Malec One-shots

AU

The music was playing, and people were dancing in time with one another – women in their beautiful ballroom dresses belled out at their waists, fine less, velvet, silk, rich colours and complex patterns, heavy pieces of jewellery was everywhere. And couples were dancing. Obviously the couples weren’t exactly…human. It was a downworlder party, of course, but the variety of races, colours of the dancer’s skins, their heights, their number of extremities made the dance such a captivating thing to watch. And the High Warlock Magnus bane watched it all, swirling his drink playfully in his glass. His eyes were scanning the scene, taking in all the beauty and colour.

He heard yelling, and he snapped his head to the direction. The musicians stopped playing, everyone startlingly turned in the direction. A man, a werewolf man no doubt, was screaming at one of the help. The young man was leaning away from the werewolf, trying to get away from him. His eyes were fixed to the ground as he was being yelled at. the werewolf knocked the tray back into the help’s face, breaking several glasses on his face, blood soon pouring. He cried out, turning away. “You look at me when I am talking to you!” the werewolf grabbed his shoulder as the youth covered his face, trying to stop him from striking at him again. Magnus was already storming through the crowds, and he pulled the werewolf roughly away from him. “Please, good sir,” he began sharply, “if you would be so kind and not lay a hand on my staff ever again.” He said. The werewolf laughed,

“He is just a nephilim boy, Master Bane.”

“Yes, and he is mine to punish, not yours.” Magnus replied, “You have overstayed your welcome. Please leave my residence. Never return.” He said, taking the help by the shoulder gently, leading him rather quickly out of the hall.

He sat the boy down on the edge of his bed – Magnus’ bed. The boy’s shirt was covered in blood, so he quickly helped him out of it. The boy was sitting in just a loose undershirt and his trousers, his head down, dripping blood onto his palms. Magnus tilted his head up, scanning it for injury. The glass had made quite a nasty slash through his cheek – but all fixable damage. “Alexander,” he spoke urgently. The help’s blue eyes darted over him. “Yes sir?” He asked meekly.

“Where is your stele?” He asked. Alec began to move, but Magnus pushed him gently back onto the bed. “I will get it, now where?” the shadowhunter indicated over to his shirt, and the warlock produced it from the pocket. He handed it to him, and he quickly began carving the rune onto his skin. When Magnus checked his face again, the wound was healing. He smiled, running a hand across the help’s cheekbone. “I was so worried.” He whispered, leaning his forehead on his. He kissed his lips softly, but Alec seemed to pull away. “What is it, Alexander?” He asked – he was worried he had hurt him somehow, but when he looked over the shadowhunter’s face, he saw the blush. “This is inappropriate, Sir.” He began, “if your guests were to know that you were spending time with a servant...” he trailed off as Magnus kissed his cheek, and then his jaw line, then his neck.

“To hell with my guests, I only want you.” He murmured, lifting his chin to kiss Alec further.