A Lifetime in a Second
As soon as the door closed, Magnus was immersed in complete darkness and after the receding steps of his two escorts stopped echoing in the hallway, an eerie silence deepened the sensation that he was floating, suspended somewhere outside time and space, somewhere outside reality. With cautious steps, he felt his way around, his hands outstretched to avoid walking into a wall, and when he found one, he leaned on it and then slid down to sit on the cold stone floor, his back against the equally cold wall. His chest still feeling the throbbing aftereffects of the spell he had worked on himself before leaving the hotel was the only reminder of the reality from which he now felt so completely removed. Soon he lost sense of time and would eventually not be able to tell whether he was locked in that room for a few hours or for a few days.
Funny thing, time, Magnus thought. Mortals measured it with a keen awareness of its finitude, knowing that each second, each minute, each day inexorably brought then closer to an unavoidable end, to a death that for some is a beginning and for others is simply oblivion, nothingness, emptiness. But, can time mean the same when one is immortal? Magnus asked himself, not for the first time. How is the passage the time measured when one is not counting down towards an unescapable end and one feels he has all the time in the world?
For the last three hundred years, Magnus had measured time according to the changes he saw around him, the way humanity advanced, made new discoveries, achieved now wonders. He was aboard the RMS Lusitania when it made its first transatlantic crossing, a feat at the time, and he clearly remembered the day mundanes invented the airplane and flew for the first time. He was, in fact, standing by the side of the makeshift airfield, cheering enthusiastically, as the Wright brothers took to the sky in their flying machine and had himself tried the machine soon after. Less than seventy years later, he witnessed man's first landing on the moon. Each new advance coming faster and faster –the shuttle missions, the internet, the mapping of the human genome, the particle accelerator – as if mundanes were in a race against time; a race against their own mortality; eager to leave a mark, sometimes not caring whether the mark was of creation or destruction.
Magnus had also begun to measure time by the rhythms and changes of the human lives around him. In his three hundred years, he had befriended many mortals –mundanes and downworlders – some of whom had been lovers, and with whom he had briefly shared life and adventures. He had met many of them when they were barely out of childhood and he had eventually seen them age and die. In time, those friendships had become for Magnus a way to measure both the passage of time and the worthiness of his life, and for a while he had inhabited those mortal lives and those mortals had inhabited his.
The memory of his friend Joshua Pineshade suddenly popped into Magnus' head. Joshua had been barely ten the first time that Magnus saw him, legs thin and long under the short pans that denoted his condition as a child, his hair a deep mahogany and his eyes a chestnut brown framed by a freckled face. They had met at the Paris Institute when Magnus was hired to reinforce the wards in anticipation of the gruesome carnage that was the First World War. The two bonded over a game of chess, which they continued playing every time they saw each other over the years, Joshua getting better and better until he could defeat even Magnus. In time, Magnus had seen Joshua become a man, meet the girl that would eventually become his wife and with whom he had three children. As he grew older, Joshua became a respected Shadowhunter; yet, he never lost his idealism, sense of loyalty and innocence.
Joshua, who years later came to Magnus' aid in Berlin, the only Shadowhunter to ever understand the depth of Magnus' guilt, the extent of his shame, the immensity of his torment. Joshua, the only one to ever know how close Magnus had come to losing himself. Joshua with whom Magnus spent two weeks locked in the heavily glamored Berlin Institute, the last place of refuge, while outside the battle that would eventually mark the beginning of the end of the Second World War raged. They had played chess only half-heartedly during those days, neither of them able to erase from their minds the destruction that a downworlder had tried to bring down on the world under the disguise of a mundane war, a war the continued raging even after the Downworld danger had passed. They had heard the whistling sounds of the bombs as they fell from the sky, avoiding the Institute, just to go on to wreak havoc on what had been one of the most beautiful European cities Magnus had ever seen; destroying not only building and roads, but also shaking the very foundation of a society that had thought itself to be at the pinnacle of civilization. It was as if mundanes were determined to destroy themselves and they didn't need the help of the Downworld to do it.
Magnus had been such terrible company during those two weeks; plagued by anger, sadness and guilt; grieving what he had lost; remorse chasing away sleep; drinking the only remedy to restlessness. Joshua had placed a hand on Magnus' shoulder to comfort him one night, the gesture erasing the memory of other Shadowhunters' contempt and disgust; of Shadowhunters breaking plates as if they were forever polluted simply because Magnus' hands had touched them. And at that moment, Magnus had loved Joshua. He had loved him with a love without agenda or conditions, without desire or yearning; he had simply loved him.
His brave friend Joshua, thought Magnus; dead now for –wow! –ten years. Yet, to Magnus it felt like it was yesterday that they met for their last game of chess. Joshua, over ninety years old, looking frail and hunched, his chestnut eyes framed by heavy glasses, his life force slowly but surely leaving him. Joshua had been upset because his grandson had joined the Silent Brothers, which should have brought him pride, but instead made him sad. Joshua dying surrounded by his children and grandchildren, taking Magnus' secret with him; Joshua mourned by generations of Shadowhunters and by him, Magnus, who could never play chess again without thinking of Joshua.
Funny thing, time, Magnus thought again. When it seems to stop, like it did now in this dark cold cell, time seemed to be pregnant with memories of past lives, of mistakes, of loss. Perhaps this is the way in which immortals should measure time: in mistakes, losses, lives touched and lives that touched him, in instants of joy or sorrow. Or perhaps for an immortal, time eventually losses all meaning and one can live a whole century in just one second, or rather a second can contain more joy, more wonder, more beauty than a whole century.
If Magnus had to choose one second in which to live a century, or even the rest of eternity, he knew exactly what second that would be. It would be the second in which Alec gave him the most precious and unexpected gift that he had ever received. It would be that second, that instant, in which Alec's big brown bottomless eyes reflected that the internal war he had been waging with himself had finally be resolved; that split moment when Alec took the first decidedly step towards Magnus and surrendered, once and for all, to his feelings for him.
It had not been the public display when Alec kissed Magnus in front of his family and friends. Rather it had been a small intimate moment, sometime later. Shadowhunter traditions and expectations still had weighted down heavily on Alec. Despite the support and acceptance of his closest friends, the looks of contempt, disapproval and sometimes disgust on those among whom he had lived his whole life tormented him. Family expectations to continue the Lightwood bloodline, to marry and follow tradition burdened him in a way that was painfully visible to Magnus. Magnus ached for the young man, felt his pain as it was his own, perceived his hesitation and his self-doubt perhaps more than he had felt his own all those years ago.
"I can lose my career, Magnus, I can lose my family, everything," Alec had said one night when they were out for a drink, such pain in his expression, such hesitation and fear in his eyes, such nervousness in the way his long fingers wrapped themselves around the stem of his glass, that Magnus had felt his own heart shatter in a thousand pieces. "What am I doing? How do I know this is really who I am?" Alec asked. "I mean I don't know anything, I have never dated anyone. What is wrong with me?"
They had not been alone since the day Alec kissed him in front of his family. It had been Magnus's decision because he could tell that Alec was not yet ready, and he was afraid that if he found himself alone with Alec, he would not be able to contain his own impulses. That night, Magnus had simply listened, willing the glass in his hand not to shake, willing his face not to betray how much Alec's words pained him.
Magnus had been so forward in his flirtations with Alec when they first met, so open, so audacious in expressing his own attraction to the young man. But then, he had realized just how innocent Alec was, how inexperienced, how vulnerable, and he had backpedaled, wanting at first to run away but finding it impossible to do so. Instead, he had stayed and had decided to provide Alec a safe space to figure himself out, to sort out his feelings; determined not to let Alec's struggle feel like a rejection. Yet, it had been excruciating to watch the war waging in Alec's eyes, and he couldn't help to feel guilty; for he was, after all, the cause of the battle, or at the very least the one that had prompted it.
"There is nothing wrong with you, Alexander," Magnus had said, not for the first time, imbuing as much certainty into his words as he could. "You do not need to decide, not on my account. We can leave things as they are. I can leave New York for a while –for a lifetime if necessary, he thought but didn't say –and you can go on with your life as if nothing ever happened," Magnus offered.
He had left places and lives before, gone away until his heart mended, or until time erased the memory of him from people's minds. But for some reason, the thought of leaving Alec had filled him with an emptiness so profound that he didn't think he could ever fill it, no matter where he went and how many people he filled his life with. The thought of Alec aging away from him, perhaps marrying and building a life in which Magnus didn't belong, a stranger's life, was a prospect that filled Magnus with dread. But if he had to, he would make himself leave, he would take one step and then another and another away from Alec, without looking back, not for himself, but for Alec whose happiness mattered more to Magnus than his own. He would surrender himself to his fate as an immortal, the fate of constantly losing people, the fate of going on alone, even if this time he would have to force himself to meet that fate. He would do it because he was hopelessly in love with Alec.
"Please don't leave," Alec had said, sheer panic in his voice. "I don't think I could stand missing you; I don't think I could stand not being with you."
"Oh Alexander," was all that Magnus had said. The sincerity and urgency in Alec's voice had felt like the touch of warm fingers against cold skin and he felt the warmth spread throughout his body, as if the words had been tendrils caressing him, gently and softly. He had yearned to reach with his hand to touch Alec, to brush his fingers against Alec's cheeks, to run them through his tussled hair, but he had contained his desire and tamed his hands.
They had left the bar a while later and Magnus had stopped on the sidewalk to say goodbye to Alec, but Alec had instead offered to walk him home. It had been an innocent proposal, nothing new, nothing that Alec –the eternal protector, always concerned about other people's safety –had not done before, and Magnus had simply nodded. They had walked along the quiet and dark streets talking casually about the warm weather, and the lights in store windows, Alec's presence beside Magnus exerting a magnetic force that seemed to obscure everything else around them, as if Alec's presence was magical.
Rather than stopping in front of Magnus's building, Alec had silently opened the door for Magnus and had then followed him up in the elevator and then through his apartment door.
"Thank you for walking me home, Alexander, and for ensuring my safety," Magnus had said trying to sound playful but not flirtatious, failing on both accounts.
And then, the moment happened; that second in which Magnus wanted to live for eternity; that second in which a whole century of joy could be contained; that second in which he got to witness the most wondrous of events; that second that Magnus would treasure for eternity as if it was the rarest of jewels. He had seen it in Alec's eyes; the resolution; the last battle being finally decided; the moment in which Alec finally surrendered. It had been a physical experience; Alec's breath catching in his throat and then a loud exhalation, as he shook his head as if to shed all doubts; the exhalation and the shaking of the head finally silencing all the objections, judgements and protests that had been playing in his mind all this time.
Alec, his brave Alec, had taken a decidedly step forward and, reaching for Magnus, had placed his hands on both sides of his face and had kissed him, clumsiness and desperation mixed with passion and urgency. Magnus had felt himself involuntarily melting against Alec's body, every part of him becoming keenly aware of the way on which Alec responded to the kiss, the way in which Alec's breath caught and then released, the touch of Alec's hands feeling cold and hot at the same time.
They had kissed before, and Alec had touched him gently and tentatively. But this was a different kind of touch, a touch with a forbidden but propitious flavor, a touch that felt like a promise, a first, a beginning. With astounding strength, Alec had pushed Magnus backward until his back was against the wall and then pressed himself against Magnus, letting his whole body meet Magnus', so alive, so vibrant, so electric. Alec gave free rein to his tongue so it could explore Magnus' mouth, each maddening swirl threatening to overcome Magnus' self-control. One of his hands moved down reaching for the bottom of Magnus' shirt and then for his skin underneath. Magnus had felt as each gesture –the playful and urgent touch of Alec's fingers, the sound of Alec's quickening breathing, the strength of his body against his own –broke down his own defenses and the barriers he had erected to allow Alec the space and time to decide his own future.
Giving up all pretense of self-control, Magnus had reached with his own hand for Alec, and instinctively and with a desire that surprised even him, he had entangled his fingers in Alec's hair. With his other hand, he had reached down and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Alec's jeans and pulled him even closer to him, wishing to feel the warmth of Alec's skin against his own, wanting to use his magic to dissolve the layers of fabric that separated them.
Alec had surprised him even more then. With a certainty and dexterity that confounded Magnus, he had reached for Magnus belt buckle and loosen it, his other hand reaching for the small of his back and then slowly but resolutely making its way lower under his pants, caressing and pulling him closer at the same time. Magnus' breath caught in his throat, a confusing mixture of surprise and uncontained desire. He couldn't believe how fast his body had responded, how quickly and decidedly it had surrendered to Alec's touch.
Suddenly and with the last ounces of reason left in him, a thought had popped into Magnus head, stopping him cold in his tracks. Things were moving too fast, Alec was inexperienced and it was up to Magnus to ensure he didn't push him too hard or too far. He was the one who had to exercise self-control, to make sure to take things slowly, to ensure not to scare Alec away.
"Alexander," he had said, his voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper. Alec had not replied and instead had silenced him with a kiss.
"Alexander," he had tried again and this time he pushed slightly against Alec's chest.
Alec's mouth had broken contact, but without moving away, and he had looked at Magnus, desire mixed with confusion in his eyes.
"Alexander, I would give anything to lose myself in you right now and forever, but I don't want you do anything you could later regret. I would hate myself if I ever forced you to do something you are not comfortable with."
"Magnus, you don't have anything to worry about," Alex had said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, a smile that didn't erase the look of determination from his face. "Let me love you, show me, teach me how to love you. I am a quick learner, I promise."
Alec had pressed his body even closer to Magnus' then, his mouth searching for his ear. "Give yourself to me," he whispered, and Magnus' own internal battle had been decided at that moment, his own hesitation to love, not only a Shadowhunter, but one so innocent gave way to a determination to spend all eternity if necessary trying to make this man happy, letting Alec claim him as his own.
Magnus could not recall later how they had made it to the bedroom, except for Alec's crystalline laugh as he stumbled across the threshold, and fumbled with the lock in the door without breaking contact with Magnus. He did remember clearly though, how they had peeled each other clothes off with shaking hands, lost in the most exquisite of dances while they gazed at one another with a mixture of amazement and awe. And then, the indescribable feel of Alec's skin, its sweet taste and scent in Magnus' mouth and nose; the sight of the runes and of the tiny and not so tiny scars that covered the planes and curves of Alec's body; the way in which the moonlight illuminated his skin and shone on his tussled black hair, making it look almost blue at times. He would also clearly recall the maddening sensation of Alec's mouth, tongue and fingers on him, drawing circles on his skin, marking him as if staking a claim, as if with each touch, Alec asserted his ownership over him.
Magnus' extensive experience had taught him that sex, specially sex between men, required certain amount of negotiation, an explicit moment in which the relationship became defined. He had prepared himself for when that moment came for him and Alec. But, he was completely astounded by how easily and seamlessly the terms of their intimacy had been determined. It had not required a conversation, a request, a question; and, it had certainly not required a demand, a plea, or a submission. It had happened so naturally that Magnus couldn't help thinking that their bodies had been made to fit together perfectly and without struggle or accommodation. For from that very first moment, that moment in which Magnus wanted to live for an eternity, lovemaking for them had been an act of mutual giving and receiving, an act of mutual possession and mutual surrender, an act between equals, without judgement, without demand, without hesitation.
Alec had given himself freely to Magnus and, in return, Magnus had done the same, and their lovemaking had become nothing like anything Magnus had ever experienced; it had become a new world that Magnus was eager to explore and learn, as if he was new and not three hundred years old.
Magnus had thought that the urgency and desperation with which Alec had first kissed him would lead to fast and hasty lovemaking. But again, Alec had surprised him by taking his time to slowly and with fierce determination enjoy every second, every gesture, every touch without rush. For the next few hours they had gotten lost in each other's arms, making love slowly, softly and tenderly, with the ravenous hunger that Magnus had expected, but without the need for quick release. Alec had taken his time savoring every inch of Magnus' body without haste or frenzy, exploring with his mouth every inch of him, enticing Magnus' body to relinquish every possible sound of pleasure, showing Magnus how much he meant to him.
In answer to his gentle touch, Magnus' body had softened and molded to Alec's, his mouth searching for his and kissing it deeply but delicately, while his fingers traced his jawline. He too had taken his time exploring Alec's body, getting to know those places in which Alec felt the most pleasure. When Alec' hips had begun to undulate in a maddening motion, threatening to push him over the edge, Magnus had resisted against his unruly desire so he could concentrate in every tiny sensation that Alec's movements provoked in him.
Magnus had attuned every one of his senses to the tiniest of Alec's reactions watching for his every response to Magnus' touch. The reward was that he became keenly attuned to each of Alec's most minute reactions. He had felt in the center of his being the goosebumps on Alec's skin, every little shiver as he responded to the licks and moves of Magnus' tongue, every intake of air that entered his lungs as Magnus tasted Alec slowly and ever so gently. Magnus had felt every quiet moan as he fit his body to Alec's enticing him deeper and deeper into a sensual act of love. In the process, Magnus had also experienced every pleasure Alec took and gave multiplied a thousand-fold, as Alec too kissed, licked, sucked and caressed him. Alec's light fingers on his skin had been touches that reached the very center of his heart and soul.
They had made love without words, without any verbal expressions of lust or carnal desire, without any demand or request; just the sound of their breathing together deeply and increasingly faster. With every touch and caress, they had let their bodies express to one another feelings and sensations that no words could ever capture. There was none of the rush that plagues first time lovers. They were not seeking climaxing release, but, rather, the pleasure of the journey and every sensation that was the reward for every touch. Without the hasty search for the end, they had stretched every moment of pleasure extending, almost to infinity, the sensuality and seductiveness of every second.
The experience had been physical, emotional and spiritual and, in the process, Magnus had placed his heart in Alec's hands without reservation, realizing than he had never truly made love until he met this man and lost himself in him.
Hours later, the first light of day had found Magnus and Alec entangled in each other arms; their bodies moving harmoniously; Magnus' senses keenly attuned to Alec' quickening heartbeats and to the tightening of his muscles as Alec began to take them both towards another even more powerful climax. Instead of their orgasms being a form of possession of the other, or a form of conquest, they had reached a climax that was a mutual offering that had touched Magnus' soul like nothing else ever had.
Exhausted, they had finally fallen back on the bed entangled and spent, and Alec had reached for the duvet to cover them, making sure Magnus was warm and comfortable, the gesture so caring and attentive that it almost brought tears to Magnus' eyes. Never in his very long life had Magnus been more grateful than he was at that moment for having witnessed the second in which Alec walked across the threshold that brought him to him and eventually to this moment of shared bliss.
A sound brought Magnus out of his reverie, back to his present in that dark lonely cell, a sound like nothing he had ever heard before. It was as if the building was shaking from its very foundations, and as if it was being pushed up by a mighty force coming from deep under the earth. At the same time, a powerful force seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air, and even Magnus' lungs felt empty. The awful disgusting smell of demonic power permeated the air, threatening to send him into a fit of nausea and then, suddenly, he felt his own magic energy being drained, as if it was being suctioned out of him by an invisible vacuum.
Magnus fought, using all his power to counteract the force draining his magic. Bringing his hand to the burn he had inflicted on the skin above his heart, he concentrated all his thoughts and all his magic on that spot and in the memory of that second in which he wanted to live for an eternity. He pushed the memory and his magic deep into the that singular spot on his chest where he had embedded Alec's gift deep inside his own skin, making it become both a container for his magic and his memories, and a shield, an armor that protected him.
A sudden explosion shook the building even more powerfully, and for a fraction of a second, Magnus thought that he along with the building floated in midair, before crushing back down, the building settling once again on its foundations with a loud thump. A collective horrendous scream reached Magnus across the distance and silence, the collective screams of warlocks in pain and dying, a sound that told Magnus that something more terrible that he could ever have imagined had just happened.
Magnus had been able to protect his magic powers, stop whatever force that had just been released from taking what he was unwilling to relinquish, but the effort had taken all his energy, and now he felt faint and dizzy, and when he tried to stand up, his legs refused to obey him. He leaned back against the wall, trying to take control over his racing heartbeat.
Alec, please be safe, was the only thought in his mind as his hand rested against his chest and he struggled against dizziness and disorientation.
I would appreciate any feedback you can offer on how this story is developing. Thanks,
Alex.