Chapter Text
It’s the sort of stupid fight couples get into every other day during the week and twice a day on the weekends. It comes from intimacy, love, and rocketing real estate prices in New York. Take 8 million people and cram them into a small space and things are bound to get tense. Take one territorial warlock who’s lived by himself far longer than most people have been alive and things go nuclear.
“Would you just leave the dishes?” Magnus says, exasperated. It’s posed as a question, but it’s really a thinly-veiled criticism on Alec’s inability to let anything go.
Or at least that’s what Alec hears, forearms-deep in soapy water. “You just can’t leave messes, or magic them away,” Alec insists, stung.
What Magnus hears is a searing diatribe on how he prefers to run away from problems rather than confront them, mixed in with a typical Nephilim distrust of Warlock magic.
“Well, if you hate my magic that much, maybe you should just sleep on the couch,” Magnus snarls before making a tactical retreat into the bedroom. He slams the door with magic just to be a jerk.
“He can spend the night with his precious clean dishes for all I care,” he tells Chairman Meow, who looks deeply unconcerned with the whole matter.
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Magnus cannot sleep.
He tosses and turns, punches his pillow a few times before finally giving up. He’s gotten used to sleeping with Alec, is all. He likes folding his body around Alec’s, lulled to sleep by his breathy snores and vague worries of sleep apnea. Alec’s skin against his, tracing his dark runes with the tip of his finger while Alec’s breath hitches. The sheets are a poor substitute. He’s hit by a wave of longing so fierce that it makes his eyes prickle. No doubt Alec is beating himself up over their petty squabble, and Magnus should go get him before he can suffer too much.
Magnus creeps towards the door and eases it open, to see Alec curled on the couch, sleeping peacefully.
The motherfucker is sleeping.
Magnus shouldn’t take as much pleasure as he does in this, but he’s half-human. “You should come to bed,” he yells right against Alec’s ear.
Alec flails awake, eyes wide, clutching his chest. “What, when?” he gasps when he sees Magnus.
“You should come to bed,” Magnus repeats, tamping down his inappropriate urge to laugh. Alec’s hair looks like he had a disastrous flirtation with an electrical outlet.
“I’m very comfortable here,” Alec says, eyes cool and disinterested, cracking his neck loudly, and clutching at a throw blanket that only goes to his ankles.
“No, you aren’t,” Magnus says, watching Alec rub his back discreetly. “This is silly. This whole argument is ridiculous.”
“The only way I’m sleeping in your bed tonight is if you carry me,” Alec says and stretches out as much as he can on the couch, turning his back pointedly to Magnus.
Alec’s determination, his ability to fight against insurmountable odds unflinchingly and bravely is one of the traits Magnus most loves about him, but tonight, it’s just pissing him off. Magnus narrows his eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asks, voice low.
“Take it however you want,” Alec mumbles into the cushions, a smug set to his shoulders.
Magnus takes a few deep, bracing breaths, then scoops Alec up in bridal carry while Alec squawks, “What the fuck!”
Magnus is a strong guy, works out regularly, has the power from a Prince of Hell surging through his veins, but Alec - Alec is fucking heavy.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Alec asks, anger replaced with mild worry. “Because you’re sweating and I don’t feel like being dropped on my head.”
“Look, I’m very masculine,” Magnus huffs, “and I will love and cherish you no matter what age and weight you are throughout the years, but I beg of you, right now, do shut up and let me concentrate.” Alec looks so slim, but his muscles are made of fucking bricks. Magnus feels a little like Sisyphus rolling an impossible boulder uphill. Why is his bedroom so far away? Who needs this much space in a home?
Alec looks doubtful, but he does lean closer, loops an arm around Magnus’ neck to make it easier.
On occasion, Magnus is baffled by his own behavior. He isn’t sure when this stopped being an argument and became a testament to his virility, but here he is: wheezing while stumbling towards the bed, refusing to take the easy way out and use magic, mainly because he has the vague recollection that had something to do with how this whole thing began.
He drops Alec in a heap on the bed, victorious.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Alec says and Magnus holds up a hand in thanks while he catches his breath.
Alec comes back a few moments later and hands Magnus a glass, which Magnus gratefully shotguns.
“Come to bed?” he asks and Alec stretches out beside him, curling into the warmth of Magnus’ body. “I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”
“I was doing dishes,” Alec says against Magnus’ shoulder.
“It’s an expression, Alexander,” Magnus chides gently. But his curiosity has been piqued, and he does what he should have done in the first place. He rolls over to face Alec, asks, “Why do you insist on doing the dishes?”
“Why won’t you let me? Why won’t you let me do something for you? You’re always taking care of everyone else.”
Magnus watches Alec. He can easily pick out Alec’s familiar features in the dark, from his pursed lips to his eyes, blinking slowly, like the drowsy beat of butterfly wings. He cannot remember a time or imagine a future in which he will not love this face. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he admits. He tucks his head into Alec’s chest, says, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Alec says, carding his hands through Magnus’ hair in a soothing pattern. Magnus’ eyelids droop as all the tension leaves his body.
Alec’s hands stop and Magnus feels his body shift.
“I’m just going to put that glass up,” Alec says.
“Leave it, Alexander,” Magnus says warningly.