Right, Alec thought, this is fine. This is totally…. Magnus took off his shirt. Fine.

Magnus sends him fire messages every day.

Magnus wants to reach down and run his fingers through Alec’s hair, but he can’t. His wrists are tied together with a length of silk rope that connects them to the headboard. They both know it’s only an illusion of control - Magnus is more than capable of getting out of the bonds with just a single thought and slightest push of magic - but it’s still a nice fantasy, having Magnus helpless like this. “Fuck,” Magnus whines, his hands straining against the rope with the overwhelming urge to touch, “Alexander, please!”

He needed alcohol after the day he’d had. Their party had just returned from Crestwood, where they had assisted the Inquisitor. They had an abundance of supplies, thanks to recent generous donation from Orlais, and they were prepared for anything - horrible weather, bandits, wild animals, and Venatori. Anything. Except for fucking dragons.

Magnus has heard whispers about the Lightwood girl’s daemon-a jaguar with fur as lustrous as the girl’s long hair-but he thinks the gossip mill has got it all wrong. The older Lightwood boy is the one with the stunning daemon

Magnus carefully releases the tight hold he has over his self-control and lets himself just feel. He lets go of Alec’s back, splaying his arms wide on the ground. He digs his fingers into the dirt, connecting to the earth. It hits him like a sledgehammer and he gasps. It’s a frantic sort of gasp, the kind that makes Alec stop and look at him. “Magnus?” Alec asks, searching the warlock’s face for any sign of things going bad. Magnus’ eyes are free of their glamour but they are… different. Still cat-like, but more green than gold, shining with magic and power hiding behind them.

Alec would have thought that asking for things would get easier in time, and it has—it’s so much easier now—but it’s still not easy. “Could you keep my hands there?” Alec presses his hands deeper into the mattress to point out what he means. “With your magic, I mean.” Magnus arches his brow. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.” Technically Alec doesn't know that yet either, but he's very willing to find out. “I’m into you,” he says. “And your magic.”

Alec doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows that Magnus knows he doesn’t know, which kind of makes it better — there’s no expectations, just the smile on Magnus’s lips when Alec surges forwards to kiss him — but somehow it makes it worse as well, because he’s following his instincts and his instincts, apparently, involve letting Magnus do anything to him. And, okay, that idea is unfairly hot (there is nothing Alec wouldn’t give to have Magnus pin him down and just take, but his boyfriend is far too nice and too conscious of Alec’s apparently soon-to-be-gone virgin status to even try to) and unfairly unattainable, but Alec’s first response to being pushed onto Magnus’s bed is still to get his wrists up.

"Magnus loves seeing him like this, muscles straining, mind completely blank except for the need to come, because normally Alec keeps himself under ironfast control. Magnus is so, so lucky to be the one that gets to take him apart." ...or, Magnus and Alec spend a lazy afternoon in front of the television.