“My feet are killing me,” Magnus said, leaning further into Alec as they walked side by side through the park, heading home after a long and unexpected fight with some demons. “These boots were not made for kicking demons in the face.”
Alec wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and let a smile spread across his face. The attack had actually been a rush, a welcome change after weeks of paperwork. Between Valentine’s death and the investigations that were still happening since the Clave caught word of Malachi’s betrayal, he had been stuck behind his desk most days. He had missed the thrill of fighting, and even more, the pride that accompanied winning.
“How do you manage to keep all of the ichor off of you? I’m practically soaked in it,” Alec complained, looking down at his clothes with a frown. He had actually tried to look decent that night, partly because he was still secretly trying to make up for everything that had gone wrong between him and Magnus, and partly because he wanted to see the look on his boyfriend’s face. The whole thing hadn’t been for naught, seeing as Magnus’ jaw dropped the second he opened the door, but now the outfit was ruined, covered in blood and slime and other unappealing substances.
“Darling, I’m centuries old. You think I would have made it this long if I hadn’t come up with a way to keep nasty fluids off of my outfits?” Magnus seemed genuinely offended that Alec would think otherwise, and Alec shook his head fondly.