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With the raucous cheers of his awed co-workers ringing in his ears, Magnus gracefully brings Dot from Accounts out of the low dip that ended their impromptu Argentine tango and exits the dancefloor in order to procure himself another one of those knockout cocktails from the mixologist being paid a small fortune to pour life into the company’s seasonal shindig.
The man doesn’t disappoint, conjuring up a rather fabulous neon creation that mercifully tastes as good as it looks. A master mixer himself, it was always nice to bend someone’s ear over new twists on traditional recipes, and as Magnus’s efforts last year to infuse flavour and strength into the dull-as-dishwater complimentary punch had earned him a severe ticking off from Ragnor (whilst privately rating it amongst Magnus’s best work), alternative ways of livening up the evening appear to be somewhat limited.
And that’s when his wandering gaze lands on what Magnus has been searching for since he arrived. The instantly recognisable frame of his professional nemesis (and private fuck buddy), Alec Lightwood.
Watching the insufferable know-it-all yakking with his beloved cronies from Tech Support at the far end of the bar gives Magnus a rare chance to witness what a more relaxed Alec actually looks like. Grudgingly, Magnus has to admit that he likes what he sees: rigidly tense shoulders loosened up by good humour, clenched hands replaced by graceful gestures and that furrowed brow soothed in favour of laughter lines all making a striking contrast to the tightly-wound adversary Magnus normally has to spar with.
Alec Lightwood may be an asshole, but he’s a beautiful, athletic, confident asshole. With a very talented mouth.
The perfect antidote to this lame schmoozefest, not that he’d ever say those words to his face.
Taking a generous sip of his drink, Magnus ponders their unique effect on each other as he waits for those long-lashed eyes of Alec’s to find him.
In the eight years he’s worked in Marketing for GrayFell Publishing, or the entirety of his life so far for that matter, no one has been more able to trigger such strong reactions in Magnus than Lightwood has. And he hasn’t got a clue why. All Magnus knows is that whenever he’s had to prevail upon Alec’s team to fix his endless technical issues, he has to stop himself from crashing something over Alec’s head when those hazel eyes roll like a Las Vegas slot machine at Magnus’s apparent stupidity. Which means he’s forced to retaliate with barbed remarks about Alec not fixing things properly in the first place, that hit their mark with a satisfying thud, it has to be said.
However, a distracting consequence of their frequent battles is the way they force Magnus to notice all the little reactions that animate the man when they’re trading insults, both verbal and non-verbal, and they’re always so fascinating that Magnus is endlessly thinking up new ways to make the man lose his fragile control.
Especially since that argument several weeks ago now that somehow culminated in both of them collapsing against his desk having been gloriously blown and bitten to tenderised perfection.
Who would have thought a paper jam could be so….liberating.
It’s making him hard just remembering it.
Something Alec appears to be very aware of, if the way he’s suddenly watching Magnus take a steadying breath is any indication. That smug barely-there smile shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, but Magnus can’t help responding to it.
Finishing his cocktail with a flourish, Magnus tips his friend behind the bar and makes his way out of the top floor conference room and into the relative quiet of the elevator lobby. His heart is beating so loud Magnus doesn’t hear Alec’s approach but he does feel the full weight of his stare as they silently take the elevator down to Alec’s office, or what he jokingly refers to as Lightwood’s Lair, where they’ll finally be afforded some privacy.
Cursing the security cameras that prevent him from jumping Alec’s bones in this ideal space, Magnus is practically vibrating with want by the time they reach it and the door is kicked shut.
Then it’s an all out race to rid themselves, and each other, of whatever clothes might possibly restrict their pleasure. But never the jewellery. Magnus learned fairly early on that if anything made Alec desperate to bend like a pretzel and present his eager ass, it was watching and feeling the drag of these necklaces and coolness of these rings against their heated skin as they fucked.
And tonight was no different.
Strong hands push him hard against the nearest wall, then run feverishly down his decorated chest to pin his hips in place. Magnus lets out a pained hiss as Alec exploits his weakness by clamping a rough mouth over a sensitive nipple and sucking hard, with his teeth and tongue repeatedly complicit in the sweet torture, while Alec’s loud appreciation for the ruthless tugs and twists of Magnus’s skilled hand on their aching cocks only stokes their mutual fire to an even greater intensity.
Quickly becoming impatient for more, Magnus grips Alec’s hair with his free hand and yanks him back far enough to observe how affected he is by their bodies’ traitorous compatibility. Magnus’s visceral satisfaction at seeing Alec’s pretty eyes clouded by lust instead of clear with disapproval, and his generous mouth swollen by greed instead of drawn tight in anger, reveals itself in his raspy command for Alec to, “Clear the desk. Now.”
Obediently swiping the desk, Alec’s delicious reward is being pressed to it by force while being readied by spit-slicked fingers that are only marginally more kind but no less effective. Then Magnus is burying himself in the welcome heat and trapping Alec’s body with his own as his hips find a relentless rhythm that builds gradually to a crescendo that takes them over the edge together, amidst a chorus of gratified groans and gasps.
When he regains control of his senses, Magnus notices a difference to the meticulously organised room. There’s a large travel case stashed between the corner couch and the filing cabinet. Intrigued, he gives a half-hearted nod in its direction.
“Going somewhere nice? ” he asks, and feels Alec tense beneath him. Friendly concern doesn’t usually play any part in their brutal and brief encounters, after all.
Magnus blames the drink.
“Remains to be seen,” Alec answers cryptically and motions for him to shift so they can get cleaned up.
Magnus gingerly complies and plucks some tissues from the box Alec tosses over his shoulder, but he can’t resist a dig. “On whether your temperamental tech doesn’t ruin your plans and crash?”
With a sardonic, “Funny,” Alec refrains from sharing any more details and sets about making himself presentable again, leaving Magnus to follow suit as he mourns that incredible chest being hidden behind a shirt once more.
Needing a mirror to assess the damage to his hair and make-up, Magnus ducks into the adjacent workroom, only to find a sleeping bag, pillow and wash kit neatly stacked above the tool station next to the tiny sink. Deep in thought, Magnus does what he can to restore his appearance before heading back into the office, where he bluntly enquires, “Are you crashing here by any chance?”
“I’m between places right now. It’s just temporary,” comes the somewhat reluctant reply as Alec busies himself with restoring order to his decimated desk.
Trying to picture all the contortionist tricks Alec must be having to perform just to fit on the damned uncomfortable-looking couch is enough to make Magnus ache all over, and not in a good way. “Over the holidays? Are you that problematic your friends or family can’t help you out?”
Although Alec rolls his eyes in response as he takes his turn to freshen up, Magnus doesn’t miss the injury his teasing seems to cause and finds himself in the weird position of feeling sorry for him.
Definitely too much alcohol.
When Alec returns, Magnus manages to surprise them both by saying, “Listen, if the prospect of crashing at mine for a few days doesn’t scare the shit out of you, there’s a spare bedroom you can use, free of charge.” Unnerved, he rushes on. “Free of any expectation of sexual favours too, I might add. Or even conversation, for that matter.”
Alec looks dumbstruck, and honestly, Magnus can’t blame him. “Why would you do that for me?”
Good fucking question.
“I’m not sure,” he shrugs, suddenly missing the comfort of their mutual antagonism. “I guess, it doesn’t sit right with me that there’s no on-site medical assistance if that thing leaves you with spinal damage, or maybe I’m just curious what Christmas with The Grinch is really like. Does it matter?”
Alec looks as unsure as Magnus feels at first, but then he looks over at the offending furniture and squares his shoulders, offering Magnus his first genuine smile.
Even if there’s a hint of mischief about it which makes Magnus even more nervous.
Then it’s Alec’s turn to surprise them both by saying, “I love a challenge, so I gratefully accept your generous offer. Thank you, Magnus.”
Magnus? Since when has he been anything other than ‘Bane.’ Or much worse.
After a surreal moment of blind panic, Magnus remembers his manners. “You’re welcome, Alec.” That got its own reaction too, so maybe they’re both feeling a little bit…spooked.
“So, do we do this now or after the party?” Alec asks, and once again Magnus is left feeling off-kilter with this new semi-civilised dynamic between them.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could do with at least one more stiff drink before we set up temporary home together. So how about we return to the party for say, an hour, and agree to meet outside to share a taxi back? Make that around the corner, just in case. And for the sake of our reputations, and sanity, I think it best that we do this as discreetly as possible. Sound good?”
Barely suppressing a chuckle, Alec nods and then, as an afterthought, picks up his phone from the desk. “In case something delays one of us, it might be a good idea to swap numbers? What do you think?”
“Makes sense, I suppose.” With a wry shake of his head, Magnus unlocks his phone and exchanges it for Alec’s so they can both tap in their digits. Handing them back is comically awkward because this cordiality is so foreign to them, but with an almost bashful, “See ya,” Magnus heads back up to the party.
Slipping back into the conference hall ahead of Alec, Magnus immediately orders two of the mixologist’s strongest concoctions and spends the rest of the allotted time circling the room, pretending not to be fully aware of an equally parched Alec, while sporting a raging hard-on for the man.
What the hell is he going to be like when they’re sharing an apartment?
Despite his anxiety over this crackpot idea, heightened by the alcohol no doubt, Magnus can’t deny the thrill it gives him to find Alec waiting for him, as arranged. It’s probably the adrenaline rush of a new experience. Nothing more.
Alec’s reading his face again as he approaches. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m as sure as I was when I made the offer, put it that way,” is his honest reply as they both get in the taxi and Magnus gives the driver his address.
As they pull into traffic, Magnus tries to appear unaffected by the mere inches between them, but when Alec covers them by leaning in close and waits for Magnus to look at him, he manages to undo all his good work.
“Just for the record,” he says conversationally, “although you’ve made it clear sexual favours aren’t transactionary, I want you to know I’m more than happy to help with any contributions you might need. So don’t hesitate to ask. Okay?”
Understanding, clear as a bell, passes between them.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
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Waking up in darkness because of a desperate need for the toilet, Magnus is reminded straight away of the whirlwind events of last night when he feels the chill of early morning on his bare skin instead of the warmth of his sheets, and makes contact with something solid when he tries to find out where they’ve gone.
Shit. So much for Alec using the spare bed. They’d completely barrelled past it in their inebriated haste to feel the novelty of a bed beneath them for a change. Magnus can’t complain though, even if his muscles are starting to. The sex, what he could remember of it, had been fantastically filthy and exhausting.
Bleary-eyed, he tries to make out the silhouette next to him but he gives up and weaves an uneven path to the bathroom, still careful not to let the dim lights disturb the adorable little snores of the sleeping beauty in his bed.
Although when he sees the prominence of the hard-to-hide hickey said beauty has stamped on his neck, Magnus feels very little regret over stealing back his covers when he climbs back into bed to get more shut eye. If he’s going to have to deal with the reality of his private, peaceful place being disrupted by his combustible companion, he reckons he’s going to need all the energy-restoring rest he can get.
Which turns out to be absolutely right when he wakes again later to the unsettling (but not unappreciated) sight of a shirtless Alec standing in his kitchen making breakfast. Which he concedes, smells heavenly, but the way those black pants sit low on his hips is even more mouth-watering in his opinion.
As if he knows he’s the target of a pair of hungry eyes, Alec looks up from flipping the bacon to give Magnus his own thorough appraisal, which leaves his mind as scrambled as the eggs being cooked. And starving.
Padding closer to inspect the contents of Alec’s organised chaos with a pleased smile, this picture of domesticity is unexpectedly appealing, and as if that wasn’t dangerous enough, Alec’s affable, “Good morning,” gives him the ridiculous urge to reply with a lingering kiss.
Come to think of it, they didn’t really do kissing. Their interactions were primarily steeped in aggression, and how quickly they could assuage their inconvenient but undeniable attraction. Glancing at those tempting lips now, Magnus finds he’d very much like to try kissing them properly.
And still get to bite, lick and suck too, of course.
“Good morning to you too,” is all he chooses to say though, but from the contemplative expression that Alec’s also wearing, that seems to be more than enough.
“I hope you don’t mind me taking the initiative,” Alec says, sweeping one of those graceful gestures he’d witnessed at the party over the debris on the counters.
“Not at all,” Magnus admits, and sets about getting their drinks ready. He knows his rumpled appearance is a world away from his usual well-groomed self, but knowing they’re both going to see sides of each other they haven’t previously been allowed to see makes it a little less daunting.
When they’re ready to eat, Magnus compliments the chef (is Alec blushing?) and makes a concerted effort to find relatively safe topics to talk about as they enjoy the excellent food.
Though it’s a Herculean task when there’s a half-naked man with the physical features of a matinee idol sitting a few feet away. Oh, and wearing your marks like he’s happy to show them off.
Magnus receives a lop-sided grin for failing to rein in a heaving sigh any debutante of old would’ve been proud of.
Making it to the end of their meal without further embarrassment, Magnus clears the table and gives Alec a cursory tour of the apartment, including the aforementioned spare room that neither is as sure will be needed any more.
If this all goes horribly wrong, at least it’s lockable, Magnus muses, as he finishes with an offer to make them dinner and cocktails later which Alec graciously accepts with something dangerously close to humility.
He can only wonder if this new-found, tentative truce will last until this absurdly unforeseen situation is resolved, either with one of their customary arguments or with Alec moving out.
The thought doesn’t make him as happy as it would have a mere day or two ago, and it is way too early in the day for Magnus to be deep-diving into his complicated feelings for Mr Lightwood.
Catching the quizzical look Alec has trained on him, Magnus wonders if his penchant for trying to read Magnus’s thoughts is revealing too much already and decides their best bet at surviving these holidays is to probably stick to what they know best.
Challenging each other, and fucking. They’re already gifts in Magnus’s eyes, at least.
With that decision in mind, Magnus suggests a shared shower in the interests of saving water which, quite literally, goes down well, followed by him breaking out the Scrabble to almost guarantee some passionate argument which, funnily enough, also goes down well.
So much so, that when they’re lying sated and sprawled amongst the disputed letters in the middle of the living room floor, Magnus is much more confident that they’ll survive the holidays without wanting to strangle one another.
Maybe.
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