#malec fandom
The Dance of Life
1/?
The afternoon light falls gently into the gym, the heat of the morning receding as the wind brings freshness from the sea, salty air flooding through the opened windows. Magnus puts the last blanket on the foot of a yoga mat and walks to the middle of the circle, lighting a candle set in a wide vase filled with sand. Relaxing music is softly playing in the background, and Magnus takes a deep breath. It’s still half an hour until his course starts, but it’s the day after the new arrivals, and he makes sure to be ready early for the questions that his new clients often prefer to ask before other entrants arrive.
Magnus loves his job: the beautiful view of the rolling hills that he has through the large windows in this room, his colleagues – medical and non-medical ones alike – and the clients, of course, who come here to recover from illnesses that disrupted their lives, trying to find themselves, mourning the innocence and old ease they lost, and revive what’s possible, creating new patterns on the way.
Magnus stretches his body and rolls his shoulders. The stiffness from a night spent on his sofa instead of his comfortable bed still plagues him after a morning round of pushing middle-aged women through a jazz choreography and taming a swarm of toddlers in his early dance education class. It’s fun, most days, but the afternoon will be different, and he’s looking forward to it.
He loves working here. It’s taxing but so worth it. He never thought he’d find something that would fulfil him the way his past profession did. The dancing classes pay for his bills, but this here is a labour of love, the part of his life that makes everything – even the shitty days away from the city he loves – worth it. It’s not home, but it’s safe. And that’s what he needs the most.
He walks into the space to the side of the circle that is purposefully left open for the exercises he planned for today. He moves to the music, his body flowing easily with the rhythm. There are no jumps, no pirouettes, no need to look strong and pretty. He gives himself to the music for a few long minutes, until a slight cough pulls him out of his trance.
He swirls around, the move elegant and graceful. He has a warm smile playing on his lips, ready to ease the concerns and doubts of whoever came early to put out feelers if this is the right place to start their recovery journey.
It’s only thanks to decades of perfecting the control of his body that the start ripping through him as he looks at the source of the sound doesn’t let him end up on his bottom. The man standing just inside his room is breathtaking.
‘Who are you?’ Magnus thinks, flooded by a curious pull tugging on his senses. He stops himself from indulging in it. This man might be a new colleague he hasn’t met yet or a client looking for directions. It’s easy to lose oneself in the long corridors and different wings of the building. So he rights his clothes in an attempt to straighten his thoughts and asks, “How can I help you, sir?”
The man blushes adorably, a shy smile growing on his face. The stranger considers the set-up, and Magnus uses the moment to let his eyes run over him. He’s handsome, his dark hair an adorable mess, his jaw sharp with a scruff to die for. Magnus suppresses a sigh and blinks himself out of the staring, just in time for it not to be noticed. At least, he hopes he managed that.
“Um… is this the dance therapy class?” the stranger asks.
Magnus nods. “Yes. But it’s still twenty minutes until we start. Are you looking for someone?”
“Yeah,” the beautiful man chuckles. “You. I first didn’t want to come, even though a friend of mine highly recommended it. I wasn’t sure if I fit in here, but then I saw that you’re a man, and I thought, if I’m not the only one, then…” he trails off and moves his arms behind his back, keeping them there. He looks like a relaxed soldier, Magnus thinks, if there’s even such a thing.
“Oh, you wanna join?” Magnus asks, delight spreading on his face. He barely has men attending. It’s likely because the clinic management is a bit old-school and advertises his courses mostly to women. They’re probably worried that Magnus’ optics might confuse fragile men, who think of all of this as unmasculine. As if men wouldn’t carry the need to be home in their bodies and feel themselves, too.
“Yes. My table neighbour Maia raved about how incredible you are,” the client says rolling on the balls of his feet.
Magnus smiles. Maia is here for the second time. She’s a strong woman, a fighter. He likes her.
“I’m glad she did. What’s your name, darling?” Magnus asks.
“A-Alec,” the man stutters, quirking a crooked smile.
“Oh, that’s a lovely name. I’m Magnus, but you probably already knew that,” he says and stretches out his hand. Alec’s is cold and bony in his own, but his grip is firm and the touch lingers for a long moment. He smiles shyly, and Magnus curses the butterflies storming his stomach. Really? After all this time, and then with a client?
“Um… will the others… will the women feel comfortable with me in the room?” Alec asks, nervously pinching the flesh between his thumb and pointer. Magnus squeezes his arm, hoping to ease the tension. Alec relaxes under the touch. Magnus can’t help but feel a little smug about it.
“Those who come are comfortable with me, so I doubt there’ll be any problems. We sometimes talk about personal stuff, which can be very intimate regarding why you all are here. But everything that happens in this room, stays in this room.”
“Like with Vegas,” Alec chuckles.
“Oh, nothing stays in Vegas, darling. No matter what they told you, we’re all chatterboxes. I could tell you stories from my time there,” Magnus smirks and gives him a wink.
“You were in Vegas?” Alec asks, curiosity lacing the words.
Magnus grins. “Yes, as a dancer.”
Alec’s mouth falls open. “I… I thought no dance experience is needed for this course. I haven’t busted a move in ages,” he stutters, eyes flickering through the room.
Magnus chuckles. “No worries, darling. I have a background as a professional dancer, but this here is more about natural movement and ensconcing oneself in one’s body. There is no wrong or right way to do it. It’s about feeling yourself, observing the movements inside and outwards, about being home in your own body.”
Alec huffs a mirthless laugh and runs a hand over his neck. “Yeah. I guess I could need that. Not sure if I’ll ever be.”
Magnus smiles at him warmly. “I’m sure you’ll make some progress.”
Alec nods. “Maybe I finally will… with your help,” he says, a blush spreading from the tip of his ears to under the neckline of his shirt. Magnus wonders where it ends, but he’s a professional, and he managed to go through one and a half years without falling for a patient, despite many trying to seduce him. He’s a natural flirt with everyone, but he’s not one to use people in vulnerable situations. His time of sleeping around with strangers is long gone. That was more self-harm than anything anyway. He’s good and has everything he needs. Still, Alec tickles his fancy in long-forgotten ways. But it surely is only a superficial crush. He’ll be over it soon.
Cuddle pile
Based on this prompt
Magnus leans back in the rattan chair and chooses ‘truth’.
“Are you a top or a bottom?” Jace asks.
Alec hits his parabatai over the head with one of the firm pillows from the sofa. They started to play stupid party games after realising that the born and raised shadowhunters never had heard of them. Alec is already regretting agreeing to it.
“Ouch!” Jace hisses, rubbing the painful spot. “It’s just a question.”
“He needs to answer,” Izzy points out, sounding as if she were a judge proclaiming a sentence, and takes a sip from her wine glass.
“I have no problem answering that,” Magnus says. Alec grabs his arm, eyes full of concern, but his boyfriend pats his hand. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’m not ashamed of who I am.” He leans closer to Jace and says, “It depends on the cuddle pile. I don’t want too many people on top of me. But if it’s six or less, I’m fine being at the bottom.”
Jace blinks at him while Clary falls giggling against her boyfriend’s shoulder.
“That’s not what I meant,” Jace grumbles.
“Wait,” Simon calls. “You’re fine with six people on top of you? I know you’re immortal, but as a warlock you still need to breathe, right?”
“Of course. But I actually like it sometimes—the pressure, the surrender, the feeling of being one with everyone around. Back in the 1960s, we did it all the time. We cuddled a lot. I think at some point I had The Stones and The Beatles all over me, if you know what I mean,” Magnus says and winks at Simon.
“You married the best and worst liar of all time, bro,” Jace chuckles.
“I’m not lying, Jonathan. I’m embellishing the truth,” Magnus says and snaps his fingers. Two photographs appear in his hand, one showing Paul McCartney kissing Magnus’ cheek, the other Janis Joplin sleeping wrapped over his chest.
“Damn!” Simon breathes.
“Did you sleep with them?” Clary blurts out.
“A gentleman never tells, biscuit,” Magnus replies and cuddles against his husband.
“Smooth,” Alec whispers into his ear.
“I always am, my love.”
“I still don’t believe it. No one can enjoy lying buried under a pile of people,” Jace says, mirth sparkling in his eyes.
“Is that a challenge, Mr Herondale?”
“It sure is, Mr Lightwood-Bane.”
Magnus snaps his fingers, and the coffee table is replaced with a pile of pillows.
Magnus swirls around elegantly and lands in it with a giggle.
“Challenge accepted,” he chuckles.
Alec rolls his eyes but joins him. Izzy, Clary, and Simon follow soon after, building a giggling and snickering pile of bodies.
“Come, Jonathan. I can take it.”
“Why can’t you say anything without sounding naughty?” Jace asks.
“It’s a natural talent,” Magnus quips.
“C'mere,” Alec orders. “We all know you want to.”
Jace rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
“You started it,” Magnus points out.
Jace shakes his head and carefully lowers himself onto Simon’s back.
“Told you I’m a bottom.”
A thin line
A Malec one-shot
CW - Self-harm & suicide attempt
Alec’s hand trembles as the razor blade slides into his thigh for the first time. It always does, but the pain grounds him immediately, makes his hand a bit more steady, but not much.
It used to, but that was when he was still able to feel his body. He barely does now. He hopes soon, he won’t feel anything at all, just wither away and die. The flowers on his grave will be much more beautiful than he could ever be, full of colour, full of life.
Alec can remember a time when he was like them, turning his face to the sun, eager to grow and bloom. It’s a paled memory though.
He could take a shortcut, could move the blade to his wrist and…
His eyes go to that body part of their own accord. He hates his wrist, hates the promise it holds.
Magnus.
The name of his soulmate in beautiful lettering awaits him there. It’s a gift as much as a burden. He knows someone is waiting for him, but the man can’t really want him. Not like this, a skin-covered sack of bones that still feels fat, with eyes that still see too much in the mirror, no matter what the scale says.
The razor glides into his skin, leaving mark after mark, drops of blood running away, burning and tickling just the same. Alec looks at the thin red lines, and he feels as if he can finally breathe again.
The pain in his heart is scribed in his skin, a monument of him not being as dead inside as others believe him to be.
Alec was never stoic as people claimed, he only kept it all in—the pain, the grief, the fear. His parents were too busy working, his siblings too focused on themselves. Only now that he’s waning, their focus is on him. But he doesn’t want them to look at him anymore. He’s finally in control after years of floating in the shadows.
He runs his fingers over the name on his wrist and smiles sadly. He heard when a soulmate dies young, their name disappears and is overwritten by another. Magnus will carry a new name, one that holds the future.
Tears run over Alec’s cheeks. He doesn’t bother brushing them away. He wants to feel them, wants to know he’s been alive for the last time as red tints the bathroom floor and a crimson line crosses out the name of the one he was meant to make happy.
He’s sure he will. By setting him free.
…
Alec opens his eyes, squints them against the onslaught of white. The monitor’s beeping hurts his head. A razor-sharp pain burns in his throat. He raises his hand but can only move it an inch before the restraint aborts his movement.
He opens his mouth to protest when reality kicks in and sadness washes over him.
‘No,’ he thinks and closes his eyes again. They found him. They shouldn’t have.
He moves his other hand to scratch his nose, but it is fixed just the same, mindful of the thick bandage covering his soulmate’s name.
His eyes roam the room and land on a stranger sitting in a chair, sleeping. His eyes are red and swollen, grey tear tracks covering his cheeks. He’s wearing scrubs.
Alec can’t pull his eyes off the sleeping man, the rising and falling of his chest, the colourful streaks in his hair, the nail polish glittering black.
He tries to read the man’s name on the tag, but his eyes are drier than his throat. He closes them. He doesn’t deserve beauty anyway.
Clothes are rustling and a body shifts, hands rub over itchy skin and then over Alec’s hand that had held the razor blade not too long ago.
Alec opens his eyes slowly, his gaze fixed on the calloused fingers caressing him. He whimpers, and warm eyes meet his dead ones.
A strained smile blooms on the stranger’s lips. “Hey, Alexander,” he says and brushes the hair out of Alec’s face. “How are you feeling?”
Alec fishes for words, but his tongue is stuck against the roof of his mouth. He swallows hard, then freezes. His eyes fix on the name tag, and he starts crying.
No, no, no!
“So sorry,” he croaks.
“It’s okay, Alexander. Your roommate found you just in time. Everything is going to be okay.”
Alec cries only harder. Magnus misunderstood. He’s not sorry for trying to leave this world. He’s sorry for not managing to save him from his fate. Now that he met him, there might be no new name blooming on his wrist.
Magnus fills a cup with water and holds it to Alec’s lips, gently cradling his head. Alec drinks. There’s no use in hurting his soulmate even more by denying his care.
Magnus smiles down at him.
“I sent your sister home. She needed some proper sleep. She’ll be back in the morning.”
Alec breathes a ragged sigh. “Izzy was here?”
Magnus brushes his fingers through Alec’s hair. “Of course. She was worried sick.”
Alec closes his eyes again. It’s all too much.
“As was I,” Magnus adds. “Meeting you in the shock room… Since I’ve been working in the ER I prayed not to meet my soulmate during a shift.”
Magnus’ voice wavers.
“You should have let me die,” Alec whispers.
A sob and the splatter of teardrops hitting his blanket make the guilt weigh even heavier on his chest.
“I tried to protect you,” Alec whimpers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t.”
“Don’t say that. I’m glad you’re still here. I’m glad I could meet you. Alexander, please look at me. We’re getting through this. Together.”
Alec huffs a mirthless laugh. “Look at me. This is not what you want nor what you deserve.”
“I’m looking at you, Alexander. And you’re everything I want. The angels put us together, and I won’t let this illness take you away from me.”
Alec opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Run, Magnus. Maybe it isn’t too late for you, yet.”
Magnus brushes a gentle thumb over Alec’s sunken cheek.
“Never,” he whispers. “All my life I waited to meet you, and I won’t lose you, now that I found the missing piece.”
He presses a tender kiss on Alec’s forehead. “Rest, my love. I’ll guard your sleep.”
Alec nods. He’s too tired to protest. Magnus will see reason, eventually.
…
“Ready?” Magnus asks, sticking his head through the slightly opened door.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alec says and smiles.
“It brings ill luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Izzy exclaims and shoves Magnus out of the room.
Alec chuckles. “We used up our luck even before we met,” he quips and rights his jacket.
“Don’t say that,” Izzy scolds him softly.
“Why’s that?” Rafael asks.
Alec smiles at his son. “Papa saved Daddy’s life, and that’s how we met.”
“And then, Daddy fought hard to get as healthy as he is now,” Izzy explains, pride lacing the words.
Rafael throws his arms around Alec. “I’m happy Papa saved you.”
Alec smiles and squats down. “I’m happy he did, too.”
He brushes some dirt off his toddler’s cheek and sends him off with his aunt to take their places in the chapel.
Alec looks at his reflection in the mirror. He knows he still doesn’t see his true self in it, but that’s okay. He knows his mind deceives him sometimes. But the thin line crossing Magnus’ name on his skin tells another story. One of darkness and light, of grey shades and colour, of past and future.
Alec’s hand trembles as he traces the line tentatively. He smiles to himself. He’s glad Magnus stuck around, glad that he survived and is healing more with every passing day. He’s proud of the family they built and the promises they will give each other today.
He runs his fingers over his wedding ring. It grounds him immediately, makes his hand a bit more steady. He turns away from the mirror and takes a step, one closer to the man he loves and a room full of people, full of flowers and light.
All is fair in love and war
51,200 words
On the surface, Alec Lightwood has everything. He is an adviser to the President, he’s a sought-after bachelor, and has the luxuries of the world at his fingertips. But he is also a sick bird in a gilded cage, and if he keeps on going like this, he probably won’t make it to his forties.
Magnus Bane is a professional dom, offering his services to the famous and rich. He’s a fighter in the submissive rights movement and the Head of the Board of the only submissives’ shelter in New York City. He is a thorn in the flesh of old-school dominants, working hard to support the change that he believes is inevitably coming.
What will happen when the paths of these very different men cross?
FANBOYS
A Malec ChatFic by @gallavich-forever&@s-a-b-i-n-e
Alec loves Magnus’ Star Wars fanfiction. He slides into the author’s DMs, and the rest is history.
You Were Unexpected→ Malec Fanfic
In a world where warlocks have risen up and taken over the Shadow World, Nephilim are second-class citizens. They are used to get rid of pesky demons and entertain warlocks.
Magnus Bane finds the whole Nephilim business distasteful, but would rather not involve himself in politics. His life takes an interesting turn when he’s given a Shadowhunter.
Alec Lightwood has accepted his unfortunate fate, but Magnus doesn’t end up being the horrible warlock he expected.
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