It always makes Alec laugh then cringe (with not-a-little disgust) that the Shadowhunter’s Codex, the closest thing to a Bible by which every young Nephilim lives and dies, dedicates a total of four pages to warlocks. One of those pages being a pretty offensive image of a horned purple warlock bowing in ‘happy’ servitude before a heroically-shiny and appropriately angelic shadowhunter – which sort of says it all, doesn’t it?

And the information those scant pages yield isn’t even particularly useful when you get down to it. Facts like “they possess the ability to perform magic” (no shit) and they are “quite useful to Nephilim” (wow) and how it’s “quite rude to look directly at a warlock’s mark (you think?).” With only a few footnotes dedicated to the centuries of disgraceful history between shadowhunters and warlocks in the time of the Great Schism (back when shadowhunters slaughtered warlocks by the hundreds – as opposed to post-Schism times when shadowhunters did the same, just in marginally smaller numbers… God, sometimes Alec just hates his people).

It was hard, at first, to let go of everything he’d been taught to believe (and want) as a kid—it’s still hard, he can admit it.

“Thanks, Magnus,” he says as a plate piled with pancakes, eggs and streaky bacon done just the way he likes it lands in front of him. He cranes his neck up for a kiss that Magnus happily obliges. Magnus tastes like rich, dark coffee with a tinge of maple syrup, and Alec lets his tongue slide up against his to chase that bitter sweetness.

Magnus pulls away with a sigh, his face is bare this early in the morning and he’s wearing a pair of grey sweats (probably Alec’s) that hang low on his hips, still sleep-mussy and rumpled—it’s a sight Alec never gets tired of. Magnus isn’t a morning person in general but he’d insisted on waking early to make breakfast and give Alec a portal to the Institute (The least I could do for keeping you up late last night, he’d said with a self-satisfied little smirk just before Alec hopped in the shower an hour ago. He hadn’t been lying, Alec’s pretty sure he pulled a muscle in his back with all the acrobatics they’d done the night before and he had no idea that thing Magnus did with his tongue was even possible. In fact, he's fairly sure it isn't 'possible' for most mortals or non-magical people. Not that he’s complaining. Definitely not complaining).

“Eat, darling—before it gets cold and you have to go to the office,” he says, nodding at the plate.  To be honest, Alec would rather keep kissing. Maybe even add to the three hickeys lining Magnus’ clavicle. But he’s got an early morning Skype meeting with the heads of institutes in Turkey, Albania, London and Jakarta that he can’t afford to miss. Plus Magnus has several big clients on his schedule today, and one of them requires him to portal to some remote town in Mongolia of all places. So Alec picks up his coffee obediently and takes a sip, watching Magnus prep his own plate and plonk it on the table so they can eat side-by-side at the kitchen island.

New York’s blundering into wakefulness on the streets outside, the sun’s pale and watery in the sky the way it often is in the fall, and there’s the quiet hum of the radio on the kitchen counter—just loud enough to make out some kind of twinkly instrumental. And he’s here, having breakfast with his boyfriend in the sort of easy silence that would have had him tripping over words to fill it a few years ago. It’s nice. More than—

It’s not something he thought he’d ever get. He'd been too afraid to even dream it. This kind of laid-back domesticity and comfort with the man he loves. It warms his belly, a smile tickling the edges of his mouth. It makes him feel like one of those mundane teenagers with a crush on the hot cool guy in school, like those characters in the movies Simon rarely shuts up about, but he can't stop himself. He reaches out with the hand he’s not using to eat, and catching Magnus’ free hand in his, locking their fingers together and holding on while they munch on the rest of their breakfast.

It’s nice.

The rest of his day, however, is not so nice.

The meeting with the institute heads doesn’t go well. Primarily because none of them is interested in partnering with Alec on his initiative to facilitate more cooperation between shadowhunters and other races through an exchange programme. An idea that Alec’s been developing with Clary, of all people, along with Catarina, Simon and Maia as liaisons for warlocks, vampires and werewolves respectively. He’d known it would be a tough sell. The New York Institute is one of the few that’s bothered to maintain friendly relations with downworlders post- the temporary alliance that allowed the shadow world to be rid of Valentine for good. For most shadowhunters, that alliance had been a temporary inconvenience to get the job done and end a three-year war.

“You can’t expect to erase decades – if not centuries – of prejudice with one war, Alec,” Lydia says to him over the phone after he’d called her to vent. “These kinds of things take time. I’ll do what I can here in Idris but you know what a pain in the ass the new Inquisitor is about… everything.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, rubbing at his forehead and the ruffled mess of his hair there. He keeps meaning to get a haircut but there’s hardly ever any time. “Thanks for listening to me whine about this, Lydia—I know you’ve probably got more important things to do.”

“Eh, you know I always love to catch up with my former almost-husband,” she jokes.

He chuckles and ends the call with a promise to visit Idris in the next few months for a real catch-up.

The pile of paperwork and reports from last night’s patrols sits before him like an implacable mountain. Alec grumbles under his breath. Just the thought of having to review all of that gives him a headache. Not for the first time, he questions his decision to take on the role of Head of the institute. Sure, he was born and raised for it, and he’s damn good at it. But occasionally, he wishes he could just be a regular shadowhunter – maybe then he’d get to sleep in with his hot boyfriend and avoid all this ridiculous clave bureaucracy and politicking. With a deep sigh, he picks up the top folder and mutters under his breath, “Come on, these won’t review themselves, Lightwood.”

The day doesn’t get much better. After several hours of him nearly splitting his head open correcting lazy grammatical mistakes in the reports from the Alpha team on duty the previous night, following up on a couple of more complicated cases, Jace bursts into his office in battle leathers.

“Suit up, bro, we’ve got a problem.”

“Why is it that those are the words I hear every single time I see you?” Alec says with a grimace, striding around his desk to grab his bow and seraph blade. “You’re like a walking alarm clock for bad news and trouble.”

Jace makes a mock-offended face. “Rude, Alec – there’s a reason you made me your second-in-command.”

“My life-long commitment to inflicting pain and misery on myself?”

“No, dumbass,” Jace replies with a roll of his eyes. “Obviously, it’s because of my good looks and charming personality.”

Alec snorts as they both make their way to the command centre where Izzy’s toggling with the data screen, a frown marring her face.

“What’ve we got, Iz?” he asks as he comes to a stop beside her.

“I got a call from one of Luke’s scouts, there’s been an interdimensional breach down by the docks, some abandoned warehouses. Looks like a bunch of mundanes were messing around with summoning a demon – and they’ve managed to open the doorway to some hell dimension.”

“Any dead?”

“No, thank god – two of the New York pack managed to clear the area of any humans but several demons have escaped and now they’re out on the streets looking for blood with more coming. I expect we’ll—.”

She’s interrupted by an ear-splitting beep, the command screen glows red before she clicks the surveillance button.

“Shit. We’ve got five ravener sightings, and four kuri.”

Alec curses. He hates kuri demons—who wouldn’t hate creatures that look like giant reptilian spiders from a literal hell dimension?

Turning around to the small group of shadowhunters already suiting up, he starts to bark orders. “All right, we need to get there and contain this. Team Alpha, go with Jace. I want you to head out and approach from the northwest. Izzy, you and I will lead Beta from the other direction – see if we can all meet in the middle and send these monsters back to their makers.”

“We’re gonna need someone to close the dimension breach,” Izzy puts in. “I’ll get a hold of Clary; she’s got a rune for this kind of thing.”

“Excellent.” Alec turns to the group with a nod, grabbing an extra seraph blade. “Let’s go.”

It, predictably, takes hours to clean up that mess. By which time, Alec is covered in ichor and demon goo, and so physically exhausted he’d drop if he wasn’t so wired from the heat of battle. They were lucky though, no casualties, and they caught every single demon but it wasn’t an easy fight.

All he wants is to go home, take a shower, and see Magnus’ face—remind himself there’s something beautiful in the world to fight for.

By the time he does get home, it’s late. He managed to grab a quick bath and a bite at the Institute. The fizz of adrenaline hasn’t left him but at least he doesn’t smell like something a hell beast threw up.

The lights are low inside the loft when he opens the door, a few floating candles here and there, and the scent of sandalwood and jasmine in the air. He toes his boots off and leaves them by the welcome mat, tosses his jacket and keys on the entrance hall table, and makes his way through the apartment, following the trail of light to the only thing that might make this entire toil of a day worth it.

He finds Magnus lounging on a couch, a glass of something dark blue in his hand, and a heavy tome resting on his lap. Alec stops in the doorway to watch him, a little breathless the way he still gets just seeing this man. Which is ridiculous. He wonders sometimes when that’ll fade, when looking at Magnus won’t make him feel this weird little thrill, like he’s found all the light at the end of a dark tunnel.

He’s wearing part of one of his more formal suits, the ones he wears for his high maintenance clients, a mulberry purple so deep it’s almost black, the fitted waistcoat embroidered with gold thread frames his torso like something out of a fashion magazine, all broad shoulders to a tapered waist. His shirt’s unbuttoned at the top, revealing a few delicate necklaces, and the silver arrowhead that Alec gave as a gift for Magnus' annual Saturnalia two years ago. He’s sleek, jaguar-like, a sort of graceful air of danger about him that seems intimate and too-big at once. Alec's still not entirely sure how he gets to call this man his own. But he does.

A ripple of possessive lust slides through Alec’s adrenaline-stiff limbs. He rubs his thumb against his bow-callused finger with the need to touch. Magnus twirls that blue drink around and takes a sip, the liquid makes his lips a bit shiny and Alec wants to lick it off. Get drunk off the taste of it. Five seconds ago he was that odd post-fight mix of tired and over-stimulated, now he just wants to—

“You know, it’s very rude to stare, Alexander,” Magnus drawls, still eyeing his book, a knowing grin on his mouth.

To be sure, Magnus had probably known the second Alec hit the stoop outside the building. But he’d waited for Alec to come to him.

“Hard not to be rude when you like what you’re looking at.” Alec leans back against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest, casual. He could give in to the already-hot thrum that’s started in his blood at the mere sight of Magnus. He could start taking off his clothes and throw himself on that couch (which, to be fair, he’s done before, with absolutely no thought for his own dignity and it's had pleasing results for both of them). But there’s something to be said about the anticipation, this slow-burn game of theirs.

Magnus takes a last sip of his drink and makes the glass disappear with a flick of his hands. The book, apparently a treatise on kelpie norms and customs, shuts and floats onto the table. It’s these small, commonplace acts of magic that make Alec nibble on his lower lip—these easy displays of Magnus’ power.

“I don’t blame you,” Magnus says with a shrug that somehow manages to be arrogant and self-deprecating all at once. He glides to his feet and assesses Alec from a distance, his eyes glinting tawny-gold in the dim, as calm and penetrative as any predator. And that look alone is enough to make Alec burn—it’s like Magnus can see right through him. Can see the warm blush that’s made his cheeks pink, the way his heart-rate’s picked up, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Alec’s arms fall to his sides. He waits, expectation skittering right down to his fingertips.

“A little bird told me that you ran into a spot of trouble on the docks today.”

The last thing Alec wants is to debrief the mess his day was but he replies with a shrug that falls somewhere between cocky and weary, “You know how shadowhunters are, trouble is kind of our middle name.”

"You could have called for back up."

"Nah, we had it covered - also I'm not sure I could afford your fees."

"We would've worked out a discount between the two of us, I'm sure." Magnus takes a few steps around the table and comes towards him. He could be strolling along the beach, no sense of urgency in his movements even though he must be able to hear the way Alec’s pulse is going a mile a minute. It feels like it’s on a loudspeaker in Alec’s head. “You must be tired, ready for bed, maybe a little nap?”

And even if Alec may still be a bundle of awkwardness he’s learned to be honest in this arena at least. “That’s not what I need. Or what I want.”

Magnus stops a foot away and tilts his head to the left. This close, Alec can see the shimmer of glitter on his cheekbones and he wants to lick that too. “What do you want then?”

Instead of speaking, Alec pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them, notching his right hand on Magnus’ waist to tug him in. He ducks his head to catch Magnus’ lips with his teeth, licking into his mouth, hungry and impatient with it. Magnus responds in kind, their teeth clacking together as he reaches up to yank on the too-long hair at the top of Alec’s head, pulls his head sideways to nibble at his chin, down to his neck. Alec moans at the bite of Magnus’ teeth at his throat – that’ll leave a bruise, and he grins, opens himself up for more.

This is familiar. This wanting to fuck after battle – even before Magnus, Alec remembers furtively taking himself in hand in the shameful dark of his room, trying to get rid of all the excess energy and danger of a fight. But it was never like this – this vertiginous feeling of going from 0 to 100 in the space of a second, of looking at Magnus one moment and then wanting to bend over and get fucked into the nearest surface. Once, he’d been so desperate for it, he’d yanked Magnus behind a pillar in the basement of the Institute, right in the lull of the final battle with Valentine, and dropped to his knees to suck him off – so primed he’d shot off in his pants without even getting a hand down there. Which, would have been embarrassing if Magnus hadn’t taken mercy on his awkward shuffle back to the command centre and mumbled a quick cleaning spell. Sometimes, it really did pay off to have a warlock for a lover and Alec is eternally grateful for it.

Alec knows he’s powerful. He knows he’s a warrior. Raziel’s sword made flesh, as the Codex puts it. But there’s never a time when he wants to feel less like that than after battle – when he doesn’t want to be forced to take initiative, to be in command, he just wants to be and be taken. Not with gentleness or kindness, even. But like the soldier he is.

Magnus gets this the way he gets almost everything else there is to get about Alec. So he shoves Alec hard into the wall, hard enough that a painting that was hanging there crashes to the floor. Neither of them bothers to check what it is.

Alec grasps at Magnus’ shirt, starts pulling it out of his pants to get at the skin underneath. Any other night and he’d take his time unwrapping Magnus’ elaborate outfit like a gift but for now, he just wants.

Before he can get a good hold on anything, Magnus leans back and says, a gravely tone to his voice, “Turn around, Alexander. Turn around for me.”

The whimper that escapes Alec’s mouth at that order is a sound he won’t own up to making in the light of day. But he does as told. He presses forward into the wall, letting the coolness of the surface seep in through his t-shirt. He’s hard already, throbbing and trapped in his jeans. Without thought, he rubs up against the wall like an animal in heat – anything to get some pressure where he needs it.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Magnus says, a lilt to his voice. “Not yet, darling – hold still.”

Alec can’t stop himself from wriggling against the wall one more time and Magnus swats his ass in punishment. The faint sting pulls a groan from Alec’s throat.

Magnus steps in close so the length of his body is pressed against Alec’s and he whispers, breath hot in Alec’s ear, “If you can’t be still, I can make you….”

Alec can’t stop his head from falling back and he forces himself to stand still, utters, “I’ll be good—I’ll be so good.”

The kiss Magnus drops on the deflect rune on his neck is so absurdly sweet given what they’re doing. “You always are, angel, you always are.” He unbuttons Alec’s jeans from behind, his teeth sinking into Alec’s shoulder blade through his shirt, and pushes them down, Alec steps out of them.

It’s so silly but Alec feels proud when Magnus says that. He wants to be good for Magnus, wants to be everything and anything.

Magnus nudges his socked feet apart and Alec complies, the action pushing his butt out just a little bit and compensating for their difference in height. He can imagine how this looks. Him shoved up to the wall of their living room, his arm a makeshift pillow, in nothing but a threadbare t-shirt, his dick hard and heavy between his legs, his body begging for Magnus to just give it to him. He feels no shame for it. Or rather, whatever shame he does he feel only makes him want it more. It’s intoxicating – the things he’d do with Magnus and let Magnus do to him.

“God, look at you,” Magnus says. And Alec curves his ass out just a little more at the obvious admiration in his voice. He’s always been one to hide, to shy away from being seen – but with Magnus, the secret exhibitionist in him comes out.

When Magnus’ finger trails down from his neck, over the material of his t-shirt to the skin at the small of his back, and further down to his crack, Alec shivers. It’s such a harmless touch but it’s like magic, it leaves a trail of liquid fire in its wake. Then he feels the cheeks of his ass pulled apart, exposing him to Magnus’ gaze and Alec can’t help but whine, “Raziel, fuck me,” into the wall.

Time itself splits open – at once, it feels like everything’s moving too fast (Magnus’ fingers—one, two, three—slick and insistent, opening him up, brushing against his prostate on every third pass and forcing him up on his toes with the sharp pleasure of it) and far, far too slow (his cock, dripping now; Magnus’ free hand creeping up to pinch at his left nipple the way Alec likes, slipping further down to grasp him by the root and just hold him there so Alec can fuck into his hand just so—not enough room to really get going, but enough). He could come like this, with nothing but Magnus’ hands on him but he doesn’t want that.

“Please, Magnus, please,” he begs, his voice muffled by the skin of his elbow.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Magnus murmurs almost like he’s gentling a nervous horse. He pulls his fingers out, tugs Alec until he turns around and they’re facing each other again.

At some point, Magnus had taken off his shirt and waistcoat, and now Alec watches as he unzips his pants, his cock tenting the front of his briefs almost obscenely before he pulls those down too. Alec can’t even stop himself from licking his lips. Before he can even think about dropping to his knees for a taste, Magnus’ emerald-tipped fingernails are gripping his thighs and hoisting him up against the wall like he weighs nothing, those ridiculous arms of his rippling with the effort. (It’s easy to assume, given all the elaborate layers of clothes Magnus wears, that any strength he possesses is bound up in his magical abilities. But Alec learned fairly quickly that underneath all that silk and velvet, there are muscles and abs straight out of every wet dream he’s ever had – and that for all his sophisticated airs, Magnus can probably take down any shadowhunter in a fight without ever having to flick his fingers with a spell. That’s something the Codex definitely didn’t cover).

Alec wraps his legs around Magnus’ hips, sighs in relief at the friction of their cocks sliding together. Magnus gives an answering grunt before hitching Alec up a little higher on the wall, using it as leverage as he bends his knees a little, and guides his cock where it needs to be.

“Oh G-god,” Alec stammers as Magnus presses in. Slow and steady, stretching Alec’s hole on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure with each thrust. He holds still once he’s all the way in, the both of them breathing heavy against each other’s mouths, not kissing or anything. At this angle, Alec feels so full and so good – he knocks his head back to the wall with a gasp, presses the heels of his feet into Magnus’ back to pull him in as close as possible.

Magnus takes the cue, and starts to fuck into him.

“Like that?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. He’s watching Alec as he does it, his cat-eyes amber with lust, intense and focused in a way he sometimes gets when they’re together like this – like the only thing he can see is Alec, nothing else matters. It’s a heady feeling, to be the object of that and Alec can’t get enough of it. “Yes, come on, yes, harder – please,” he rambles nonsensically as if Magnus needs to be spurred on.

It works though. The growl Magnus lets out is pained and hungry as he slows down, bending his knees a little more so he can lunge upward into Alec, deeper and harder, the thump of their bodies colliding with the wall and more paintings rattling in response, the slick wet sound of them fucking can probably be heard all the way in Manhattan.

Magnus’ mouth is everywhere – nibbling at Alec’s earlobe, dragging along his cheek, sucking a hickey into his neck, tugging his shirt up high enough that he can get his teeth on first one nipple and then the other, like he doesn’t know where to kiss first, what part of Alec he wants to devour. And Alec lets him. If this was a fairy tale, Alec would gladly offer himself up to the big bad wolf.

Neither of them is going to last long. So Alec slips a hand around himself, starts to jerk his erection. Magnus digs his fingers deep into Alec’s thighs, and switches up his rhythm again, this time short, sharp jabs that hit Alec’s prostate with unerring accuracy. He yanks Alec’s right leg up a little higher so he can hook his arm underneath and the new position leaves Alec even more open and vulnerable, all he can do is take it. Alec tosses his head back, his mouth open on a lust-drunk smile as Magnus bounces him up and down like some sort of rag doll – keeps him from tumbling to the ground with the strength of his arms and his cock alone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Alec wheezes, the pitch of his voice rising with each utterance.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight, so good – fuck,” Magnus rasps breathlessly, craning his head forward to kiss Alec as his hips start to stutter.

And then Magnus is coming inside him, he grunts something that could be Alec’s name into the kiss. The feel of that has Alec reaching his peak too, come spurting all over his slack fingers and both their torsos.

Alec runs his hands down Magnus’ sweaty back, kisses him like he might drown if he doesn’t as they come down from the high together.

Magnus doesn’t pull out immediately as they both soften up and when he does, Alec huffs, his legs feel like jelly as he lowers them from Magnus’ waist. He’ll be feeling this tomorrow. Sitting at his desk at the institute reading some boring report, remembering how good Magnus fucked him tonight. The thought alone makes him twitch with an echo of desire – there’s no way he can get it up so soon without a stamina rune – but God.

Staggering a few steps to the nearest chaise, Magnus drops down onto it and pulls Alec down on top of him, the two of them sweaty and sticky. It’s tender and still, the both of them quiet in the aftermath. Alec tilts up to kiss Magnus’ left nipple, sweet and a little stupid, and higher to press another kiss on his chin. He snuggles in close, his t-shirt still clammy and stained with come, a bit uncomfortable, his too-long limbs hanging over the edge of the chaise and just lets himself be held.

(Now this—this is nice.)

∞