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realized that Alec was mirroring the way Magnus had taken hold of Alec’s arms on Tuesday: on the day of Alec’s first kiss.
    Magnus’s breath caught in his throat.
    That was apparently all the encouragement Alec needed. He leaned in, expression open and ardent in the darkness of the stairs, in the hush of this moment. Alec’s mouth met Magnus’s, soft and gentle. Getting his breath back was an impossibility, and no longer a priority.
    Magnus closed his eyes and unbidden images came to him: Alec trying not to laugh on the subway, Alec’s startled appreciation at the taste of new food, Alec glad not to be ditched, Alec sitting on the floor with and telling a werewolf that she could not help what she was. Magnus found himself almost afraid at the thought of what he had nearly done in almost leaving Alec before the evening was over. Leaving Alec was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He pulled in Alec by the belt loops of his jeans, closed all distance between their bodies and caught Alec’s tiny needful gasp with his mouth.
    The kiss caught fire and all he could see behind his closed eyes were gold sparks; all he was aware of was Alec’s mouth, Alec’s strong gentle hands that had held down a werewolf and tried not to hurt her, Alec pressing him against the banister so the rotten wood creaked alarmingly and Magnus did not even care,—Alec here, Alec now, the taste of Alec in his mouth, his hands pushing aside the fabric of his own worn T-shirt to get at Alec’s bare skin underneath.
    It took an embarrassingly long time before they both remembered that Magnus had an apartment, and tumbled toward it without disentangling from each other. Magnus blew the door open without looking at it: the door banged so hard against the wall that Magnus cracked an eye open to check that he had not absentmindedly made his front door explode.
    Alec kissed a sweet careful line down Magnus’s neck, starting from just below his ear to the hollow at the base of his throat. The door was fine. Everything was great.
    Magnus pulled Alec down to the sofa, Alec collapsing bonelessly on top of him. Magnus fastened his lips to Alec’s neck. He tasted of sweat and soap and skin, and Magnus bit down, hoping to leave a mark on the pale skin there, wanting to. Alec gave a breathy whimper and pushed his body into the contact. Magnus’s hands slid up under Alec’s rumpled shirt, learning the shape of Alec’s body. He ran his fingers over the swell of Alec’s shoulders and down the long lean curve of his back, feeling the scars of his profession and the wildness of his kisses. Shyly, Alec undid the buttons on Magnus’s waistcoat, laying skin bare and slipping inside to touch Magnus’s chest, his stomach, and Magnus felt cool silk replaced by warm hands, curious and caressing. He felt Alec’s fingers shaking against his skin.
    Magnus reached up and pressed his hand against Alec’s cheek, his brown bejeweled fingers a contrast to Alec’s moonlight-pale skin: Alec turned his face into the curve of Magnus’s palm and kissed it, and Magnus’s heart broke.
    “Alexander,” he murmured, wanting to say more than just “Alec,” to call him by a name that was longer than and different from the name everybody else called him, a name with weight and value to it. He whispered the name as if making a promise that he would take his time. “Maybe we should wait a second.”
    He pushed Alec, just slightly, but Alec took the hint. He took it much further than Magnus had meant it. He scrambled off the sofa and away from Magnus.
    “Did I do something wrong?” Alec asked, and his voice was shaking too.
    “No,” Magnus said. “Far from it.”
    “Are you sending me home?”
    Magnus held up his hands. “I have no interest in telling you what to do, Alexander. I don’t want to persuade you to do anything or convince you not to do anything. I’m just saying that you might want to stop and think for a moment. And then you can decide—whatever you