentle kiss over the ring.
His chest ached. Tears pricked at his eyes.
Some days it was unbelievable.
A few, it seemed like a dream. The kind that left you empty and cold inside after waking, the kind that shredded your soul as you opened your eyes and realised it was false and not real, never real not for me not ever for me.
Most though, most he just thanked the Angel. And Clary.
He felt Magnus’s hand turn and slide to cup his cheek. Thumb gently swiping back and forth. It had been a long dangerous hunt.
He felt Magnus slide his hand back, to cup the vulnerable nape and twine his fingers in the soft hair.
He felt Magnus gently tilt his head up, his beloved face coming to blurry view.
He felt Magnus’s other hand slide up his chest under his jacket, deftly avoiding the various bits of viscous and demon.
He felt the heat of Magnus’s hand burning like a brand on his chest as if to say you are mine as much as I am yours I feel this too love me always I need this I need you
He felt the soft puffs of air brushing his lips as Magnus leaned up to kiss him; oaths and promises rewriting themselves across his heart. I promise I promise.. Singing over and over again as the steady pressure of the hand at his nape, the burning hot good pressure of the hand on his chest, and the slow inevitable meeting of lips slipped the ache from his chest down down down..
He felt the warmth of a body pressed against him.
He felt the hot lips and a hotter tongue.
He felt like he was drowning, he was soaring.
He felt silk slipping over his hands as he tried to anchor himself with the feel of Magnus beneath his hands
He felt sparks of magic flick over him, leaving him with the branding of Magnus’s bare hand.
He felt his pants loosen quickly followed by a wake of fire that could only belong to Magnus’s touch. Cupping him, stroking him, owning him
He felt… he felt… he felt…
He heard the shrill cry of his son.
He shuddered as Magnus withdrew, lips still pressed to his, leaving with a teasing stroke over the head of him sending a bolt of ache and want and please through him. A strike as sure and as true as any of Alec’s arrows.
They parted.
Alec’s knees weak and watery, Magnus’ cat like eyes glowing with something like satisfaction and I’m sorry all at once.
“Magnus” Alec stopped. His voice husky, threaded with unspoken promises, lascivious and loving. He swallowed and coughed.
“Magnus, go back to bed. I’ll see to him.” He quickly pulled his pants up and buttoned the fly. He lifted the back of his fingers to stroke reverently against Magnus’s cheek.
“Go back to bed love, you’re tired.” He pressed a loving kiss to Magnus’s forehead before gently turning him around and giving him a soft but thorough pat on the arse.
“Go to bed love.”
Alec turned back to his son’s bedroom, letting himself in. He could see his son screaming in the simple crib, tears running down cheeks that were starting to go purple from the effort.
“Max, it’s okay. I’m here. Dad’s here my sweet boy.” Alec shrugged out of the jacket letting it drop to the floor before picking Max up and cradling against his shoulder.
“ I know it hurts, it’ll be okay”
Alec searched for the mixture that Magnus had made, all the while whispering reassurances. After a few moments of desperate searching he found it and headed out into the living room. He rocked Max as he waited for the kettle to boil. Shadowhunter training proved its use as Alec deftly prepared Max’s bottle, making sure to stir in a good measure of Magnus’s mixture.
He settled against the corner of the sofa, toeing off his boots, and cradled Max in the crook of his arm. He patiently coaxed Max as he fought against taking the bottle.
Alec breathed a sigh of relief as Max’s cries were replaced by sucking sounds and quiet sniffles as the pain ebbed away with mouthful of milk Max drank.
Alec brushed away the tears and kissed the top of his sons’ head.
He stayed like that, content to hold his son.
Alec traced over the delicate shell of Max’s ears, over the chubby cheeks, the button nose and thanked the Angel.
And Clary.