DISCLOSURE:
I only own the plot! Cassandra Clare owns practically all the rest, except France of course. :P

Enjoy.

Coffee Date.

The man was sitting in a hard plastic chair, at a small circular metal table, outside a cute little café in lower Florence, France. There was a laminated menu with lots of French and a few daggy pictures pasted onto it, and a glass bottle of water on the table. A similar chair to his own was placed at the opposite end of the table, and the whole ensemble was situated under a large canvas umbrella, shading him from the harsh summer sun.

He was wearing white skinny jeans- to reflect the heat- and sequined gold Converse High-tops. He had donned a pale green cotton v-neck shirt- tight fitted under his white vest, and large gold-rimmed sunglasses hiding his green-gold cat's eyes. His raven black hair was spiked intricately around his tanned face, and strewn haphazardly through with glitter. Oh, and you couldn't forget the grey beret nestled among his crown of spikes, one of the cheap ones from tourist stalls.

His heavily-abused phone lay dormant on his side of the table, and his perfect green nails tapped impatiently on the hard metal surface.

This was all very interesting to the young waitress watching from behind the register, through the large window. She'd seen this man a few times in the past, and she could guess what she would see next. She could also guess his (and his guest's) orders.

With a sigh, she put the towel she had been using to polish some glasses down on the counter, picked up the familiar notepad and pen and walked out to greet him. He straightened up slightly, but didn't stop his tapping as she neared him.

"Evening, sir. Do you know what you would like to order?" Her quiet voice was polite and to-the-point, fluent French flowing from her mouth.

The strange man smiled, his faintly shimmering lips pulling up at the corners endearingly. "I'm waiting for a friend, I'm afraid. Perhaps you'd come back then?" His French was just as fluent, yet had an odd foreign accent to it.

The waitress nodded brusquely and turned away, returning to her position behind the counter. The day had been rather slow before now, and she was getting fairly bored, so she was satisfied to simply watch this man and his friend through their ordeal.

The other boy didn't come for another half-hour, and when he did he looked dishevelled and tired. His loose black jeans and grey sweater were crumpled and sweaty, and his black boots were untied and caked with mud. His hair looked like it had never met a comb, and his face was free of makeup and glitter.

He was the perfect contrast of the taller man.

They greeted with a quick kiss- which didn't surprise the waitress at all, she'd seen them do worse than that before- and the shorter boy sat down. As soon as he was comfortably seated the older man ceased his tapping.

The shorter boy grabbed the other man's phone, and pressed a button. The screen lit up, revealing a picture of a happy looking couple in front of the Eiffel Tower. He chuckled and said something to the older boy, who smiled in response and said something else back.

They chatted casually for a few more minutes, occasionally reaching across the table to touch the other's hand, or arm, or face.

The waitress was no lip reader, so she could only guess at the contents of the conversation, but she could tell it was private and loving by the looks on their faces. The older man asked the other boy a question, which in turn caused his pale cheeks to burn with colour as he stuttered a reply.

The waitress jumped in shock as the hoarse voice of her boss barked at her to take the men's orders. She muttered an apology and rushed outside.

She noticed with curiosity that as she approached the men the younger one straightened up, his hand slipping from the other's, and he placed both of his own hands in his lap. His cheeks remained the bright red colour that somehow enhanced his beauty rather then diminish. The other boy simply sighed and looked down as his partner burned with embarrassment.

"Hello. Have you decided to order yet?" The girl's mouse brown hair fell into her face, and she used one hand to tuck the stray hairs behind her ear again.

The taller man smiled at her again, meeting her eyes.

The waitress noticed with a start that he had removed his glasses, and she could see the striking gold-green colour of his cat-eye contacts. She couldn't help but wonder if the gorgeous colour was real or not.

"I'll have a caramel frappaccino with a shot of white chocolate, and a regular black coffee for my boyfriend, thankyou." His silky voice enchanted the waitress as she wrote the order down, and she found herself drawing little hearts on the margin of the pad. She shook her head slightly and looked up at the men again, her eyes wide.

"Anything to eat?" Her voice had adopted a shaky nervousness that had been absent before.

The older man opened his mouth to say no, but the shorter boy interrupted him. "I'll have a salade nicoise, s'il vous plait?" He grimaced and turned to the other man, who smiled and nodded in encouragement to his partner's attempt at French.

She nodded and smiled at the couple, turning on her heel and hurrying to the kitchen with the order slip.

(LINE BREAK)

Magnus was chuckling to himself quietly as he watched his Shadowhunter read the names of the meals out loud, his low voice growing more incredulous with each.

"Crock Monsyier. Really? What does that even mean?" His blue eyes were scrunched in confusion.

Magnus simply laughed again. "Croque-Monsieur, Alexander darling. And it's basically a fancy version of a grilled cheese sandwich."

Alec's cheeks burned as he glanced back down at the menu- sun reflecting off it's plastic surface.

"Right. Isabelle tried to make them once- I couldn't eat cheese for weeks afterwards." His lips had pulled up at the edges at the memory, and Magnus smiled in response.

He loved the fact that Alec was so close to his eccentric yet fabulous sister.

The conversation gradually progressed to more pressing matters- like whether Alec had remembered to put the sign on the outside of the hotel door telling the maids to be sure to wash the bed sheets, or why Magnus had left fourteen open and up-ended bottles of glitter thrown into Alec's unfortunate suitcase- but they never let their eyes stray from one-another.

"Take off your glasses, Magnus."

"No."

"But your eyes are so beautiful.. I want to see them." Alec's cheeks were ablaze again, and he nervously chewed the sleeves of his abused sweater.

"Alec, you ran into some demons? Is that why you were late?"

Magnus's attempt to change the subject was feeble, but Alec sighed and obliged anyway.

"There was a rather meticulous Azure demon in this quaint little park on the way here, but it was nothing a quick side-swipe and chaste lunge couldn't finish. I've read about them." Alec allowed a rare show of self-pride to colour his features, which caused Magnus to laugh again. He laughed often lately.

"Good to know all that reading has been paying off, otherwise I would be upset that my time with you is always cut short." Alec had been spending whole afternoons lounging on deck chairs in the hotel pool, reading up on Downworlders and demons alike.

He'd read aloud four whole chapters from one book to Magnus- all about warlocks. Magnus hadn't been able to fathom why his boyfriend had found that particular section so amusing, but he was sure there were visible tear tracks on the pages from when Alec had laughed so hard he'd cried.

"Oh, ha-ha-ha, Magnus. I just like to be prepared, that's all."

"And I love you for it," Magnus smiled and pressed his lips to the Shadowhunter's, "But tonight we're going out- no literature allowed."

Alec laughed, flushed from the unexpected kiss.

"'Kay."

Just as his stomach rumbled in anticipation, the waitress arrived and placed their drinks, and Alec's salad, down in front of them. She smiled and said something quickly to Magnus, who nodded and passed her a few Euros before turning to his steaming glass, eyes alight with excitement.

"You know, Magnus, sometimes I feel as though all you need is a life-time supply of sugary drinks and I'd be forgotten indefinitely."

Magnus stuck his spoon into his mouth, making a show of licking the froth from around his lips in an erotic way, and then pulled it out suddenly, which caused some to flick onto Alec's nose. The boy, however, was unable to move as he stared at Magnus's lips with the intensity of an eagle watching its prey.

"Yes, well that's all very well but you see, dear Alexander, that I do indeed have a life-time supply of any drinks that I want, yet I still seem to need you just as much, maybe even more!"
Alec had to shake his head to snap out of his haze, and Magnus leaned across the table to lick the drop of milk off Alec's nose. The couple finished their drinks- Magnus picking his way through half of Alec's salad despite his constant insistence that he wasn't hungry at all- and payed, leaving the café hand-in-hand.

-later in the hotel-

"ALEXANDER GABRIEL LIGHTWOOD, OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!"

The sound of Magnus's fists pounding on the plain white bathroom door was muffled by the sound of water hitting alabaster tiles, coming from the other side.

"Magnus- wait five minutes! Can't a man wash himself in peace?" Alec's exasperated voice was almost too faint to be heard, but Magnus's sensitive ears picked it up.

"Not you, darling! I've left all of my glitter in there! Unattended! Who knows what devious plans you have for it?" The warlock's voice was pitching with anxiety, and Alec felt a surge of guilt.

With a sigh, he pulled the curtain aside, leaned out of the shower and grabbed his stele. With a straining arm, he managed to scribble the 'unlocking' rune into the wood, before jumping back into his shower and pulling the curtain back shut around him. He would have simply locked the door, had he not been dating a warlock, (Ahem, High Warlock, might he add) but due to the existence of magic, Alec had resorted to ancient Shadowhunter means to maintain his privacy.

Magnus all but barrelled through the door, sprinting to the sink and clutching his small Prada makeup bag to his chest in relief. After quickly checking inside and counting all twenty-seven colours of glitter were accounted for, Magnus set the bag aside and crept up to the shower curtain. He could see Alec's shadow moving as he scrubbed his hair, and Magnus was seized with a sudden urge to jump right into the small space with his wet and very naked boyfriend. However, sense overrode lust as he remembered the time it had taken to get his face and hair ready. Magnus simply didn't have time to redo perfection before they were due to leave.

Alec had been kind enough to book a midnight screening at a romantic French theatre- some black and white movie about love and such. Magnus had, of course, been touched by Alec's spontaneous behaviour, and some gratitude had been paid to the Shadowhunter for the following, er… hours, maybe. They weren't entirely sure, to be honest.

There had been a substantial amount of mess, however- that they were sure of, if anything. Alec had even broken a vase.

"Magnus, could you pass a towel, please?" The voice of his boyfriend woke Magnus from his reminiscences, and he snapped his long fingers. A fluffy brown towel appeared around Alec's waist, causing him to jump and grab at the curtain, which was pulled off of it's hinges as the pale boy fell to the ground in a pile of towel, curtain and limbs.

The piercingly beautiful laugh of Alec's Warlock filled the room as Magnus clutched his side, doubling over with laughter. Alec's red cheeks seemed to be emitting an angry glow as he heaved himself up to inspect the damage.

"You will be the death of me, Magnus Bane."

And with that he grabbed his discarded towel, stormed over to the sink, snatched up his comb and cologne, and slammed the door shut as he stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Magnus alone with the humidity and his panting laughter. After a few minutes the Warlock realised that his hair would be ruined if he stayed in that room one more second, so he wiped his eyes free of tears, pushed himself up and walked into their bedroom.

A large four-poster bed with a gold duvet cover and 'a million' pillows, as Alec liked to exaggerate, stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by a canopy of silk. There were numerous table-tops, and a large walk-in closet, to the left of the bed, and a positively humongous mirror adorned the whole wall opposite the bed.
The room was all very beautiful, and artistically arranged, but that was nothing compared to what was situated on the right wall.

Two large colonial French-doors sat side-by-side, much like the couple themselves, partially covered by large draping curtains, which were flapping slightly in the faint summer breeze. Magnus, with his cat-eyes, could easily make out the figure of his boyfriend standing in the dark, fully clothed and polishing a dagger. His glossy yet unevenly cut hair was swaying around his face, and he had a happy look on his face as he stared up at the stars. Magnus stole outside to join him, pulling his cardigan closer to himself and crossing his arms against the cool breeze.

"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine-" Magnus cut the Shadowhunter off with a quick peck on the lips.

"Alexander, if you count all of them we will miss our booking."

The boy turned to Magnus and grinned.

"Let's go, then."

And so they strolled, hand-in-hand, out of the hotel and onto the moonlit street in the little town in Florence, ready to face the midnight screening of an old French movie- and the rest of their lives- together.

Only Alec didn't notice the bulge in Magnus's back pocket, or the nervousness in his expression.

He had no clue that Magnus was carrying more than the diamonds that pierced his ears with him that night.

I hope you all liked this! It was originally for a Malec comp on , so I tried to make it as god as possible :)

Please review if you want me to continue this! x