Pandemonium was alive with the pulsing, writhing bodies of the dance floor and the drinks overflowing in their glasses. Magnus was watching the floor, his head turned towards the pole raised in the centre, a lustful look in his eyes. Alexander was on the dais, arms raised above his head, wrists crossed, body gliding up and down, his legs parting and bending to emphasis the leather booty shorts he was wearing. Distantly Magnus heard the door to the VIP booth open and close, footsteps coming closer and closer, but he refused to turn his head away from the sinful sight before him.
“Mr Bane” A gravelly voice called out, rough from years of smoking, “We finally meet”
Out of the corner of his eye Magnus can see the man, a werewolf from his appearance, stretching out his hand for a handshake, but still Magnus refused to look away from the Shadowhunter on the dance floor. Raphael, quick as ever, speeds over and shrugs the man’s hand away, explaining with a simple “He doesn’t shake hands”
The man seems offended by the lack of respect so Raphael is quick to pacify the situation “Sit down and have a drink.” Instantly the man takes the sofa opposite Magnus, his intent to start discussing business obvious. Golden green cat eyes move away from the sight of the Shadowhunter, gazing almost lazily around the crowd for any threats before returning to their previous position; the man should wait but he won’t, Magnus knows this. “Hey Mags” Strike one “On behalf of everybody, welcome back. I wanted to come by and personally say thank you.” He pauses again, as if his welcome will prompt Magnus to turn to him and speak. Unlikely, especially if Alexander is in the audience tonight. “You are making me good money” He tries again, and this time Magnus turns to face him, Cat eyes glowing with amusement.
“I’m making you good money? Awww are you sweet talking me?” Magnus laughs in a way that sends shivers down the werewolf’s spine, an uncomfortable feeling settling over him. He turns to Raphael, raising one his perfectly defined eyebrows “I love this guy!” He shouts, as if his happy comments will put the man more at ease, “he’s so intense” He turns back round to face the man, a Cheshire grin lining his face, a wild look in his eyes making the man swallow harshly; Magnus followed the movement with his eyes, delighting in the fear he could sense from the man.
Uncomfortable with the attention the werewolf turns his face to the crowd, his eyes instantly latching onto the body writhing against the pole. By now Alexander has turned to face the pole, his leather shorts and tight white shirt hiding nothing from the imagination; his hands are latched onto the pole above his head, black cuffs spelling out yes daddy tightly adorning his wrists, one leg lazily wrapped around the metal, his muscular legs and arms defined. On his neck is a large black choker with large gold glittery highlighting the MB written in the centre, allowing no man to mistake who it is he belongs to. With his leg clutched around the pole, Alexander is slowly rolling his hips, an intoxicating movement of humping the metal before him, sweat forcing his shirt to cling tightly to his chest, his abs defined and on display.
“You’re a lucky man” The werewolf starts up, startling Magnus out of the shameless admiration of his property and he quickly whips his head round to face the man, maniacal smile already in place. “You got a Shadowhunter and he’s a bad bitch.” Magnus eyes, once glittering in amusement, harden in anger at the man’s words and instantly he draws the werewolf’s attention back to him. “Oh, that he is, the fire in my loins, the itch in my crotch.” He hasn’t moved, not really, just leaned back and spread his legs, a noticeable bulge rising between them. He reaches out a hand, shaking with the intensity of his emotion and beckons Alec over.
“The one, the only, the infamous: Alexander Lightwood!” He declares, his voice rising like he’s announcing a wrestling match. A loving smile comes unbidden on his face as Alec appears at the doorway leading from the booth to the floor, his face flushed from the heat of the dance floor, his eyes half lidded as they take in Magnus’ appearance. “Come to daddy.” Magnus calls out, opening his arms wide and welcoming the slight weight when the smaller man giggles and straddles his lap, thigh high heels creating a wonderful sensation against his legs.
“Daddy!” He responds happily as his eyes wonder to the man sat opposite him, noting the dilated pupils and unwavering gaze. Without warning, Magnus turns Alec around and pushes him off his lap, sending him in the direction of the werewolf. “You are my gift to this handsome hunka hunka!” He laughs, watching with unhidden lust as Alec sways over, hips jutting out attractively, and places himself in the other man’s lap, “You belong to him now” he clarifies, delighting in the look that takes over Alec’s face and he focuses his full attention on the werewolf in front of him whose hands are wandering over his back and ass.
“You’re cute.” Alec declares, leaning in closer to the man’s lips, his voice changing into something deeper, sultrier. “You want me?” He whispers out, inching closer and closer, “I’m all yours.” The man leans closer and Magnus leans forward, eager to see if the man will claim Alec the way he always does, the way he did not two hours ago. The werewolf sees the movement and swiftly moves back, jostling Alec from his lap and onto the floor. “I don’t want no beef.” He declares, unsure of the offense he has caused the couple. From the floor, Alec grumpily stands up, letting out a small frustrated scream at the man, turning back to Magnus and crawling into his side, a pout forming on his face.
“You don’t want no beef?” Magnus starts calmly before rapidly losing his composure, “You don’t want no beef?” Alec moves forward, rushing back into the man’s lap as if he can’t sense the anger from the warlock behind him. “Why” He whines, moving his face incredibly close to the man, lips a hairsbreadth away from the others, “What’s wrong? You don’t like me?”
From behind the body in his lap, “You don’t want no beef?” This time deathly serious. “Fine,” He growls out, cold anger taking over his voice, “Don’t waste me time then.” The man seems to understand the extent of danger he is in. Unable to move with the body wiggling in his lap the werewolf is stuck in the room with two of the deadliest people in the Downworld with no escape, Raphael having left the room earlier. “This is your boy” The man explains helplessly, struggling to find a way out of this situation. Alec moves slightly to the side, unwilling to leave the lap he has situated himself in but now his hips are gyrating slightly, rubbing against the man. Magnus moves closer, sitting himself to the side of the man, a look of concern on his face. “Look..” He stretches out the word and the man knows now that he is defiantly screwed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
He quickly shakes his head, any arousal from the lithe squirming boy in his lap dying away. “No, that’s your boy Magnus.” The man in question laughs, his face lighting up in a delightfully happy grin and the man feels a shiver of hope that maybe he will get out of here. “That’s right.” He chuckles smiling at the man and leering at Alexander who is rolling his hips, a blissed-out smile adorning his face. Without warning Magnus presses his hand against the man’s head and watches as blood rushed out of his nose and mouth, death coming for him quickly and painfully. Cat eyes turn back to his lover and lust clouds his vision as Alec rides the man’s lap, teeth nipping at the nail of one of his fingers.
Magnus picks the boy up, seeing his face and neck now covered in blood, and sits down in his original chair, placing him down in his lap, directly over the top of his clothed dick that’s straining against his leather trousers. The blue-eyed beauty moans at the feeling and rolls his hips harder, blood standing out against the pale ivory of his skin. He looks feral, he looks wild. Magnus grabs the front of his collar and drags the shorter boy down for a filthy kiss, licking and stroking inside the hot wet cavern open before him. Golden hands trail down over a muscular torso before coming to a stop on the straining bulge covered by tight leather shorts. Alec could play this game with him, would push Magnus to his limits and test his boundaries, but he always submitted, always knew who he belonged to; Magnus wouldn’t let him forget and from the mewls being ripped from the boy’s throat as his hands moved minimally, Alexander was a willing possession.