This is my first foray into the MI Fandom.

It sucks, I know, but serious Magnus is serious.

Hope you enjoy it, let me know how this did, and if I should never try writing Malec again.

Review. I need it.

I have lived for a long time. I have lived in Spain, in China, in London, in Paris, and in New York. I witnessed the rise and fall of the British Empire, which was really quite spectacular. I fought, alongside the Shadowhunters and the vampires and werewolves in the Mortal War. I was in the battle of Idris, bound to, and partnered with, a boy, barely a man amongst his people, just eighteen years old.

Alexander Lightwood. His friends and family call him Alec, but to me he is Alexander. It suits him, like those baggy, faded clothes, runes, scars and Seraph blades suit him. He is not my Alexander without them.

As I say, I am old, but still fabulous. Nobody wears glitter quite as well as I do. In all my years, I have only been in love twice, if you do not count my affection for my wonderful Chairman Meow. The first time was nothing compared to the second, and so I shall skip that altogether. I am bisexual. Pansexual. Whichever term you prefer. I have slept with women, men, the Fair folk, children of the moon, and the night. In recent months I have added Shadowhunter to that list.

I never really cared when a relationship ended. I would feel sad for a day or two, then resume my search for some beautiful boy who would save me from my bad habits. It's really quite astonishing how, when I did find Alexander, I spent a very long time asking him to forgive me, most of the times for things he needn't have known I did. He is insecure, and with Jace Herondale as an adoptive brother, and the gorgeous Isabelle as a sister, I can understand why. Really, I can. One day he might quit being so stubborn and realise that I, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, master of glitter and extravagant parties, love him.

Jace once remarked that I treated Alec as if he were Christ himself. Luckily for Alexander, he doesn't look anything like Jesus. I have never told Alexander, because it really is none of his business, but I adore the way he talks. He's a gentleman, and not in the same way that William Herondale was, or Jem Castairs, they were raised to be polite, but in the inflections of his voice. He does open doors for me although he is, quite categorically, the woman in our relationship. He's quiet, understated, and he looks marvellous in a suit. The perfect gentleman. I always imagined he would be like that.

It's not perfect. Nothing ever is. Shadowhunters don't cope well with homosexuals, which makes Alexander's life hard enough, but when his significant other is a Warlock, a half demon, the very thing they fight against and is therefore evil and not to be trusted unless there is no choice, the Shadowhunting population react even more negatively. They make a mountain out of a molehill, and it is that mountain that Alexander and I must climb. If the mountain were not metaphorical, everything would be a great deal worse. We'll have to take things slowly, or the situation will probably get worse. In all the centuries I have known Shadowhunters, their ability to cope with change in their ways, traditions and society hasn't improved one bit.

Alexander presents a rather quiet demeanour, I find. But when it is just the two of us alone, I assure you, he is very loud indeed. And I mean that in any way you care to interpret it. He's calm, to everybody, but inside he's like a hurricane, a wonderful, glorious, forceful personality just trying to burst out. That is the Alexander I love. He reminds me a lot of myself, when I was younger, filled with this force that felt like it would tear me to shreds in a heartbeat. That's demonic power for you. He, Alexander, makes me think of all the places I used to live, that townhouse in London, the farm where I was born. Everywhere I have ever lived, because I have never felt more at home that I do with Alexander.

Which, for an immortal, is bad news.

Alec didn't have to jump into this. He could have tested the water. He could have stalled and put it off and chased after that arrogant blonde bastard for much, much longer than he did, and pretending that our little trysts were not taking place. But he didn't.

That is why I love him. He risked everything, a lifetime of training, his family, his entire way of life for me.

So no, he's not Christ the saviour, he's not particularly bold or outspoken, and he's most certainly not Jace Herondale, tortured angel extraordinaire. But he's a hurricane, a gentleman, he's like I used to be. Alexander Lightwood is beautiful, and for him, I'll be unerringly faithful, even when he's too old to pound into the mattress, or to lift a sword, or cook his own meals. The day I lose him, I think I shall lose a bit of myself too. Which hurts all the more because I have searched everything, I have looked everywhere, and there is no way to make him immortal. No way that I am prepared to risk. He won't become a vampire, and I wouldn't want him to. He's mine, with his Angel blood and his beautiful blue eyes.

I won't ever be ready to loose him, and he knows that. I have told him so. I have tried to put it into words, tried to explain how much I love him, but it's not really possible.

In a hundred years or so, when he is dead and gone, and I have left Brooklyn, and New York, and probably even America far, far behind, people will say "remember that Warlock who loved a Shadowhunter? How stupid was that, how quaint" and they'll laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Because it is ridiculous. Half of my blood is Demonic, in origin, he is a Shadowhunter, he is part Angel. I don't think we were ever supposed to mix. But mix we shall.

I'm Magnus Bane. The Magnus Bane. I get what I want.

How do you think same sex marriage got legalised in New York?