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 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.