Too Many To Count

The man was sitting in a hard plastic chair, at a small circular metal table,
outside a cute little café in lower Marseille, 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 than 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. Much to her displeasure -and the other boy's, she noticed- he then slipped the sunglasses back on, hiding the beauty that was his eyes.
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! Oh, and don't forget the glitter."  
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 more than half of Alec's salad despite his
constant insistence that he wasn't hungry at all- and left the pretty waitress a tip, leaving the café hand-in-hand.


(LINE BREAK)


-later in the hotel-

"ALEXANDER GIDEON 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.
"Some trust, please Magnus, love."
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. Ignoring Alec's comment, he proceeded to leave the bathroom door wide open as he left, chuckling at his boyfriend's frustrated sigh.

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.

With a frown, Magnus re-entered the bathroom to put his makeup back, and inspected his reflection in the large gilded mirror that occupied the entire wall. Satisfied, he took a seat on the closed toilet lid, and continued to daydream about the previous night's activites.

"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.