Alec hadn't spent much time with Isabelle, not lately. To be honest, he'd been spending more time with Magnus than anyone else in his family.
Eating dinner with her, dinner that she was trying to prepare, was his pennance - his way of making up for lost time. Sacrificing his stomach in the process.
It sounded like a good, noble idea in principle, but when it came down to it, his stomach was already doing a nervous dance at the thought of having to ingest the meal he'd been watching her make. And the one-sided conversation they'd been having for the last twenty minutes wasn't much better. Isabelle did almost all of the talking, subjects ranging from boys to...well, more boys. Not in the same way most girls talked about people they liked. Rather, Isabelle seemed more interested in the boys she didn't like, and the many of their lot she'd had the pleasure of turning down.
"—It was so lame," Isabelle said, making a face. "I asked him what I should wear, and instead of giving me a straight answer, he said 'your birthday suit!' And giggled. He giggled! How mature is that?"
She frowned, and stabbed the baked chicken with a carving knife. Alec didn't even jump; he was staring at her with wide eyes.
" 'Birthday suit?' " he asked. That phrase again.
"See, that's exactly my point! It's pathetic, not funny. I'm not calling him back," she announced with disgust, wiping her hands off on a small towel.
"What is that?" Alec asked softly.
"What?" A blank look from Isabelle this time. Then her lip twitched. "A birthday suit? Come on, Alec."
"I'm not kidding," he frowned, swiping one of the table legs with his boot.
"You really don't know." She waited. His silence was confirmation enough. She shook her head, apparently deciding her brother was even more pathetic than her short-lived date.
"It means 'naked'."
Alec slid his chair back distractedly, and headed out of the kitchen, face burning.
"But dinner--!" she called after him in alarm.
"Not hungry," he mumbled, heading back to his room. Alec shoved his hands into his pockets to keep the nervous twitch still.
Birthday suit was slang for naked.
So when Magnus said he slept in his birthday suit, he meant…
Alec swallowed with difficulty.
Had he been kidding when he said that?
"I'm not used to wearing…shirts, to bed." Alec squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, letting his forehead fall forward with a dull thud against his closed door. Magnus had been so uncomfortable, sleeping in the t-shirt.
But was it just the t-shirt?
Flustered, he pushed a hand back through his hair and turned the doorknob, ducking inside.
He'd slept in Magnus's bed with him. The same bed Magnus slept in every night. Alone.
In his 'birthday suit.'
Feeling feverish, Alec removed his coarse sweater and draped it carefully over the back of a chair. Gooseflesh had broken out across his arms, and he knew his neck and face were red.
Unlacing his boots, he tugged them off impatiently, and climbed into bed, jerking the blanket up to his chin.
His cell phone was staring back at him from the bedside table, the numbers indicating the current time casting a soft green glow.
Alec debated reaching for it. He waited and breathed, deep intakes and hot exhales beneath the blanket until the trembling had subsided. Then, tentatively, he stretched out his arm, snatching the phone and bringing it with him beneath the cover, which he decided to throw over his head, like a flimsy tent.
His fingers twitched over the keypad. Magnus hadn't called yet. He thought surely he would. A wink was as good as a promise, right?
Alec's pointer hovered over the 1, but not pressing in.
What if he didn't pick up? What if he was sleeping?
The thought made him blush all over again and he buried his face in the pillow. Grow up, he coached, kicking himself for being such a chicken. No wonder Magnus uses euphemisms with you.
Was he really that pathetic?
Frowning at himself, Alec pushed the key and held on, calling Magnus's cell on speed dial.