Fic: Recoil & Grace [Shadowhunters]

  • May. 5th, 2016 at 12:09 AM
kelleigh: (shadow [alec] god in human form)
I don't know if anyone is interested, but I started watching Shadowhunters because I needed something fun to pull me out of my depressing thoughts, and I got more than I bargained for with Alec Lightwood & Magnus Bane. So I jumped in and wrote this as a palate cleanser after turning in my [ profile] spn_j2_bigbang draft. Alec is just too repressed and honorable for his own good, and Magnus is a delight. Matthew Daddario and Harry Shum, Jr. bring them to life so well ♥

Here, have some encouragment!

Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood. R [Mature].
Set Post-'Morning Star' [Season Finale].
After Isabelle's trial, Alec fulfills his end of the bargain, handing over his most prized possession to Magnus Bane. When the warlock gives the bow right back, everything Alec thought he knew begins to change.

notes. Basically I’m obsessed with Alec and his bow and what it must have meant to him when Magnus handed it back after Isabelle’s trial…

“I don’t know what to do with these. You keep them for me.”

It’s the same bow.

Alec knows this. Repeats it like a mantra whenever he closes his hand around the grip. He knows its weight, the slope of its curves, the song of its bowstring.

And yet, it’s somehow more. As if calling it Magnus’ bow changes its properties.

Magnus’ bow. The thought doesn’t come with the bitter aftertaste Alex expects. He turns it over and over in his head in the dark when he’s lying on his bed at the Institute, unable to sleep, hands clenched at his sides. He thinks about the moment when he handed the bow over to Magnus, fulfilling their contract, and how gently Magnus held his most prized possession.

A few precious seconds in the warlock’s hands were more than enough to imbue the treasured objects with power, a magic unique to one man. Alec can’t remember Magnus’ fingers glowing blue while he held the weapons, but then he wasn’t paying attention to his hands. Not with the kinds of things he had to say to Alec.

Regardless of the outcome of Isabelle’s trial, Alec owed Magnus for his help, knowing full well they’d both taken a chance on the other. And he’s grateful that Magnus didn’t refuse payment outright. Alec didn’t want to be in his debt the same way he imagined Magnus wouldn’t want to hold that over Alec’s head. For all his smirks and games and flashy flirtations, Magnus would never stand for Alec to feel obligated to him in any way.

“Free of charge.”

“Pro bono.”

The bow performs better now, arrows slicing through the air with abnormal speed. Alec’s aim is deadlier, too. Whatever magic transferred to the bow, some of it must have soaked into Alec’s skin, enhancing his senses. He feels it each time he nocks an arrow. It leaves his fingers tingling but it also helps him learn the texture of Magnus’ magic.

After Valentine steals the Cup, the Shadowhunters need not look far to find a challenge. Demons are more prevalent than ever. Some are being controlled by the Mortal Cup, but many others have been lured by the unrest. Not to mention the rogue Shadowhunters and lowly Forsaken newly created by Valentine using the Cup with inconsistent results.

They work on getting Jace back first, with the Institute on lockdown until they do. Magnus Bane is one of the few non-Shadowhunters permitted on site during that time, doing everything he can to help. There aren’t words for how fitting it is to have the warlock here with him. Alec can let go, fall back on him, and let Magnus remind him that he’s good enough to find his parabatai and bring him home.

And when they succeed, they celebrate. Four Shadowhunters, a vampire, and a warlock in said warlock’s loft. Eventually only Alec is left, drained by the stress of the last two weeks but content that his true family is back together. He sprawls out on Magnus’ couch, waiting. He lifts his arm when Magnus returns from the bedroom, most of his jewelry removed, and the two of them relax side by side.

Alec asks about the bow.

“Any magic in your bow comes from here.” Magnus lays his hand over Alec’s heart. “I had nothing to do with it, my dear archer.”

Too tired to chase explanations, Alec shifts them until Magnus is reclining against the pillows, Alec stretched out with his head on Magnus’ chest. As much bodily contact as he can manage. If Magnus is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Alec falls asleep like this, one of Magnus’ hands combing gently through his hair, the other wrapped around his back.

He sleeps better than he has since this whole business with the Mortal Cup began.

A week later, Alec trails a demon back to its lair where, if things have gone according to plan, Jace, Izzy, and Clary have dealt with the other creatures.

Apparently they’ve underestimated the number of demons in this circle.

Magnus, with his sixth sense for knowing when Alec is in trouble, arrives in the thick of the fight, just in time to see Alec take out a trio of demons in a matter of seconds. The shafts of his arrows glow red on the concrete floor once the demons have combusted, leaving nothing behind but ash. Magnus gifts him with an approving smile and a wink before handling his own foe in a flourish of cobalt light.

When the demons are reduced to nothing, Alec sticks close to Magnus after he opens a portal to the Institute for the others. Alec doesn’t even think about returning with them. Not tonight. Izzy is more than capable of reporting on his behalf. His sister glances back just before she steps through the warlock’s portal, smirking in that infuriating way Izzy has perfected.

Alec carries his bow and quiver through the second portal Magnus creates and into the loft. He sets the weapons reverently on Magnus’ table. As if he is returning them to their rightful owner, which, in a way, he is.

Magnus disappears for a moment, returning sans his boots, belt, and the intricate silver necklace he’d worn over the high collar of his sapphire shirt. Alec’s gaze catches on the bare skin of Magnus’ feet. The delicate, honeyed skin over fine bones. He looks up only to be snared again by the soft skin at his throat where Magnus has partially unbuttoned his shirt, the angle of his collarbones as they sweep away towards his shoulders.

There’s no safe place for Alec’s gaze. Magnus’ hair is combed to the side in a high arch, the ends brushed with gold. His eyes are lined with obsidian dust and pure moonlight. His hands, always moving, are long and elegant even without the rings he’s usually wearing.

Magnus mistakes his silence for contemplation.

“You’re not still thinking I poured some of my magic into your bow, are you?” he asks, laughter in his eyes.

Alec wasn’t planning on bringing that up again, no matter how often he considers the idea, but he isn’t sure how else to explain it.

“I can.” Magnus brushes by him. Alec smells clove and citrus in the air as he does.

“I remember the moment I first saw you. Shooting the demon sent to kill me. An expert shot. Today was no different.”

Still, Alec can’t deny that the bow feels more powerful in his hands.

“The bow is just a tool. You give the bow its power. Can’t you see it, Alec?”

Drawn closer, Alec slips into Magnus’ space, at ease despite the fact that his heart has begun to race. He’s not entirely certain he wouldn’t break apart into a million pieces if Magnus touched him right now.

“You’re not hiding anymore. By admitting who you truly are, you’re no longer using part of your energy keeping everyone at a distance. It’s confidence, Alec. You’ve always been strong. Capable. Fierce. Now you’ve been unleashed. A true warrior.”

Alec can’t say anything. Why is it that he’s so often rendered speechless in front of this man? No one has ever affected him the way Magnus does. Naive lust and adolescent feelings carried into adulthood were snuffed out even before Alec stepped down from the altar on the day of his wedding and kissed Magnus in front of dozens of witnesses.

There are no witnesses here tonight, but the kiss is no less spectacular.

Magnus responds with light pressure, his lips soft against Alec’s, but it isn’t enough. Alec craves something he hasn’t put a name to yet. He’s flying blind, afraid that if he lets his body lead, he’ll end up crashing.

So he pulls away. A mistake, it seems, because the first things he sees when he does are Magnus’ lips parted around a sigh, their reddish hue appealing. It’s all he can do not to fall onto them again and memorize their taste.

“What is it?” Magnus asks. Alec could tell him any one of a thousand things. Ranging from I’m sorry I tried to fight this to I wish our hearts could beat in the same rhythm.

He aims for the middle and tells Magnus he wants to stay here tonight.

“I always want you to stay, Alexander. My home is much brighter with you in it.”

Confessions like that, stated calmly and without artifice, cause Alec’s heart to trip over itself. He hides his reaction in Magnus’ shoulder, eyes closed, just breathing in the warlock, pure wonder at how he’s earned this immortal’s kindness and understanding when so many others fear his power.

He can feel Magnus tense when Alec asks if they can move to the bedroom.

Barely louder than an exhale, Magnus says, “Lead the way, darling.”

As they pass, Alec glances at his weapons on the table, deciding that whether or not the warlock will admit it, the weapons are more now. More powerful, decisive, unfailing. And so is he.

Maybe belonging to Magnus Bane isn’t such a bad thing.

Something changes when Alec draws Magnus to the side of the bed. Choosing not to fight his instincts, he pulls Magnus in for another kiss, this one deep and consuming. In a matter of moments, Alec is flushed, his hands shaking. That stops as soon as he lays them on Magnus, one on his chest and one grasping the back of his neck, unwilling to allow any space to come between them.

Magnus shudders, clutches Alec’s back. His strong fingers reassure and encourage, approval in every note of the beautiful sounds coming from his throat.

It’s Alec who moves them to the bed, clumsily stepping his way out of his boots and praying Magnus doesn’t mind his stumbling.

He’s not used to this kind of decadence around him. The Institute may be well appointed, and certain discerning sisters might spend more time than necessary redecorating, but it’s nothing like Magnus’ bedroom. Silk sheets, full pillows, gilded mirrors. Candles summoned with a wave of Magnus’ fingers. But Alec only cares about what’s in front of him. Namely Magnus kneeling and leaning close, his fingers slipping under Alec’s shirt, eyes smoky and seductive. No one has ever looked at Alec like this.

When Magnus is looking at Alec, he feels like he’s more than a simple Shadowhunter tasked with the impossible.

Heat builds, spreads. Magnus touches Alec the way Alec handles his bow. Knowing that worth goes beyond form and basic function.

“Alexander,” he whispers against Alec’s lips, “do you want this?”

The answer goes beyond words, so Alec kisses him again. In this at least he’s gained enough confidence. Shirts are removed and flung aside in the otherwise pristine room. Alec aligns his body with Magnus’, pressing their bare chests together. His head is spinning as he drinks in all the skin-to-skin contact.

When Alec finally finds his words, he uses them to beg Magnus for more. For everything.

Magnus’ smile is brighter than any witchlight. “We’ll have plenty of time for everything.” He strokes the side of Alec’s face, thumb dragging across his bottom lip. Alec adds that to his ever-growing list of things that make him weak in the knees. “For now, just lie back and let me give you more.”

Alec has touched himself many times. To learn, to explore, to relieve the ache in his chest that came from watching Jace too closely when they were teenagers. He pleasured himself when it was necessary, accepting that it might be the closest he would ever come to having what he craved.

None of it compares to being touched by Magnus. To having the warlock so close, their shadows move as one. Magnus’s eyes never leave Alec’s face as his hands smooth down Alec’s torso, cupping the curve of his hip before moving lower. Alec arches his back, brushing his lips across Magnus’, doubting his own ability to last when just the sensation of Mangus’ fingers teasing the open fly of his pants causes him to buck against the warlock.

“I can stop,” Magnus offers when Alec bites his own lip to hold back a low cry. “This is already perfect.”

That’s the last thing Alec wants, and he demonstrates by placing his hand over Magnus’ on his stomach. Slowly, surely, he presses until Magnus takes the hint and their hands move lower. Together, they slide their hands over the runes on Alec’s torso, past his open fly, and into his underwear where Alec is hard and desperate for the attention.

“You’re lucky black works so well on you,” Magnus says when he catches sight of Alec’s boxer-briefs. He winks. “Though I’d rather see you in nothing at all.”

Alec wants to shake his head and hide from the lust in the warlock’s dark eyes. He’s too close, however, too needy to do anything other than fit his hand around Magnus’ when he grips Alec’s cock. Magnus leans into his side, lips traipsing along Alec’s jaw line, down his neck and over the prominent rune drawn there. The mark burns, not at all unpleasantly, and the resulting heat travels the length of his body to settle between his legs.

Magnus is fascinated—there’s no other word for it—by Alec’s reactions. For him to look at Alec with such awe, after all he must have seen in his long life, is miraculous. He hopes Magnus never stops looking at him this way. Wanting him this way.

Magnus is right there to catch the sounds Alec makes while he strokes him, responding to the pressure of Alec’s hand and learning how Alec likes to touch himself. Deliberate and slow at first, then light and fast, twisting on the upstroke. Soon, Alec can’t even do that, letting go of Magnus, who doesn’t miss a beat, and using his now-free hand to shove his pants and briefs further down his thighs.

He wants to see this. Tips his chin and looks down the length of his body as Magnus does the same. Both of them staring enraptured as the head of Alec’s cock disappears over and over again in Magnus’ fist. They breathe in sync, faster and faster as Alec comes to his peak and tips over.

Alec hears Magnus whisper reverently over his own cry.


He’s barely aware of surging up, taking Magnus’ lips and parting them with his tongue. Kissing him fiercely as the pleasure crests and finally begins to fade, welcoming Magnus’ tongue into his own mouth and sucking gently on the tip. He’s not sure where that came from, but given the way Magnus thrusts against his hip, it’s an action he’ll be repeating many times in the future.

“That was perfect,” Magnus tells Alec when their eyes meet, heading off most of his fears. “You’re remarkable, Alec.”

Alec stares into Magnus’ bedroom eyes, smoky and smudged, overcome with the need to see Magnus fall apart. The urge surprises him, this desire to reciprocate, but he wants to learn what Magnus craves. Where he likes to be touched. What expression he’ll wear when he comes, and the way he’ll say Alec’s name when he does.

Sliding his arm around Magnus’ back, Alec pulls him onto his chest in one smooth motion. This way he can touch to his heart’s content, fingers running up and down the length of Magnus’ spine, feeling the subtle thrusts of his hips. Magnus leans up for a kiss, and Alec can’t help but smile when he feels the evidence of the warlock’s arousal against his stomach. Bolder than he thought he could be, Alec reaches between them and undoes the metal catch at Magnus’ waist, working the zipper down until he can shimmy the pants over his ass, freeing his erection. Alec can’t see what kind of underwear Magnus is wearing, but it’s silky under his palms, the kind of decadence he’s come to expect.

He’s relieved Magnus doesn’t try to stop him. Alec is nervous, but it’s as if his hands possess a knowledge all their own. They’re confident when they touch Magnus, skimming from shoulder to waist, mapping the muscle and planes he’s only felt through clothing. Magnus is strong; he’s so much more than magic and wit.

It secretly pleases Alec to know he’s one of the few who gets to see behind the mask Magnus wears for the the other Shadowhunters and Downworlders.

“You’re far too tempting,” Alec hears Magnus say, muffled by the press of lips to shoulder.

He doesn’t want Magnus to resist, swinging one knee out to the side and giving Magnus more room to grind against him. Magnus is swift to respond, resting his forehead on Alec’s as he brings his hips forward, erection caught between them. Alec can’t blink, can’t look away from the ecstasy on Magnus’ face, bone structure highlighted by the warm light of the candles. The way his lips part around every little gasp, his eyes flashing gold as his glamour finally drops. This close, Alec sees every detail of his unusual eyes, the narrow pupils, the unnatural glow. They’re beautiful, and he’s not afraid to tell Magnus.

“Just kiss me, Alexander,” Magnus begs and Alec is happy to obey.

Tongues entwined, Alec holds Magnus close as he thrusts, hips gradually losing their rhythm the more frantic he gets. He thrusts haphazardly, held in place by Alec’s arms wound around his lower back, until he’s panting his climax into Alec’s mouth.

If someone told Alec he’d end up here tonight, half-naked and covered in their mixed release, with an equally undressed warlock lying across his chest, he would have scoffed in disbelief. Magnus has a way of making Alec face his desires, with spectacular results.

“I’ve lived for centuries,” Magnus says, catching his breath, “and that’s never happened to me before. I’m usually...more impressive than that.”

Alec smiles. His way of assuring Magnus that his stamina isn’t what makes him impressive in Alec’s regard. Magnus turns his head, a matching grin on his face. His eyes are back to their usual crystalline brown, equally alluring in their glamoured state.

“I meant what I said before, Alec. You’re truly a remarkable man.”

Alec feels lighter, some of his burdens burned away in the heat of new passion, as they deal with the mess they’ve made. Magnus uses his powers while Alec digs out the longest pair of lounge pants he can find in Magnus’ drawers. Back in bed and still bare-chested, Magnus is content to lie at Alec’s side, slipping his fingers between Alec’s as the magic candles begin to dim before going out completely.

Alec thinks about his bow and quiver, Magnus’ outright denial when asked if there was magic in the weapons. About his assertion that the bow derives its power from Alec, not the other way around.

In the darkness, holding the man he cares for more than anyone outside his own siblings, Alec smiles. If the power comes from him, it’s not crazy to think that Magnus had something to do with it. That Magnus somehow bestows the smallest amount of magic on Alec every time they touch.

The tingling Magnus’ fingers leave behind. The way Alec’s runes warm when he traces over them. The sensation that Alec is more than he used to be.

Alec falls asleep wondering what he has to offer Magnus in return.


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