Alec had always thought of nail polish as a feminine thing, before he met Magnus. The harsh chemical scent of nail polish or lacquer or varnish or whatever it said on those little bottles was something he had always associated with Izzy or his mother, one of the mysteries of femininity that he had always been even less inclined to crack than most teenage boys.
And then… then there was Magnus, with his spiky hair and insane wardrobe, and glittering nail polish on his fingertips that seemed to change hue daily. It had unsettled Alec at first. He didn't want to be interested in someone as flamboyant and undefinable as Magnus, but his heart hadn't given him much say in the matter.
Now, knowing the strength and surety and utter masculinity in Magnus's hands, knowing the way that Magnus's hands could make him tremble with desire and grip Alec's hand to give a reassurance that no one else could manage, Alec had long-since ceased to think of nail polish as girly. Instead, it accentuated who Magnus was, punctuated the graceful movements of his fingers, honed over eight centuries. Now that he knew(carefully schooled by Magnus) that nail polish had come from Ancient China and that it had an old and grand tradition of being worn by royalty, he couldn't think of it as solely feminine. Now it was just…Magnus, and it felt normal and perfect but still breathtaking every time their fingers intertwined and their palms pressed together.
It made his breath hitch every time that Magnus and his purple/green/blue/black/orange fingernails traced teasingly over the marks that scattered Alec's wrists and arms and torso or teased along his jaw and across his lips. He found that when he teased Magnus in return, parting his lips and drawing the warlock's fingertip into his mouth and flicking at it suggestively with his tongue, that he himself was fascinated with the incredible smoothness of the polish, and that the more he explored his oral fixation, the greater the reaction he got from Magnus. Alec found that he also quite enjoyed the contrast between the vibrant colors and the muted earth tones of their skin, the way that it looked when Magnus's fingers were splayed across his hipbones or buried in the soft strands of his hair.
Really it just came down to the fact that he had a fascination with Magnus's hands. The incredible strength in them despite the thinness of his fingers was stunning to consider. Alec's own hands were elegant and fine-boned as well, if you could overlook the callouses and scars, but they lacked Magnus's effortless grace. Not to mention that the strength of a warrior's hands was significantly different from that of a warlock's; Alec wielded the power of a sword and a stele and the blessing of the angels, Magnus wielded the power of the universe.
He loved to watch Magnus do things with his hands- read a book, brew tea, pet Chairman Meow simply because he loved to watch his boyfriend's hands. He didn't think he would ever be able to tire of them, of the way that Magnus would press his hands to Alec's, palm to palm, the longer tips of his fingers just curling over Alec's before sliding down and lacing their fingers together, knuckles perfectly aligned.
That fascination was how he came to be here tonight, kneeling on Magnus's couch, his bare feet curled under him while a low fire crackled in the fireplace, pretending to humor Magnus by painting the warlock's fingernails lavender with silver sparkles, but secretly enjoying the casual intimacy of the simple act. He honestly didn't know if he had ever been happier that night now, in this moment, with Magnus and his ridiculous nail polish.