Piano Days and Other Malec One-Shots

Gasoline on the Fire

Words didn't come easily to a soldier that only knew orders.

That's all Alec really was. He knew he wasn't a poet, nor did he want to be. There was no beauty to be found in his world. Just demons and the pain they brought.

But what he needed at this moment was a grandiloquent speech that would say everything he was thinking. He didn't want to sound anymore desperate than Magnus already knew he was and he didn't want to sound ashamed in the slightest. Because last night had made him feel more loved than he really deserved and deep down, he was horribly selfish and wanted to feel that way for the rest of his life.

He knew he'd be up before Magnus. Magnus, who was entangled in half-a-dozen blankets and enthroned on more pillows than Alec could count. A light smile had knitted the corners of his lips. A person's most vulnerable state was when the sun was slowly raising in the east.

Alec could get up and leave. He could disappear and maybe avoid the speech he felt compelled to make all together. If he was lucky, he'd never have another run-in with the warlock again.

But that was hardly fair to either of them.

Maybe he wouldn't have to say anything. Maybe they could just pick up where they left off before exhaustion and a short-lived fit of quiet laughter had claimed them both.

He'd stay, he decided. Just not in the bed.

There was a duffel bag of his stuff in the corner of Magnus' room. He slid out of bed, softly padding over to the corner. At least if he did feel the urge to escape, he could do so almost soundlessly.

He put on a pair of sweatpants. Summer was coming to a close and the weather was at that perfect state of not-too-hot-not-too-cold. A balcony was attached to Magnus' room, and the sliding door was cracked open already, letting in a breath of cold air.

Alec opened a little wider before he stepped through onto the concrete balcony. Taxi drivers were already honking profusely, ruining what would have been an otherwise fantastic view of the city. How long had Magnus had this apartment, he wondered. Was it before Brooklyn was the place to be? Was it before Brooklyn was even established?

Coffee in his hands and Magnus' arms around his waist was the only thing that could have made the scene better. He smiled softly at the idea, ducking his head.

It was a romantic notion, though not something from his own imagination. None of it-- none of awkward flirting, the horrendous first date, the slightly-better second one, the kissing, the sex-- seemed like something he had done. It was a different Alexander Lightwood that was capable of loving Magnus Bane. A more romantic, less clinical version of him.

But they were really one mind, one body, he had to remind himself of that. He was capable of falling in love.

He was in love.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Please don't jump."

Another skip. He turned around. Magnus was sitting up, rubbing at eyeliner-smudged eyes.

"That would be an atrocious turn of events," Magnus yawned. "And you'd look horrible splattered on my front porch."

Alec smiled, kicking softly at the concrete.

"Why are you out there?" Magnus asked. Alec stepped inside, sliding the glass door completely shut, sealing them off from the symphony of Brooklyn.

"The city looks different at four in the morning."

"It's an ungodly hour," Magnus said, leaning back on his arms as Alec crawled onto the corner of the bed, tucking a stray blanket into his lap. "The city is only alive for greedy business men and crabby taxi drivers." The concrete had frozen his toes. "Anyways, good morning."

"Morning," Alec mumbled, looking up from his lap.

"What's wrong?" Magnus asked, without hesitation or even fear for what he might say.

"I've been trying to find that out," Alec said, looking away. He focused on a picture on the nightstand, which seemed oddly out of place in Magnus' completely unsentimental room. "Who are those people?"

He felt Magnus' gaze shift away from him then snap right back like a rubber band.

"We're not talking about my friends. We're talking about you-- us."

"I don't know," Alec said, playing with the fringed edge of the blanket in his lap. "I just-- I thought being with you would make everything make sense."

"Sex rarely leads to epiphanies unless they're ones of regret."

"I don't regret last night," Alec confessed, looking up. Magnus had to understand that. "I've been in this constant state of confusion about who I am for most of my life and it's like I've been on fire. And I wanted to be with you because I thought you'd be water but you're just gasoline, Magnus. Every time I'm with you, I come away knowing something but being even more confused."

And Magnus was smiling, that same soft smile that Alec had never seen him give anyone else.

"That's called love, Alexander."

Alec's jaw dropped a little bit. Something about hearing someone else say it made it all the more real-- not just something he had made up in his head or a disillusioned idea of what love was.

Alec surged forward, taking Magnus' sleep-warmed cheeks in his hands, kissing Magnus into delirium.

Nothing was supposed to make sense in love, he decided.