Disclamier: Me no own Mortal Instruments or Deviant Art. Me just stupid cave man. (I don't know... I'm wierd...)
_
"Alec?"
"Yes?"
"I wish I could draw."
Alec Lightwood looked up from the book he'd been reading and met the cat-like eyes of his boyfriend, Magnus Bane. He sighed, realizing this would be a long conversation, and put his book down. "Why, Magnus? Why do you wish you could draw?"
Magnus, who was surfing the internet on his new laptop, chewed on his lip. "Because... Well... I've been on deviant art the whole day-"
"Oh lord." Alex said, planting his head in his hands.
"and," Magnus continued, ignoring the interruption, "there are 16 year olds who draw better than me. And I'm 800! I should be able to do SOMETHING well, don't you think?"
Alec looked at his boyfriend, disbelief written all over his face. "You think you can't do anything well? Magnus, for god's sake you're high warlock of brooklyn!"
Magnus waved his hand, dismissing the comment as if it were a suggestion to cut his toenails. "Yes, yes. But that's different. I want to be able to do something with the arts... music... poetry... or, you know, art!" he said throwing his hands up.
"Mags," Alec said, using Magnus's favorite nickname, "What is this really about?"
Magnus sighed dramatically. "You know me much to well, Alexander. Well, if you must know. Yesterday I went to see a friend whose boyfriend had just broken up with him for no apparent reason. He was pretty broken up over it, so to give this friend closure I used a tracking spell on his boyfriend to find out where he was because I was fairly certain he'd left my friend for someone else. Sure enough there he was, cannodling with some young, sexy, artist. Then that got me to thinking, what's keeping you from leaving me for some tortured artist? Or budding poet? Or stunning muscian? Or-"
"Magnus! Tortured artists are NOT my type. Nor are budding poets, nor stunning musicians. You know what my type is? Sparkly warlocks who wear excessive leather and have the most beautiful eyes. My type is eccentric downworlders with wierd fetishes and adorable insecurities. My type is proud cat owners that embrace who they are and know whose opinion matters most. I have one type, and that's you Magnus Bane."
Magnus sighed, "You're very lucky I like being complimented, Alexander. Very lucky. Or else I'd be asking for art lessons for Valentines Day, Christmas, and my birthday." He said, closing his laptop and walking over to the couch where Alec was resting.
Alec smiled, and allowed his boyfriend to snuggle into his shoulder.
"Alec?"
"Yes?"
"Promise you won't leave me for a tortured artist."
"I promise."
_ Awwwww. I admit. It's pure cheesy fluff. That gave me a wierd mental picture...
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-Jaz