Alec never really thought of himself as an overly sexual being. He never thought of sex all that much — especially not compared to Izzy or Jace, or any other Shadowhunter in the building, if he’s honest — but with Magnus, that’s different. With Magnus, every move is somehow… charged. Lit from within by a roaring fire, like those of Calanmai, making his blood roar hot and bright and powerful through his veins.
This — this is somehow more so. Alec’s always known he likes to be held down; their first time together only cemented that and he flexes his wrists at the memory of the bright, sparkling blue of Magnus’s magic as it pinned him to the bed, flexing and shifting just as hands would. That, of course, does not help matters any. In fact, it makes them worse.
It makes them worse because he’s not just flexing into a memory — Magnus’s hands pin his own to the ground right now. There’s his wrists (gathered together in one hand, pinned firmly to the ground even without magic); his neck (Magnus’s arm a solid band across it, which is far more attractive than it should be); his hips (Magnus’s rest against his own, the weight a solid, immovable barrier) and his thighs (pinned by Magnus’s shins and feet, braced quite carefully over him).
“Do you give?” Magnus asks, his voice a dangerous rumble. He’s barely panting. That fact is far hotter than it should be.
“No,” Alec says, entirely because he wants to see what Magnus will do. “I don’t.” He heaves his hips up, tries to roll to the side, only for Magnus to go with him. An arm snakes around his neck, his hands are grabbed more firmly, and legs lock firmly around his hips. He’s pinned again, in a headlock with his arms up and held, his hips and thighs once again held down.
“Do you give?” Magnus asks again, voice low. It’s still that dangerous rumble, but it’s darker somehow, now, and Alec can’t help but to groan.
“Fuck,” he hisses, rolls his hips up just to feel the resistance, to press into it, confirming it’s there and it’s not going anywhere. “Fuck,” he says again, more breathless this time.
Magnus pauses, then laughs. “Oh, Alec,” he practically purrs. “In the institute? In public? How naughty.”
Alec whines. It’s a pitiful, pleading sound. “Magnus, please,” he says, and he’s suddenly let go. It forces another whine from him, upset and confused this time, says “what—” only to spot the portal. The portal that Magnus heaves him up and through, into the loft and through into the bedroom, where he very quickly finds himself pinned again, blanketed by the warm heat of Magnus’s body.
“I wanted to fuck you right there,” he says, breath tickling Alec’s ear. “In the centre of the training room, where anyone could have walked in. I wanted to pin you down and have my way with you, wanted to show everyone how the head of the institute likes to have all his options taken away.”
Alec thinks he almost feels his heart stop as arousal surges through his body. “Fuck, please,” he whines, desperate. “Please, Magnus, fuck me.”
Magnus grins. Alec can feel the shape of his mouth, the press of his teeth against his neck. “Well, when you ask so nicely,” he says, “how can I refuse?”
Then that mouth presses in, teeth nipping at the rune lining his neck, tongue soothing the hurt and tracing the lines. Alec swears, trembling, and Magnus hums teasingly. “Have I told you how much I love this?” He asks, bringing his hand up to trace the rune. “It’s so… eye catching. Like it’s there specifically to draw attention to your neck.” Magnus pauses, finger pressing into the sensitive spot he caused with his mouth and Alec whines again. His nerves feel like fireworks, like they’re sparking with every disturbance. The Calanmai Bonfire in his gut burns higher, brighter, to the point where Alec doesn’t know if he could make it over even with his runes activated.
“Please!” He says — cries, really, because there are tears gathering in his eyes and Magnus’s knee is in between his legs, grinding against his crotch and it’s pressure but it’s not enough — “God, Magnus, please!”
Magnus ignores him, humming as he traces that rune more, his other hand rising to rub at his nipple through his shirt. Blue magic sparks, recreating the bonds from last time and Alec can’t help but to whine, bucking up into the pressure at the memory. “Did you put it there to gain attention?” He asks.
Alec’s mind blanks. “What—”
“Did you choose that rune for that place, knowing it would enhance the beauty of your already gorgeous neck?”
Alec groans, torn between aroused and annoyed. Magnus is too eloquent for him like this, with his brain fritzing like broken electrical wire; connections that don’t quite work properly sparking as they try through the haze of pleasure. “I — no?”
“It does anyway,” Magnus informs him, clicking to rid him of his shirt; of his pants. He doesn’t bother with his own, and Alec whines at the feeling of Magnus’s clothed leg against his bare skin. “You look gorgeous, Alec, splayed out on my bed.”
Alec whines, gasps as Magnus’s fingers trail up his sides, as Magnus’s mouth attaches itself to his neck. Fingers drag back down, close around his dick and tug, and Alec arches, crying out. “Magnus, please, fuck me.”
Then there’s fingers circling his hole, wet with lube, and another smirk pressed into his neck. Magnus’s voice is low, almost growling as he murmurs, “If you insist,” into Alec’s neck.
And one finger pushes in and Alec’s mind goes perfectly, blissfully blank. The push-pull of Magnus’s finger past his rim lights up his nerves, sparking bright and heady each time it catches. He thinks he’s begging; whining and moaning and pleading, “Magnus, please, more— fuck, please—“
“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Magnus says, curling his finger and pressing against the spot deep inside that has Alec arching against his bonds. Then another finger slips in and Magnus says, “laid out for me like this, so pretty on display—” and Alec…
Well, Alec’s back bows, pleasure shooting through him. His mouth hangs open in a silent, wordless scream. He doesn’t come, though, and he recovers from whatever that was to find his dick still hard, Magnus’s fingers still deep in his ass.
“What,” he gasps, but then Magnus curls both fingers, sends a shot of magic right against his prostate and Alec might be a bit oversensitive because he whines, arches again, not sure if he wants to press into it or pull away.
“Oh, darling,” Magnus says, strokes his free hand down the centre of Alec’s chest. “You’re intoxicating like this, caught up in your pleasure.” He sounds almost delighted, breathes, “All for me,” like Alec is some sort of treasure that he found on a desert island, and never plans on giving to anyone else. Alec doesn’t know how to respond to this — to this worship — and he’s not even sure that he could if he knew how anyway. He’s too busy trying not to let the tears he can feel burning at the corners of his eyes become something more.
Then Magnus adds a third finger and keeps talking, keeps describing how beautiful Alec is to him and how his pleasure is a treasure. “I almost want to keep you like this,” Magnus muses, “bound and pleasured and crying,” and Alec realises with a start that he lost the battle with his tears somewhere in between when Magnus curled those three fingers and pressed them, unhesitating and uncompromising, against his prostate and left them there and when he started waxing poetic about Alec’s lips wrapped around his dick.
That thought makes him giggle, through the tears and the pleasure, but it’s cut off quite quickly by a moan because Magnus decides he’s prepared enough (he is) and enters him with one steady thrust. “You feel so good around me,” Magnus says, and his tone would be conversational if not for the pleasured, raspy edge. “So hot and warm and perfect. Alec, you’re perfect for me, so good and so pretty and so kind.”
Alec’s probably still crying, probably has tear tracks down his cheeks and gross, puffy, red eyes, but Magnus is here, calling him perfect and telling him he’s good and pretty and kind and it’s all too much, really.
So with a muffled cry Alec comes, arching his back. Ropes of come splatter across his chest, pool on his stomach and smear onto Magnus’s skin as he keeps going, bent over Alec’s chest. Alec’s muscles contract around Magnus — he can feel the flex and burn everywhere and it just heightens the pleasure that just keeps building and never seems to end — and he starts babbling, saying things that he’s not entirely sure are even coherent. Magnus talks him through it anyway, reassuring and praising and brilliant and god, Alec loves him.
So he fights through the oversensitivity, tightens his muscles and hopes it’s enough to bring Magnus off — or, at least, to help him on his way.
It is, apparently, because with a few more thrusts that drag across Alec’s prostate and have more tears gathering in his eyes, Magnus comes. It’s a sight Alec wants to burn onto the back of his eyelids; unglamoured eyes shimmer gold and slit pupils widen, dilating as they watch Alec pant and cry, lying beneath Magnus on the sheets.
“You’re so good to me,” Magnus murmurs into Alec’s neck, having pulled out and magicked away the mess — advantages of having a warlock as a boyfriend, Alec supposes. “So overwhelmed and you still try to help me come. Darling, I could come just watching you fuck yourself on your fingers. I could come watching you come undone.”
While Alec searches for words — for ways to reply; to explain how much Magnus means to him because of course he wants to help Magnus reach the same heights of pleasure he had — Magnus tilts his head, considering.
“Next time,” he says, “I want to have you tied to my bed, a vibrator seated deep inside you.”
Alec inhales sharply, trying to imagine how that would feel — how it would feel to have something that hard and uncompromising, pressing against his prostate. Vibrating against his prostate. He moans in response, an involuntary reaction.
Magnus smirks. “You like that idea?” He asks — like he even has to, Alec’s nodding enthusiastically before he even finishes the question — before continuing, an evil, brilliant grin changing his entire face. “I want to watch you fall apart,” he whispers, breath grazing Alec’s ear.
“Fuck,” Alec whimpers. “Fuck, please.”
Magnus laughs, soft, and lets Alec’s arms free. He brings them down, massages the stiffness out, even as he whispers, “Next time,” into Alec’s ear.
Next time. Okay. Alec can do next time.
He can wait.