Alec drifted slowly into consciousness. He was generally a morning person, an early riser, but last night had been a late one.
He’d let himself into the loft at about 4:30, left his weapons and ichor and mud-caked boots by the door, and crept into the dim bedroom. He’d smiled to see the golden pool of lamplight in the corner, the way Magnus always left it when he worked late. The first few times, Alec had protested, but Magnus had just pressed a finger to his lips and said, “To guide you home, my love.” And how could Alec object to that? Particularly since he was always grateful for anything that kept him from jarring his hardworking husband awake from his much-needed rest. In the muted amber glow, Alec had stripped off his clothes and reached for his pajama pants, knowing they’d be on the corner of the bureau, just like every time. He’d slid into bed beside Magnus, settling into the soft, comfortable mattress, letting out a sigh of contentment when Magnus grumbled in his sleep and turned over, curving his body around Alec’s in that way he had - familiar and protective and loving - that made Alec feel cherished and wanted. Between the lateness of the hour and the comfort of his husband’s embrace, it hadn’t taken long for Alec to drift off to sleep.
Alec stretched and yawned. He felt good. Really good, all things considered. Lazy and a bit fuzzy, but that wasn’t surprising. Decently rested and just then, very comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he didn’t get out of bed right away. After all, it was Saturday, and he had today off. As he lay there, he gradually became aware of the sounds and smells of the loft. He smiled a little as he heard faint humming. Alec wasn’t ever sure if Magnus knew he was doing it, but honestly, it was one of Alec’s favourite idiosyncrasies of his husband’s. And it invariably meant that Magnus was in the kitchen. Plus, he was still at the beginning of ‘Summertime,’ which meant… yes, there it was, the smell of percolating french roast. Step one of Magnus’ morning routine. Coffee before all.
Usually, Alec made sure to take care of that part. Magnus thought it was nice of him, but Alec knew better. There was a particular delight to the languid, sleepy smile Magnus gave him when he set that first cup of coffee on the nightstand; the way Magnus reached for it eagerly, limbs heavy still weighed down by dreams; the way Magnus kissed him, tender and unhurried, far sweeter than a single spoonful of sugar should be able to make him or the coffee taste. The simple truth of the matter was that Alec was selfish. He wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.
But sometimes, on the rare occasions these days when Alec didn’t make it back in time to fall asleep with his husband, Magnus took care of things the next morning. And that was good too. Alec had been so used to taking care of others that it had startled him at first, the idea that caring could go both ways like this. Izzy and Jace cared. Of course they did. But honestly, they spent far less time taking care of Alec than they spent creating messes for him to clean up. With Magnus, it was different. Everything was different.
Alec was pulled from his musings by the muffled clang of metal on metal. He smiled. Magnus always forgot how heavy the cast iron pan was. He debated whether today was a french toast morning or an omelette one. He settled on french toast - because he didn’t hear any chopping sounds - and his guess was borne out shortly when he smelled cinnamon and heard the sizzle of the bread hitting the hot skillet.
He turned over and buried his face in the pillow for a moment, yawning and stretching. If they were at the french toast part of the process, it was time for him to get up. If not, he knew all too well that Magnus would waltz through the bedroom door with a tray humming ‘Aquellos Ojos Verdes’ (or something equally old and ridiculously sentimental), make a big fuss over him, and insist on feeding him by hand. Most of the time, Alec indulged these whims and fancies of Magnus’. He had his own, for one thing, but the main reason was that he loved them. Loved the opportunity to be soft and spoiled and treated and cherished, things he’d never known before Magnus. But this morning, he wanted to have a proper breakfast with his husband. Things had been so hectic the past few days that he honestly couldn’t remember when last he’d sat down at a table for a meal.
So Alec gave a regretful sigh and sat up in bed. He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his stomach, and got out of bed. Just outside the bedroom door, he encountered a small grey and white cat luxuriating in a sunbeam on the hardwood floor. Bending down, Alec scooped Chairman up and went into the kitchen. Magnus looked up and smiled brightly as Alec entered. “You should have stayed in bed, darling,” he said reproachfully. “You were out so late last night.”
Alec leaned in for a kiss, careful not to crush Chairman between them. They were both smiling as they parted. “Couldn’t wait to see you,” Alec explained, and Magnus beamed at him. When they sat down at the table, delicious smells wafting up from their plates, they smiled at each other, enjoying the peace of the moment. Alec looked down at their intertwined hands resting on the polished, sun-warmed wood of the table and knew he was home.