It's short. It's a drabble. Sorta.
--
"Take my hands," Alec said. "And take my strength too. Whatever of it you can use to - to keep yourself going...Take it. It's yours."
--
Magnus Bane could only stare at Alec Lightwood's outstretched hands. His palms were scarred, and then darkened with blood yet to dry. The warlock stared on, his cat-like eyes blinking, as if in astonishment. He would refuse to do such a thing – to take Alec's own life force and make it his own, to fight in behalf of the Shadowhunter.
Magnus didn't move.
But Alec took the warlock's hands in his and clutched them tight, looking up his lashes and locking Magnus with a stare so intensifying, Magnus forgot about everything else – it was really only Alec that mattered. That was important. Even in life-threatening situations. As long as it was not his, or Alec's life that was threatened, then everything was like sheer bliss.
"Magnus take it." Alec's voice was hoarse, and his hands shook, but he held onto Magnus's. Slowly, the High Warlock of Brooklyn nodded. "It's yours."
His fingers clutched at Alec's more tightly now, and the feeling of warmth slowly left Alec's own body, and Magnus felt like a new fire had ignited within him.
Alec sagged forward at the loss of energy, Magnus catching him, his hands gripping Alec gently. There, in the crook of his neck, Alec closed his eyes and whispered, with an exhale of breath, the last words he could before submitting to darkness.
"I'm yours, Magnus."
And I am yours, Alec.
Timeless. Forever.
