#Angela Lansbury would be in that diagram | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starwitness42 · 8 years ago

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Holding the Stick (8/?)

Alec Lightwood has dreamed of hoisting Lord Stanley since he was eight. It's in his blood. He's spent the last five years trying to make that dream a reality, only managing to fall short each time.

Until a scandal leads to a multi-team trade that sends Magnus Bane his way. One of the top performing wingers in the league. An up and coming star.

And the most handsome man Alec has ever met.

He's doomed.

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven

Magnus is not entirely certain when he became Angela Lansbury. But if he were to hazard a guess, it would’ve been right around the time Alec nearly sobbed the words, “Not now,” into the palm of his hand.

Not now.

Two words that will likely be etched on his tombstone someday, perhaps in the near future if things do not soon make a shift to something less madness inducing.

Not: (adverb) Used with an auxiliary verb or “be” to form the negative.

Now: (adverb) At the present time or moment.

They are simple. They are both such simple words. And yet Magnus is forced to spend the next three weeks trying to dissect them as if he can figure out their meaning by pulling them apart, letter-by-letter.

Two n’s, two o’s, a t, a w, and a whole lot of nothing else.

The taste of Vegas still lingers bitterly in his mouth, all these weeks later. It had been a surreal experience to say the least, the lowlight of which had been watching teammate after teammate draped over Alec like cheap, ill-fitting suits.

Foolishly, he had thought the night off might be an opportunity to get closer to Alec as the friend he had been trying so valiantly to be. He’d had very simple hopes: See a show with Alec, perhaps get dinner if Alec had not already eaten, talk, bond, the usual. But then he had walked into what can only be described as a massive clusterfuck.

It had started with Alec in the towel, with him tossing clothes around his suite willy-nilly all night as if they were still in the locker room and not some place far more intimate. And it had progressed through their time on the couch, inching closer in ways not merely physical, but always interrupted by one needy teammate or another because that is Alec’s life.

Alec does not simply breathe hockey; he does not merely live it; he is hockey. And in his world, that means constantly mothering twenty-three adults that often act as if they are still in diapers.

In the end, the parade of draperies had at least given him the courage to offer the massage. Because if everyone else was allowed to touch so openly, what could it hurt to ask? Especially given how much physical pain Alec had clearly been in.

He had not meant anything by it, not overtly anyway. He had only wanted to help, to take care of Alec in the same way Alec had been taking care of everyone else all evening. But then Alec had grabbed his thigh, had turned into him, had run his hands over Magnus’ body in a way he can still feel if he closes his eyes tightly enough and holds his breath. And so, to put it plainly, Magnus had lost it.

The drunken whatever in the closet at the ball could easily be written off as happenstance. And it would be difficult but not impossible to platonically justify what had happened on Fake Thanksgiving, the lingering touches or their bout of actual footsie, as if people still did that in this day and age. But Vegas?

Magnus has no proper way to explain Vegas apart from an obvious that seems so much less obvious when linked to someone like Alec.

So he digs, utilizing his admittedly outdated detective skills learned from Murder, She Wrote, the only television show his grandmother allowed him to watch when he was young because she enjoyed sharing it with him.

In Jessica Fletcher’s world, there is always an answer. It may take the full hour to find it, but it is always there. And if there is one thing Magnus has learned over the course of a life that seems far longer than his age would imply, it’s that if you look hard enough, dig down deep enough, eventually you will find what you’re looking for.

Whether or not it’s what you’re hoping for? That is an entirely different plotline.

He’d even tried calling Cat about the situation to get her expert opinion. Their first game after Vegas had been a low point for him, seeing the break of both his point streak and the team’s win streak since his arrival. And so he had been in a fit of desperate confusion but not because of those factors as much as because every hit Alec took that night felt like it was ricocheting through Magnus’ own body.

All Cat had said when he laid out the facts was an infinitely unhelpful, “Yeah, he wants to fuck you,” before launching into a discussion of the ongoing Cold War between her two cats. One of which used to be his before he moved to Winnipeg and realized he no longer had anyone nearby to watch the Chairman when he was out of town.

As pointless as it had become, however, the conversation had at least served one purpose. It had proven to him that he is one hundred percent alone in this endeavor. Because there is simply no one that he can ask about this outside of the voices in his own head.

Not Alec, who often seems like a cornered, feral animal when faced with real life situations that don’t involve a stick and a puck.

Not his teammates, people like Jace who know Alec better than anyone. Because what if they believe he is straight? What if Alec is deeply closeted? What if this is his first foray into these types of feelings and Magnus inadvertently outs him while digging for his own selfish satisfaction?

He knows what that feels like, and he would never, ever wish that upon anyone, especially someone as kindhearted as Alec.

He cannot even count on his best friend, who seems to care very little for the fact that Magnus is slowly losing his mind. And so he pulls himself up by his very expensive, designer bootstraps and tries to make the best of an incredibly bewildering situation.

The main question surrounds this Lydia person. And Magnus may or may not have a very large, very detailed Venn diagram covering the inside back wall of his hallway closet that he is not entirely proud of bearing the title: “Beard, Bi or Both?”

It is covered in articles and pictures run off from the printer he bought especially for this occasion, documenting the two and a half year “relationship” between Alexander Lightwood and the Deadly Blonde. And it seems to be his only glimmer of hope these days, as if he thinks that if he can just figure that part out he may have a shot at maintaining what’s left of his sanity.

There are only two options in a situation such as this one: Either Alec is bisexual/gay and Lydia is his very supportive, very pretty beard. Or Alec is bisexual and at least partially in love with his very supportive, very pretty girlfriend.

Magnus is obviously hoping for the former, but he is also preparing himself for the latter just in case his luck continues to be as abysmal as it has been every other day of his life.

There are countless pictures of Alec and Lydia in public, holding hands and smiling. But there are none of them kissing that he has been able to find. No candids of them at clubs, making out on the dance floor, which seems to suggest a heavy lean towards the Beard side of the scale.

But then there is the fact that to his knowledge, Alec does not even go to clubs. And whatever his private life is, he seems to be very intent on keeping it exactly that: Private. A goal only helped by his dictator parents that even have the local reporters so terrified they refuse to ask any question that might get them blacklisted. All of which falls in the Both category, if not in the specifically Bi one.

His closet looks like it belongs to a crazy person plotting an assassination. But the stolen moments he’s able to spend working on the project seem to keep him going throughout the rest of each day as he buries himself so deeply in hockey that he’s almost become one with the ice itself.

Whatever Alec had meant by not now in their potential personal life together, Magnus is still right now his teammate, his linemate, his friend, and that is important to him. Which means apart from running around in mental circles, he has also spent the past three weeks being the best of those three things that he can possibly be.

Three weeks spent helping Alec and Luke corral the children at practice. Three weeks spent acting as a social buffer for Alec at team bonding nights. And three weeks spent scoring as many goals as humanly possible on their glorious line that, in spite of a few hiccups, keeps getting better and better as if they are all so in tune they’re practically psychic.

It is not entirely altruistic on his part, which is another thing he is not proud of. But his running theory is that if he can make other aspects of Alec’s life as easy as possible, maybe Alec will be able to find a way to open up. To him. And whether that ends in them becoming closer friends or something deeper, Magnus is willing to put in the work because he knows the result will be worth it.

After all, it is a simple fact of life that you cannot hold Alec Lightwood’s face in the palm of your hands and not be willing to do almost anything to keep it there.

~*~

Chants of, “Fuck Detroit,” ring through the arena as they take the ice, drowning out the music played to warm them up that is unnecessary tonight, thanks to the energy of the crowd.

It is like his first night here all over again, the surge of adrenaline saturating his system as he cycles through the lazy drills created to get their legs solid beneath them, their attention focused on the game. But they are unnecessary as well because the game is the only thing Magnus can see.

This is just the second time they have played the Wings since Magnus arrived, but he can already tell that there is something different about these games. And not simply because the home crowd hates them so much. There is an inevitability here, like two speeding trains, barreling down opposite sides of the same track. Only there is very little question when and how they will meet.

Magnus cannot see the future, but he can clearly imagine what it would feel like to take the Cup from Detroit. And he wants that, more than very few other things in his life.

Any person who straps on a pair of skates and plays the sport at any level, be it Beer League or NHL, dreams of hoisting the Stanley Cup. But Magnus has never wanted it as badly as he does this season, this moment, surrounded by a team that has finally managed to fit the cliché image he’s been sold all of his life.

They are a family. And after seven long years in the League, playing for teams that felt more like stiff gatherings of complete strangers, finding that sense of place, that sense of home here is almost a bigger revelation than what he has potentially found with the man at the center of it.

There is no doubt in his mind that the reason this team is so close is because Alec Lightwood is its captain.

The game is no less brutal than its predecessor, but whereas they managed to break through fairly easily before, the Wings have been able to figure out a way to gum up the works. And it is maddening for a team built on speed and fluidity to play against an opponent willing to sacrifice their own offense to play a solely defensive game, but that is seemingly what they are up against tonight.

Every shift is a giant defensive trap, geared toward forcing them to repeatedly dump the puck into the offensive zone and hope they can dig it out of the corners once again. And so by the end of the first period, a scoreless endeavor that felt like it lasted forty minutes instead of twenty, every single one of them is frustrated beyond belief.

Both Alec and Luke try and bring a sense of calm to the locker room during intermission, but things only continue to boil during another ruthless period full of stops, starts, and grueling hits. Which means that by the third, there is an overwhelming sense that things are about to explode.

It’s like watching a fuse burn, this game. Like trailing the spark from the lit match all the way to the stick of dynamite, waiting to blow. And it is barely a minute into the third period when that finally happens.

Magnus’ line is on the ice for the opening faceoff, one that Alec wins handily against Morgenstern because he at least is still levelheaded and focused even if the rest of his team is not. And for the first time all game they have been allowed to skate the puck into the zone thanks to the way Jace makes a move around the defense that seems almost like a pirouette.

The puck is on Magnus’ stick when it happens. Which means his attention is focused mainly on the net, on the overpowering desire to break the 0-0 tie, when something happens in his peripheral.

He does not see the full brunt of it, but what he does see chills him down to his very bones.

Alec is attempting to get to the crease, is trying to get in close enough for a tip-in or a goalie screen, anything to help Magnus score, when the butt end of Morgenstern’s stick rises forcefully, purposefully to his face. And thanks to his positioning, Magnus is close enough to hear it connect. To hear the sharp crack of wood on bone before Alec collapses like a felled tree, face down and unmoving.

There is a good chance that Magnus loses what little is left of his sanity when he sees Alec prone on the ice, pooling blood.

Alec is moving a moment later, is trying to regain his feet. But somehow that image is worse than when he was simply lying there, stunned to immobility.

He manages momentarily to get to all fours, but the second he tries to get his skates beneath him, he falls again. And all the while he is still just leaking blood from a wound that Magnus hopes is simply above his left eye and not in it because he is a stupid, stubborn man who refuses to wear a visor because he feels as if he cannot see the puck as well with one on and the team’s success is more important than his own safety. And somewhere within all of that, Magnus loses his tentative grip on reality.

He sees red like Alec’s blood, mixing into the red of his jersey, dripping on the ice. So his gloves are off a second later and he is reaching out a second after that, but it is not to help.

Magnus wants to hurt.

It feels good to twist his fingers in Moregenstern’s jersey, feels even better to make a fist and connect with his face. And though he does not particularly care if Sebastian engages in the fight or simply tries to turtle on the ice, he is still almost relieved to feel a fist slam into his own jaw because he needs to feel something right now other than fear.

He loses himself in the battle, in the feel of war, pressed to the edges of him as he tries to do anything in his power to erase the images from his head.

The way Alec’s head had snapped back from the hit.

The way his body had crumpled as if he had been shot.

The way he’d stumbled while trying to get back up, unable to steady himself but still trying because Alec is not the type of person to stay down.

Magnus will do anything right now to un-see those things, up to and including beating Morgenstern to unconsciousness if he has to. Only before he is able to get that far, there are hands on his jersey, pulling him back.

He turns around and shoves violently, unaware and uncaring if he is attacking a teammate or a linesman. But before he can get his hands back on Morgenstern, Jace is grabbing him again. Is dragging him away as Morgenstern takes a knee and presses both of his hands to his face as if he is trying to hold back the damage Magnus caused.

Jace does not stop pulling on him until they are at the penalty box, does not release him until he has been shoved safely inside. And now that he is away from the fight, Magnus is able to truly remember what started it all in the first place.

He scans the ice desperately in search of Alec, but he is already gone, off the ice, off the bench, hidden away where Magnus cannot see him and he is panicking at that. At wondering what exactly happened while he was on a break from the world.

“Give me a minute, will you Jerry?” Jace asks to the referee already circling.

“You got thirty seconds, Wayland,” the ref replies before skating a few feet away and then Jace is in front of him, blocking the door to the box so that Magnus cannot get out.

Jace grabs his head with glove-free hands, yanking on his ears to arrest his attention as he snaps the words, “Look at me,” directly into Magnus’ face.

His tone is softer when he continues as if he feels that gentleness is what Magnus needs right now when all he can think about is blood.

“He’s gonna be okay. I know you probably missed this part, given that you were busy beating the shit out of that fucking cock waffle, but he skated off on his own two feet, okay?”

Magnus’ eyes drift at that, to where the ice girls are cleaning up the bloody shavings left in Alec’s wake. But the loss of Magnus’ attention prompts Jace to tug on his face once more.

“Hey!” he shouts, forcing Magnus to look him in the eye again. “He’s going to be fine, okay? Nod if you’re processing what the fuck I’m saying.”

Magnus nods. But though he can clearly understand what Jace is telling him, there is no comfort to be found in his words because Magnus cannot see him. Cannot judge with his own two eyes if Jace is telling the truth. And the weight of that is so heavy it feels as if it is crushing his ribs to dust.

“Good,” Jace says in response to Magnus’ weak nod. ”Good. Just relax, okay? It’s going to be fine.”

��Wayland!” the ref shouts a moment later. And Jace is still mere inches from his face, so he can clearly see the way he rolls his eyes at the interruption.

“Shortest fucking thirty seconds of my life, Jerry!” he shouts back at the ref, but he does not remove his eyes from Magnus for a second. His voice low again, soft as he says the words, “Trust me,” before tipping Magnus’ head down and kissing the top of it before taking Magnus’ helmet from Jerry the ref so he can put it on his head, pat his shoulders and skate away.

Luke sends Raj to the box to serve Magnus’ minor penalty for instigating the fight as the rest of the team squares up for 4-on-3 play. But when he looks to the other box, Morgenstern is nowhere to be found. Which means he was lucky enough to be allowed to return to the locker rooms after the fight while Magnus is now stuck here for upwards of seventeen minutes like a caged animal.

His hands are shaking. There is blood on his knuckles, he cannot seem to get his hands to stop shaking and all he can seem to think is maybe I should have fought harder. Maybe he should have done more damage, been more violent, because if he’d been given a game misconduct instead of merely a ten-minute one, he’d be free right now.

He’d be with Alec, back in the locker room, in the trainer’s office, holding his hand.

As it stands he is stuck, and for potentially two minutes of that time he is stuck with Raj, which does not help his mood any. Especially when Raj takes a seat so far away from him he is practically hugging the side wall of the box as if he is afraid Magnus’ ire will spill over onto him with no one else readily available to attack.

He needs to get out of here.

Thanks almost entirely to Raphael, the three-man PK unit manages to kill off the first two minutes of Magnus’ penalty. But almost as soon as Raj is released to join the now 4-on-4 action for the remainder of the five-minute fighting penalties, the Wings score. And less than a minute later, they score again.

Somehow, Magnus cannot seem to find it in himself to care about that, even though he knows that it is all indirectly if not directly his fault. Because while the game might have been all he could see earlier in the night, now all he can see is Alec.

Where is he?

How is he?

How long until he can see him again?

When the fourth line winger that had been serving Morgenstern’s fighting penalty is allowed out of the box, Jace skates over to his side of the ice, removing his glove so that he can make the okay symbol with his fingers. And it is not much, and not nearly what Magnus needs right now, but it does manage to loosen the vise around his chest ever so slightly.

There is less than three minutes left in the game when Magnus is released from the box, and they are now down by three goals, an insurmountable lead in a game like this one. Which means Magnus feels even heavier than before as he is finally allowed to take a seat on the bench with his teammates.

Luke’s hand is on his shoulder instantly, his voice low but strong when he leans down to say directly into Magnus’ ear, “He’s fine. Needed a bunch of stitches and they’re doing the concussion tests just as a precaution, but he’s fine.”

Magnus almost sobs in relief.

It is not their first loss since the trade, but it is their worst, and Magnus carries the brunt of that as they all file back down the hallway to the locker room. But it is something that he shoves aside for later as he waits impatiently through the post game speeches and team rallying moments until he is free.

He should stay at his stall, wait for the reporters that will no doubt wish to speak with him after tonight’s display. But after a tight nod from Luke telling him that he is allowed to go, Magnus does just that.

He goes.

The trainer’s room is not far from the locker room, and yet it feels as if it is miles away. Magnus’ legs shaky beneath him as he makes his way there, skate free but still wearing the majority of his uniform because he could not even spare the time it would take to remove it. Once he arrives outside the door, though, he freezes.

Alec is not alone, and though he can only see her back, it is clear from the way they are standing that it is Lydia that is with him.

He is sitting on the edge of a metal table, his chest bare, splashed with his own blood as Lydia holds one of his hands in her own while using her other to trace over the new stitches just above his left eye.

Alec is smiling softly at whatever Lydia is saying, his eyes sleepy almost, drifting away as Lydia leans in to kiss the wound and Magnus turns away at that.

It feels as if something is snapping inside of him, but he is too turned around in his own mind to know what that might be just yet.

What he does know is that he needs to get laid. That is the overriding sense he is feeling as he emerges from the showers fifteen minutes later. There is too much adrenaline still pumping through his veins right now, too much pressure to sustain, and so if he does not find some way to release it there is a fair chance that he will spontaneously combust.

Aside from Alec, Magnus has not had intimate physical contact with anyone since that night in New York. And he can still hear Alec’s words in his head, can still distinctly make out the plea in his voice the final time he had said not now, but at this moment Magnus needs something. Anything. So though he likes to think of himself as a patient man, the truth of the situation is far less idyllic.

It does not take long for him to find a willing participant, once he actively looks. But as he rests his back against the wall of the bathroom stall in the club whose name he has already forgotten, his fingers twisted in the dark hair of the man kneeling before him whose name he has forgotten as well, the only thing he can seem to think about are hazel fucking eyes.

The nameless face is perfect, is exactly the type of guy that would have had Magnus begging for at least six hours in the past, if not more. Dark hair, blue eyes, the combination he has always loved, especially on men, only it seems as if somehow Alec Lightwood has wrecked that for him.

He ruined an entire eye color. How is that even possible?

Though the blowjob works in the strictest sense of the term, it does nothing to settle him inside. And so even though the nameless face is quite literally pleading to go home with him a short while later, Magnus takes his leave because he can see the score clearly already, written in the color of blood all across the wall.

He is broken. Alec has broken him. And until he can figure that out, there is little to no chance of repair.

He returns to his hotel a few hours later, alone, drunk, and miserable. And he is tired enough that when he opens his closet door to put away his coat, the sight of his wall of shame sets him off.

Before he is done, every single scrap of his three weeks of work is torn to shreds, stuffed into an overflowing wastebasket. And it does not make him feel better necessarily, but it does make him feel less like a walking corpse and so he will take it and try to be grateful.

He is about to head to the shower to wash the feel of Mr. No Name off when there is a sharp knock on his door. And it is late – far later than he would expect to have company – but there is enough desperation in the knock to get him to answer it.

“Is he here?” Jace bites out frantically as if he assumes that Magnus will know what he is speaking of.

“Is who here?”

Jace rolls his eyes. “Alec.”

Magnus sees Jace’s eye roll and raises him one arms-over-chest grip. “Why would Alec be here?”

“I don’t know, I thought you two were,” he starts to say before evidently thinking better of wherever the hell he was going with that. “Forget it. When was the last time you saw him?”

Magnus’ mind flashes back to Lydia and Alec, fingers entwined, Lydia’s lips pressed to Alec’s wound, and he feels momentarily as if he is going to be sick.

“After the game,” he says.

Prompting Jace to bite out the word, “Shit,” before he is literally shoving his way past Magnus into his room without so much as a come on in.

He is not certain how Alec has managed to go so long as Jace’s friend without murdering him and burying him in the desert.

Jace is on his phone a second later, not even bothering to explain to Magnus, whose room he just invaded, what is going on. And he is pissed, pure and simple, but in spite of his better judgment he is also curious. So instead of tossing Jace out like he knows he should, he remains still and listens.

“Hey, Iz. Yeah, I’m with Magnus. He hasn’t seen him either.”

He pauses briefly to let Isabelle speak before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning, “No, I did not check under the bed, grow the fuck up would you? He’s not here. You sure you don’t know what happened at the meeting?”

This time when he pauses, Magnus comes to the stunning realization that he is already holding his breath.

“Yeah, and asking your parents will only throw up more red flags. Fuck, this is bad, isn’t it? I feel like this is really fucking bad… Well fuck, Iz, maybe you should be more melodramatic. Just… put Lydia on, would you? I need to talk to someone with fucking sense.”

What is bad, Magnus wants to ask. Wants to scream. But for some reason, he is still just frozen.

“Hey Lyd. When was the last time you saw him again? At the stadium too? Fuck, that was,” he lowers his phone so that he can check the time. “That was three and a half hours ago. The fucker could be halfway to Canada by now. I think… yeah, I think I need to call Ty at CPD.”

He pauses just long enough to roll his eyes once more.

“Yeah, he’s the guy that fixes my tickets, you got a problem with that?”

Every time Jace stops speaking, Magnus’ heart cinches further up the back of his throat.

“What do you think I’m going to ask him to do, go out with bloodhounds? I’m going to ask him to ping his cell or whatever the fuck they do on those TV shows. And, might I add, we wouldn’t be having this problem if you’d convinced him to get Find My Friends… Me? How the fuck was I supposed to convince him to do it? The asshole already thinks I’m stalking him. If I’d asked him to put that app on his phone it would’ve just confirmed it.”

He lets his phone drop to his side this time, running a palm hard down his face as Lydia’s voice echoes dully from his cell.

“If I was stalking him, would I even be talking to you right now?” he asks once he rejoins the conversation.

“All fucking joking aside, I am seriously reconsidering putting that LoJack in his SUV… Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be telling me how unethical that was if it was helping us find his dumb ass right now, would you? You know what, whatever. I gotta go call Ty. Just, call me if you hear anything, okay? Yeah. Sure. Bye.”

Jace is heading towards Magnus’ door at that, searching through his phone directory for the number of this Ty person. And Magnus is so painfully confused right now that he doesn’t totally realize that Jace is actually talking to him again when he stops just outside Magnus’ still open door.

“What?” Magnus asks through the pounding in his head.

“I asked if you were coming.”

“Coming where?”

“To find Alec, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Magnus says because that is the only word he can think of. But Jace’s hand is flat on his chest when he goes to take a step into the hallway.

“Um, it’s fucking freezing outside. You might want to bring, I don’t know, shoes? And a coat?”

Magnus looks down at his bare feet and even barer arms before nodding and retreating back inside to grab the shoes and coat Jace had mentioned. And then he is leaving. With Jace. To find Alec. Because that is apparently what his night has become.

When they get downstairs to the curb, Magnus takes one look at Jace’s jet black Maserati and immediately moves to head back inside. Because he may have never had the pleasure of driving with Jace, but given that he is a maniac in all other areas of his life, Magnus has zero desire to be inside that type of a car with that type of a person.

Jace is grabbing his arm, though, a gesture that makes Magnus’ hackles rise before Jace is quite plainly shoving him inside the vehicle the same way he’d manhandled him into the penalty box earlier this evening. And at some point they are going to have to have a discussion about this, about how Jace is not allowed to touch Magnus without his express permission. But right now he goes along with it because Alec is evidently in some sort of trouble. And regardless of what happened earlier, that is still of great importance to Magnus.

“Alec had a meeting with the elder Lightwoods tonight,” Jace says, apropos of nothing as he peels away from the curb.

“Oh,” Magnus says as he tightens his seatbelt as much as it will go.

“No one knows what it was about. All we know is that he fucked off and disappeared as soon as he got out of it.”

“Does he do that often? Fuck off and disappear?”

Jace snorts and turns his eyes to Magnus when he really should be focusing them on the road. “You kidding me? I mean, emotionally yes, he’ll run until his ass is on fire. But you should know better than anyone by now that the dickhead’s middle name is Responsibility. He’s been in the middle of taking a fucking shower and still answered me by the second ring before.”

“So this is abnormal?” Magnus asks in an attempt to not allow himself to think about Alec in a shower.

“Yeah, it’s abnormal as shit.”

Jace’s phone rings then, and despite the fact that it is illegal to speak on one’s telephone while driving in the city of Chicago, Jace still does it, keeping only one hand on the wheel and even less eyes on the road.

Magnus really hopes that he does not die with Jace Wayland in a fancy Italian sports car tonight.

“Hey, Ty, yeah, you got him? Sound-Bar. Perfect. Thanks buddy! I owe you!”

He pulls a screeching U-turn at that, one that makes Magnus’ life flash before his eyes, before they are heading in the opposite direction toward whatever bar Alec has apparently fucked off and disappeared to this evening.

“I wanted to thank you for tonight,” Jace says as he presses his foot even harder on the gas, prompting Magnus to cling to the handle above the door generally used for hanging suits.

“For going after Morgenstern like that. I mean, I was on my way to do the same thing, and I think you seriously pissed off Raphael. He’s been fucking itching for a reason to kick the shit out of that guy all season. But that was real solid of you.”

“You’re welcome?” Magnus says because Jace is looking at him now, which means he is expecting some sort of response. But the words come out as a question given that he is still not entirely sure what is even happening here.

Jace reaches out and shoves him. “Man, though, you really kicked the shit out of him. Rumor mill has it you broke his nose, which is just, like, fucking golden. You’re one scary SOB when you’re pissed. Remind me never to fuck with your shit.”

Something heavy settles in Magnus’ gut when he says that, the words your shit burning a path through his veins as the implication burrows into his mind. Which is why he says, “I would have done that for anyone,” even though he knows that is not strictly true because he is not entirely comfortable with Jace implying that Alec is somehow his shit.

Magnus is not a fighter. In his seven years in the league he can count on one hand how many fights he’s been in, and the other three were all to defend himself, not others.

“Yuh-huh,” Jace says as he finally returns his full attention to the road. “Right, right, I got ya, but either way man, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he repeats, but this time the words only come out as a sigh. Because talking to Jace is not unlike talking to that light pole he tried to hit on all those years ago.

It takes them fifteen minutes to reach the bar, a quarter of an hour in which Jace does at least eight things that make Magnus fear for his life. And he is so grateful to place his feet on solid ground again that it takes him a moment to realize that Sound-Bar is in fact a club, complete with the sound of pounding bass music and a line wrapped halfway around the block.

Evidently Alec goes to clubs after all.

In a twist that would surprise no one in the entire city, possibly the country, Jace and the bouncer are on a first name basis. Which means they are able to gain entry to the club quickly. But once he is inside, Magnus is struck with the realization that one would be hard pressed to find a place less suited to Alec Lightwood than this.

It makes his heart sink. Because if Alec felt the need to come here to get away, it is obvious that his goal was to hide in plain, techno-beated sight. And Magnus is not sure he wants to discover what exactly Alec’s parents did to make him feel that way.

“You go left, I’ll take right!” Jace screams over the music currently rattling Magnus’ bones. “Text if you find him!” And then Magnus is left alone to wander the dim, strobe-lit establishment full of writhing, sweaty bodies in search of what is surely one very sad, very out of place Lost Puppy Giant.

He is not sure if he should be surprised that he is the one to find Alec first, but he is a bit shocked by how quickly he does it. It is almost as if his feet just know where to go, like there’s some part of him that can sense when Alec is near and is constantly pulled in that direction. And it might be a little unsettling to him if not for the fact that at this particular moment it is a great help.

He looks awful, Magnus can tell that even from ten feet out in a poorly lit room. He is leaning over the bar, holding his head up with one arm in a way that tips his face into the light behind the bar itself. And between the stitches, the initial bruising, the swelling, and the copious amounts of alcohol he has likely already imbibed, he is almost unrecognizable as himself.

There is a rather large part of Magnus that would like to wrap Alec in his arms, carry him out of here, take him some place safe. And that part has the rest of him in a veritable stranglehold as he slides into the thankfully open stool next to Alec and waits for Alec’s eyes to focus enough to recognize him.

The way his presence dawns on Alec, visibly relaxing him and pushing a small, warm smile across his lips makes Magnus’ chest ache. A pain that feels almost unbearable when Alec leans forward, runs a hand up Magnus’ thigh, presses the uninjured side of his face to Magnus’ shoulder and sighs his name like he has been lost in the desert and Magnus’ name is water itself.

“It’s time to go home, Alec,” he says as he risks pressing his lips to the top of Alec’s head because he simply cannot help himself right now, his arms wrapping around Alec’s body like he is trying to shield him from anything that may wish to cause him harm. But as even the smallest of actions have consequences, he is not terribly surprised that his cause Alec to lean in further, to wrap his arms tightly around Magnus’ waist, yanking him off the stool so that they can be plastered to one another.

In. Public.

This is not going well at all, and there is still quite a lot of land to cover before they are safely outside. And even there they are not necessarily safe, Magnus knows that full well. That even an abandoned alley seemingly free of any other forms of life apart from rats is not secure. But none of that changes the fact that he needs to find a way to get Alec out of this place and into an automobile of some sort before his level of inebriation allows him to do something he will most likely regret.

“Come on,” he groans as he hefts Alec off his stool, unwrapping Alec’s arms before draping one of them over his own shoulders for balance in a way that reminds him of Vegas. Of ill-fitting suits only here, now, there seems to be nothing ill fitting about either one of them. For a short while, though, things seem to be working well. Magnus is moving, Alec is moving, and to anyone not capable of reading minds all they would see is one sober friend helping a very drunk friend out of the club. But then…

Then Alec leans his head in again. Then Alec’s lips begin to work at Magnus’ neck. His tongue. His teeth. Then Alec is folding around him, is letting go of Magnus’ shoulders in favor of grabbing his hips. And before Magnus can even get a proper handle on any of that, Alec is dragging him into the middle of the dance floor.

There are a few things he is thankful for right now. Not many, but a few. The first of which is that, thanks to Alec’s injuries, he likely has more anonymity than he would otherwise enjoy. Because most people, when faced with that amount of facial deformation, are conditioned not to look much beyond it. Which means instead of seeing Alec Lightwood, Captain of Your Chicago Blackhawks, all they are likely to see is someone that has presumably been in one hell of an altercation.

That’s one thing.

The others are smaller than that, and include such facts as: Magnus is glad that he left his jacket in the car, not knowing how long they would be inside searching, because even in just the t-shirt he’d been wearing beneath it he is sweltering in here. Or, Magnus is glad that they are packed into the crowd like sardines, because even if someone were to recognize them, the likelihood that they’d be able to get a cell phone into a good enough position to photograph them is slim.

That is about it, though, because anything else he might be grateful for right now is tempered by the fact that there are a few hundred people surrounding them. Which means he cannot even begin to enjoy the way Alec is back at his neck, or the way Alec’s thumbs press down beneath his waistband, swiping over the sensitive skin just above his hips. He cannot melt into the way it feels to have Alec’s body pressed against his like a dream literally sprung to life because the only thing he can focus on is please do not let anyone film this.

They need to get out of here, but Magnus can tell that his own attempts are half-hearted at best, the way he is moaning the words, “Alec,” and, “stop,” in a way that Alec likely cannot even hear as he tips his head to give Alec free access to his neck. And for the second time this evening, Magnus loses himself, except now the only blood on his mind is the stuff pumping so hard through his veins he feels as if he is about to pass out.

When Alec grabs his hips and lifts Magnus just enough to drag him down his own thigh, Magnus realizes two things:

One: Alec is far too good at this for it to be his first foray into these types of feelings.

Two: If Magnus does not somehow find a way to extricate them from this situation, something very, very bad is going to happen.

So Magnus finally acts, in the way he should have all along. And the first step is to remove Alec’s hands from where they are trying once again to get inside his pants.

Once that is complete, he reaches for Alec’s head, cupping his face gently, making sure to avoid any parts of it that may cause pain as he lifts it up and shakes it slightly in the hopes of jarring Alec loose.

Alec Responsibility Lightwood, where are you?

“Alec,” he hisses, but there is something in Alec’s eyes that startles him, a darkness that Magnus can remember from the first day they met. And then Alec is grabbing his head, is leaning down, moving in, and Magnus has wanted this so badly that he almost lets Alec do it.

He almost lets Alec kiss him.

Before their lips touch, though, Magnus comes back to himself enough to hold him back, shaking Alec’s face a little more violently this time as he snaps the words, “Not now,” across his lips.

Not. Now.

It tears apart his insides to say that, to say those words, but he needs Alec to hear him right now and those are the only words he can think of that might hopefully break through the spell.

They work. In the most painful way possible, they work. And so a moment later Alec is pulling back, is looking down at Magnus with nothing but hurt and confusion in his eyes. And it is basically torture, seeing him this way, but it has given him the space he needs to finish his job and so he does it.

He puts Alec’s arm back over his shoulder for balance and walks him the rest of the way out of the club.

He texts Jace once they are outside, safely tucked around the corner in case Alec has any other bright ideas. He seems out of it now, though, as he sits on the curb with his face held in his hands. And Magnus would like nothing more than to be able to go to him, put his arm around him, offer comfort. But frankly he is too rattled to even touch Alec at the moment and so he keeps his distance.

Jace pulls up in Alec’s SUV a few minutes later, his eyes a little crazy as well like crazy is simply the order of the evening as he jogs around to help Magnus lift Alec off the curb.

“We gotta put him in here. I don’t think he’ll fit in the back of Giovanna,” he groans as they lift a mostly resistant Alec between them.

“Is Giovanna your car?” Magnus asks.

“Yeah.”

“You named your car?”

“You kidding me?” Jace asks as he reaches out to open the back door of the SUV. “I name everything. Wanna know what I call my-”

“No! I do not!” Magnus shouts as he lets go of Alec so that Jace can finish maneuvering him onto the bench. But Jace is simply smiling like an idiot when he turns to look at Magnus again.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, man. I was gonna say my condo.”

“No, you were not,” Magnus replies with absolute certainty. Which only causes Jace to laugh deeply and grip his shoulder.

“You’re right. I totally wasn’t,” he says before Magnus shakes him off rather violently.

“Why are you like this?” he asks as he wraps his arms around his stomach in the hopes of stemming off some of the cold.

“Why am I like what?”

The, “Nevermind,” that slips from Magnus’ lips is little more than a groan, though, as he wonders why he even bothers with Jace.

Once they establish that yes, Magnus knows how to drive a car even though he is from California and yes, he knows how to get back to Alec’s place, they split up again. And even though Alec is safely an entire car seat row away from him, as soon as Magnus closes the driver’s door he feels trapped again like he is back in that box, facing down seventeen minutes of hell.

His car smells like cheap Mexican food, that’s the first thing that registers. But any sense of bemusement over Alec’s ghastly food choices, given how impeccable his tastes are when actually cooking, are swallowed up as soon as he is dumb enough to look in the rearview mirror.

Alec’s right leg is bent at the knee, leaning against the back of the seat while his left foot rests on the floor in a way that pulls his body open towards the front of the car. And the way his arms are up, one flung over the top of his head while the other forearm rests across his eyes, tugs on his shirt, exposing far too much skin for Magnus’ comfort.

He rolls all the windows down as soon as the car is on, half to try and sober Alec up and half to cover up the way that he is shaking, as if he can somehow convince himself it is only because he is freezing. But Alec is moaning lightly in the backseat, is moving his lips in a way that suggests there is something interesting going on inside his mind, something Magnus wishes he could be part of. And it is almost enough to make him crack entirely.

To make him pull the car over, climb into the backseat and join him. But propriety and decorum remind him that anything done with a person in this state of intoxication would fall under the heading of taking advantage and so he drives, his entire body shaking all the way.

When Alec moans his name, Magnus almost jerks the car off the road. And it strikes him for not the first time in their acquaintance that there is a fair chance that Alec is going to be the death of him in one way or another.

He feels as if he can breathe again when they reach Alec’s parking garage. All he needs to do is hand Alec off to Jace and then he can leave, can hail a cab, go home, and bury himself in something less dangerous. But as with everything else this evening, simplicity is not in the stars for him.

It starts with Jace hauling Alec up to a sitting position inside the SUV, with him asking Magnus to crawl in the other side and hold Alec up so that he can literally pour a large cup of coffee down his throat. And Magnus is about to ask how Jace managed to get coffee and still beat them here but then he remembers his own white-knuckle grip on the bar above the door in Jace’s car and swallows the question.

Jace holds the back of Alec’s head tightly, refusing to let go until Alec has swallowed every last drop in the cup, calling out soothing words like, “C’mon, buddy, all the way,” as Alec swats his arms at Jace feebly while trying to escape his grip.

It’s almost painful to watch, but given Jace’s reaction to the situation it is also likely something they have done before. And so Magnus lets his worries go.

Alec chokes a little at the end, coughing out stray bits of coffee as Jace helps him out of the vehicle. And he still seems dazed as he regains his feet, but the coffee already seems to be helping judging by the way Alec sounds vaguely like Alec when he asks, “Where am I?”

“You’re home,” Jace replies as he takes his position under Alec’s left arm. “Or almost home, anyway. Just a short elevator ride and then we’ll have you safely tucked in bed.”

“We?” he asks right as Magnus is hopping out of the backseat. And any thoughts he had about Alec actually remembering what happened inside the club are clearly answered when Alec’s eyes land on him.

He looks completely befuddled, his voice bearing strong traces of the same emotion when he asks, “Magnus?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Magnus replies because he is a bitchy idiot as he leverages himself under Alec’s right shoulder.

But Alec does not seem to be deterred from his confusion as he begins to ask, “Why are you… oh fuck, hold on.”

He is vomiting at that, leaning over to try and find a place to do it that is a little less peopled. And the way Jace literally jumps away from him, forcing Magnus to hold Alec up on his own or risk him face-planting in his own puke, makes him want to punch Jace in the face.

“What?” Jace asks in response to the way Magnus glares at him as he helps Alec to a crouching position. “I’m not letting him ruin another pair of shoes. The cheap ass still hasn’t replaced the last pair yet.”

“Get it all out,” Magnus says soothingly while still glaring at Jace, one of his hands rubbing soft circles in between Alec’s shoulder blades as he continues to wretch onto the pavement.

“Are you all right?” Magnus asks when it appears that Alec has finished. And the look on Alec’s face when he turns his head to nod at Magnus is almost enough to break his heart.

He is ashamed. Deeply, deeply ashamed.

“Here,” Jace says a second later as he shoves a stick of gum in Alec’s face before smiling at Magnus and adding, “See? I’m helpful.” All of which are actions that do very little to curb the way he still feels like decking Jace right now.

“Would you just help me get him up?” he asks, unwilling to hide the anger in his voice.

But Jace either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because his voice is just as chipper when he reaches down to help and says, “Sure thing, Mags.”

“Do not call me that,” Magnus replies as the pair of them complete their Alec Lightwood bookends once more.

“Aw, c’mon, why not? Raphael gets to call you that.”

“That is because I have known Raphael since I was twelve. You and I do not have that luxury.”

Luxury, Magnus thinks. What a poor choice of words.

“You’re no fun,” Jace says with an actual pout on his lips. And Magnus is too tired to even bother responding to him at this point.

All he wants to do is go home.

Jace seems to have no shortage of requests for him, though. Could you get the door? Could you help me get him to his bed? Could you take off his shoes while I get some water? And he knows what he is doing. For some reason, Jace is doing everything in his power to make sure that Magnus does not leave right now. The only thing he cannot figure out is why.

Magnus is just finishing removing Alec’s boots when Jace returns with an opened bottle of water with a bright pink bendy straw stuck in the top. And as Jace takes a seat next to Alec on the bed, lifting his head up far more gently than he had with the coffee so he can place the straw in Alec’s mouth, Magnus sees that as his opportunity to leave. Except a second later Jace is asking, “What happened, buddy?” and Magnus…

Well, Magnus is curious. And he’s made it this far into the evening already, hasn’t he? He’s already passed through every fiery trial the night has thrown at him. So he deserves to at least know what started all of it, right?

Once he has finished drinking half of the bottle of water, Alec tips his head back into his pillows, shuts his eyes, and says in the most miserable tone Magnus has ever heard, “They want me to get married.”

That… was not what Magnus was expecting.

“Maryse and Robert?” Jace asks, and Magnus is relieved at how confused Jace sounds because at least he is not alone here.

Alec nods his head slowly. “They said I’ve been dating her long enough. That it would be a good image boost for the team. That we…”

He pauses, opening his eyes to look briefly at Magnus before closing them again and rubbing his palms over his face as he groans the words, “They said that we need something to… deflect right now, and that an engagement is the perfect kind of PR the team needs.”

“Is this because of me?” Magnus finds himself asking, the question leaving his lips before he can really even form it properly in his head.

Alec says, “No,” at the same time Jace says, “Yes.” A response from Jace that prompts Alec to smack him hard on the shoulder.

“What?” Jace bites out as he rubs the area where Alec hit him. “I’m just trying to be fucking honest with the guy. Might be something you could try with him sometime, ass face.”

Magnus is only half paying attention to them at best as his mind searches through the last few weeks for problems he may not have noticed. Because the post game questions have been easier of late, more focused on hockey, less on his sex life. And sure, one of his male exes had done a piece with a gossip rag about a week ago, but that story had only been in the news cycle for a few days and none of the beat reporters had even asked him about it.

He’d thought it was because it was no longer news, because he was no longer news. But then he remembers the first game he was here, the way Isabelle and her parents had worked to snuff out the fire of Alec’s tirade before it could be made public, and it makes him wonder how many fires the Lightwoods have been putting out for him since he joined the team.

“If they were so worried about the PR surrounding me, why would they make the trade?” Magnus asks as he feels sick to his stomach for not the first time this evening.

“Honestly?” Jace asks as he turns to face him. “They want a Cup more and they got you for a fucking steal. They never met a bargain basement sale they could pass up, and they never invited a problem that they couldn’t bitch about afterward.”

“No offense, Alec, but your parents are assholes,” Magnus says bitterly, but the way Alec is looking at him makes him feel as if he just called Alec an asshole as well.

He wants to explain himself, wants to make it very clear to Alec that this is in no way his fault. But he’s not sure he would even be able to find the words to do that tonight, and is even less sure that Alec would be able to hear them in his current state. And so he lets the issue hang where it is and hopes that they will be able to find a way to rectify it sometime in the not too distant future.

“I gotta go call the Phone Tree, you mind sitting with him for a minute?” Jace asks as he rises from the bed. And Magnus is nodding in spite of how much he still wants to escape because he’s in this, apparently, for however long he’s needed.

He sits on the edge of the bed as soon as Jace is gone, resting his back against the headboard and stretching his legs along the edge of the mattress as he asks, “How are you doing?” to what appears to be a mostly passed out Alec.

“Depends. Is the room actually spinning?”

“No,” Magnus replies with a small, sad laugh.

“Then not good.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t be lying on your back right now, in case you pass out. You don’t want to risk puking again in your-”

Before he can get the word sleep out, Alec is rolling onto his side.

Correction: Alec is rolling onto Magnus’ lap.

Instead of moving away like he probably should, Magnus actually sinks down further into the bed, giving Alec a more comfortable way to lay on him. And as Alec wraps his arms around his waist, resting his head on his stomach like Magnus is his new favorite pillow, any shot he had at leaving evaporates in front of his eyes. And he doesn’t just mean tonight.

He is broken, and Alec is the only glue left on the shelf.

“How much do you charge for drunken cuddles?” Alec asks softly a short while later.

“For you, Alexander?” Magnus says as he twists his fingers lightly in Alec’s hair. “They are free of charge.”

Alec squeezes him tighter at that, a response that only makes Magnus ache more deeply before the next words out of Alec’s mouth shatter his heart as effectively as a sledgehammer.

“Would you stay with me? Please?”

Magnus sighs, trying not to allow his voice to sound as raw as it feels when he replies, “Of course, Alec. I will stay as long as you want me to.”

“Thank you.”

Magnus rests his head back and shuts his eyes, his voice sounding distant even to him when he says, “You’re welcome. Now rest.”

Alec seems to follow his advice, judging by the way his breathing slows incrementally until he is likely sound asleep. And Magnus is just about to join him in that when Jace returns.

“You okay here?” he asks as he pulls a blanket from a nearby chair to cover where he and Alec are wrapped around one another. “You need anything before I head out?”

“I am fine,” Magnus lies. But what he needs right now Jace cannot supply, and so in this instance his claim is also technically the truth.

He assumes that is the end of it, that once Jace gets up to leave he will simply be gone. But he stops at the door instead, pausing for a few long seconds before turning around and saying, “I’m glad you’re here. And not… not just because of hockey.”

He pauses again, this time to absently scratch at the paint on the doorjamb before saying, even more quietly than before, “You’re good for him. And I just… I hope he’s good for you, too.”

Magnus finds that he is holding his breath again when Jace looks up at him, but he has no words in his vocabulary to respond to what Jace just said. So instead he just sits there in silence while Jace runs his fingers back through his hair, smiles, nods, and says, “Goodnight,” like that is simply the end of this.

“Goodnight,” Magnus replies with a tight nod of his own before Jace is heading out once more. And Magnus…

Magnus doesn’t know what to make of that, so he just adds it to the ever-enlarging list in his head of things about his life that no longer make sense. Every single one of which stems from the man currently passed out in his lap.

The one he is already fairly certain he will never be able to let go of.

#Malec #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #Jace Wayland #holding the stick fic #hockey au #hockey fic

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