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The first time that Alec commits treason for Magnus is six months after the wedding-that-wasn’t.
The boundaries between them have always had the same haziness as the air drifting up from sun-baked sand in the desert - visible, yes, but blurred. There is an inevitable, crystalline awareness that they are the sworn and avowed leaders of two peoples who have been at war more frequently than they have been at peace. They are each beloved of the other, but there is a line that they do not cross.
This far you may come, but no farther.
Pandemonium is Magnus’ court, the stronghold of the united Downworld in the years since Magnus has taken on the title and the responsibilities of Consular High Warlock. It is sanctuary and haven, tribunal and forum, fortress and command post. When Magnus is seated on his throne, there is no question as to who rules.
Magnus rarely brings home that piece of his work to the loft. Occasionally, however, needs must, and after one particularly vexing evening of court Magnus finds himself sprawled in his favorite chair looking over Pandemonium’s security plans when Alec slips through his wards after a shift on patrol.
Magnus glances up, enjoying the show as Alec pauses in the entryway to divest himself of bow and blades, hanging them up carefully on the handsome rack that Magnus had made him a few weeks prior. His quiver is next and then his heavy patrol leathers, boots untied and slipped onto a heavily spelled tray waiting under the small entry table. The spell on the tray is touch activated and a sweep of Magnus’ magic pulses outwards, vanishing any traces of ichor or blood that Alec’s runes may have missed.
The pulse washes over his lover and partner as well as his weapons, and a discreet ember darts inside Alexander instead of over. Intimate and perhaps a little too invasive without permission, but Magnus treasures the reassurance that Alec is uninjured. The little ember only reluctantly returns to Magnus after parting from the warm embrace of Alec’s core.
Alec pads over on silent feet to drop a kiss on Magnus’ brow, and Magnus doesn’t hide the appreciative, lingering sweep of his eyes up from Alec’s bare feet to the thin black shirt skimming over his trim waist and clinging to the archer’s muscular shoulders.
Disarmed and dressed only in his loose, comfortable underclothing, a tender adoration in Alec’s gaze as he meets Magnus’ unglamoured eyes, Alec looks like Magnus’ gentle boy and not the implacable Commander of the New York Institute. Like this, it’s hard to reconcile his darling with the cool lethality and the brilliant statecraft that has made Alec into the most influential member of the Clave in his generation.
The silence in the loft is broken only by the crackles of burning logs in a newly conjured fireplace at Magnus’ side, the night too crisp and gray to resist a cheerful hearth to light his reading. Alec doesn’t break the comfortable quiet as he moves behind Magnus’ chair to drape his arms across his partner's shoulders in a loose hug.
Magnus hums in pleasure as Alec nuzzles the top of his head, breathing in the sandalwood scent of Magnus’ shampoo, his limbs loosening gradually with each breathy, happy sigh until Magnus has a boneless, contented Shadowhunter draped over him like a particularly lethal blanket.
Alec remains unmoving long enough that Magnus returns to the papers in his lap, enjoying the closeness and partially wondering if his boy has truly managed to fall asleep standing up.
The loft is warm and the fire is soothing, a calm tranquility lending an odd stillness to the night even as Magnus signs another declaration with a muted flourish, wary of waking the nephilim pillowed on his head.
A third tasking sent off in a flurry of sparks finally nudges Alexander from his impromptu slumber, and Magnus feels the butterfly kiss of Alec’s eyelashes fluttering open in his hair. There’s the sound of a muffled yawn above him and then a warm kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. Magnus suppresses a shiver of arousal.
A second kiss is pressed to the corner of his ear and then Alexander tightens his arms across Magnus’ chest and leans down to nestle his chin in the curve between Magnus’ neck and shoulder. The top of Alec’s cheek is warm and supple against the slight scruff on the bottom of Magnus’ own, and Magnus quickly begins to lose all interest in the papers yet to be signed in his lap.
Alexander, however, glances down to see what Magnus is reading and abruptly stills.
Magnus looks down as well.
Oh.
Spread across a sheaf of deceptively mundane paper is the security plan for Pandemonium, for Magnus’ court. The current peace between the Downworld and the Clave is newer even than the crimson gloss painted across Magnus’ lips, and Magnus would be a fool not to plan for the security of his people if it fails.
He waits for Alec to stiffen, to apologize and move away, pretending he’d never noticed the demarcations for positioning of fatal wards to best stop advancing nephilim, the handwritten notes listing the best defenses against Shadowhunter blades. They are each other’s beloved, but they are also leaders. This far you may come, but no farther.
Magnus already mourns the comforting weight of Alexander pliant against him.
But Alec doesn’t move away. Instead, Alec sinks himself deeper into Magnus, pressing himself until Magnus feels the passage of air through Alec’s lungs, until Alec can only swallow if Magnus allows it, if Magnus shifts with the dig of Alec’s chin into his shoulder.
Alec holds himself carefully and a tentative hand moves from Magnus’ chest to the security plans in his lap. Curious, Magnus permits it.
An archer’s calloused fingers are traced around the edges of ward-lines, they linger on the notes for fortifications meant to trap and kill his own kind.
The fire crackles.
“Your wards are focused too heavily on pre-existing entrances.” Alec’s voice isn’t a whisper when he speaks. Soft, yes, but there’s no hesitation, no wavering uncertainty that lowers his volume so his words are released into the quiet as a hidden secret.
“Everyone wards their doors and windows, but people forget that with runes it’s just as easy for Shadowhunters to come through the walls. And they’re never as well-protected.”
Magnus is frozen. He doesn’t dare turn his head to meet his darling’s eyes, doesn’t dare risk moving and dislodging Alec from his spot on Magnus’ shoulder.
Those calloused fingers that have dealt swift death to uncountable demons, to no small number of Circle members, that have delicately traced Magnus’ skin in such worshipful adoration that it’s left him blinking back tears of disbelieving wonder, tap firmly against the floor plans.
Alec is pointing to an unremarkable second level wall on Pandemonium’s eastern side. “Here,” he says. “The lack of mundane-built entrances would minimize the projected lethality of extant wards. A rune here would allow us entry to the catwalk, giving aerial superiority with ranged weapons over anyone on the main floor and a clean run to the VIP level where you hold court.” He taps again for emphasis. “Plus, it’s on the eastern wall. Attacking right before sunrise would allow for us to catch a good half of your forces while they’re at minimum awareness and would provide a simple means of denying terrain to any vampires, leaving the Downworld with significantly lessened close-range attack capabilities. That wall is where you should focus your wards.”
Alec stops speaking. He waits for a moment for a response before turning his head to the side, his lips seeking the pulse point on Magnus’ throat. The press of another warm kiss is near dichotomous against the casual treason that has just been spilled into the air.
Alec’s tongue nips out in a playful request for attention when Magnus remains unmoving.
Woodenly, Magnus acquiesces. His magic is writhing, the little ember that had so sullenly left Alec’s core earlier to inform Magnus that his boy was healthy and hale gleefully sparking across his skin to sink back into Alexander without Magnus’ conscious permission. He couldn’t maintain control of his glamour now even if he wanted to, so he doesn’t bother to try.
Magnus blinks wide, golden eyes at his partner. “Alexander.”
Alec just looks back at him, breathing deep and even. No doubt or regret for his decision.
“I choose you,” Alec says simply. “I will protect those sworn to me with every breath I have. I won’t betray their loyalty or allegiance, but no one sworn to my name will ever be part of an attack on you. I will not allow that even should it mean breaking from the Clave and my Institute standing apart from our brother and sister nephilim.”
Magnus breathes out shakily, liquid-warmth welling in his eyes. “Sayang..” he trails off, no more words possible through his constricted throat. Raising a single hand, he cups Alec cheek and his beloved simply closes his eyes and nuzzles into Magnus’ palm.
“I choose you.”