Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alec was just eleven when his mother first fell ill. At first, it was easy to believe it was something that would pass; a stubborn cough, a lingering ache, nothing more than the small misfortunes that every person experiences. But as the months wore on, hospital appointments became more frequent, and Alec’s world began to constrict around the rhythms of her illness. By the time he turned twelve, the doctors finally gave the diagnosis a name, one that sounded both foreign and terrifying. The flat filled with whispered conversations and the scent of antiseptic, and Alec learnt to recognise the worry etched into the corners of his mother’s smile.

He was fifteen when the disease entered its final, unforgiving stage, and she was moved into hospice care. The transition was a blur of packed bags, gentle nurses, and tearful goodbyes to a home that had never felt so empty. With no one else to care for him, Alec was sent to live with his maternal grandparents, not far from his old neighbourhood but in a quieter part of Brooklyn, where tree-lined streets stood in stark contrast to the bustle he’d always known. At first, he tried to believe he could carve out a sense of belonging there, even as grief made everything feel temporary. Feeling safe, Alec confided in them about his sexuality, a truth he had always shared freely with his friends as well as his mother, whose acceptance had been unwavering. But the reaction from his grandparents was immediate and cold. Their faces closed off, conversations became stilted, and before long, they made it clear he was no longer welcome.

Less than a week after his arrival, Alec was forced to pack his bags yet again. 

Alec was sixteen when his mother finally, after years of suffering, passed away. He didn't get to visit her, not even to say goodbye. The people running the group home wouldn't let him. Alec didn't even know she had died until his social worker came to visit one month later. She was weary and apologetic, but she came bearing good news. News that felt both surreal and unsettling. Alec's father, a man he had never met and had never even heard about, had been located and was willing to take him in. 

With nothing but a name and an address in a remote Wyoming mountain town, Alec faced another journey; this time into the unknown, toward a parent who was a complete stranger.

Chapter Text

The last flight was long, the seats uncomfortable, and the view out the window unfathomably vast. Brooklyn’s skyline had given way to endless plains and, eventually, towering mountains dusted with snow. Alec pressed his forehead to the glass, watching the world change beneath him, wondering what kind of man his father might be.

Landing in Wyoming, the air felt thinner, sharper. Alec stepped from the small airport into a landscape that was nothing like home - endless stretches of forest, rugged peaks, and silence broken only by the gentle breeze.

Alec was the only passenger on the small plane, and the airport wasn’t even a proper airport, just a landing strip, a squat hangar for the aircraft, and a rickety shed with a hand-painted sign that read check-ins. The shed’s windows were dusty and streaked, and inside, a single elderly man behind a splintered desk handled departures with the air of someone who’d rather be anywhere else. The tarmac was cracked and fringed with tufts of stubborn grass, and the only other sign of life was an ageing pickup truck idling nearby, its engine growling in the thin mountain air. The wheels on Alec’s suitcase clattered loudly as he walked uncertainly onto Wyoming soil.

A tall man exited the old truck, dust rising beneath his boots. He wore a faded flannel shirt tucked into well-worn jeans, the denim likely soft, and the creases hinting at years of use. Over his shirt he wore a weathered brown jacket, its elbows patched, and cuffs frayed. On his head sat a battered felt hat, its brim shading his eyes from the mountain sun, giving him a rugged, unmistakably local look. Sturdy leather boots and a wide leather belt with a tarnished buckle completed the outfit, suggesting a life spent mostly outdoors, at home in the wild expanse.

The man wore a cautious expression, and Alec thought, yeah, that’s my father. Though their hair differed; Alec’s a deep black while his father’s was a lighter shade; and the colour of their eyes were vastly different. Alec’s hazel, and his father’s a deep blue. But despite these differences, there was no denying their likeness. The lines of their jaws matched perfectly, strong and angular, and their noses had the same distinctive, straight bridge that Alec had always seen in the mirror. Even the way they furrowed their brows, the subtle crease above the left eyebrow, hinted at years of shared family mannerisms. Standing face to face, Alec could see echoes of himself in the older man’s features, as if time had sketched out a map of kinship across skin and bone.

“Hi, Alexander,” the man said, voice low and unsure. “I’m Will.”

Alec clung tightly to the strap of his backpack, knuckles white beneath the fraying canvas. The weight of the bag, heavy with all that remained of his old life, anchored him as he stepped hesitantly towards Will. Father, the word sounded weird in his mind. Alec forced himself to reach out, their hands meeting in a brief handshake where rough, calloused skin pressed against Alec’s own, an awkward gesture charged with unspoken questions. “Alec…” He said, correcting the man in front of him. “Right, sorry. Alec.”

From the car, another man watched the exchange through the smudged window, blue eyes tracking every movement. He leaned back in the passenger seat, tapping one foot nervously, gaze flickering between the two.

Will glanced awkwardly from Alec to the truck, then raised his voice. “Jace! Get out here and give us a hand with your brother’s bags, will you?” His tone betrayed a hint of command, as if hoping to bridge the gulf between strangers with practicalities. The passenger door swung open with a reluctant groan, and a short, athletic young man with blonde hair that caught the bright mountain light emerged slowly, his expression darkening as he sized up the battered suitcase and duffel at Alec’s feet.

With a sigh that seemed far too loud, Jace shoved his hands into his pockets, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He offered Alec not a word, only a perfunctory, sidelong glance as he strode over, boots crunching on the gravel. Grabbing the handle of the heavier suitcase, he hoisted it into the bed of the pickup with a bit more force than necessary, the case thudding against the metal. “Guess you brought half of Brooklyn with you,” he muttered under his breath, not quite meeting Alec’s eyes as he moved to snatch up the duffel next.

Alec hesitated, watching the brief, brusque movements. Will, sensing the tension, hovered beside the open truck, shooting Jace a warning glance that went ignored as the young man finished and slammed the tailgate shut. The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the wind in the pines, as if even the mountain air was waiting to see what would happen next.

The cab of the pickup seemed to shrink with every mile. Will’s attempts at small talk echoed hollowly in the cramped space; questions about the flight, Brooklyn, and the mountain weather, each one faltering and dying as Alec responded with little more than a distracted hum or a monosyllabic reply. Silence flooded back in, thick as fog, broken only by the relentless rattle of gravel beneath the tires and the laboured thrum of the engine hauling them deeper into the unknown.

At last, after a stretch of silence so long it threatened to swallow them all, Will gripped the wheel tighter and glanced at Alec in the rear-view mirror. His voice, when it finally came, was rough around the edges, almost pleading. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, the words falling heavy and raw between them. “When your social worker first called… I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to believe it. I thought, it can’t be. There’s no way I could have a sixteen-year-old son I didn’t know about. But seeing those pictures… and seeing you today…” Will’s voice cracked, emotion welling up from somewhere deep and unsteady. “There’s no doubt. You’re my son.”

Alec’s hands trembled against the frayed strap of his backpack; his gaze fixed on the shifting tapestry of trees beyond the window. Will blinked hard, jaw set, as if bracing for a storm. But the storm never came. Alec didn’t respond, didn’t even make a sound. Their eyes met though the rear-view mirror for a few seconds until Alec looked away, rummaging through his backpack for his headset.

Will cleared his throat, searching for the right words as the truck rattled on. “Jace was actually excited to meet you, you know,” he ventured, glancing at the stiff line of his elder son’s shoulders. “He always used to ask for a little brother when he was younger; kept saying he wanted someone to share adventures with, someone to look out for.” Will offered a tentative smile in the mirror, trying to ease the tension threatening to choke the air. “He might not look it, but he’s glad you’re here. I think, maybe, he’s just not sure how to show it.”

Alec hadn’t heard a word Will had said, for as soon as he’d found his headset he’d put it on so he could listen to music instead of the rattling truck.

Jace, rigid in the passenger seat, kept his arms folded tightly across his chest, gaze fixed on the blur of pines. There was no hiding the frustration etched into his jaw, the way his fingers tapped restlessly against his biceps. Anger simmered beneath his silence; a storm not directed solely at Alec, but at the tangled mess his life had become. He was angry at his father for the betrayal of seventeen years past, for tearing apart the foundation of their family, and angry at Alec for simply existing. A living reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The longing for a brother he’d once felt had curdled into resentment and confusion, emotions too complicated to put into words. The cab filled with the weight of things unsaid, and the winding road ahead felt longer with each passing mile.

The drive to the ranch stretched for hours, the world outside the truck growing wilder and more remote as the sky faded from pale blue to amber, then deepening to the bruised purple of early evening. Pines pressed close to the narrow road, blocking out any lingering light, and every bend seemed to take them deeper into the mountains’ silent heart. Alec sat hunched in the back seat, cradling his backpack to his chest, his eyes tracking the blur of trees and the fleeting glimpses of distant peaks dusted with snow.

The conversation between Will and Jace was tentative at first; small talk about the road conditions, the stubbornness of the old truck, the way the rivers were running high this summer and how they should prepare for a flood in the coming autumn. But as the miles wore on, fatigue and tension began to fray the edges of their restraint. Will’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror to check on Alec for the hundredth time. The boy’s head was drooping against the window, likely lulled him to sleep.

Will’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the plea in his words. “You could at least try to be polite. He’s your brother, Jace. He’s had a long day.” For a moment, the only response was the steady thrum of the old engine and the sigh of wind through the cracked window. Jace rolled his eyes, arms still folded tight against his chest, voice low and sharp. “I’m not the one who decided to bring home a surprise kid.”

Will gripped the wheel a little harder, his knuckles whitening. “You think this is easy for me? It’s not. All I’m asking is for you to help me out.”

“I did help,” Jace muttered, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Alec. His expression sour as his fingers drummed on his arm, as if needing to prove his point through movement. “I loaded his bags didn’t I? I’m here, aren’t I?” For a second, something softer flickered in his expression before his gaze returned to the window, shutting out both his father and the brother he wasn’t ready to welcome.

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant,” Will shot back, voice kept soft so he wouldn’t wake the boy in the back, but edged with irritation. “Alec lost his mom no less than a month ago and his maternal grandparents don’t want him because he’s…” He had to stop himself before revealing too much.

Will took a deep, calming breath, swallowing before finishing quietly. “Alec’s got nowhere else to go.” The words landed with the weight of a stone, settling in the cramped space between them. The truth, raw and undeniable, seemed to pull the temperature down another notch. For a moment, none of them spoke; the only sound was the rhythmic slap of tires against the cracked pavement. Jace stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, uncertain whether the ache in his chest was pity, resentment, or something else entirely.

When they finally reached the ranch, night had taken over, the dark blue, almost black sky littered with millions of stars; the full moon gently lighting up the space. The truck had barely rolled to a stop when Jace flung open the door, boots hitting the gravel with a jarring thud. He shouted something about wanting to check on one of the mares; hoping perhaps she’d foaled while they were away; and disappeared briskly towards the barn before Will could utter a word in protest.

He watched his eldest son leave, a sigh escaping him, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of exhaustion and worry. He shifted around in his seat, the leather creaking, and caught Alec’s bleary eyes in the rear-view mirror. The boy had been startled awake by the burst of activity, his confusion mirrored in the way he blinked at the unfamiliar glow of porch lamps spilling over the ranch’s gravel drive.

“Come on, son,” Will said gently, his voice softer now that the air had cooled. He climbed out and circled round to Alec’s door, opening it carefully. The chilly mountain air sharp with the scents of summer and wilderness. He extended a steadying hand as Alec slipped out, backpack flung over his shoulder and eyes darting nervously between the looming shapes of the barn and the rambling farmhouse outlined against the night.

“Let’s get you some supper, and then I’ll take you to your room,” Will said quietly, offering a small, reassuring smile. He kept close as they walked towards the porch, Alec’s footsteps hesitant, sneakers crunching softly over the gravel.

Inside, it was dark and quiet, the hush broken only by the soft whir of the refrigerator and the muted creaks of the old farmhouse settling in for the night. Will flicked on a single lamp in the hallway, its amber glow casting long shadows up the staircase. He opened the fridge and gestured towards a plate of cold roast and potatoes, but Alec shook his head, voice small. “I just want to go to bed.” Will nodded, understanding that the day had run its course for the boy.

He led Alec up the narrow flight of stairs, careful to keep his steps slow, matching Alec’s hesitant pace. The hallway upstairs was lined with faded photographs and the scent of lavender polish lingered from earlier cleaning. Will stopped at the third door on the left, pushing it open to reveal a modest room; the bed was neatly made beneath a patchwork quilt, a dresser stood opposite, and white curtains fluttered gently in the night breeze from a cracked window. Will reached for the switch, bathing the room in soft light, then motioned Alec inside. “Get comfortable, son. This is yours now,” he said gently, his tone reassuring amidst the strangeness. Alec lingered in the doorway for a moment, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings, before stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll go get your luggage from the truck,” Will promised, offering a tired but warm smile. He paused, making sure Alec had everything he needed; pointing out the bathroom just down the hall and the extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed; before quietly backing out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Left alone, Alec finally set his backpack down, the familiar weight sliding from his shoulders with a quiet sigh. He opened the battered bag, hands trembling slightly, and fished out a small toiletry case. The bathroom, just as Will had pointed out, was at the end of the hall; its door slightly ajar, the pale glow from a nightlight spilling across the worn wooden floorboards. Alec slipped inside, taking in the homely touches: a lavender-scented bar of soap, a faded towel neatly folded, and a chipped mug holding a handful of toothbrushes. He ran the tap, letting cold water fill the sink, and brushed his teeth methodically, the simple routine easing his nerves a little. Each movement; the swirl of mint toothpaste, the splash of water; felt reassuring, a small pocket of normalcy in an otherwise unfamiliar world.

When Alec emerged from the bathroom, he paused at the doorway to his room, surprised to see his luggage already stacked carefully beside the dresser. Will stood nearby, having just set down the last bag, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the soft lamp light. He glanced up and offered Alec a gentle, encouraging smile. He straightened a pillow on the bed and pointed out where Alec’s things could go, making sure the boy felt no rush or expectation. For a moment, the silence between them was companionable, filled only by the distant creak of the house and the steady hum of night settling in.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Will said after a while, lingering by the doorway. “We usually have breakfast around half seven, but you’re not expected to be up. Sleep as long as you like, alright? No one here’s going to rush you.”

Alec nodded silently, fingers twisting the hem if his hoodie. Will drew a slow breath. “Alec… before I go, there’s something I want to say… just so there’s no surprises between us.” He kept his voice low, careful. “The social worker told me why your mom’s folks… why they didn’t want you. About you being gay.” He paused, waiting for the flinch or withdrawal, but Alec stayed very still, eyes fixed on the floor. “I want you to know, that doesn’t matter a jot to me. I haven’t told anyone, nor will I. It’s your choice when or if you share it, understand?”

Alec didn’t respond and Will sighed gently, reading the answer in his son’s silence, and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

Chapter Text

Alec slept in, just like Will had promised he could. The quilt wrapped around him was thick and unfamiliar, its faded stitching whispering of years long past. The house was quiet, so quiet that the only sound was the sharp and joyful whinnying of horses somewhere in the distance.

He blinked against the soft spill of morning light through the curtains and shuffled closer to the window. Outside, the pasture shimmered with dew. Horses, dozens of them, moved like shadows across the field, hooves kicking up little sprays of mist. Foals darted between them, chasing each other with reckless glee beneath the watchful gaze of their mothers.

Alec watched, still and silent, the joyous chaos tugging a faint, involuntary smile to his lips.

He dressed slowly, the ritual familiar and grounding in the uncertainty of his new home. Jeans, his favourite hoodie and the battered sneakers he’d almost left behind. Padding softly down the narrow staircase, he found the kitchen empty. There was a note for Alec on the fridge, informing him that they’d set some food aside for him, but Alec wasn’t hungry. Not really.

He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl as he walked passed it on his way to the back door. He stood there for a second before pushing it open. The sunlight hit him like a warm slap, the air sharp and clean. Alec squinted and took a bite of the apple as he wandered toward the fence; drawn, irresistibly to the horses.

Alec lingered near the fence, watching the horses for a while before curiosity nudged him forward. The sun had climbed higher now, gilding the grass and painting golden streaks along the peeling red of the barn. He hesitated, apple half-eaten in his hand, then drifted toward the old structure, drawn by the laughter and neighing spilling through the open doorway.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of hay and warm leather. Dust motes danced in sunbeams pouring through the high windows, swirling lazily like something out of a dream.

At the far end, just outside the open barn door, stood a man.

Alec stopped short.

The man was tall, his skin bronzed and glowing in the light, every line of muscle carved effortless and defined. Shirtless, his chest gleamed with sweat or water, dark hair curling damply against his brow. He threw his head back in laughter as a dappled horse shook itself, sending a glittering arc of droplets into the air; across the sunlight, across his bare skin.

Alec froze.

The scene was so vivid, so boldly alive, it hit him square in the chest; a pang of admiration tangled with something deeper, something quieter and more uncertain.

The man looked young, not as young as Alec, maybe more Jace’s age. There was an easy grace to him, a grace that came from years spent moving with horses and wilderness. He reached out, gentle and sure, stroking the horse’s muzzle even as he grinned, water still clinging to his arms and shoulders like a constellation.

For a moment, Alec forgot the tight knot of nerves that had followed him since waking. The barn felt like a different world; quieter, softer and threaded with laughter and trust. Something about it made his chest ache, and he found himself wanting; aching, really; to belong here. Not just to be present, but to be part of it.

The man looked up.

Their eyes met across the golden haze, and Alec’s breath caught. He almost looked away, but the man’s increasingly bright smile kept him locked in place. “Hey there,” he called, his tone warm and welcoming. “Come to meet the real bosses of the place?”

Alec flushed, heat prickling up the back of his neck, spreading in a slow tide across his cheeks and ears. The man just watched him; not impatient, not demanding, simply present, as if he had all the time in the world for whatever Alec might decide to do or say. That quiet waiting drew Alec forward, shy reluctance warring with a yearning he barely knew how to name.

He stepped forward then, each movement careful, every nerve sparking with awareness. The sun caressed his skin, and the hush grew thick and golden around them, holding the world at a safe distance. Alec’s sneakers whispered against the earth, impossibly loud in the stillness. He kept his gaze low at first, stealing glances at the man’s easy, open smile, the sculpted lines of his chest, the droplets that glittered on his skin like a secret only Alec was meant to see. “H-Hi,” Alec managed, his voice a mere breath, trembling with uncertainty and something softer beneath.

The man’s lips curved; gently, knowingly as though he understood the courage it took to cross that space. “You’re Alec, right? Will said you might be up soon.” His voice was low; a promise of safety wrapped inside an invitation. Alec’s breath hitched. The way his name sounded, warm and unhurried, made his heart race. He tried to respond, with words, or a nod, but he couldn’t. Words caught in his throat and anxiety prickled under his skin.

The horse at the man’s side nosed forward, snuffling Alec’s sleeve. It startled him and made him take a step back. “I think he wants your apple,” the man spoke softly as he gestured at the half-eaten fruit in Alec’s hand. Alec looked at the man, the horse and then the apple. He hesitated, but dark eyes, curious and kind, both animal and man patiently watched him, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

Alec rubbed his thumb over the apple’s skin as he considered his options. He could say something. If he was even able to find his voice again. He could walk off and not look back, or he could simply just give the horse the apple. Alec chose the latter. With a deep breath, he carefully reached out toward the horse’s muzzle, holding the apple in a way that would keep his fingers safe. Alec may never have fed a horse before, but he had given treats to dogs, so he knew to be mindful of his fingers. Accidents could happen.

The horse took the apple gently, as if it knew Alec was scared and uncertain. Velvet lips brushed Alec’s palm, and the boy didn’t even feel disgusted as it got covered in saliva and mashed apple. Alec looked at the man in a moment of pride.

“Looks like you’ve won him over. Thunderhead doesn’t usually warm up to folks this fast,” the man said, his tone light but edged with approval. The horse flicked his ears forward, pressing a little harder into Alec’s palm, and let out a soft, contented snort. “He’s picky, this one. Takes one look at most people and decides he’d rather be alone. But you… he likes you. That’s a good sign.”

The man stepped closer, his presence steadying yet somehow gentle, and offered his hand, palm open. “I’m Raphael,” he said, his voice a low, grounding rumble. “I help Will with the horses. Guess that makes me the resident horse wrangler and unofficial welcome committee.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and the warmth in it made Alec’s tension ebb, just a little.

Alec’s had crushes before, fleeting and harmless, mostly from a distance; boys at school, a face glimpsed on the bus, those quiet, hidden attractions that fluttered just beneath the surface. But this, standing here with Raphael, was different. Alec felt a wild rush beneath his skin, a tangle of nerves and excitement that left him breathless; butterflies in his stomach, yes, but also a dizzy, aching want that stole his words and made his pulse race. He’d never felt anything so immediate or intense; never wanted someone with this kind of longing, raw and urgent, every sense sharpened just by Magnus’s nearness. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, a hunger he’d never known how to name until now.

Raphael didn’t seem to notice what he’d stirred within Alec, either that or he didn’t care. “Want to help me turn him out?” he asked, and all Alec could do was slowly nod his head.

Raphael’s smile brightened, and he moved with an easy familiarity, unhooking the lead rope from the wall. “Here, take this,” he said, offering it to Alec. The gesture was casual, but Alec felt the weight of trust in it; the quiet significance of being handed responsibility. His fingers curled around the leather, still warm and slightly damp from Raphael’s grip, and for a moment he wondered if his nerves were as obvious as they felt.

Thunderhead tossed his head and snorted, sensing the shift, but when Raphael murmured a soft reassurance. The horse stilled, pressing his muzzle against Alec’s hand with a quiet confidence that felt like approval.

Alec exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the moment. With the lead rope in hand and Raphael just a step behind, they began walking toward the paddocks. The older man’s presence was a comforting shadow at Alec’s back; steady, unobtrusive, and quietly reassuring.

Alec focused on matching his stride to the horse’s gentle, rolling walk, each step a small victory over the thrum of nerves in his chest. The sunlit path ahead shimmered with dust and warmth, and Raphael’s watchful gaze, crinkled with encouragement but never pressure, let Alec find his own rhythm. One step at the time.

Once Thunderhead was settled in the paddock, stretching his legs and flicking his tail in the golden light, Raphael dusted his hands off and glanced at Alec, a companionable tilt to his mouth. “I’ve got some three-year-olds I need to work with next; Will’s got me on the clock with them.” Raphael’s gaze softened. “You’re welcome to stick around if you want. They’re a lively bunch, but there’s always space at the fence for an extra set of eyes.”

Alec hesitated only a second, nerves fluttering, before nodding shyly. The quiet on the farm was absolute; no voices echoing from the drive, no hint of movement except the horses in the fields. Will, Jace, and a couple other wranglers were off somewhere in the far pasture, checking the fence line. Another one, Lucian, Raphael explained, had taken the battered old truck into town for supplies.

They made their way towards the training ring beyond the paddocks. Raphael walked leisurely, pointing out the quirks of each young horse waiting at the gate; the one who always tried to nibble his sleeve, the one who hated puddles, the one who danced when excited. His words were steady and reassuring. Alec listened, nodding occasionally, but mostly just absorbing.

The horses were beautiful, yes; sleek and restless; but it was Raphael’s quiet affection for them that held Alec’s attention. Something about the way he spoke made Alec feel like he was being let in on a secret, and the curiosity that stirred inside him was warm and unfamiliar. He found himself leaning in, drawn forward not just by interest, but the quiet hope of belonging.

Raphael led the first of the three-year-olds into the centre of the ring with a quiet, practised ease, his movements measured and unhurried. He clipped the lunge line to the young horse’s halter and looped the excess rope over one broad hand, the other carrying a long schooling whip held low and relaxed at his side. With a gentle word and a click of his tongue, he sent the horse out to the end of the line, letting it circle him in a loose, rhythmic trot. Dust kicked up in soft clouds beneath each hoofbeat, sunlight glancing off the horse’s glossy coat as it arched its neck in concentration.

Raphael’s voice was low and steady, offering praise and the occasional soft correction. Every so often, he would step quietly towards the horse’s hindquarters, encouraging it to move forward with more confidence, while his hands remained calm and sure; never jerky, never rushed. When he asked for a change of direction, his cues were almost imperceptible: a subtle flick of the whip, a shift in his weight, a slight shortening of the line. The horse responded with uncertainty at first, skittering sideways, but Raphael murmured reassurance, his patience unwavering.

Alec watched, transfixed. Not the horse, but Raphael. The way sunlight cut across his broad shoulders, casting bronze highlights over the gentle ripple of muscle caught Alec’s gaze and refused to let go. Sweat glistened in the hollow of Raphael’s throat, tracing bright lines along the tendons in his forearms as he worked. Every time he murmured a word of praise to the young horse, Alec felt it echo through him, as though those quiet affirmations were meant for him alone, threading warmth and longing through every fibre of his being. He swallowed hard, throat tight, imagining what it might feel like to be the focus of Raphael’s encouragements, to be seen with that same steady attention, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrank to the man at the centre of the ring, and the wild hope beating against Alec’s ribs.

After a few circuits, Raphael stopped the horse and introduced the saddle pad and then the lightweight training saddle, letting the horse sniff and investigate before gently easing it onto its back. He talked the whole time, explaining to Alec how it was all about trust, about never forcing, just inviting the youngster to accept the unfamiliar weight. The horse danced in place but didn’t shy, its ears flicking back to Raphael’s steady stream of encouragement. Once the girth was fastened, he resumed their circles, giving the horse time to adjust, rewarding every moment of calm with a soothing stroke along its neck.

By the time they finished, sweat darkened the young horse’s flanks, but its eye was soft, and its posture relaxed. Raphael unfastened the saddle and pet horse’s neck, calling her a good girl.

Each horse was different; some bolder, some nervier; but Raphael adapted to each one, his quiet authority and unhurried confidence setting the tone. Alec watched, transfixed, learning not just the mechanics of training but the art of listening, of moving in time with another creature’s fears and hopes until trust bridged the distance between them.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” The sudden voice beside him jolted Alec from his quiet reverie. He turned, heart tripping, to find another boy standing close; close enough that Alec caught the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp, layered over sun-warmed fabric and a trace of dust. The newcomer looked to be about Alec’s own age, perhaps a year older, lean and wiry, his posture casual but his gaze intent. His hair was jet-black, tousled under his black cowboy hat, fringe falling just shy of his eyes. The boy’s eyes were a deep, liquid brown, wide and expressive, ringed by thick lashes that cast shadows on smooth skin, a shade paler than Raphael’s but still holding the warmth of sunlit earth.

Alec’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected anyone else, hadn’t prepared for conversation, let alone proximity. His skin prickled with awareness, and he felt suddenly too warm, too visible.

Their eyes met in the golden spill of afternoon light; Alec’s tentative, wary hazel seeking answers in the boy’s warm, knowing brown. For a moment, neither spoke; the hush of the ring wrapped round them, broken only by Raphael’s steady voice praising the horse. The boy’s lips curled into a small, lopsided grin, a glint of mischief and something gentler flickering in his expression. There was a quiet confidence about him, as if he’d spent a lifetime in spaces like this, reading horses and people alike with the same easy skill.

The boy let the silence stretch, mischief alight in his eyes. Then, with an audacious tilt of his head toward Alec, he said, voice sly and ringing through the hush: “The horse isn’t so bad either.” The words struck Alec like a physical jolt. His breath caught, face flushing scarlet as the remark echoed, startling and much too intimate. Instinctively, Alec stumbled backward, sneakers scraping in the gravel, heart hammering against his ribs.

For a moment, he could only gape, eyes wide with astonishment, the world spinning around the sudden, playful provocation. The boy’s grin widened; unapologetic, bordering on delighted; as if he’d been hoping for exactly this reaction. Sunlight glinted off the brim of his cowboy hat, and Alec, cheeks burning, struggled to recover his composure, utterly at the mercy of surprise and the boy’s teasing warmth.

As Raphael finished rubbing the sweat-darkened flank of the young horse, he glanced up, catching the tail end of Alec’s startled reaction and the new boy’s lingering grin. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smile curling at the edges of his mouth as he noticed the quiet exchange by the fence. With a wordless murmur to the horse, Raphael led her towards the rails, boots scuffing in the dust, the animal trailing placidly behind, her muzzle dipping curiously towards the boards.

He rested a forearm against the top rail, sunlight tracing warm lines over his tanned skin, and looked straight at the newcomer, his expression open and easy. There was a flicker of recognition in his dark eyes, the beginnings of gentle amusement. “Magnus, when did you get here?” Raphael called, voice carrying easily across the ring. The question was threaded with genuine surprise and welcome. The horse stretched out her neck, brushing her velvety nose against Magnus’s arm, and Raphael’s smile deepened, his gaze flickering from Magnus to Alec, reading the subtle tension and the promise of new connections forming in the quiet afternoon air.

Magnus flashed Raphael a flirty smile. “Oh, I just got here, sadly it seems I’ve missed the chance to admire you in your true element.” There was an unmistakable lilt to his voice, light and teasing, that hung in the dusty air.

Raphael let out a warm laugh, the sound rolling through the summer hush, and shook his head with mock exasperation. “You’re such a pain, you know that?” But his words lacked any real bite, softened by the easy fondness in his eyes as he regarded Magnus. He leaned a little more comfortably against the rail, lips quirked upwards, as if this familiar banter was a dance they’d done before. Magnus’s grin grew wider, and for a moment, Alec saw a flash of something unspoken pass between the two older boys; an easy intimacy that made Alec’s heart trip in confusion and intrigue.

Alec, standing awkwardly at the edge of their exchange, felt a strange twist inside him. He watched the glances, the subtle smiles, the shared amusement that seemed to exist in a language just beyond his comprehension. Was Magnus flirting with Raphael? Was Raphael flirting back? The thought made Alec’s cheeks prickle. He’d never really considered, had never dared to wonder in such clear terms. To his mind, it all seemed coded, shrouded in a confidence he didn’t possess. Were they gay? Were they together? Alec couldn’t tell if he was jealous, curious, or simply lost, stumbling in the unfamiliar territory of implication and possibility.

He didn’t know if he wanted to be Magnus, or to be the one Magnus was smiling at like that.

Alec stared at his feet, suddenly self-conscious, but couldn’t help stealing another glance at Magnus, who had turned away from Raphael just enough to catch Alec’s eye. There was nothing mocking in his gaze; just warmth, as if to say that Alec was invited in, not left out. Still, Alec’s thoughts spun, questions crowding in, each one more uncertain than the last. Magnus and Raphael seemed to exist in a world where such things; who you liked, who you teased, how you looked at someone; were possibilities, not impossibilities. Alec felt the shape of hope and confusion, pressing at the edges of his chest, and wondered where he might find answers.

Raphael caught Alec’s uncertain glance and, with a genial smile, stepped in to bridge the unspoken distance between the two boys. He gestured toward Magnus, his tone warm and inviting. “Alec, this is Magnus,” Raphael said clearly, his voice carrying easy authority as he made the introduction. “He’s the same age as you; just turned seventeen last month, actually.” Raphael’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, making sure Alec understood the parity between them, as if to dispel any sense of intimidation or difference. “You’ll be seventeen in a couple weeks too, right?”

Alec looked at Magnus as Raphael spoke, the words settling somewhere deep beneath his ribs. He couldn’t help the small jolt of surprise, tempered by the strange sense that he’d already been waiting for this moment. He nodded, a soft Yeah, catching in his throat, barely audible, but somehow it was enough. He saw Magnus turn fully toward him, a spark lighting in those warm brown eyes, his grin blooming with genuine delight, as though this was news he’d been hoping for.

Their gazes held for a beat, the world narrowing to just the two of them, the charged air between filled with unspoken promise. For a heartbeat Alec was acutely aware of every detail: the quickening of his own breath, the faint tremor in his hands, the way Magnus’s posture shifted to something softer, more open. When Magnus spoke, his voice dropped just enough that it was meant for Alec and no one else, the intimacy in his words a thread spun between their hearts. “Finally, someone my own age around here,” Magnus said, the playful glint in his eyes softened by something quieter, more hopeful.

The words seemed to linger, shimmering between them. Alec felt the flush rise in his cheeks again, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment so much as a shy exhilaration; a feeling he’d never quite known, equal parts nerves and anticipation.

Raphael caught the look passing between the boys, a subtle understanding flickering in his eyes. With a gentle nudge of his chin toward the paddocks, he said: “Tell you what, why don’t you get Benji, the two of you can work him together.” His tone was confident yet encouraging, as though handing over a secret key. The name conjured up the sturdy, clever gelding with a distinctive blaze.

Magnus’s face lit with delight at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “Come on, Alec, you’ll like Benji.” He beckoned for Alec to follow, and together they walked to get the horse named Benji.

At the gate, Magnus reached for the halter draped over the post, demonstrating a practiced ease as he slipped inside the enclosure. Benji, grazing near the fence, flicked his ears toward the newcomers and lifted his head, nostrils flaring with interest. “So you’re Will’s other son.” It was more a statement than a question.

Alec swallowed thickly and nodded his head, and Magnus flashed him a wide smile. “Hey, have you ever worked with horses before?” he asked, voice light but hopeful. Alec shook his head, feeling a flush creep up his neck. “No… I’ve never even seen a horse until today,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Magnus’s face lit up, enthusiasm unmistakable. “Great! You’re coming in the paddock with me, then. Best way to learn is to just do it.” Without waiting for protest, he grabbed Alec’s wrist and pulled him forward, handing him the halter. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.” As they stepped inside, Magnus demonstrated how to hold the leather straps and loop them gently around Benji’s nose, guiding Alec’s hands with easy, encouraging touches. “I come here every day, you know. Horses; they’re kind of my constant,” Magnus confided, his tone softening as he kept one hand on Benji’s neck. “Doesn’t matter what else is going on, they’re always here. I guess I just really love them.”

A gentle nudge from Magnus placed the lead in Alec’s hands, the supple leather cool against his palm. Magnus’s voice was a soft encouragement at his shoulder: “You take him, I’ll walk with you.” For a moment, Alec hesitated, uncertainty tightening his grip. Sensing it, Magnus stepped in closer, gently bumping his shoulder against Alec’s in encouragement.

“He’ll follow your lead,” Magnus assured him, his tone low and quietly confident. Alec swallowed, gathering the scattered threads of his courage, and gave the rope a tentative tug. The gelding responded with surprising willingness, ears flicked attentively forward, heavy hooves crunching over the ring’s sandy earth. Magnus remained at Alec’s side, his presence a calming tether, not taking the lead but never letting Alec drift too far ahead.

Every so often, Magnus offered a murmured tip; how to hold the rope just so, how to keep his shoulder square to the horse’s chest. His hand hovered reassuringly at Alec’s elbow, fingers never quite touching but always ready to steady him. Alec, focused on the gentle weight of the lead and the solid warmth at his side, found his anxiety easing as the horse’s trust became apparent in each relaxed stride.

Alec and Magnus joined Raphael in the ring once they had retrieved Benji. Raphael handed Magnus the lunge line, and he in turn guided Alec’s hands with a gentle patience, switching out the lines.

Standing at Alec’s shoulder, Magnus explained each step in a low, soothing voice, showing him how to coil the line neatly in one hand and hold the schooling whip relaxed in the other. “It’s all about clear signals and calm energy,” Magnus said, his tone reassuring. With Magnus prompting softly, Alec clicked his tongue and gave Benji space to circle, mimicking the subtle shift of weight and the unobtrusive flick Raphael had demonstrated earlier. The horse hesitated, but Magnus murmured encouragement beside Alec, steadying both of them. When Alec faltered, Magnus gently placed his hand over Alec’s, helping him steady the line, their movements synchronised. Gradually, Alec’s confidence grew, each small success met with quiet praise, until he found a rhythm of his own, Benji’s trust mirrored in the relaxed set of its ears and the thoughtful glances it cast their way.

Once they were done, Alec lingered, gently stroking the horse’s long neck and murmuring, good boy, into the soft, sun-warmed hide. Benji snuffled against his palm, flicking an ear in satisfaction. Before Alec could step back, he became aware of Raphael’s approach, a quiet shift in the air, the subtle crunch of boots in dust. The man stopped behind him, close enough that Alec could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that the faint scent of leather and hay and something wholly Raphael curled around him in the summer air.

“Fancy taking a ride?” Raphael’s voice was low and a touch teasing, but softer than before, as if he was offering a secret. Alec turned, startled, and found Raphael far nearer than he’d expected, his eyes catching the gold of late afternoon. For a heartbeat, the question itself faded against the awareness of proximity, the way Raphael’s steady presence both unsettled and anchored him.

“I… I don’t… I’ve never…” Alec stammered, cheeks stinging pink, the words barely making it past the tightness in his chest. He couldn’t quite meet the older man’s gaze, but Raphael only smiled; a slow, reassuring curve that softened every sharp edge inside Alec. “There’s nothing to it,” Magnus said, voice low and encouraging. “Benji’s the sweetest.” Raphael reached out, hesitating for a breath, then let his hands settle lightly on Alec’s waist. His palms were warm, grounding, his thumb absently tracing a gentle arc against Alec’s sides.

Alec felt a thread of nervous exhilaration wind through him. The farm seemed to still, sunlight pooling in long ribbons across the ring, dust swirling up from the earth, and all Alec could focus on was Raphael’s nearness and the solid comfort of his hands at his waist.

“Ready?” Raphael breathed, his voice a velvet hush against Alec’s ear, warm and close. Before Alec could gather his scattered nerves, the older man’s arms encircled him, firm yet careful, and with little apparent effort, Raphael lifted him up, setting him atop the horse’s back. Alec’s breath caught; not just from the height, but from the intimate ease of Raphael’s touch, the way strength and tenderness intertwined in that simple motion. The horse shifted its weight, flicking an ear, but remained calm, unbothered by Alec’s sudden presence on his back; perhaps sensing Raphael’s calm assurance flowing between them.

Magnus stepped in, hands sliding down to adjust Alec’s legs, guiding his feet into the stirrups with practiced care. His fingers brushed against Alec’s calf; slow, deliberate; making sure the leather was settled comfortably. “Just hold onto the saddle horn,” Magnus instructed, his tone both soothing and quietly playful, his knuckles grazing Alec’s as he positioned the boy’s hands. Magnus’s eyes found Alec’s, stealing his breath.

Magnus didn’t hurry. He walked around to the horse’s head, murmuring a soft word to the animal, then returned to Alec’s side, laying a reassuring hand over Alec’s knee. The warmth of Magnus’s palm, the gentle pressure, made Alec feel; unexpectedly; safe. “Let yourself settle,” Magnus whispered, his thumb absently tracing a slow circle through the denim, as if offering calm directly through touch. Alec exhaled, nerves unspooling just a little with the quiet, unspoken promise that both Raphael and Magnus were there to catch him if he slipped.

Raphael took the lead and gently coaxed Benji into motion, walking with easy familiarity at his shoulder, Magnus walking on the other side. Alec felt each stride in the sway of the saddle, the gentle rocking beneath him, but Magnus’s hand on his thigh kept the experience grounded. The horse circled the ring, offering tips about posture and balance with that tender thread of reassurance. The sunlight shifted, dust swirling softly, and Alec, sitting tall yet trembling with exhilaration, realized how completely the two men’s  care surrounded him; how every thoughtful gesture, every whispered word built a cocoon of trust where Alec could dare to be both vulnerable and brave.

When it was time to dismount, Alec tried to recall Magnus’s earlier instructions, but the ground seemed a very long way down. “Just swing your leg over and slide,” Magnus encouraged, a smile warming his voice. Alec did as he was told, but halfway through the manoeuvre, his boot caught in the stirrup, and with a sudden, graceless wriggle, gravity did the rest. He toppled forward, missing his footing entirely, and landed in an inelegant leap right on top of Raphael, who’d been reaching up to steady him.

For a bewildered second, all Alec could register was the world spinning, Magnus’s and Raphael’s startled laughs, and the undeniable fact that he was now sprawled chest-to-chest across Raphael in the dust. “Well,” the older man said, breathless, his arms instinctively catching Alec around the waist. “That’s one way to dismount. Points for enthusiasm, at least.” Alec’s ears went pink as he tried to scramble up but only succeeded in bumping his forehead against Raphael’s chin, earning another soft chuckle. Still tangled, they lay there a moment longer, laughter mingling with the golden haze, Raphael’s fingers tucked securely at Alec’s ribs as if reluctant to let him go.

Magnus couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. For a moment, he was utterly speechless, staring at Alec sprawled inelegantly across Raphael, the whole scene so unexpected and chaotic that it took a heartbeat for laughter to bubble up in his chest. “Why didn’t I think of that!” Magnus exclaimed in half amusement and half in admiration for Alec’s sheer audacity, even if it was accidental. Magnus had spent years trying to win Raphael over; every step measured, touches careful, flirting gradually becoming more and more bold. Yet here Alec was, breaking through every barrier on the first day, with one unintentional leap, managing a kind of closeness Magnus had only dared to imagine. He marvelled at the way Alec; albeit in the form of a rather spectacular tumble; had managed to press his cheek against that deliciously wide and well sculpted chest of Raphael’s.

Eventually, Alec managed to disentangle himself, though a bashful grin lingered on his lips. He brushed the dust from his hoodie, heart still thudding with a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. Raphael, still reclined on the ground, stretched out a hand with that same easy warmth, as if inviting Alec to laugh rather than apologise. Their eyes met, the laughter softening into something quieter, more tentative. Alec took Raphael’s hand and helped him back on his feet.

Alec found himself fussing over every trace of dust, his hands skimming anxiously across Raphael’s arms, up to his cheekbones, even through the tousled strands of his hair. His words tumbled out in half-breathed apologies, each one softer than the last, “Sorry, sorry, I should’ve-” but Raphael only laughed, the sound mellow and bright, chasing the tension from the air.

“It’s really okay, Alec,” Raphael replied, standing comfortably in front of Alec, relaxed and utterly unbothered. But Alec, cheeks blotched pink with embarrassment, kept at it, fingers brushing at the other man’s dust-covered skin, as if he could erase it all with sheer persistence. Raphael watched him with an indulgent fondness, his own smile softening at the corners. Then, with a gentle but firm motion, he reached out and caught Alec’s wrists, halting his nervous movements.

Raphael, still holding Alec’s wrists, softened his gaze even further, squeezing gently as if to press the reassurance right through Alec’s skin. “Honestly, it’s all good, cariño,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. The words, coupled with the warmth in his eyes, dissolved the last threads of Alec’s embarrassment, drawing a hesitant, grateful smile from him. Raphael’s thumb swept a final arc over Alec’s pulse point before releasing his hold with a lingering tenderness.

Just then, Magnus, unable to resist the scene unfolding before him, sidestepped around Benji’s flank, arms folded and a mischievous glint in his eye as he surveyed the pair. “Well, this hardly seems fair,” he declared, voice carrying over the arena with theatrical gravitas. “Can someone give me a leg up so I can fall on Raphael’s naked chest too?” The words hung between them for a beat; then Raphael’s laughter burst forth, rich and unrestrained, echoing across the yard. Alec’s blush deepened spectacularly, turning his cheeks a vivid crimson as he ducked his head, a shy grin betraying his mortification. Magnus only grinned wider, his eyes dancing, clearly pleased to have lightened the mood, while Raphael shot him a playful glare, still chuckling. The three of them stood in the settling dust, camaraderie blooming in the sunlit quiet, awkwardness dissolving into something far warmer.

A dirt bike’s engine shattered the silence, the sudden roar cleaving through the golden hush with a jarring immediacy. “They’re back,” Raphael announced.

Chapter Text

Magnus and Alec walked Benji back to the barn together, Raphael having taken his leave to wash up and get lunch started. Magnus kept his hand light on the long lead as Alec slipped the saddle off, careful not to rush, their motions soft and wordless.

Together, they led the horse out to the pasture, opening the gate and watching as he trotted off to join his friends, sunlight gilding their coats as the herd shifted and welcomed him in. Alec leaned on the fence rail for a moment, breath steadying, the fresh air cool on his cheeks, while Magnus stood quietly beside him.

They turned as footsteps sounded on the gravel: Will strode up with Jace at his side, and just behind them, a couple other, stupidly attractive men, their strides a touch slower but eyes sharp with curiosity.

Alec swallowed thickly. Honestly, what was up with this place? Did Will only hire gorgeous, muscular men or what?

Will’s gaze moved quickly over Alec, noting the scuffed jeans, Alec’s pink cheeks, and clothes covered in dirt. He hesitated just a beat before speaking. “What happened?” he asked, worry knitting his brow as Jace stopped beside him, arms crossed, waiting for an answer with an annoyed look on his face.

Jace locked eyes with Magnus, silently judging the seventeen-year-old’s recklessness. His glare lingered on Magnus, the old rivalry between them simmering just beneath the surface. And Magnus, he met that look with a steady, almost amusing calm, a flicker of defiance in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t about to back down.

Alec ducked his head, eyes on the grass, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “I… fell off a horse,” he admitted quietly, voice almost swallowed by the distance between his embarrassment and their attention.

Will’s worry hit first, raw and immediate, his steps quick as he approached to inspect Alec for any injury. “Are you okay?” he demanded, barely restraining the tremor in his voice. His eyes darted between Alec’s scraped knuckles and trembling hands, refusing to look away until he got an answer.

And Jace swooped in with a different energy; hard and cold, a sneer curling his lips as he glared, not at Alec, but straight at Magnus. “Which horse?” Jace demanded harshly, arms crossed, voice sharp as gravel. “Better not have been the one you just turned out. You should know better than to put someone who has never been on a horse before on a green horse.” His gaze lingered on Magnus, no warmth in it at all, only open hostility and blame.

Alec stiffened, cheeks burning, but forced out. “I’m fine, Will. Really.” The words were quiet but certain; the last thing he wanted was to get Magnus into trouble, especially since none of it was Magnus’s fault. Will’s posture loosened at Alec’s quiet insistence, a visible breath leaving his body as his worry faded into relief. He clapped Alec gently on the shoulder, nodding with a small, grateful smile. “Okay, good.”

Magnus bristled under Jace’s stare, rolling his eyes with a hint of steely defiance. “Oh, come off it, Jace. Benji doesn’t spook that easily, and you know it. It was just a dismount mishap, happens to everyone.” His words were clipped, the usual warmth gone, replaced by a controlled fire meant only for Jace.

Jace didn’t bother to reply, his glare lingering a second longer before he turned aside, biting back a comment that hovered in the air like a threat.

One of the other wranglers, with hair so short it wasn’t even visible under his hat, fixed Jace with a sharp, no-nonsense look that brooked no argument. "That’s quite enough Jace," he said, his voice steady but gentle, commanding respect.

Turning his attention to Alec, the man softened, his expression creasing into a knowing smile. "They say you have to fall off a horse a hundred times before you can call yourself a proper rider," he intoned, the words rolling out with the weight of old stories and hard-won experience. "Every tumble is a lesson, and every bruise is a badge. That means you’ve only got ninety-nine more spills to go. Each one will teach you something you can't learn from books or lectures, only from getting right back in the saddle. Don’t let anyone, especially yourself, tell you falling is failing. It’s proof you’re learning, and that you’ve got the grit to become a real horseman."

His eyes twinkled with encouragement. "So, wear that dirt and those scrapes proud. The best riders I know are the ones who kept climbing back up, no matter how many times they hit the ground." Alec looked up, searching the man’s face for any hint of judgement, but found only warmth and a spark of pride.

Will, glancing down at the battered watch strapped to his wrist, let out a small sigh of relief as he saw the hands creeping past one. “Right, it’s nearly time for lunch,” he announced, his voice carrying the kind of authority that one would expect from a boss, but still held a note of warmth. He looked pointedly at the group, eyes lingering on the streaks of mud and dust smudged across Alec’s cheeks and Magnus’s hands. “Let’s not track half the paddock into the house, yeah? Everyone, wash up, proper job this time. Hands and faces.”

He gestured toward the big stone trough by the porch, where a battered bar of soap perched beside a tin jug. “No skimping, either. Use soap, get behind your ears, the lot. Lunch will taste better when you’re not chewing on grit.” His eyes sparkled with good humour as he nudged Jace, who rolled his eyes but cracked a reluctant grin, and then ushered the rest of them ahead with a sweeping motion. The ritual; time-worn and familiar; seemed to ease the tension, drawing the group together as they shuffled towards the trough, sleeves rolled and laughter beginning to rise above the lingering nerves.

Lunch was not a quiet affair. The kitchen brimmed with the clatter of cutlery, the scrape of chairs, and the energetic hum of voices bouncing off the worn pine walls. Laughter rang out; sometimes sharp with mischief; as stories were exchanged and Will mimed dramatic re-enactments of morning mishaps, drawing delight from those around the table. Arguments flared over the best way to mend a split rail, or which horse was the quickest off the mark, voices rising and falling with the rhythm of old camaraderie. Jace, sullen at first, was eventually drawn in by a spirited debate about the merits of different training bridles, his scowl melting enough to reveal a reluctant smirk as Magnus teased him about his so-called expertise. Alec, meanwhile, sat quietly among them, eyes lowered, listening to the conversations swirl around.

Alec didn’t know anything about anything they did at the ranch, so he didn’t feel comfortable adding to the conversations. No one seemed to speak to him directly either, and Alec wasn’t sure if it was because they didn’t like him, didn’t think he belonged here, or if it was because they wanted to give him space. Either way, it didn’t make Alec feel good about himself.

Will, between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes and perfectly seared sausages, steered the discussion to the auction at the end of the month. “How are the three-year-olds coming along?” he asked, directing the question at Raphael. “D’you reckon any of them’ll be ready for the auction?” Forks paused mid-air as everyone looked at Raphael. His response was a mix of optimism and caution. “I think Daisy’s got the makings of a star. Sybil… she’s stubborn, but when she’s focused, there’s no horse more willing to learn. As for Jasper, he’s grown out of most of his skittishness and finally seems ready for work. If we can get him through the next week without any setbacks, he might surprise us at the auction.” He glanced around the table, inviting further discussion. “And Benji, he's definitely ready for a new home.” He finished by saying only time and patience would tell, but he was mostly optimistic. The chatter grew lively again with each person throwing in their opinion, the conversation weaving through stories of past auctions and lucky sales.

The talk circled the table a few times before Andrew; a fair-haired wrangler, the one who had encouraged Alec earlier, spoke. His voice just shy of teasing as he leaned back in his chair and fixed Magnus with a curious look. “So, Magnus,” he drawled, a sly grin tugging at his lips: “I thought you were spending the week with Trevor?” The question lingered, drawing a few curious glances from the others. Someone stifled a chuckle; eyebrows raised in amused expectation. Even Alec perked up, looking over at Magnus with genuine curiosity.

Alec’s mind flooded with questions in seconds. Who was Trevor, and why was Magnus supposed to spend the week with him?

Magnus rolled his eyes, not surprised by the question, but clearly bothered by it. “Trevor can go choke on a dick for all I care,” he shot back, voice thick with disdain. The room fell quiet for a moment, save from Jace who was violently coughing after nearly choking on his lunch.

“Magnus, please…” Will complained, his tone firm yet also gentle; like a weary parent trying to correct a child without crushing their spirit. His voice carried a sigh, heavy with the kind of resignation that suggested Magnus’s antics were both expected and reluctantly endured.

Alec’s breath caught mid-chew, the sausage hovering awkwardly near his mouth as Magnus’s words landed like a punch to the gut. His heart thundered against his ribs, a flush creeping up his neck so fast it made his ears burn.

A startled laugh bubbled up in his throat, half nerves, half awe, and he clamped his lips shut before it could escape. His fingers tightened around his fork, knuckles white, as he stared down at his plate like it might offer him a way out.

For a second, he darted a look around the table, uncertain if he should be shocked, amused or mortified on Magnus’s behalf. Part of him wished the floor would swallow him up, but another part; one he barely recognized; admired the way Magnus owned every word, refusing to shrink or apologize. That kind of unfiltered confidence was both startling and magnetic, and Alec felt something inside him twist, equal parts nervousness and intrigue.

Magnus waved a dismissive hand, barely glancing in Will’s direction. “We’re all men here, aren’t we?” he quipped, eyebrows raised in mock innocence that fooled no one. “We all have one.”

The group snorted and sniggered, a ripple of laughter breaking the tension, though a few shook their heads in mock disapproval. Jace, still recovering from his near-choking episode, patted at his chest and rubbed it as he tried to compose himself. “We’re eating,” he hissed, fixing Magnus with a glare.

But Magnus, never one to let an opportunity to tease Jace pass him by, only leaned in further, deep brown eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m sorry Jace. What I should have said was, Trevor can choke on a sausage,” Magnus said, each word deliberate, eyes locked on Jace.

For a beat, the room was completely still. Everyone was looking at Jace. Even Alec.

A deep frown settled across Jace’s brow as he, very slowly, pushed his plate away, suddenly not in the mood to finish the sausage left on his plate. His cheeks were flushed, though it was hard to tell whether it was from annoyance or embarrassment.

Then laughter erupted; louder this time, some of it nervous, some of it unabashed. Even Will, ever the peacemaker, was forced to hide a reluctant smile behind his hand. Magnus slouched back in his chair, looking exceedingly pleased with himself, while Jace shot him a look of exasperation that couldn’t quite mask his embarrassment.

Alec’s gaze flicked between Magnus and Jace, unsure whether to laugh or crawl under the table.

Big mistake.

Alec caught Magnus’s gaze, and for a moment, the noise and laughter faded into the background. Magnus’s teasing bravado softened, replaced by something gentler; an unspoken invitation shimmering in the air between them. Alec’s breath hitched as their eyes met and held. Magnus’s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile, and Alec felt the warmth of it bloom across his chest.

Magnus’s hand moved with feline grace, as he leaned over the table, his sleeve brushing Alec’s wrist. The touch sent a jolt through Alec’s entire body, his skin tingled where Magnus’s sleeve had brushed him. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Magnus slipped his fork onto Alec’s plate, spearing a sausage and lifting it away in one smooth motion. The act, though casual, felt deliberately possessive in a way that was both brazen and intimate, and the metallic clink of the fork against the plate seemed momentarily to silence the room.

Everyone saw it. Jace’s brow arched ever so slightly, but he stayed silent. The other wranglers exchanged glances, the air thick with unsaid jokes, but none ventured a comment; perhaps too entertained, or too wary of Magnus’s sharp tongue. But Will, ever the keeper of decorum, refused to let the boy get away with it. “Magnus, really?” he complained, voice laced with mock exasperation yet softened by genuine warmth. “Leave the boy’s food alone.” He shook his head, trying to be stern but failing utterly as a smile threatened at the edge of his lips.

Magnus arched an eyebrow in mock innocence. “Alec doesn’t mind, do you Alec?” he drawled, injecting just enough drama to send Jace’s eyes rolling skyward. The entire table turned toward Alec with the collective intensity of a reality show elimination round. Alec, caught like a deer in the headlights, could only shake his head, his words spilling out like upended alphabet soup. “Y-yes… I mean no...? yes…? I-uh…” he stammered, managing to sound both utterly bewildered and slightly betrayed by the English language.

Magnus smiled triumphantly at Alec’s stuttering response, his features alight with a satisfaction that bordered on smugness. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded Alec with a warmth that softened the mischief still glinting in his eyes. “Adorable,” he murmured, the word rolling lazily off his tongue, meant just for Alec but loud enough for anyone listening to catch the fondness in his tone. Magnus let his gaze linger, enjoying how the compliment sent Alec’s blush deepening, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of his napkin as he ducked his head down.

“Anyway! Trevor was thrown out with the trash yesterday,” Magnus continued, lips twisting in a wry smile, and the others exchanged glances, the news landing with a mix of surprise and relief.

Will frowned, the lines on his brow deepening with a father’s concern. But it was Raphael who spoke first, his voice both sharp and incredulous. “You broke up? Why? Just yesterday you said he was your Prince Charming…” His words tumbled out, laden with disbelief, echoing in the hush that followed Magnus’s confession.

For a heartbeat, all eyes settled on Magnus, the weight of expectation pressing down. Magnus’s jaw clenched, and he released a short, bitter laugh, the sound brittle as glass. “Turns out Prince Charming is all charm and no prince,” he huffed, refusing to show how heartbroken he really was.

Will cleared his throat, his tone gentle as he offered: “Sorry to hear about that, Magnus. Breakups are never easy, but you’ll be better off in the long run, trust me.” Andrew, seizing the moment, leaned forward with a wry grin and added: “I never liked Trevor or that prissy horse of his anyway. Always thought you could do better.” Across the table, Raphael ran his fingers through his hair and let out a weary sigh. “I agree with Andrew. Trevor was a pastime at best, good riddance.” The mood around the table was tentatively shifting back towards ease when Magnus, never one to let gloom linger for long, straightened in his chair and flashed a rakish grin. “Thanks, you guys, but I’m okay. I’ve got all this eye candy to cheer me up,” he said with a wink that lingered just a beat too long on Alec.

Alec, caught off-guard by Magnus once more, felt a warm flush wash over him. This time, it set his whole body ablaze.

The rest of the group erupted into a mix of groans and laughter, some rolling their eyes while others exchanged knowing looks at Magnus’s characteristic bravado. Raphael, ever the observer, had caught every single glance between the two boys and leaned in closer to Andrew, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You see that? The boy can’t help himself.” Andrew snorted softly in agreement, mouth quirking in a half-smile, eyes flicking between Magnus and Alec with thinly veiled amusement. “Alec doesn’t stand a chance.”

Chapter Text

After the last crumbs were swept from the table and the laughter ebbed into satisfied silence, the group drifted back out to the yard, knuckling down to the afternoon’s work with routines as familiar as their own names.

Raphael didn’t waste any time getting to work with the lively two-year-olds. Andrew joined him, sleeves rolled high, his easy banter softening the edges of Raphael’s crisp instructions. Together, they set about the delicate task of easing skittish colts into halters and coaxing them to trust the rope. It was a dance of patience, firm hands, and the occasional muttered curse when a particularly spirited filly tried to test the limits of Andrew’s grip.

Meanwhile, Will lingered by the barn, having sent Jace, Sebastian, and Lucian off to gather poles and wire. He had instructed them to check the tool shed for hammers and a spare coil of fencing nails. Jace, of course, grumbled loud enough to be heard, but not enough to prompt a rebuke. The others fell in with the task, collecting what they needed.

The need for fence repairs had become urgent; there were a few places where gaps and sagging wires threatened to invite trouble. Before they could safely move the horses to the next field, those weak spots had to be mended. Mustangs weren’t usually a problem around these parts, but there’d been fresh hoofprints along the far boundary; a sure sign that a stray band had been nosing around. If even a single mustang were to slip through and join Will’s herd. He didn’t even want to think about the chaos that would ensue.

Injuries, fences bulldozed, a stampede that might scatter the lot of them across the countryside. And heaven forbid, mixed foals come next spring.

Though time wasn’t on anyone’s side, and the afternoon's tasks were mounting, Will couldn't ignore the persistent thread of worry tugging at his conscience. He needed to check in with Alec, away from prying eyes, where his son would hopefully feel safe enough to let him in.

Things with Jace had always been easy. Jace hadn’t known anything but this life, and despite being the young man’s father, Will had always been more of a boss to him. Even in Jace’s early, teenage years. The boundaries between family and work blurred so early that Will found himself slipping naturally into the role of overseer rather than nurturer; praise came sparingly, discipline was clear and fair, and affection was expressed in the language of shared chores and quiet understanding rather than overt warmth. Will hadn’t been a father in many years; not in the traditional sense, anyway.

The routines and the demands of the land had shaped their relationship into something practical, reliable, but perhaps lacking the soft edges and emotional openness that defined his idea of real fatherhood.

But as loyal as Will was to the ranch, and the horses, there was a deeper longing driving him now. A fervent desire to be the father Alec deserved. He felt an acute responsibility, almost a hunger, to offer the kind of unwavering support and love he’d so often failed to provide Jace. Each time Will looked at Alec, he was confronted by the mistakes he’d made as both a husband and a father; years when work had always come first, when home felt more like a workplace than a sanctuary, and when words of encouragement or affection had been rationed like scarce grain. He knew, deep down, that it wasn’t just the land or the fences that needed mending; it was the broken places inside his own family, cracks born of neglect, betrayal, and an inability to say the right thing at the right time.

This fierce determination to do right by Alec gnawed at him, a constant reminder of all the ways he’d fallen short; not just with Alec, but with Jace and with Jace’s mother. There had been too many evenings where he’d stomped mud from his boots at the door, too tired or too stubborn to notice the silence waiting for him inside. Too many harsh words exchanged, too many apologies left unsaid, and too many moments where he’d chosen duty over tenderness. In trying to be a provider, Will had missed opportunities to be present, to nurture, to listen.

It was no wonder Jace bristled at Alec’s presence; the simmering resentment was more than sibling rivalry; it was a hurt that ran deeper, a sense that his father had suddenly found the capacity for kindness and patience that he’d long denied his own son. Will recognised that Alec’s arrival had upset the fragile balance they’d found after Jace’s mother passed away. Stirring up feelings in Jace that the young man had never properly addressed.

Sooner rather than later, Will would need to set aside his own discomfort and sit down with Jace. Have a proper conversation with him.

Tell him that choosing to stay with Jace’s mom and working to fix their marriage hadn’t been a mistake. Nor was what he had with Alec’s mother.

 The afternoon sun slanted through the clouds, gilding the dust motes in the air as Will leaned against the fence and gestured for Alec to join him. Magnus let them have a moment to themselves.

Will glanced over at Alec, his expression gentle and open as he asked quietly: “How’s your day been, Alec? You settling in alright?” The question hung between them, genuine curiosity softening the roughness of his voice. Alec hesitated, eyes flicking down to his sneakers as he considered his answer. He shifted his weight, searching for words, and finally offered in a voice barely above a whisper: “It’s... okay I guess.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, as if bracing against the weight of expectation.

Will forced a smile, shaking his head as if to dismiss Alec’s worries. Then, with a gentle, fatherly gesture, he reached over and patted Alec’s shoulder, the touch both grounding and encouraging. “I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get there,” Will said, his voice rich with quiet certainty. He let his hand linger for a moment before continuing: “Although Magnus doesn’t officially work for me, he’s always here, and I’d wager he’d be the first to volunteer to teach you what you need to know.”

Will’s gaze flicked over to Magnus, who was hovering at the edge of the conversation, as if summoned by the mention of his name. “He can teach you how to ride and help you understand how to read their moods, how to sit a nervous horse, and how to stay on when things get lively. You’re in good hands with Magnus, I promise.”

Alec forced a smile, though it trembled ever so slightly at the edges, betraying the swirl of doubt and vulnerability beneath his usually composed exterior. He risked a glance at Magnus, who stood just a few paces away, sunlight catching in his hair and dancing across the vibrant flecks in his eyes. Magnus was smiling at him; open, wide and bright, the kind of smile that seemed to fill the whole space and banished the last shadows clinging to Alec’s thoughts. The warmth in Magnus’s expression was unmistakable. It was the kind of look that made Alec feel seen.

Will gave Alec’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, then straightened with a purposeful nod. “Right, I’d best get back to the fence before those three end up hammering each other instead of the posts,” he said, a wry smile playing at his lips. Casting a meaningful look at Magnus. “Magnus, he’s all yours for the rest of the day. Try not to get him killed.” With a final, tight-lipped smile at Alec, Will strode away, his boots crunching on the gravel, leaving Alec under Magnus’s care.

Before Alec could retreat into himself, Magnus reached out and gently, but insistently, caught his wrist. “Come on, meet my horse!” he declared, his grin irrepressible as he tugged Alec along across the yard. Alec stumbled after him, all resistance dissolving under Magnus’s infectious enthusiasm, helpless to do anything but follow. Heart racing.

They slipped away from the noise and bustle, weaving towards the far end of the paddocks where the afternoon sun painted everything gold. There, in the dappled light, stood the most extraordinary horse Alec had ever seen; if he was honest, one of the very few he’d ever seen up close at all. The mare was breathtaking: a palomino sabino, her coat a rich, gleaming gold, broken up by elegant splashes of white along her flanks and legs. Her mane and tail were a brilliant, snowy white, and a wide, creamy blaze sliced down her face, so broad it touched both expressive blue eyes, lending her an almost ethereal quality. Alec could only stare, utterly lost for words.

Magnus’s pride was unmistakable as he stroked the mare’s neck, her fur dappled and soft beneath his fingers. “Alec, meet Queenie,” he announced, voice reverent and just a touch theatrical. “She’s the cleverest, most perfect girl.” Magnus gave Queenie’s muzzle a kiss. “Go on, give her a stroke. She loves cuddles.”

Alec reached out with tentative awe, fingers brushing the horse’s velvet muzzle, his earlier nervousness dissolving as the horse breathed a soft huff against his palm. The connection was instant and electric; Alec found himself grinning up at Magnus, amazement etched clear in his wide eyes. “She’s… beautiful. I’ve never seen a horse like her before,” he murmured, voice thick with wonder.

Magnus just smiled, the pride in his eyes softening with unspoken understanding. “She’s one of a kind. Figured I’d teach you to ride on her.”

Magnus leaned in, lowering his voice as he shared a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you want to try giving her a brush?” he asked, producing a soft dandy brush from his back pocket. He held it out to Alec, encouraging but patient. Alec hesitated, then took it, nodding shyly. With Magnus’s quiet guidance, his strokes grew more confident, and Queenie leaned into the attention, clearly enjoying herself. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows, and the two boys worked side by side, laughter mingling with the gentle sounds of the horse, an unexpected sense of belonging beginning to settle around them.

Alec was mostly quiet, answering Magnus’s gentle, prodding questions as they worked side by side, the rhythm of brushing Queenie a soothing distraction. Magnus glanced sideways at Alec, his gaze thoughtful but warm, searching for the right moment. “So about earlier… with Raphael,” he started, voice low and careful. Alec’s hand stilled, tension flickering across his face as he looked away, jaw tightening with discomfort. Sensing the shift, Magnus softened his tone, trying to put Alec at ease. “You can relax; I like looking at him too. He’s very sexy.”

Alec’s cheeks darkened with a flush, the confession catching him off guard. For a moment, he seemed uncertain whether to laugh or shrink away, but Magnus’s easy grin and teasing wink coaxed a reluctant smile. “He is, isn’t he?” Magnus continued, the words light but sincere. “There’s no shame in noticing. Trust me, you haven’t got to hide that from me. Or anyone here, for that matter.” Magnus’s openness hung in the golden air, inviting Alec to share in the secret.

Magnus gave a little shrug, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, Raphael loves the attention. He’s secure in who he is. Even has a girlfriend in town.” Alec bit his lip, focusing on brushing Queenie. The steady motion grounded him, but curiosity got the better of him, and he risked a sideways glance. “Really?” he questioned softly, voice laced with surprise and a faint trace of admiration. Magnus grinned, nudging Alec’s shoulder. “Oh, absolutely. He’s a good friend, lets me flirt with him all I want.”

Alec’s grip tightened on the brush, a rush of unexpected emotion prickling beneath his skin as Magnus mentioned Raphael’s girlfriend. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Relief, maybe. Or something else. Something that stung a little.

On one hand, knowing Raphael was unavailable made Alec feel less exposed, safe from the risk of his own interest being reciprocated. On the other, he couldn’t help but feel a subtle ache; some quiet, wistful longing that caught him off guard. As if the door to the possibilities had closed before he’d even realised, he might want to walk through it.

Alec concentrated on brushing Queenie, studying the way the hairs moved under the soft brush. He noticed how a layer of dust was drawn out with every gentle stroke. It was oddly hypnotic, the simple, rhythmic motion soothing his nerves and drawing him deeper into the quiet magic of the moment.

“Will told me about your mom… I’m sorry for your loss,” Magnus carefully said once it became clear that Alec wasn’t going to respond to the Raphael of it all. Alec paused mid-brush, Magnus’s words drawing him out of his concentration. He glanced at Magnus, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he nodded, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. “I know how you feel… well, not really. My mom left when I was six, decided she didn’t want to be a mom anymore… but I do know what it’s like, to miss your mom.”

The admission hung between them, a fragile thread of understanding in the golden hush of the paddocks. Alec met Magnus’s gaze, surprised by the vulnerability there, and the awkward silence softened into something a little less lonely.  “If you ever want to talk about it… her… I’m here.”

Alec’s lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, the gesture brave but brittle at the edges, as if he were holding the world at bay with sheer willpower. “Thanks,” Alec said, voice quiet and strained, each syllable weighed down by emotions he didn’t trust himself to name. He meant what he said. Probably. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Magnus’s eyes.

Magnus, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift; the fragile smile, the way Alec’s shoulders curled inward in a silent retreat. Without missing a beat, he reached out, his hand finding Alec’s arm in a gentle, grounding touch. Magnus’s eyes softened, their usual spark tempered by care, and he let his thumb trace a reassuring line against Alec’s sleeve. Sensing the moment needed air, Magnus summoned a fresh energy, letting warmth return to his voice.

“So, how about that ride?” Magnus asked, his tone light but inviting, as if offering Alec a lifeline back to solid ground. He flashed a wide, encouraging grin, the kind that promised adventure rather than pity, and gestured toward Queenie; who, as if on cue, flicked her ears and watched them with curious interest.

Alec glanced at Queenie, her creamy blaze and blue eyes glowing in the waning light. The idea of sitting on a horse again wasn’t entirely unappealing. Alec didn’t want to fall off again, but there was something about Magnus. Alec trusted him.

Drawing in his breath, Alec nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, voice steadier now. Decisive. 

Magnus paused, catching Alec’s tentative excitement, and held up a hand. “Wait right here,” he said, flashing a reassuring smile. He strode off towards the tack room, footsteps crunching softly on the gravel, leaving Alec standing beside Queenie, who nosed at his sleeve curiously as if sensing something was afoot. Alec glanced after Magnus, feeling a flutter of nerves and anticipation, but kept his hands gently resting on Queenie’s neck, letting her warmth steady him as he waited.

It wasn’t long before Magnus reappeared, a bridle draped over his arm but notably lacking a saddle. “Alright, let’s get this on her,” Magnus said, approaching with an easy confidence. He slipped the bridle over Queenie’s head, murmuring soft encouragement as he buckled the straps, his hands sure and practiced. Alec watched, brow furrowing slightly. “Aren’t we… aren’t we using a saddle?” he asked, uncertain, glancing at the horse’s bare back with visible hesitation.

Magnus shook his head, lips quirking in a gentle, knowing grin. “Not this time,” he replied. “Trust me, riding bareback’s the best way to learn your balance. You’ll feel every movement, and Queenie’s steady; she’ll take good care of you.” His tone brimmed with quiet assurance, brushing aside Alec’s unease. “I’ll be right here the whole time. Just listen to her, feel how she moves, and you’ll do fine. Besides, if you can handle bareback, riding with a saddle will feel like a breeze.” Magnus winked, offering Alec his hand as an unspoken promise of support.

Alec wasn’t sure if he believed Magnus or not, but who was he to question him? It wasn’t like Alec an expert on the matter. Magnus was. Still, uncertainty flickered across his features as he glanced from Magnus to Queenie, weighing trust against the churn of nerves in his stomach. 

“Alright, let’s get you up,” Magnus said softly, his tone brimming with reassurance. He positioned himself beside Queenie, placing one hand firmly on the mare’s withers and the other ready to boost Alec. “Put your left foot here,” Magnus instructed, patting the spot just above Queenie’s front leg. Alec hesitated, fingers tightening around the horse’s mane, but Magnus gave him an encouraging nod. “You’ve got this. On three, swing yourself up.”

Counting quietly, Magnus braced himself as Alec gathered his courage. With a burst of effort, Alec pushed off the ground and Magnus guided his movement, steadying him as he landed; slightly off balance; on Queenie’s broad back. The mare shifted but remained calm under Magnus’s soothing touch. Alec’s breath came out in a rush, his hands instinctively gripping Queenie’s mane for support. Magnus stood close, one hand on Alec’s ankle to keep him centred. “Take your time. Find your balance. She won’t go anywhere until you’re ready.”

Alec adjusted his position, straightening his back, legs dangling on either side of Queenie’s warm, sturdy form. He looked down, nerves and exhilaration mingling in his chest. “Ready?” Magnus asked quietly, waiting for Alec’s small but decisive nod. Only then did Magnus step in front of Queenie, holding out the reins with gentle authority. “Now, here’s how you hold them,” he explained, demonstrating with his own hands before giving them to Alec. “Keep a light grip, like you’re holding an egg. Thumbs on top, fingers closed but not tight; you want to guide her, not yank.”

Alec nodded, focusing on Magnus’s instructions as he adjusted his hands on the reins. Queenie shifted beneath him, her movements gentle and patient, as if she understood the tentative trust forming between them. With Magnus leading her at a slow walk, Alec felt the roll and sway of the mare’s stride, learning to move in sync with her rhythm. At first, he wobbled, gripping a bit too tightly, but Magnus’s calm, steady presence and quiet encouragement helped him loosen his hold and settle his nerves.

Gradually, Alec’s posture straightened, and confidence crept into his smile. The barn and paddock slipped into the background, the world narrowing to the warm, living rhythm between horse and rider. Magnus kept up a gentle stream of guidance, offering subtle corrections and cheerful praise, until Alec managed a stretch without wobbling at all. When they paused, Queenie turned her head, nostrils flaring as if in approval, and Alec found himself laughing; soft, surprised, and lighter than he’d felt in a long time. For the first time, the ache of earlier worries seemed a little less heavy, replaced by a flicker of pride and the rare thrill of having mastered something new.

Chapter Text

As the sun slipped behind the mountains and night crept across the yard, Alec found himself lingering in the barn long after he’d finished the evening chores with Magnus. It was quiet, save for the occasional snort or shuffle from the horses. It was oddly soothing, standing in the quiet.

Magnus leaned against the stall door, arms folded loosely, watching Alec with a soft smile. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Alec frowned at Magnus’s question, brow knitting with reflexive suspicion. “What?” he asked, the word a little sharper than intended, betraying his surprise. The question was simple enough, gentle even, but it pressed too close to something Alec wasn’t ready to name.

Magnus didn’t flinch at Alec’s tone. “Oh, you just look like you were thinking really hard about something. Just thought you might want to share.” He kept his voice quiet, the offer lingering without any hint of pressure, giving Alec space to decide if he wanted to answer or not.

Alec’s frown lingered, shadowed by a flicker of uncertainty that he couldn’t quite hide. “I’m not… thinking,” he muttered, voice softer now, as if he hoped Magnus might simply let it go. His gaze dropped, unable or unwilling to meet Magnus’s gaze.

Magnus lifted an eyebrow, his expression showing that he didn’t believe a word Alec just said. Not a single word. He didn’t call Alec out directly, but his gently amused silence spoke volumes.

“If you say so,” Magnus said after a moment, the words laced with a warmth that made it clear Alec wasn’t fooling anyone, but also that Magnus wouldn’t push for more than Alec was ready to give.

Alec hesitated, his jaw tightening as he squeezed his tongue between his teeth; a small, stubborn gesture betraying the internal battle. For a moment, he looked away, wrestling with the urge to keep his thoughts hidden. But under Magnus’s patient gaze, Alec relented, the pressure easing as he finally admitted, in a quiet murmur, that he was, in fact, thinking.

Magnus tipped his head, eyes glinting with gentle curiosity. “About?” he prompted, the single word inviting but unobtrusive, as if he was perfectly content to wait as long as Alec needed.  

Alec opened his mouth to speak, his thoughts finally poised on the edge of confession, but the moment was abruptly broken by the sudden sound of boots on concrete. Jace strode briskly into the barn, his presence slicing through the quiet with an assertive energy that filled the space. “Alec!” he called, his voice carrying a stern undertone that left little doubt as to his mood. The way he said Alec’s name was clipped, almost parental. Almost. Jace’s voice demanded attention, thick with impatience. Magnus straightened from his relaxed perch by the stall door, eyes flicking from Alec to Jace.

Jace’s face was set in firm lines, his brows drawn together as he approached, boots thudding in rhythm with his determined stride. He glanced at Magnus, fixing him with a sharp gaze. “Why are you still here? Go home Bane.”

Magnus let out a soft, incredulous laugh at Jace’s brusque dismissal. “Wow, rude,” he remarked, his tone light and teasing, but with an edge that made it clear he wasn’t impressed by Jace’s manners.

Jace ignored Magnus, his wrath fixed back on its original victim. Alec. His jaw worked, fists curling at his sides as he stepped right into Alec’s space, his eyes blazing with frustration barely held in check. The silence that followed was taut as a drawn bowstring. Jace’s voice, when it finally came, was harsh and low; cutting through any feigned calm Alec might have managed. “Get the fuck inside,” he demanded, the words trembling with restrained anger.

Alec, never one for direct confrontations, instinctively recoiled under the full force of Jace’s angry glare. But this time, something inside him twisted. It wasn’t just fear, but a flicker of defiance. His breath hitched, chest tightening, and for a heartbeat he stood his ground. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowing.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

He wanted to speak; to say no, to push back, to demand an explanation for the sudden fury. But if Alec were to be honest with himself, he already knew why Jace was so angry with him.

It was obvious that he wasn’t the brother Jace had been wishing for.

“What are you, deaf?” Jace sharply hissed. “I told you to get the fuck inside!” With a sharp, frustrated movement, Jace seized Alec by the shoulder of his hoodie and yanked him forward with a force that left no room for resistance.

Alec stumbled, feet scraping clumsily across the concrete as he was hauled past Magnus and towards the house. The shock flared across his face, but underneath it, something else burned. Humiliation. His breath caught in his chest, heart thundering in his ears as the barn’s familiar safety was ripped away in an instant. Jace’s grip was iron and unyielding.

Magnus had been watching the exchange with growing unease, his body tense, eyes sharp. He saw the way Alec stiffened, the way his jaw locked, and his gaze didn’t drop immediately. It was subtle, barely a flicker, but Magnus saw it. And more importantly, he understood it.

Alec wasn’t just afraid. He was resisting.

Magnus’s breath caught, a quiet swell of pride rising in his chest even as the situation spiralled. Alec’s silence wasn’t submission. It was survival, laced with something new. Something brave.

Then Jace moved, grabbing Alec with a force that made Magnus’s blood run cold.

Magnus was already in motion before Alec stumbled forward.

 “Jace!” Magnus’s voice cracked through the barn like a whip. “What the fuck!”

Magnus didn’t hesitate. In a flash, he’d grabbed Jace’s arm hard; fingers curling over corded muscle, nails digging in as he tried to wrench Jace’s grip from Alec’s hoodie. But despite his determination to loosen Jace’s hold on Alec, Magnus’s eyes were on Alec and Alec alone.

The boy’s breath was ragged, his face flushed with humiliation and fear.

“Seriously Jace! What the fuck is your problem?” Magnus demanded, his voice raw now, every syllable vibrating with urgency and disbelief. Jace’s jaw flexed, the tendons standing out starkly as he shot Magnus a glare that could have shattered glass. For a split second, the two locked eyes, the tension electric and dangerous, the air thick with the threat of something breaking. Magnus’s grip tightened, his knuckles white, refusing to back down even as he realized Jace was stronger; every attempt to loosen his hold met with stubborn resistance. “Let go!”

Suddenly, the barn’s heavy doors creaked open wider, and Will strode in, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. He moved with purpose, boots echoing against the concrete, eyes sharp as he took in the fraught tableau before him.

Alec’s flushed face, Magnus’s tense grip on Jace’s arm, and Jace’s iron grip on Alec.

Will was well aware of Jace’s disdain for Alec, but he never thought it would go this far. Not on the first day. But turns out he was wrong. The bitterness had always simmered beneath the surface, but witnessing it spill out so violently left Will both shocked and deeply disappointed.

“Enough!” he declared, his voice low but unmistakably firm. It wasn’t loud, but it carried, like rumbling thunder before the storm.

Everyone froze.

Magnus’s grip loosened instinctively, and Jace turned, startled by the sudden interruption. Alec, still trembling, looked up at Will with wide eyes, relief flickering behind the fear.

Will walked closer, his gaze locked on Jace. “You don’t ever lay hands on your brother like that. You hear me!?”

Jace opened his mouth to protest, but Will fixed him with a look so furious it silenced the young man immediately.

“We will talk about this later,” Will continued, voice steady. “Go back inside. Now.”

Jace’s jaw worked, but the fire in his eyes dimmed under his father’s unwavering stare. He looked away, shame creeping into his posture as he turned to leave.

 With Jace leaving, Will turned his attention to his younger son. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, worry etching his brow.

Alec shook his head, barely audible. “No.”

Will let out a long, weary sigh, the sound heavy with the weight of everything that had just transpired. He looked down at Alec, eyes glistening with regret and concern. Gently, he placed a reassuring hand on Alec’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment before enveloping him in a tight, protective embrace.

Alec stiffened in Will’s arms, the warmth of the embrace uncomfortable. He wanted, desperately, to let himself relax into it; to accept the comfort being offered; but he couldn’t. Will was his father, but he was also a stranger, someone he’d barely spoken to. The longing for reassurance was sharp, but even as Will’s arms tightened protectively around him, Alec’s mind insisted on distance.

As Will’s arms encircled Alec, Magnus hovered nearby, concern etched deep in his features. He didn’t step forward right away, sensing the tension in Alec’s rigid posture and the delicate awkwardness between father and son. Instead, Magnus lingered at the edge, watchful, ready to offer support if and when Alec decided he wanted it. He was careful not to intrude on a moment that was not his to claim.

Alec didn’t dare lean his head against his father’s shoulder or let the ache inside slip free; the gap between them felt insurmountable, a chasm of missed years and silent wounds.

 “I’m so sorry, Alec. Jace will never touch you like that again, I swear it,” Will spoke calmly as he held his son close, one hand gently pressed to the back of Alec’s head, gently stroking the boy’s hair.

The storm within Will raged with a ferocity he could barely contain. His disappointment in Jace cut deep, but it was nothing compared to the raw, gnawing self-reproach tearing at his own heart. How could he have been so stupid; so careless as to send Jace alone to find Alec, when he knew; he knew; how much Jace hated Alec being here. He had seen the warning signs and chosen to ignore them.

The weight of that decision felt crushing, almost physical, as if invisible hands were pressing him into the dirt.

Will’s hand at the back of his head was gentle, but Alec felt it like a weight; too much, too soon. His chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow spurts that never quite filled his lungs. The barn felt suddenly smaller, the air thick and hard to swallow, hay dust swirling in dizzying patterns that made his head spin. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to calm, to cooperate, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him; fingers curling restlessly against his sides.

Alec’s trembling was a living echo of Will’s own inner turmoil. He wanted to turn back time, to step between his sons before anything could break, to take the brunt of Jace’s fury himself if only it would keep Alec safe. But regret was a poison that offered no solace, only the bitter aftertaste of what if and if only.

Magnus saw it all. Every subtle shift in Alec, and he instantly recognized it. Having experienced his fair share of anxiety attacks growing up, after his mom abandoned him, Magnus understood the hallmarks intimately; the stiff posture, the restless hands, the way Alec’s breathing became shallow and rapid as if the air itself was turning against him. He remembered sitting alone in dim, unfamiliar rooms, panic buzzing beneath his skin, desperately wishing for someone to notice, to care enough to help him find his way through. Now, watching Alec tremble, Magnus’s heart ached with empathy; he saw not just the boy before him, but the ghost of his own younger self, raw and unsteady in the aftermath of fear.

Magnus breathed in deeply, steadying himself, and decided to step in before things escalated. He crossed the space between them and, with a quiet but firm resolve, laid a gentle hand on Will's shoulder. "Sir," Magnus said softly, his tone carrying both reassurance and gentle insistence. "Maybe give Alec a little space to breathe." The words weren't harsh, but the underlying message was clear. Magnus met Will's eyes, silently urging him to loosen his grip.

Reluctantly, Will released Alec, his arms falling away with a mixture of resignation and concern.

Freed from the embrace, Alec staggered back a half-step, his arms wrapping around himself instinctively. His entire body trembled as he inhaled sharply, the effort to draw breath only intensifying the shudders wracking his frame. It was as if every muscle in his body had turned traitor, refusing to obey his silent pleas for composure.

Magnus ached to comfort Alec, but the second he took a step toward him, Alec stepped back. The distance was palpable; Alec’s eyes flicked up just long enough to register Magnus’s concern, then darted away, as if afraid even eye contact might unravel what little control he still possessed. Magnus stilled, throat tightening as he watched Alec retreat. For now, he had to respect Alec’s boundaries, offering presence rather than touch, letting Alec find his own breath amidst the swirling chaos of the moment.

It broke Will’s heart to see Alec like this. That he couldn’t do anything to help him. The sense of helplessness gnawed at Will, leaving him stranded between guilt and anger; he wanted desperately to reach Alec, to offer some balm for the pain his older son had caused, but every attempt felt clumsy and inadequate. The knowledge that Jace’s actions had wounded Alec so deeply made Will’s disappointment twist into a sharper sorrow, and he found himself resenting his own inability to fix what he’d broken.

Will hesitated, his resolve flickering. He looked between Alec and Magnus, uncertainty etched in the lines of his face. “I’m gonna go talk to Jace, just… come in when you’re ready, yeah?” His voice was unsteady, softer than usual, the words barely holding together the weight of all he wanted to say but could not. For a moment, Will lingered in the doorway, shoulders slumped and eyes searching Alec’s face for any sign that he hadn’t utterly failed him. Vulnerability threaded through his posture; a quiet, aching plea for forgiveness and reassurance, even as he forced himself to step away. The distance felt unbearable, but Will could only hope that, somehow, giving Alec space might be the right thing, even if the uncertainty gnawed at him.

Magnus forced a smile as he watched Will go, assuring him that he would look after Alec and make sure he returned inside. He didn’t envy the conversation Will was about to have with Jace.

Magnus watched Alec retreat further into himself, arms wrapped tight around himself, trembling in the barn’s hush. Magnus wanted nothing more than to close the distance, to offer comfort, but the memory of Alec’s flinch held him back. He stood frozen, hands curled into fists at his sides, heart pounding with helplessness.

Watching Aled unravel hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was like looking at a mirror of his younger self: the same shallow breaths, the same desperate need for space and air. Magnus’s chest ached with the memory of nights spent alone, wishing someone would have noticed. Wishing that someone would have cared enough to stay.

He swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in his eyes. For all his bravado, all his easy jokes and practiced smiles, Magnus suddenly felt exposed. What if he’d made things worse? What if Alec didn’t want him here at all?

Magnus glanced at Alec, who was still shaking and felt a wave of doubt crash over him. Maybe he wasn’t enough; maybe he’d never be enough; to help someone else through the storm. The urge to reach out warred with the fear of being pushed away.

He drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay present, to be patient. He remembered his own father’s absence, the way silence had filled every room after his mother had left. He remembered promising himself he’d never let anyone feel that alone if he could help it.

But standing there, uncertain and raw, Magnus realised how much he wanted Alec to trust him. Not just as a friend, not just as someone who could make him laugh, but as someone who could be steady when everything else fell apart.

He let his hands fall open, palms up, a silent offering. “You know,” Magnus said, not quite looking at Alec but letting his gaze drift across the line of horses sticking their heads out of their stalls. “I used to think I’d never be alright again after my mom left. She said she was just popping round the corner, but I remember the way she wouldn’t look me in the eye. The front door shut behind her, and it was like the whole house shrank. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once.”

He drew in a slow breath, almost as if he was reliving the memory. “I waited for hours, then days. I kept thinking she’d come back… but she never did. My daddy he-uh… he did his best but was always so busy with work.”

Magnus paused for a moment. “I started getting these attacks; panic, out of nowhere. Sometimes I’d just be sitting in class, or lying in bed, and suddenly my heart would race and I’d feel trapped in my own skin. I didn’t even know what anxiety was, not really, but it felt like being abandoned all over again. It always got worse whenever he had to leave town for business.” He let out a quiet, rueful laugh. “I used to drive myself crazy thinking he'd abandon me too.”

He finally looked at Alec, his expression open, vulnerable. “It took a long time to realise that it’s okay to need other people. That it’s not weak to let someone help, or to admit when you’re scared. Sometimes, all you can do is hold on, wait for the feeling to pass, and trust that you’re not as alone as you think. That’s the bit I wish someone had told me back then.”

Magnus’s voice softened even more. “You don’t have to go through this on your own, Alec. I’m here. I know what it’s like to feel lost, to be terrified there’s no way back. But there is. There always is.”

Alec moved like something inside of him had snapped. He surged forward, arms wrapping tight around Magnus as though anchoring himself in a storm. Magnus tensed at the impact, but only for a fleeting second.

For a heartbeat Alec’s whole body trembled; caught between the old panic and something new, raw and urgent. His mind whirled with confusion: fear of falling apart, fear of being seen, and yet, threaded through the chaos, a single, undeniable certainty pulsed in his chest. He wanted Magnus. He needed the solid warmth of him, the reassurance of his arms. Even scared and uncertain of everything else, Alec clung to that one clear truth, holding on as if it might keep him from shattering entirely.

For a long, charged moment, the silence between them grew almost electric, Alec clinging to Magnus with a force that startled them both. Magnus didn’t move, but a sudden laugh; quick and incredulous; escaped him, as the intensity of Alec’s need had caught him off guard. He felt the tension inside him snap, replaced by a rush of relief so fierce it made his breath stutter.

He let his arms settle firmly around Alec, anchoring him with unexpected certainty, his cheek dropping gently onto Alec’s hair. Magnus closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the embrace steady him as much as it did Alec.

The fear of being pushed away faded quickly as Alec clung to him, and Magnus felt a profound gratitude that Alec had chosen him, even in the storm.

The embrace was fierce and protective, and gradually, Alec’s breath slowed. The shudders subsided as the warmth between them became a steady, grounding force. In the quiet, Magnus whispered reassurances; not just soft words, but fragments of his own past: stories of nights lost to fear, of learning how to stand again. The vulnerability they shared in that moment was startling; Magnus letting Alec see not only safety, but the raw truth that sometimes, even those who seem strong have needed saving. Together, in the hush, they learned that comfort could arrive when least expected: sudden, dazzling, and utterly real, even in the aftermath of storm and sorrow.

Alec didn’t know when it happened, but he felt tears roll down his cheeks. He let out a slow, shaky breath, the sound catching slightly in his throat. For a moment, he tried to blink them away, not wanting Magnus to notice, but each breath seemed to loosen something knotted deep inside. The tears were hot, slipping silently down his face and leaving cold trails in their wake. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the careful strength of Magnus’s arms still holding him steady, and let himself exhale; slowly, fully, as though the weight he’d carried was finally ebbing away with each drop that fell.

Alec’s shoulders shook, his hands trembling in Magnus’s grasp, the air between them charged and brittle. He didn’t dare speak, terrified that even a whisper might shatter the fragile calm clinging to him. Magnus didn’t press, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the effort it took to hold himself back.  Instead, he gently released Alec, only to cup his face, thumbs brushing away tears with a tenderness that felt almost perilous.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other; Alec’s eyes wide and shining, Magnus’s gaze dark and searching. The silence was thick, electric, as if the whole world was holding its breath. Alec leaned into Magnus’s hands, surrendering, letting his guard fall away completely for the first time. The touch was both grounding and terrifying all at once, a lifeline and a live wire.

Alec’s breath hitched, his pulse thundering in his ears. He was acutely aware of Magnus’s hands, the heat of his body, the way every inch between them felt like a dare. His chest tightened, not with fear or anxiety, but with a wild, reckless wanting that scared him more than any panic ever had.

Magnus’s own breath came ragged, his thumb tracing Alec’s cheekbone, then lower, skimming the trembling line of Alec’s jaw. He could feel the danger in this; the risk of pushing too far, of losing himself in, not just Alec’s need, but his own as well.

He couldn’t look away.

Hunger and restraint warred in Magnus’s eyes, and for a heartbeat, he hovered on the edge of something that felt like falling. He was deeply struck by how beautiful Alec looked, tears and all; open, unguarded and real.

Alec’s gaze flicked to Magnus’s lips, then back to his eyes, desperate and uncertain. The air between them crackled. Magnus’s thumb ghosted over Alec’s mouth, feather-light, reverent and trembling. Alec’s lips parted, not in invitation but in awe, and the touch sent a violent shiver down his spine.

Magnus’s control frayed. He fought to hold back, to savour the agony of this closeness, but every fibre of his being screamed at him to close the distance. It was almost a kiss.

Almost

Alec’s eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment, his whole body taut with longing and fear. He was terrified by how much he wanted this; wanted Magnus; wanted to lead and not care about the fall.

Magnus’s gaze flicked to Alec’s mouth, his thumb lingered at the corner of Alec’s mouth, coaxing the smallest, shivering breath from between those parted lips.

Alec’s breath trembled out of him, his body leaning forward instinctively, drawn by the quiet gravity between them. He didn’t know what he wanted more; to be kissed, or stay suspended in this aching, almost perfect moment.

Magnus broke first.

He closed the last sliver of space, pressing his lips to Alec’s in a kiss so gentle it was almost a question, almost a warming. The contact was electric, desperately gentle, and for a split-second Alec melted into it, the world spinning out of focus.

Then Alec jerked back, breathless and shaking. “I-I can’t… I’m sorry.”

The words hung between them, raw and dangerous, the aftermath of a storm. Magnus’s breath caught, disappointment and longing flickering in his eyes, but he nodded, forcing himself to step back, though his hand lingered on Alec’s jaw, thumb tracing soothing circles as if to anchor them both.

Neither moved to fill the silence. The air was heavy, charged with everything they’d almost said, almost done. Alec’s gaze dropped, shame and longing warring across his face, but Magnus only managed a soft, broken smile.

“It’s alright,” Magnus whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll still be your friend.” He squeezed Alec’s shoulder, gentle but unsteady, before pulling away, letting the distance settle like a bruise. “I should go… I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander.”

The name, Alexander, fell from Magnus’s lips like a secret, low deliberate, and Alec felt it like a shock to his system. His breath caught, and for a split second, his whole body tensed, as if the sound had struck a nerve deep beneath his skin. He’d spent years shrinking away from that name. It was always wielded by teachers, social workers, and strangers who never really saw him. Always sounding like a warning or a reprimand, a jab to remind him he didn’t have any power over his own life.

But on Magnus’s tongue… it was different. The syllables were softer, as if Magnus was naming someone precious. The sound of it sent a jolt though Alec’s chest; sharp, electric and impossibly tender all at once. He felt his breath catch, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a moment he wanted to tell Magnus to say it again, to never stop saying it, to make it his own.

Alec’s fingers curled into his sleeve, knuckles white. He stood frozen, the barn suddenly too small for the ache blooming inside him. He’d spent so long wishing people would forget that name, but now, with Magnus, he wanted to be Alexander.

To be whoever Magnus saw when he said it.

He almost called out, desperate to hold onto the sound, but the words tangled in his throat. All he could do was watch Magnus go, the echo of his name lingering in the hush, haunting and hopeful, making Alec realise he never wanted anyone else to say it but Magnus, and never wanted Magnus to stop.

Chapter Text

Night had settled over the farmhouse, wrapping it in a hush broken only by the faint sounds of Jace and Will arguing down the hall from Alec’s bedroom. His heart was pounding, not just from what he’d overheard, but from thoughts of Magnus. The kiss. The way he had said his name.

Alec couldn’t stop touching his lips, tracing the memory of that kiss with restless fingers.

Each time his mind drifted back, a shiver ran through him, half nerves, half longing. He pressed his palm to his mouth, trying to steady his breathing, but the warmth of Magnus’s lips lingered. He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin, but the feeling wouldn’t fade.

Snippets of Jace and Will’s voices reached him, muffled but unmistakable. He knew they were arguing about him. But even their raised voices faded beneath the echo of Magnus’s touch. Alec curled tighter beneath his blanket, eyes searching the dark, torn between wanting to see Magnus again and needing space.

“Alexander.” The ghost of Magnus’s voice made Alec groan and toss himself onto his back. The sheets tangled around his legs, mirroring the knots in his chest. He pressed his fists into the mattress, desperate to quell the restlessness inside him. He drew a shaky breath, shutting his eyes so tightly the world behind his lids went streaked and purple. He tried to force himself toward sleep, desperate to escape, but Magnus surfaced again, impossible to ignore.

Alec tossed again, pressing his face into his pillow with a loud, frustrated groan. The sound was muffled, but it did little to silence the whirlwind inside him. He burrowed deeper, wishing the pillow could muffle his thoughts as easily as it did his voice.

The memory of Magnus lingered with maddening clarity; every sensation etched into Alec's nerves. That phantom-sweet taste haunted him, a whisper of longing curling inside, persistent and impossible to ignore. He could almost feel Magnus’s breath ghosting across his lips, the gentle pressure of a hand at his jaw, urging him closer. Shame twisted in his gut, but desire was stronger; a raw, aching need that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

Alone in the dark, his body betrayed him, a familiar heat stirring low in his belly despite all the shame.

He shifted again, the sheets sliding against his skin like an unwelcome caress. His breath hitched and cock twitched, half-hard already from the relentless replay in his mind: Magnus's hand cupping his jaw, the soft insistence of lips parting his own. Alec squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing the image away. 

This was wrong in so many ways.

But God, did Alec want it.

The longing clawed at him, insistent as the itch under his skin. His hand hovered near his waistband, fingers trembling. He should stop this. Roll over. Force himself to sleep.

Jace and Will were just down the hall; even though they were still arguing loudly, there was still a chance one of them, maybe even both, would hear. They could burst in, see him like this; flushed and desperate.

The shame flooded him anew, hot and suffocating, making his throat tighten. He pulled his hand away, clenching it into a fist against his thigh. 

No. Not tonight. Not because of him.

Yet his body had other ideas. The ache built slowly, a dull throb in his groin that spread like warmth from a hearth fire he couldn't extinguish. Memories flickered unbidden: the way Magnus's breath had hitched during the kiss, the subtle press of his body closer, hinting at more. Alec's hips shifted involuntarily, seeking friction against the mattress. A soft gasp escaped him, muffled into the pillow. He bit his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood from pressing too hard. 

The internal war raged on, each wave of desire crashing against walls of guilt. He imagined Magnus's voice, low and teasing, whispering encouragements that Alec would never admit he craved. His free hand drifted upward, tracing the line of his collarbone, then down to his chest, where his heart hammered wildly.

It was innocent enough, he told himself. Just soothing the tension. But his fingers brushed a nipple, and the spark of pleasure shot straight to his cock, making it swell fuller against the confines of his underwear.

Alec froze, breath ragged. 

Stop. Just stop. 

He rolled onto his side, curling into himself as if he could contain the fire. The arguing down the hall had quieted down, leaving only the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of wind through the fields. Silence amplified everything: the pound of his pulse, the shallow draws of air, the insistent pulse between his legs. He wanted release, needed it to quiet the storm. But the shame anchored him.

Magnus was his friend. How could he touch himself thinking of his friend?

Minutes stretched agonizingly. His hand inched lower again, almost against his own will, palm pressing flat over the bulge in his underwear. He didn't move it, didn't stroke. Just… held it there.

He could feel the heat radiate through the fabric. A low whine built in his throat, suppressed into a shuddering exhale. It wasn’t touching. Not really. Though the lie tasted bitter, it bought him a moment's reprieve, letting the pressure build without commitment.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, the room stuffy with his own restrained breaths. Magnus's face swam into focus behind his closed lids: dark eyes intent, lips curved in that secretive smile. Alec's fingers flexed, slipping just under the waistband, brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. He yanked them back as if he’d burned himself, a fresh surge of shame washing over him. 

He wasn’t some animal in heat.

He had to get a grip. 

But the ache only intensified, his shaft now fully hard, straining and leaking a damp spot into his underwear.

He turned his face into the pillow again, grinding his teeth. His restraint warred with desperation now, each breath a battle. He refused to give in.

Alec twisted his body, keeping his face pressed into the pillow as he settled into the new position on his stomach. It was a mistake.

With a defeated whimper, he shifted his hips against the mattress, seeking some friction without committing to more, but the motion only stirred the embers.  

A soft groan escaped him as he continued to press his hardening cock into the mattress, the sound swallowed by the pillow as he bit down on the middle of it, teeth sinking into the worn cotton to stifle the sound. The bite grounded him, a sharp distraction from the pull toward his groin.

The minutes dragged on, his breaths evening out only to hitch again when his mind replayed the way Magnus had said his name, along with other memories, like the warmth of Magnus's mouth, the subtle way he’d touch him. The fragments made his cock stir faintly beneath the fabric. Alec clenched his jaw tighter around the pillow, tasting the faint staleness of it, willing his body to stillness.

But the ache built gradually, an insistent pressure that made his hips rock subtly, grinding into the bed for the relief he denied himself. He bit harder into the pillow, the fabric bunching under his teeth, muffling a frustrated whimper.

Despite giving in to his urges, Alec refused to relinquish control.

The internal conflict twisted through him, obvious in the way his body tensed and released in waves, muscles coiling like springs he refused to let snap. He wanted to reach down. Touch himself. But the shame held him back, a barrier thicker than resolve.

Instead, he humped the mattress in shallow, aborted thrusts, the friction teasing but insufficient, drawing out the torment. His cock hardened fully against the confines of his underwear, the fabric rubbing roughly with each roll of his hips, building heat that made his balls ache.

Humping the mattress proved too vague, too distant to satisfy the mounting need. One of Alec's hands clawed at the edge of the covers, yanking them down in a frantic tug. He raised his hips and bunched the soft bundle between himself and the mattress positioning it deliberately to cradle his erection. His hips bucked forward, pressing his cock into the yielding fabric, the pressure more direct now, more insistent.

He ground against the covers with increasing vigour, thighs clamping to hold them in place as he thrust shallowly at first, then deeper, the friction dragging along his length through the thin barrier of his underwear. Pre-cum soaked the cotton, making it slick and clingy, each hump sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. His teeth dug deeper into the pillow, muffling the low grunts that bubbled up, saliva wetting the fabric as his jaw worked against it.

He shifted his body slightly, adjusting the covers in a way that made them feel firmer, almost hard.  

The pace quickened, hips snapping forward in desperate rolls, cock sliding against the rumpled covers that shifted with every motion. His body arched, ass clenching with each push, balls tightening as the build crested higher. Shame flushed his skin, making him hesitate mid-thrust.

His thrusts were slowed down, the slow push of his hips almost torturous. It didn’t last long. Alec was so close to his release that the need overpowered the shame, driving him to hump harder, faster, the covers twisting under his feet as he chased after it.

Pleasure coiled tight in his gut, his breaths coming in harsh pants against the pillow, teeth grinding into it to contain the moans. His cock throbbed, trapped and rubbing relentlessly, until climax hit in a rush. Cum erupted in hot spurts, soaking his underwear and seeping into the covers, his body jerking with each pulse. He rode it out, hips grinding through the waves until oversensitivity made him collapse, releasing the pillow with a gasp, jaws sore, the fabric wet and marked by his bite.

Exhaustion finally claimed him, body limp and mind foggy, the internal storm quieted for now in the hush of the night.

In Jace’s room, Will stood tall with his arms crossed, his presence filling the space with a weight that pressed against Jace’s chest. Will’s jaw was set, his eyes fixed on his son.

“What the hell was that in the barn just now? In what world do you think that’s acceptable?” Will’s tone was low, every word precise, disappointment threaded through the anger. The air seemed to hum with tension. Neither of them moved, the memory of Alec’s distress still raw in Will’s mind.

Jace shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth, searching for words, but only brittle silence came out. Pride battled guilt, and even as he shrank under Will’s disappointment, defiance kept him rigid.

Will’s patience snapped. He stepped forward, voice rising. “Well? Speak up!” His words were icy. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Answer me!” The words slammed through the air, making Jace flinch and look away.

Jace’s posture slackened, but pride kept him upright, jaw set. His breathing quickened, matching the tension. He finally met his father’s gaze, eyes blazing.

“Don’t talk to me about what’s acceptable. You’re the last person who should lecture anyone about right and wrong.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer. “This isn’t about me-”

Jace’s voice snapped, sharp and raw. “Isn’t it? You broke our family, and now you want to act like you’re some authority on how I treat your bastard child? You don’t get to stand there and pretend you’re innocent. Why is he even here? He doesn’t belong. He’s not my brother!” Jace’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He turned away, running a hand through his hair.

Will’s voice cut through the tension. He took a deep breath, fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t you dare call Alec a bastard child. He’s your brother. I know I hurt your mother, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But we decided to work through it. I loved your mother. More than anything. Alec didn’t ask for any of this. He’s just a kid who’s lost everything. He deserves better than your spite.”

Jace’s jaw clenched. He stared at the floor, voice low. “You keep calling him my brother, but he’s a stranger. You didn’t even know he existed until last week. One call, and suddenly he’s here, like he’s always belonged. You didn’t ask me. You just let him walk in and expect me to accept it.”

Will’s voice was weary, but firm. He shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “He’s my son. Of course he belongs. If I had known, things would have been different. I can’t change the past. I can only try to do right by him now.”

Jace scoffed, voice raw. He paced the room, hands clenched. “You didn’t even tell me yourself. I had to hear it from a stranger. And now you act like he’s the only one who matters. Did you ever think about how that would make me feel?”

Will’s voice shook, patience fraying. He leaned against the dresser, shoulders tense. “I was blindsided too, Jace. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to tell myself. But Alec needed somewhere to go. He needs a family. I couldn’t turn him away.”

Jace’s anger faltered, replaced by something more fragile. He stopped pacing, arms folded tight across his chest. “It’s not fair! You did the same thing with Magnus! You let him work with Daisy. She was mine to train, I’d spent weeks trying to settle her and you just let him take over!”

Will did agree that it wasn’t fair. None of it was. But he couldn’t help but frown when Jace mentioned Magnus. He thought they were done with it.

“Jace… Magnus doesn’t… This, Alec being here. It has nothing to do with Magnus. Nothing at all.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

 “Of course it does!” Jace’s voice rose. “From day one you welcomed him with open arms, let him do whatever he wanted. You praise him for every little thing, even now, while I get told to stand back and watch. He was a fucking novice when he first came here, never worked a day in his life, but you treated him like some kind of prodigy. What about me! I’ve been here since I was a kid, doing everything you asked, and it’s never enough. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see the way you look at him, at Alec? You’re so fucking proud of them, for no fucking reason!”

Will’s face fell, the anger draining into something softer, but Jace pressed on, voice breaking. “You never looked at me that way. Not once. Not even when I tried.” Jace’s voice broke, and he turned away, shoulders hunched. “Not even when I did everything you asked.”

Will stepped forward, voice quieter but unyielding. “Jace, you’re my son. That will never change. Magnus has an incredible gift, but that doesn’t mean I value him over you. This rivalry of yours, it’s all in your head Jace. Learn from him instead of punishing yourself. And Alec, he’s your brother whether you like it or not. You can’t rewrite what’s happening just because it’s hard to accept.”

Jace’s bravado faltered, but he pressed on, voice trembling. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t mean anything. You let them in and now I’m just… I’m just the one who gets in the way.”

Will shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not in the way…” He looked down, rubbing his hands together. “I know you feel like this isn’t fair, and I don’t disagree. But we have to find a way through it. Together.”

For a moment, the room was quiet except for Jace’s ragged breathing. Then his fists clenched again. He glared at his father. “You say together like it means something. It doesn’t.”

Jace’s voice was sharp, almost desperate. He stepped closer, voice trembling. “You think regret fixes anything? You think saying sorry and making Mom forgive you makes it all go away? You destroyed her. You destroyed me. Every time you left, she’d sit by the window, waiting for you. I didn’t get it then, but I knew she was hurting. Because of you. Did you ever think about us?”

Will’s shoulders slumped, feeling dejected. He stared at the wall, lost in memory. For a moment, his mind spun back; Jace’s mother at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug gone cold, eyes red from crying. The nights he’d come home late, the silence, the way Jace would peek out from behind his bedroom door, hope and fear tangled in his gaze. The moment he confessed, her face crumpling, Jace’s world shrinking. The sorrow etched into every line of Will’s face, but his anger didn’t ebb. It settled deeper, sharpening his resolve.

He straightened, voice steady and unwavering. “I always thought about you, even when I was with Alec’s mom. I never stopped loving you or your mother. I know I hurt you, but I never wanted to leave. I made terrible mistakes, but I never stopped trying to make up for it.”

Jace’s eyes blazed. He shook his head, voice rising. “You say that now, but where was all that love when you were sneaking around behind Mom’s back? Where was it when you broke her heart and left me to pick up the pieces? You talk about regret, but you still brought Alec here, like he’s some prize for all the years you spent lying to us.”

He stepped forward, voice trembling. “You want to know what I remember? I remember Mom crying herself to sleep. You coming home late, pretending nothing was wrong. I remember wondering if you’d just pack up and leave to go find her. I was waiting for you to finally decide we weren’t enough. Did you ever even love Mom, or was she just someone you settled for because she left?”

Jace’s fists shook at his sides, breath coming fast. “You say you never wanted to leave. But you did. Every lie. Every time you picked her over us.”

Jace’s eyes flashed. He stared at Will, voice tight. “If you’d known about Alec from the start, would you have gone looking for her? Would you have moved to Brooklyn to be with her instead?”

Will shook his head, pain etched deep. He took a step back, voice strained. “Jace-”

“No! Tell me the truth. If Alec’s mom had called, if you’d known she was pregnant, would you have gone to her?”

Will’s face hardened, stung. He straightened, voice rising. “Of course not. How could you even think that? I didn’t set out to hurt you. I never thought anything like this could happen, but it did, and I can’t change that. I never set out to ruin our family. I tried to do right by you and your mother, even after everything fell apart.”

He shook his head, frustration bleeding into his tone. He moved to the window, staring out into the darkness. “You act like I was never there, like I just walked out and never looked back. But I stayed, Jace. I did my best to hold this family together, even when it felt impossible.”

Will’s eyes flashed, defensive and wounded. He turned back to Jace, voice rough. “You don’t know what it was like, living with the guilt, trying to fix what I broke. I know I failed. I know I hurt you both. But don’t stand there and tell me I never cared, or that Alec is some prize I wanted more than you. That’s not fair. And it isn’t true.”

He took a shaky breath, anger and regret tangled. He leaned against the wall, arms folded. “I’m not proud of what I did. And I know it can’t be fixed. But what I can do is try to be a father to both of you. Whether you believe it or not, I never stopped loving this family. I never stopped loving you.”

Jace’s bravado faltered, but he pressed on, voice trembling. He wiped at his eyes, refusing to let tears fall. “You’ve never looked at me the way you look at him, so forgive me for not believing a single word you say.”

Will stepped forward, voice quieter but unyielding. He placed a hand on the back of a chair, gripping it tight. “Alec is my son. He will always be my son, your brother, whether you like it or not. You can’t rewrite what’s happened just because it’s hard to accept.” For a moment, the anger between them wavered, replaced by something softer. Jace swallowed, throat tight, wrestling with resentment and guilt. The silence felt heavier than any accusation, settling over them with the echo of things both said and unsaid.

“He’s not going to replace you, Jace. He never could.” The words hung between them, not quite soft enough to heal the anger, but enough to reach through it.

The mood shifted, tension dissolving into a tentative calm. Jace’s shoulders slumped, eyes darting away, glassy with unshed tears. His breath shuddered, lips trembling as anger gave way to raw vulnerability. The silence stretched, thick with emotion, and for a fleeting moment, Jace looked as if he might break entirely, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of all he’d tried to hold back.

Will regarded his son, guilt tugging at him. He wondered if his own failings had planted the seeds of pain now blooming in Jace, and the thought twisted in his chest, sharp and unforgiving.

Will drew a deep breath, tone firm but gentle, the years of heartache evident in his eyes. “If you want to act like a child, I will treat you like one.” He straightened, voice unwavering. “You’re grounded. Up an hour earlier than everyone else, breakfast, then work. Lunch and dinner in your room.”

He hesitated, gaze softening. “Your mother always wanted better for you. She believed in you, Jace, believed you’d grow into someone she could be proud of. If she were still here, I know she’d be heartbroken to see you like this, letting anger guide your choices.” Will’s voice cracked, but the sternness returned. “I owe it to her memory, and to you, to be the father you need right now. Even if that means making hard choices.”

Jace’s eyes flashed with fury, fists clenching. “Fine. I’ll apologize to Alec, if that’s what you want. I’ll say sorry. Will that get you off my back?”

Will shook his head, unmoved. “No. Until you’re ready to act like an adult, I want you nowhere near Alexander. Do you understand?”

Jace’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked as if he might argue again. Instead, he let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think grounding me is going to fix any of this?” His voice trembled, caught between anger and something more fragile. “I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. You can’t just lock me away until I behave the way you want.”

He turned away, pacing the small room, movements restless and agitated. “You don’t get it. You never did. You can punish me all you want, but it won’t change what happened. It won’t make me forget.”

He stopped, shoulders hunched, refusing to meet Will’s gaze. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care,” he muttered, but the words rang hollow, betraying the hurt beneath his bravado. For a moment, the only sound was Jace’s ragged breathing, the weight of his father’s disappointment pressing in from all sides.

Will straightened, presence towering in the suddenly stifling room. When he spoke again, his voice was low, every word clipped and seething with restrained anger. “Johnathan Christian Wayland Herondale, do not test me.” The name struck the air like the crack of a whip. For the first time, real fear flickered in Jace’s eyes. Will’s gaze was cold and unwavering, his fury tightly leashed but unmistakable, a force that would not yield. Jace felt the bravado drain from him, replaced by a stark awareness of just how far he had pushed his father this time.

Jace’s breath caught, the sound of his full name slicing through his defences. For a heartbeat, he was a child again, small and uncertain beneath his father’s gaze. The anger that had fuelled him moments before flickered and faded, leaving only the ache of regret and the sting of consequences he couldn’t escape.

For a beat, the silence hung heavy and unyielding, thick enough to choke on. Then, as if some invisible string inside Jace finally snapped, he spun on his heel and launched himself onto his narrow bed. The old mattress springs groaned beneath his weight as he flopped face-down, arms thrown wide, and buried his head in the pillow. With a raw, muffled wail, he let his frustration pour out, the sound far too loud to be mistaken for anything but what it was, a tantrum, childish and unrestrained, echoing his sense of impotence and fury. He kicked his heel against the bedframe, the dull thunk a small rebellion against the world and, more specifically, his father’s iron will.

Will watched, jaw set, exhaustion etched deep around his eyes. He waited until Jace’s screams dulled to ragged sobs, then offered a weary sigh, somehow both stern and tender. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jace. Five o’clock sharp.” With that, he closed the door behind him with a quiet click, leaving his son alone in the half-light. Free to rage. Sob. To let the storm burn itself out in the sanctuary of his room.

Will lingered outside Alec’s door, listening for any sign of movement. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated, uncertain. Finally, he rapped softly; just enough to be heard.

No answer.

He tried again, a little louder. “Alec?” he called, voice hushed.

Still nothing.

Inside, Alec was fast asleep, passed out from his intense orgasm.

Will cracked the door open, peering into the dim room, air thick with an unmistakable musk. Alec lay curled on his side; one leg draped over the tangled covers. Will knew, in the abstract, what had happened here. And he didn’t know what to feel. Alec was a teenager; this sort of thing was… normal, even if the particular shape of Alec’s desires was something Will couldn’t relate to.

It wasn’t embarrassment, exactly, that made Will’s skin prickle. It was a diffuse sense of not belonging, of being out of his depth. He’d been raised with scripts for fatherhood; talks about responsibility, the mechanics of adulthood, warnings about caution and respect; but none of those scripts had prepared him for this. There were no well-worn words for how to reassure a son whose experience was so different from what he’d lived, no script for how to say you cared, unconditionally, when you feared your own ignorance might build a wall between you.

He hovered in the doorway, heart weighted with uncertainty. What if Alec needed something; some conversation, some comfort that Will didn’t even know to offer? What if his silence, meant to be gentle, was read as coldness or shame? He wished desperately for wisdom, for the right words to bridge the awkward gap between them, to let Alec know he was loved and accepted, not in spite of who he was, but because of it.

But all that came was a clumsy movement: cracking the window open and grabbing the spare blanket from the back of a chair to cover Alec with.

He closed the door with a soft click, a silent promise that he would try to learn, to listen, to meet his son in the middle of the uncharted space between their worlds. In the hush that followed, Will made a vow to himself: he would not let his own inexperience become a barrier. If Alec ever reached out, he would answer; awkwardly perhaps, imperfectly, but honestly, and with love.

Chapter Text

The following day, Alec woke at the crack of dawn, the grey light barely spilling across his room. His vision was blurred, and his mind fogged, heart racing and fringe stuck to his damp forehead.

The covers were tangled in his legs, half of them hanging off the edge of his bed. Alec felt hot and cold all at once. He was utterly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t anxiety that was bothering him. It was something else. A persistent, aching heat low in his belly that refused to fade.

Alec bit down on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the insistent pulse of desire that had followed him from the night before. He could get up, slip quietly through the hallway, and try to take care of things in the bathroom, but the mere thought made his pulse stutter. What if someone heard him? Worse, what if he ran into Will or Jace, or anyone else? The embarrassment of someone seeing him like this… his cheeks burned crimson just thinking about it. The risk of being seen, of exposing his arousal, gnawed at him, making the prospect of leaving his room too much.

He glanced toward the closed door. The world outside felt hostile and unpredictable, every footstep in the hallway a possible threat to his fragile privacy. Alec considered his alternatives, heart racing. If he stayed here, he’d have the safety of solitude, the comfort of his familiar bed, the option to manage his problem without the threat of prying eyes. He could pull the covers over himself, curl tighter… and no one would know.

But the longer Alec remained still, the more aware he became of the need thrumming through him. The desire to preserve his dignity warred with the physical urge pressing at him, the heat in his body refusing to be ignored. He shifted restlessly, every tiny movement amplifying his self-consciousness. The blankets now fully on the floor.

Alec let out a tense, barely audible sigh and buried his face in his pillow. It was still damp from last night. The thought of risking an encounter outweighed the discomfort of staying put.

With steady determination, Alec slipped his hand into his underwear. His fingers brushed against the stiff length of his cock, already half hard from the night’s unresolved dreams. He stifled a sharp inhale into the pillow. The fabric of his underwear trapped the heat radiating from his skin, making every touch feel amplified in the confined space.

He hesitated, palm hovering, acutely aware of the silence beyond his door; the faint creak of the house settling, the distant murmur of someone stirring in the kitchen. What if they knocked? What if Magnus himself appeared, that knowing smirk on his face, eyes gleaming with amusement at Alec's flushed disarray?

The thought of Magnus sent a fresh jolt through him, his cock twitching against his hand. Magnus, with his sharp jawline and those dark, enigmatic eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of Alec's composure. Alec wrapped his fingers around the base, squeezing firmly, feeling the thick vein throb under his grip as blood surged into his shaft, making it swell even harder. He began to stroke upward, slow and deliberate, the rough drag of his palm over the sensitive skin sending electric sparks straight to his balls. God, what would Magnus do if he knew? The internal question twisted in his mind, equal parts shame and thrill. Would he laugh? Or worse; or better; would he step closer, voice dropping to that velvet timbre, murmuring encouragements that made Alec's knees buckle…

Alec's free hand clutched the sheet, knuckles whitening as he pumped his fist a little faster, the swollen head of his cock bumping against the waistband of his underwear, smearing pre-cum in sticky trails. He bit harder into the pillow to muffle the soft whimper escaping his throat. In his mind, Magnus lounged against the doorframe of his room, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a predatory intensity. “Go on, Alexander,” he imagined Magnus say, lips curving into a wicked smile. “Show me how you stroke that hard cock when you think of me.”

Heat flooded Alec's face, his body curling tighter as if to hide from the fantasy itself. But he couldn't stop; his other hand slid down, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them roughly in his palm while his thumb pressed hard against the slick underside of his shaft, rubbing in firm circles that made his toes curl. The dual sensations made his hips buck involuntarily, thrusting his cock deeper into his own tight grip.

He pictured Magnus pushing off the wall, closing the distance in two strides, his long fingers replacing Alec's, wrapping around his throbbing length with a possessive squeeze. Magnus's other hand would slide up Alec's neck, tilting his head back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. Alec’s hands mirrored Magnus’s imagined movements.

Then those full lips would descend, pressing hot and open-mouthed kisses along his sensitive skin, teeth grazing just enough to sting, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his sweat.

Alec's strokes quickened, the wet, obscene slide of his pre-cum-slicked fist over his rigid cock growing louder, drowned out only by his ragged, panting breaths. His balls tightened, drawing up tight against his body as the coil in his gut wound unbearably tighter. His erection pulsed harder with each pass of his hand.

He envisioned Magnus's mouth lingering on his neck, sucking a mark into the skin just below his ear, the pull of lips and teeth sending shivers down his spine while that expert hand pumped his cock in long, twisting strokes. “You taste so fucking good here Alexander,” fantasy Magnus growled against Alec’s pulse point, nipping sharply before soothing with a slow, wet lick. “I can feel your cock leaking for me… keep going… let me hear you moan.”

Sweat slicked Alec's skin, the air turning humid and thick, heavy with the musky scent of his arousal. His mind fractured into sharper, more vivid images: Magnus's fingers digging into his hip, holding him steady as he lavished attention on Alec's neck, kissing and biting a trail down to his collarbone, all while his hand worked Alec's cock relentlessly, thumb swirling over the slit to spread the pre-cum.

Alec's fist mimicked the motion, twisting at the head on every upstroke, the pressure building like a storm in his veins. He imagined Magnus's body pressing close, the hard bulge of his erection grinding against Alec's thigh, promising more as his mouth claimed every inch of exposed neck, leaving it red and throbbing.

The fantasy pushed Alec closer to the brink; his hand flew now, pounding his cock with desperate, sloppy strokes, balls slapping lightly against his knuckles. The imagined kisses on his neck burned in his mind, each one a spark that made his entire body tense. “Fuck, Magnus,” he whispered, the words silent but frantic. “Touch me like you own me...” His free hand instinctively rose to his own neck, fingers tracing where he pictured those lips, pressing into the skin as if to feel the ghost of teeth and tongue.

“Come for me, Alexander.”

The added sensation tipped him over; his body seized, a choked, guttural groan buried deep in the pillow as his cock erupted, thick ropes of cum shooting from the tip, splattering hot and messy across his stomach and chest. He kept stroking through the orgasm, hand milking his spasming shaft for every last drop, waves of blinding pleasure ripping through him until he trembled, utterly spent and boneless, cum cooling sticky on his skin.

Panting harshly, Alec withdrew his hand, fingers glistening with his release. The fantasy of Magnus's touches and kisses lingered like a brand on his neck, leaving him exposed and aching in the quiet aftermath, heart still pounding against the walls of his self-imposed isolation.

He lay there for a long moment, listening to the softened hush of the house, slowly regaining a sense of himself as his pulse steadied. He reached for a tissue from the nightstand, wiping himself down with careful, practised motions, mouth set in a line somewhere between embarrassment and relief.

Dragging on a fresh pair of boxers, Alec glanced at the faint imprint the pillow had left on his cheek and let out a rueful huff. His mind still buzzed with the ghost of Magnus’s imagined caresses; dangerous, exhilarating, and impossible to shake. With a final look at the closed door, he straightened his sheets and forced his breathing to slow, determined to face the day as if nothing had happened. If only his traitorous heart would settle as quickly as the rest of him seemed to.

After washing up, Alec went downstairs, glad to find the house empty. He grabbed a couple of the leftover waffles off the table, folding them in half and taking a hearty bite as he wandered through the quiet kitchen. The waffles were cold but sweet, syrup lingering sticky on his fingers, and he let himself savour the simple comfort of breakfast eaten in peace.

Alec put his thumb between his lips and sucked, humming softly at the taste of syrup, and for a moment, his mind drifted to Magnus and Alec found himself wondering what he would taste like. The thought bloomed, vivid and immediate: he imagined the warmth of Magnus’s skin beneath his mouth, the trace of some exotic cologne lingering like a secret on his pulse. He envisions the press of Magnus’s lips; soft but insistent; against his own, the faint spark of spice and dark roast coffee on his tongue. He could almost feel the silk of Magnus’s hair sliding through his fingers, the gentle scratch of stubble along his jaw, the subtle heat radiating from his body. The phantom sensation made Alec’s breath hitch; every nerve alive with the possibility, hunger curling low in his stomach once more. He gave a rueful shake of his head, trying not to get lost again in daydreams and desire, but the craving for that taste; sweet, smoky, undeniably Magnus; burned quietly beneath the surface, stubborn and impossible to ignore.

He rinsed his hands at the sink, glancing out the window to where dew sparkled on the grass under a pale morning sun.

Alec didn’t let himself hesitate. He stepped outside and drew in a lungful of crisp air, the scent of damp earth and distant hay stirring a sense of anticipation low in his chest. The yard was still, save for the distant clatter of a wheelbarrow and the soft nickering of horses in the fields. Despite the lingering flush of his earlier imaginings, excitement bubbled beneath his skin, impossible to tamp down. Today promised hours spent brushing Queenie’s thick mane, the quiet satisfaction of work well done, and best of all; time with Magnus. The thought made his pulse skip, nervous energy mixing with hope as he set off towards the stables, the morning stretching before him full of possibility.

But as Alec reached the barn, the anticipation that had been simmering beneath his skin twisted into a knot of nerves. The memory of Magnus’s imagined touch lingered, making his cheeks burn as he struggled to meet Magnus’s gaze. Every inch of Alec’s body tensed; longing for the comfort he’d just imagined warred with a sudden rush of dread. His heart kicked painfully against his ribs as anxiety pooled in his stomach; shame prickling his skin with the memory of his early-morning fantasies. The hunger for Magnus remained, gnawing and persistent beneath the swell of embarrassment, making Alec wish he could simply disappear. He hesitated, torn between the urge to retreat and the desperate wish to close the distance, his emotions a tangled, breathless mess.

Magnus stepped forward, and Alec’s nerves frayed further. The fear that his desires might somehow be written across his face burned in his cheeks, mingling with the ache of wanting more. For a moment, Alec stood rooted, uncertain and exposed, longing for Magnus’s touch yet terrified of being truly seen.

Magnus’s silhouette was framed in the doorway, sunlight spilling around his shoulders as he leaned with casual grace against the weathered frame. He was dressed for the morning’s work; well-worn jeans, boots scuffed with honest use, and a faded henley that clung to his arms. His eyes caught Alec’s, and that familiar, easy smile curved his mouth, warm as the soft golden light behind him.

“Hello, Alexander,” Magnus called, his tone light, but the word lingered between them; more intimate than a simple greeting, familiar in a way that sent Alec’s pulse skittering. Magnus’s gaze held Alec’s just a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he could see right through the shield of Alec’s careful composure. The corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine delight, the playful warmth in his expression an anchor against Alec’s nerves.

Alec swallowed, startled by the way Magnus said his name, softer and more real than the daydreams that had haunted him all morning. He ducked his head, a flush creeping across his cheeks, and managed. “H-hey…” His voice came out awkward, breathless, but he cleared his throat and forced himself to meet Magnus’s eyes again. The effort cost him, but he found a sliver of steadiness in the way Magnus’s smile didn’t waver.

“You’re up early,” Magnus remarked, his voice gentle as he straightened from the doorway, sunlight catching in his hair. He stepped into the barn with unhurried grace, boots crunching softly over the fresh layer of straw, and paused just a breath away from Alec. His gaze was steady, tinged with warmth and the faintest edge of curiosity. “Couldn’t sleep?” he ventured, the question laced with a subtle understanding, as if he suspected the restlessness wasn’t just Alec’s alone.

Alec ducked his head, a nervous flush creeping across his cheeks. “Y-yeah, I-uh… couldn’t sleep,” he stammered, voice low and uneven. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, betraying his unease. For a moment, he risked a glance up at Magnus, searching his face for any sign of judgement, but found only quiet reassurance. The barn was filled with the soft early-morning hush, dust motes swirling in the slanting light, and Alec felt the tension ease from his shoulders; just a little; as Magnus’s presence settled beside him, solid and grounding.

Magnus’s smile widened, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he spoke. “That’s good. I just spoke to Will, actually, and I was planning to come wake you up in an hour... but since you’re already up, we might as well get moving,” he said, his tone somewhere between businesslike and fond. He glanced past Alec, scanning the stable as if expecting a sudden flurry of activity. “The vet’s due today, so it’s going to be all hands on deck; vaccines for every horse, and that means it’ll be pure chaos around here.”

He nudged Alec lightly with his elbow, the hint of mischief returning. “Which is why we’re nipping into town with Andrew, get out of the way. You need proper boots. And a hat. It’s non-negotiable. I refuse to let you get trampled in those trainers, and besides, you’ll look the part.” Magnus grinned, his seriousness softened by a playful wink, making it clear that, while the errand was important, he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Alec blinked at the mention of town, surprise and nerves flaring anew. The idea of leaving the stables, venturing into unfamiliar territory with Magnus so close at his side, made his stomach flip. Magnus’s easy proximity; his casual lean, the warmth of his smile; felt both comforting and overwhelming, as if the air itself had thickened with expectation. Alec’s thoughts raced, caught between the rush of anticipation and a low thrum of anxiety.

"Wait," Alec ventured, his voice tentative. "If it’s all hands on deck, why’s Andrew coming with us? Doesn’t Will need everyone here?" He clenched his fingers a little tighter, not sure if he was hoping for reassurance or just some logical explanation.

Magnus burst out laughing, the sound ringing brightly in the quiet barn. "Oh, Will definitely needs everyone here," he said, grinning. "But he doesn’t trust me to take you to town alone; reckons I’m a bit much sometimes. Last time he let me loose, I bought half the shop; it was a right spectacle. Andrew’s there to keep me in line, make sure I don’t go on a proper shopping spree." Magnus winked, looking thoroughly unrepentant. "I do love a good spree, though. You’d be amazed how many hats a person can own."

The explanation, so light and irreverent, made Alec feel a touch more at ease. He found himself smiling despite the lingering nerves, the prospect of Magnus’s exuberance turning the mundane errand into something almost exhilarating.

Alec forced a laugh at Magnus’s joke, but the echo of his morning fantasies made his smile feel fragile. Did Magnus notice the flush in his cheeks? Was it obvious how much Alec wanted him?

“What are you, rich or something?” he teased, attempting a joke with a tentative smile. It came easier than he’d expected; the tension in his chest loosened as Magnus’s mirth proved infectious. Magnus’s eyes sparkled, clearly delighted by Alec’s attempt at banter.

Magnus put on a mock-serious expression, hand pressed dramatically to his heart. Then, with a sly grin, he declared: “I am rich and something.” His gaze lingered, the words hovering between mischief and truth.

Alec let out a more genuine laugh this time, shaking his head at Magnus’s outrageous claim. “Yeah, right,” he said, grinning, convinced Magnus was just playing up the joke. The idea of Magnus being rich seemed so absurd in the dusty barn with hay clinging to his boots and sunlight catching in his wild hair, that Alec couldn’t help but picture the supposed fortune in the form of a mountain of hats; velvet trilbies and beanies and all. “Well, as long as one of those hats isn’t a top hat,” he added, still smiling. “I think you’ll survive.”

Magnus’s sly grin remained fixed, but he didn’t offer any clarification, only a nonchalant shrug as if the question of wealth was too trivial to bother with. He just winked, as if to say Alec would figure it out eventually. For now, Magnus let the illusion stand, content to keep Alec guessing for a little while longer.

The wink sent a fresh jolt through Alec’s chest. His pulse skipped in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

They wound their way through the barn, Magnus leading the charge with his trademark swagger, while Alec trailed close behind.

In the tack room, Andrew was sorting through a jumble of halters and brushes. Alec hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he was interrupting, but Andrew looked up, surprise flickering across his usually reserved features before a spark of genuine delight lit his eyes. “Look who’s up early,” Andrew said, his voice carrying the dry warmth of approval. Alec felt a small rush of relief; he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting, but after Jace grabbed him so harshly out of nowhere last night, Alec was on edge around everyone. Magnus for other, unrelated reasons.

When Andrew handed him a spare jacket, the sleeves a little too long, Alec tugged them down over his hands, grateful for the gesture but acutely aware of how out of place he felt in borrowed clothes. He wished he didn’t feel so awkward around Andrew.

 “Since you’re already here, we’ll get going.”

The trio made their way out to Will’s battered truck. Magnus tossed their bags into the back with a theatrical flourish, and Alec wondered if he’d ever be able to move through the world with that kind of ease. He climbed in the back, politely declining the offer to sit up front on the passenger side. Magnus immediately started fiddling with the radio after buckling up, turning the dial until he found a station playing something upbeat and brassy.

Alec tried to relax, but his nerves buzzed beneath his skin, the unfamiliarity of the truck and the company making him hyper aware of every movement and thus unable to enjoy the music filling the cabin. He took a deep, calming breath, but his fingers kept worrying at the edge of his sleeve, unable to settle.

The drive to town was longer than Alec had expected, the countryside rolling past in endless waves of gold and green, dotted with grazing sheep and the odd patch of wildflowers. Hedgerows hugged the edge of the narrow lane, and at times the road seemed swallowed by overhanging branches, sunlight flickering in dapples across Andrew’s steady hands on the wheel.

As they neared the outskirts of town, Magnus pointed out landmarks; the weathered sign for the little antique shop where he claimed to have found his favourite hat, and the winding river that ran below the old stone bridge.

Once the car was parked, Magnus wasted no time, grabbing Alec by the sleeve and towing him straight to the work boot section. “You can’t skimp on work boots,” he declared, eyes scanning the shelves with practised expertise. “You’ll spend half your life in them, so they’ve got to fit like a dream and stand up to all sorts of muck.”

He launched into an enthusiastic explanation about the virtues of reinforced toes, waterproof leather, and soles with proper grip for mud. Magnus pulled out pairs from every brand: tough, brown ones, sleek black boots, even a garish pair Alec was sure he picked just for the laugh.

“Try these. And these. Oh, don’t forget these; they’re Will’s favourite, apparently for a reason.” Alec obediently sat on the low bench, Magnus thrusting box after box at him, each pair demanding to be tried on. Andrew hovered nearby, arms folded, occasionally raising an eyebrow but otherwise letting Magnus run riot. Alec tried on ten pairs. Magnus crouched in front, appraising the fit, wiggling the toes, and insisting on a short walk across the shop floor. “No good. Too stiff. Do they pinch? They look like they pinch. Those are perfect but the colour’s dreadful, don’t you think?”

After what felt like an endless parade, Magnus finally clapped his hands together with satisfaction, picking out a sturdy, well-cushioned pair in a deep chestnut brown. “There,” he announced. “Now your feet are ready for anything this place throws at you.” Alec grinned, the fuss somehow making the new boots feel like a badge of honour earned.

Magnus swept him deeper into the store’s clothing section, arms loaded with shirts, jackets, and hats. The air was thick with the scent of new denim, leather, and the faint tang of cedar from the racks. “Alright, city boy,” Magnus teased, grinning as he shoved a stack of plaid flannels and denim into Alec’s arms. “Time to see if you can pass for a ranch hand.”

Alec’s eyes widened at the pile, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and dread. He’d never worn anything like this before; his wardrobe back in Brooklyn was all dark hoodies and loose, black sweatpants. He wondered if Magnus was joking, or if he really thought Alec could pull off the look.

Magnus’s heart skipped as he watched Alec’s uncertainty. There was something endearing about the way Alec’s fingers hesitated over the fabric, as if the clothes might bite. Magnus could hear the soft rustle of hangers, the distant hum of country music from the store speakers, and the quiet, nervous laughter that escaped Alec as he was ushered toward the changing room.

“Try this one first,” Magnus said, handing over a faded red flannel and a pair of jeans with just the right amount of wear. The fabric was soft and warm in Magnus’s hands, and he imagined how it would look stretched across Alec’s shoulders. “And don’t even think about skipping the belt buckle. It’s practically a requirement.” He pressed the heavy, cool metal into Alec’s palm, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the brief brush of their fingers.

Alec took the clothes, fingers trembling, his stomach twisting with nerves. He wanted to fit in, wanted to be someone Magnus could be proud of, but he was terrified he’d look ridiculous.

Magnus waited outside, bouncing on his heels, the soles of his boots squeaking faintly on the polished floor. He could hear Alec shifting inside the changing room, the zip of denim, the muffled thump as Alec pulled on boots. Magnus’s heart beat faster with every sound. When Alec finally stepped out, Magnus’s breath caught. The flannel hugged Alec’s frame, the jeans sitting just right on his hips. “Not bad! You look like you could wrangle a herd; or at least pose for a calendar.” Magnus’s voice was light, but his breath caught. Alec looked incredible.

Alec barely recognised himself. He rolled his eyes a little, but the compliment sent a flush up his neck, making him duck his head, hiding a shy smile. Was Magnus just teasing, or did he really mean it?

“Hat next,” Magnus insisted, plopping a wide-brimmed cowboy hat onto Alec’s head. The felt was soft beneath his fingers as Alec adjusted it, uncertain, but Magnus stepped closer, tilting the brim just so. Magnus’s hand lingered, his pulse skipping as the scent of Alec’s shampoo mixed with the earthy hat.

“Perfect.” Alec felt a jolt at the compliment. His heart thudded in his chest, impossible to ignore.

But Magnus wasn’t done yet, he dressed Alec in a denim jacket, then a shearling vest, then a snap-button shirt in deep forest green. He circled Alec, tugging at sleeves, fussing over collars, the textures of each fabric distinct beneath his hands, rough canvas, plush fleece, crisp cotton. “You need something with pockets,” Magnus declared, handing over a rugged work coat.

“Trust me, you’ll thank me when you’re knee-deep in hay.” Alec laughed, and the sound was bright and genuine, and surprised even himself as it echoed off the racks. Magnus’s chest swelled with pride at Alec’s laughter.

Alec straightened, felt lighter, less like an outsider.

Alec tried on each piece, sometimes awkward, sometimes laughing as Magnus struck dramatic poses in the mirror beside him. Magnus watched Alec’s reflection, noticing the way Alec’s cheeks flushed, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed. The store lights caught in Alec’s hair, turning it almost gold at the edges. Magnus’s pulse thrummed in his ears as he fought the urge to reach out.

Magnus watched Alec’s posture change with each new outfit, shoulders squaring, chin lifting. And with every transformation, Magnus felt his own heart beating faster. He’d always thought Alec was pretty, but there was something about seeing him in these clothes… his clothes, in a way; that made Magnus’s breath catch. The way the flannel hugged Alec’s frame, the way the hat shadowed his eyes, the way a shy smile transformed his whole face. Magnus glanced away, hoping Alec wouldn’t notice the heat in his gaze.

But Alec did notice the way Magnus’s eyes lingered on him, the way his smile softened when he laughed. He didn’t dare believe Magnus might actually find him attractive. The thought alone made Alec’s stomach flip with a mix of nerves and hope.

“You know,” Magnus said, voice dropping as he handed Alec a soft, worn henley. “I think this style suits you. You’re very handsome.” His voice was rough, thick with sincerity. The henley was faded and soft, and as Alec pulled it on, Magnus caught a whiff of laundry soap and something that was just Alec; warm, a little wild, utterly intoxicating.

Alec paused, fingers lingering on the fabric. He looked at Magnus, searching his face for any sign of mockery, but Magnus only smiled, gentler now. “You really think so?” Alec shyly asked. “Yeah. I do.” Alec felt something loosen inside him; tension he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He wanted to believe Magnus, wanted to see himself the way Magnus did.

Magnus wished Alec could see himself as he did. Strong. Beautiful. Worthy.

By the end, Alec stood in front of the mirror, boots scuffed, hat tilted, jacket fitting just right. The unfamiliar weight of the clothes pressed comfortingly against his skin, the soft scratch of flannel at his neck, the snug denim hugging his legs. He was still adjusting the brim of his hat when he glanced up, meeting Magnus’s in the mirror.

Magnus was behind him, reflected in the glass, utterly still. Alec felt the warmth of Magnus’s attention, intense and unwavering, as if Magnus could see straight through the layers of fabric to the nerves and hope beneath. He smiled at Alec, pride shining in his eyes.

“So handsome,” he said, and for a moment, the world felt lighter. Alec’s heart lifted, possibility shimmering in the air.

Magnus let himself watch Alec’s reflection, unable to look away. He was struck by how much he wanted to reach out, to touch Alec’s shoulder, to tell him how good he looked; like really tell him. And then Alec caught him staring, their eyes meeting in the mirror. For a moment, neither looked away, the air charged between them.

Alec’s cheeks flushed, his heart thudding so loudly he was sure Magnus could hear it. He felt laid bare, but not in a way that made him want to hide. Instead, he wanted to step closer, to let Magnus see everything.

The atmosphere grew charged, the sounds of the store fading until all Alec could hear was the rush of his own pulse. Magnus’s eyes were dark with hunger, but gentleness softened his gaze; something that made Alec’s skin tingle and his breath catch.

Magnus felt it too. His gaze was fixed on Alec through the reflection in the mirror. He could see the rise and fall of Alec’s chest, the way Alec’s lips parted, as if on the verge of saying something. Magnus’s own breath came shallow, his skin tingling with the urge to close the distance. The scent of hay, denim, and Alec’s skin filled his senses.

Alec’s lips parted, as if he might say something, but the moment passed in a rush of laughter as Magnus broke the tension with a wink. Still, the look lingered between them, a secret promise shimmering just beneath the surface, leaving Alec breathless and a little braver than before.

Magnus watched Alec’s reflection, hoping; just for a moment; that Alec could see himself the way Magnus did: brave, beautiful, and ready for whatever came next. And Alec, for the first time, wondered if maybe he could.

Meanwhile, Andrew had been deep in conversation with the shopkeeper, exchanging mischievous grins and playful quips as the bustle of the store continued around them. Every so often, he cast a glance in Alec and Magnus’s direction, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. At last, he sauntered over, hands in his pockets, and gave Alec a once-over, his smile broad and approving.

“Well, would you look at that,” Andrew said, his tone teasing but warm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s no way you were ever a city boy. That getup suits you, Alec.” He flicked his gaze between the boys, letting the moment hang.

Alec ducked his head, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. Warmth, not embarrassment, coloured his cheeks as he fiddled with the edge of his new jacket. Andrew’s praise made him feel seen, and for the first time in ages, he stood a little taller. Confidence flickered beneath his usual shyness, tentative but real.

It was as if Andrew’s approval granted him permission to inhabit the moment fully, easing the old doubts that lingered at the back of his mind.

Just as Andrew's teasing words hung in the air, Magnus nudged Alec gently, his voice low and warm as he murmured: “See? Told you, you looked good.”

The simple affirmation sent a fresh wave of heat to Alec’s cheeks. Magnus’s touch was subtle; a brief, grounding pressure at Alec’s arm; but it resonated, making Alec stand even taller.

In that small gesture, there was reassurance and a hint of shared understanding. Magnus’s approval wasn’t just casual praise; it was a genuine invitation for Alec to believe in himself, just like Andrew’s.

Alec glanced sidelong at Magnus, his bashful smile deepening. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them, the gentle camaraderie in Magnus’s eyes offering comfort amid the flurry of newness. The teasing, the laughter, the easy affection; Alec could feel the tension in his shoulders ease, the self-doubt that so often lingered at the edge of moments like these now gently swept aside by Magnus’s words.

Alec’s heart swelled, skin prickling at Magnus’s affirmations.

“Now, if you two are done playing dress-up… we’d best get a move on before Will gets worried and sends out a search party.” Andrew’s words lingered, a mix of gentle mockery and genuine pride.

Alec grinned, the last of his nerves dissolving as he followed the others to the checkout. He lingered at the edge, still feeling the echo of Magnus’s gaze on him, the warmth of that secret, charged moment in the mirror. Every time he caught Magnus’s eye, his heart skipped, a wild, hopeful flutter that made him feel almost lovesick.

He watched as Magnus handed the shopkeeper the tags to the outfit he was already wearing.

Andrew shot Magnus a look that spoke volumes, his brows lifting in mild disbelief as he took in the ever-growing pile of shirts, jackets, boots, and hats that now dominated the counter. It was clear from the slight downturn of his mouth and the way he pressed his lips together that he was not entirely pleased with Magnus’s extravagant shopping spree.

The sheer amount of clothing Magnus insisted they needed; multiple shirts for layering, two pairs of boots for different occasions, and no less than three hats in varying shades; seemed, to Andrew, a bit over the top for a single outing. Yet, despite his silent protest, Andrew didn’t voice his objections.

Instead, he let out a quiet, resigned huff, the sound almost lost amid the bustle of the store. His eyes flickered from Magnus’s animated gestures to Alec’s uncertain stance, and for a moment, Andrew weighed the practicalities of such excess against the excitement in Magnus’s eyes and the flush of happiness on Alec’s face. He shook his head slowly, a bemused smile curling his lips, acknowledging Magnus’s unbridled enthusiasm while tacitly accepting that he wasn’t going to win this battle.

With his hands in his pockets, he watched as Magnus continued to select each item with dramatic flair, piling them onto the counter as if orchestrating a grand performance. Every now and then, Andrew glanced at Alec, who was still clutching the edge of his new jacket, looking both shy and exhilarated by the attention.

Andrew’s unspoken reluctance hung subtly in the air, a mix of practicality, concern for extravagance, and gentle indulgence. He knew Magnus well enough to recognize that there was more behind the boy’s generosity than mere showmanship; it was, in its own way, an act of care. Yet, Andrew’s gaze lingered on Magnus.

Magnus, stacking another shirt onto the teetering pile, caught Andrew’s pointed look from across the counter; the one that said, without a word, that this was all a bit much. He arched a brow, lips twitching with a hint of mischief. “What?” Magnus said, feigning innocence but unable to hide his grin. “He’s gonna need options! You can’t expect him to survive out here with just one shirt and a single pair of boots, Andrew. What if it rains? What if there’s a dance? Or, God forbid, if he actually gets mud on something?”

He gestured grandly to the growing assortment, ticking items off on his fingers as if building an irrefutable case. “Trust me, this is basic survival. Besides, a little flair never hurt anybody.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to Alec, whose cheeks had gone rosy again, and added: “And anyway, you’re the one who always says you’ve got to be prepared for anything out here.” The corners of Andrew’s mouth twitched against his will, a reluctant smile threatening as Magnus’s playful logic filled the space between them.

With a resigned sigh, Andrew reached for his wallet. “Just put it on Will’s account, please-” he began, but Magnus cut him off by suddenly reaching between him and the woman at the checkout, waving his father’s black credit card.

The card caught the shop’s golden light, shimmering in contrast to the jumble of boots and buckles. “Put it on this card, would you darling,” he said, flashing the shopkeeper a wink as he placed it atop the teetering pile. Alec froze, shock colouring his features. Was Magnus really going to pay for all of this?

“Magnus, that’s… really… you don’t need to do this.” He reached as if to retrieve the card, but Magnus only arched an eyebrow and waved his hand airily, the motion dismissive yet oddly graceful. “Honestly, Andrew, what’s even the point of my Daddy’s black card if I can’t use it for things like this?” Magnus replied, his voice rising above the quiet hum of the shop, earning a scandalized gasp from an elderly woman browsing hats nearby.

“Magnus…” Andrew tried again, but Magnus had already turned his attention pointedly away, his resolve written in the set of his jaw and the playful glint in his eye. “Nope, not listening,” he intoned, fingers drumming lightly on the counter. “Alec needs every single thing, and lord knows Will can’t afford it, so I’m going to buy it. End of story.”

The shopkeeper’s lips twitched, then curled into an amused grin, clearly delighted by the spectacle. She took the card with a conspiratorial smile, deliberately sliding it through the machine with exaggerated care. Andrew sighed in defeat, but even he couldn’t quite hide the edge of a smile, watching as Magnus orchestrated the moment like an artist assembling a still life.

Alec, meanwhile, was caught in a whirl of disbelief and gratitude, the noise and colour of the store fading for just a moment as he realized Magnus was determined to make sure, he felt chosen, cared for, even if it meant a little chaos and a lot of extravagance.

Chapter Text

Over the next week, a gentle rhythm settled in. Each dawn found Alec in the barn, sometimes still bleary-eyed, but always ready. The air was cool and sharp, laced with the earthy scent of hay and the faint musk of horses. Magnus greeted him each morning with a quick grin or a playful wink that sent Alec’s pulse scattering.

The barn was alive with quiet sounds: the soft nickering of horses, the scrape of hooves on wood, the rhythmic swish of brushes over glossy coats. Alec’s hands grew accustomed to the textures: rough rope, smooth leather, the velvet softness of a horse’s muzzle. Sometimes, the distant clatter of buckets or the low hum of voices drifted in from the yard, grounding him in the steady routine of ranch life.

Yet, even as this new routine took root, there was a silent absence that hovered at the edges of Alec’s days. Since the moment Will had confronted Jace, Alec had barely caught more than a glimpse of his older brother. Just the flash of blond hair vanishing around a corner. No one spoke about Jace’s absence, not at meals, not in the barn, not even in the quiet spaces where whispers might have slipped through the cracks. The hush around his name felt deliberate, a gap that everyone seemed to notice but no one dared to fill.

Alec knew Jace was being punished, so he assumed the others were simply respecting that and staying out of it. The silence felt less like avoidance and more like a quiet agreement; a way for everyone to let things settle without stirring up old tensions. Still, the unspoken rules weighed on Alec.

As Queenie shook her head, Alec found his attention drifting from the steady rhythm of her breathing to the boy haunting his dreams. Despite the lingering awkwardness of his desires, Alec couldn’t help but seek out Magnus in every quiet moment, drawn by the warmth and reassurance that seemed to radiate from him. Each glance in Magnus’s direction sent a quiet spark through Alec, reminding him just how much steadier and brighter his world had become since Magnus had chosen to be part of it.

The closeness, both physical and emotional, sent a flood of sensations through Alec that he struggled to name. He was acutely aware of the safety in Magnus’s presence, the way his nerves slowly unwound under that steadfast comfort. Magnus’s laughter echoed off the rafters, bright and easy, and sometimes Alec caught the faint scent of his cologne; something warm and spicy; mingling with the barn’s earthy air.

There was comfort there; an unfamiliar but welcome sense of belonging; mixed with a vulnerable thrill, as if the fortress he'd built around himself was being gently dismantled, one heartbeat at a time. For the first time in what felt like ages, Alec wasn’t consumed by the fear of messing up or not being enough. Instead, he let himself trust Magnus to keep him steady. The realization made his chest ache with a mix of gratitude and something sweeter, softer, that caught him entirely off guard.

Alec was grateful to Magnus for so many things. The clothes Magnus had insisted on buying weren’t just a practical kindness, but a shield against the self-consciousness Alec had once felt, each new shirt or hat feeling like a small assurance that he belonged. The comfort Magnus offered; always without demand or expectation; became a steadying anchor amid the swirl of unfamiliarity, easing the awkward edges of every new day.

Because of Magnus, Alec’s mornings no longer felt daunting; the simple acts of moving through the barn, saddling Queenie, or joining the others at breakfast grew easier, the roughness worn away by gentle guidance and quiet encouragement. Even his anxieties, once an ever-present weight, seemed to lift, replaced by a budding sense of capability and ease. Each lesson, every moment of warmth or shared laughter, wove together until Alec could look around and realise, he no longer felt out of place.

This was home.

Alec stood beside Queenie, the dandy brush fitting awkwardly in his hand at first. The mare’s coat was warm beneath his fingers, each stroke drawing out a layer of dust and revealing the golden shine beneath. He felt the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way she leaned into the brush, trusting him.

As he worked, Alec’s mind wandered. He remembered the first time he’d brushed a horse, how it had instantly calmed his nerves. It was still soothing; a rhythm he could lose himself in. The barn was quiet except for Queenie’s soft snorts and the rustle of hay. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, catching motes of dust that spun lazily in the air.

He glanced at Magnus, humming under his breath as he untangled Queenie’s mane. Alec felt a flutter of gratitude; Magnus had shown him how to hold the brush, how to move with gentle patience. It was strange, how much comfort he found in these small routines. Each stroke seemed to scrub away a little more of the anxiety that clung to him.

Alec pressed his palm against Queenie’s neck, feeling the velvet softness, the steady warmth. He wondered if she could sense his nerves, if she understood how much he needed this; needed to feel useful, needed to belong.

He caught Magnus’s eye and managed a shy smile. The barn, the horses, Magnus’s easy laughter; it all felt like a kind of magic, a world he’d never known he wanted until now. Alec let out a slow breath, letting the comfort of Queenie’s presence settle his racing thoughts.

The late afternoon light slanted golden across the arena, stretching shadows long and warmt over the dust. Alec guided Queenie in a meandering circuit, her steady pace matched by the gentle sway beneath him. Sweat dampened the back of his neck, making Alec regret having taken his shirt off before starting the lesson.

It was just like every other lesson so far; bareback, reins loose between careful fingers, Magnus’s reassuring presence never far off. Comforting in its routine, Alec had begun to settle into each new ride as though it were an old, familiar jumper pulled snug against his nerves.

Magnus leaned against the arena rail, arms crossed but eyes bright with mischief. “Alright, that’s enough gentle walking for now,” he called, pushing away from the fence with an easy spring in his step. “How about we try something new today?” He grinned, and Alec’s heart gave a nervous thud.

“I reckon you’re ready for a trot.” The words fell between them with the weight of a challenge. Alec’s fingers tightened in Queenie’s mane, uncertainty flickering across his face. He’d watched the others; legs bouncing, riders rising and falling in rhythm; but it was one thing to observe and another to attempt, especially with nothing but the horse’s warm back beneath him.

Magnus noticed the tension at once and strode over, voice gentle but resolute. “Look, trotting bareback can feel a bit wild at first, but I promise you it’s not as mad as it seems. Here’s the trick: don’t try to grip too hard, or you’ll just get bounced around. Relax your hips, move with Queenie, like you’re part of her stride. Stretch your legs out.” He reached up, placing his hand lightly at Alec’s back, guiding him to sit tall but loose. “If you start to wobble, just let yourself laugh. Everyone gets jostled their first time; don’t fight it, just go with the rhythm.”

Magnus watched Alec, reading the tension in the set of his shoulders and the anxious clench of his jaw. He gently nodded toward the centre of the arena, voice coaxing but assured. “Steer her over there; right next to the stool.”

Alec, puzzled but trusting, clicked his tongue softly and guided Queenie forward. The mare moved with her usual unhurried steadiness, hooves muffled in the sandy footing, until they came to a halt beside the battered wooden step Magnus favoured.

Magnus mounted the stool in one easy motion, pausing just long enough to catch Alec’s uneasy glance, then swung himself onto Queenie’s wide back. The warmth of the horse radiated up through them as Magnus settled in behind Alec. Alec tensed instinctively, his breath catching as he became suddenly aware of every point of contact: Magnus’s thigh pressed against his, the solid presence at his back, the subtle shift as Magnus found his balance and scooted impossibly close, so their hips aligned. Magnus’s torso pressed against the entire length of Alec’s back, heat tracing a line of comfort up Alec’s spine.

Without hesitation, Magnus slipped his arms around Alec’s waist, moving with a care that was both natural and intimate. His touch was gentle but sure, a silent promise of safety as his hands glided over the length of Alec’s arms and then came to rest atop his hands on the reins.

Magnus’s palms were warm and steady, enveloping Alec’s trembling fingers and stilling them. For a moment, the world narrowed to the hush of the arena, Queenie’s steady breathing, and the intertwining of their hands. Alec felt Magnus’s breath against the side of his neck, a slow exhale that tickled the fine hairs at his nape. Alec held his breath, his pulse quickening as he felt a flush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Easy,” Magnus whispered, his voice low and close, the faintest smile threading through his words. Alec fought the urge to turn and look at him. “You’re not alone up here, see?” Magnus tightened his arms just slightly, grounding Alec with the press of his forearms across his waist. “Let yourself lean back; just a little. Trust me.”

The weight of those words, the unwavering confidence, made Alec’s eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat. He did as he was told, sinking back against Magnus’s chest, suddenly aware of the heat pooling low in his stomach. The steady thump of Magnus’s heart was a quiet reassurance, matching the rhythm of Queenie’s pulse beneath them.

Neither of them moved for a moment, suspended in a fragile cocoon of warmth and quiet. The scents of dust, horse, and the faintest hint of Magnus’s cologne mingled between them. Magnus’s thumbs traced soothing circles over Alec’s knuckles, steadying his grip on the reins. Magnus’s chin brushed Alec’s shoulder as he leaned in and murmured: “We move together. I’ve got you.”

In that moment, Alec forgot how to breathe. His heart stuttered, wild and unsteady, as if Magnus’s closeness had stolen the air from his lungs. The world dissolved into sunlight, dust motes, and the soft, enclosing warmth of Magnus’s arms; steady and protective around his waist, anchoring him against the world outside their quiet cocoon.

Bareback, every shift translated directly. The roll of Queenie’s muscles under them, the subtle grind of bodies syncing in motion. Alec felt every detail. Firm pressure of Magnus’s thighs bracketing his, the subtle rise and fall of Magnus’s chest pressed flush to his back, the faint heat of breath ghosting over the curve of his neck. Even Queenie’s swaying stride faded into the background, distant and unimportant compared to the thrilling fire tracing every point where their bodies touched.

“Relax into it,” Magnus murmured, his breath hot against Alec’s ear, lips nearly grazing the shell. “Let your hips follow mine.”

Magnus’s presence was an exquisite, dizzying comfort; each shared breath a silent invitation to surrender the tension in Alec’s shoulders. With every gentle squeeze of reassurance at his waist, every delicate brush of Magnus’s thumb over his knuckles, Alec felt himself drawn deeper into Magnus’s orbit. Time seemed to blur, the boundaries between them growing deliciously hazy. He barely noticed when Queenie’s stride became quicker, so attuned he was to the steady rhythm of Magnus’s heartbeat pounding against his back; an intimate metronome that soothed his nerves.

Alec’s pulse thundered as he felt Magnus’s thighs clamp around his hips for balance, thick muscles flexing with each step, squeezing in a rhythm that mimicked something far more intimate. Alec’s cock stirred instantly, twitching against the rough denim of his jeans, trapped and swelling from the relentless friction.

Pre-cum beaded at the tip, soaking into the fabric, a warm, damp spot that made him shift uncomfortably… or was it eagerly? Alec bit his lip, fighting the urge to grind back, the forbidden press of Magnus’s body awakening his deepest desires.

Magnus’s lips were almost at Alec’s ear when he spoke once more, voice low and impossibly tender: “Breathe, Alec. You’re doing so good.” The words sank through Alec’s daze, grounding him more surely than anything else could. He inhaled, shakily at first, matching Magnus’s cadence, letting the warmth and closeness draw him out of himself and into the safety of their shared quiet.

Magnus gently squeezed his legs around Queenie, coaxing her into a slow, shuffling trot. The sudden surge of movement jolted Alec out of his fragile calm, and for a heartbeat, he was sure he would slip; until Magnus moved one hand from the reins to adjust Alec’s posture, palm splaying across his abdomen, fingers dipping just below the beltline.

The touch was innocent, coaching, but Alec’s mind reeled. He imagined the fingers sliding lower, unbuttoning and wrapping around his hardening length. His cock jerked, a fresh spurt of pre-cum leaking out, straining the crotch of his jeans darker.

The scent of leather and sweat mingled with the musky hint of arousal, and Alec prayed Magnus couldn’t feel the telltale dampness or the way his body betrayed him with every involuntary clench.

The pace shifted, and Queenie was now trotting with more energy. The steady bounce of her trot slammed Alec’s ass back against Magnus’s groin. Alec wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not, but he was sure he felt something. He allowed himself to lean into the fantasy… Magnus’s erection, thick and rigid, nestling into the cleft of his jeans like it belonged there.

Alec’s breath hitched, his own dick throbbing in response, the friction of Magnus’s thighs vise-like around his hips driving him to the edge of control. Each squeeze sent jolts straight to his core, his balls tightening as more pre-cum dribbled out, the wet spot spreading, making the denim cling obscenely to his shaft.

The world blurred as Queenie’s stride bounced them, but Magnus’s voice was a low, unwavering hum in his ear, soft words of encouragement and gentle reminders threading through the chaos.

“That’s it, you’ve got it. Just follow her motion, don’t tense up.” Alec’s breath hitched, nerves and adrenaline tangled together, but Magnus’s praise; gentle and unhurried; slipped straight through Alec’s defences, flooding him with a dizzying warmth that left his heart pounding against his ribs.

It was that same tight, twisting sensation he’d felt on his first day, watching Raphael offer quiet praise to the horses; only now it was raw and electrifying, magnified by the closeness of Magnus’s body and the wild pulse of the horse beneath them. The trot quickened further, Queenie’s gait shifting with sudden intent into a slow, rolling gallop.

The arena fell away, replaced by a rush of motion and sensation: Magnus’s arms unyielding around him, the thunder of hooves, the searing heat of Magnus’s breath at his neck, every muscle in Alec’s body alight and straining to keep up.

Their bodies moved together, following the gentle roll of the canter in perfect harmony. Alec's hips rocking to the gentle undulation of the gallop, his heart pounding in rhythm with the horse's hooves. He ventured a look back, catching Magnus’s concentrated gaze, his eyes glinting with something fiercely tender.

Magnus, lost in the easy rhythm of the ride, seemed unaware of what was happening to Alec, how his body was responding to the movements.

Alec’s heart leapt in his chest, the thrill intensified by the warmth of Magnus pressed against him, the intimacy of each shared breath and unspoken promise lingering in the space between them. With every slow roll, Alec could have sworn he felt the pressure of Magnus’s own arousal, hard and insistent, rubbing against his ass and lower back.

Alec's skin prickled with awareness, his nerve endings alight with every brush of Magnus's hands, his fingers tightening around Alec's own, almost entwined. The closeness was intoxicating, each movement a deliberate caress.

Then, as if the rhythm demanded it, Magnus’s hand slipped lower, accidentally, perhaps, brushing the sensitive skin of Alec’s inner thigh, fingers grazing perilously close to his swollen bulge.

Alec gasped, the touch electric, his ass clenching. Desperation coiled tight in his gut, a frantic need to be touched, jerked off right there on the horse’s back… Magnus’s hand shoving inside his jeans to stroke him rough and unrelenting. He clenched his thighs, trying to stifle the whimper building in his throat.

The motion made Queenie quicken her pace, breaking into a full gallop.

The horse’s extended stride threw Alec slightly off balance, the rhythm slamming his body against the mare’s heated hide with each step. With no saddle to help stabilise him, there was nothing to cushion the raw friction. His ass ground down hard onto the sweat-dampened fur. Jolts of pleasure shot straight up his spine and settled into his groin.

His cock swelled fully now, trapped in the tight denim of his jeans. Each surge forward rubbed the thick length against the rough seam of his fly, the pressure building like a fist squeezing his balls.

Alec’s cock wept steadily now, pre-cum soaking through, the friction of the ride turning every bounce into torture. Magnus pressed in from behind, his chest flush to Alec’s back, breath hot and uneven against the nape of his neck as he shifted Alec back into the correct position. “Don’t tense up, relax your hips,” Magnus murmured, voice low and gravelly, his hips shifting to match the horse’s gait.

The accidental brush earlier, Magnus’s fingers skimming Alec’s inner thigh, had ignited everything. Now, with every bounce, Alec felt the unmistakable ridge of Magnus’s erection digging into his lower back, hard and insistent through their clothes. It nudged against him relentlessly, the heat of it seeping through fabric, forbidden arousal burning through Alec like wildfire.

Sweat poured down Alec’s sides, soaking his shirt and trickling into the waistband of his jeans. The wind whipped past, but all he could focus on was the burn in his muscles, the way Queenie’s muscles rippled under him, flexing against his spread cheeks.

His underwear was wet and uncomfortable, clinging to him like a second skin, soaked with pre-cum that dribbled steadily from his slit. Each jolt of the ride hammered against his erection, the denim chafing his swollen head until it burned with raw need. He clamped down on his lip, but when Magnus’s hand flattened on his hip, thumb hooking into the waistband and tugging lightly, a broken moan tore free.

The pressure was maddening. It was so close to where Alec’s cock wept for attention, twitching violently as another bead of slickness escaped.

Alec’s vision hazed with need, and in his mind’s eye, Magnus didn’t stop there. He ripped open Alec’s fly with a growl, freeing the rigid shaft to slap against his belly, veins bulging and tip flushed a dark red.

Rough fingers encircled the base, squeezing until Alec’s balls ached, then stroked upward in brutal pulls synced to the horse’s gait. “Fuck… you’re dripping for me,” Magnus would rasp, thumb smearing the mess over the crown before plunging down again, milking him toward the brink.

It wasn’t just the ride that left Alec breathless; it was Magnus, and the way their bodies fit together as if they’d always belonged this way.

Raphael had caught sight of the two, as he and the others were making their way back to the house for lunch. He nudged Andrew, who in turn nudged Will. “Would you look at that,” Raphael murmured, his voice low but tinged with a note of amusement. The three slowed their pace, barely concealed intrigue sharpening their features as they observed Magnus and Alec atop Queenie in the middle distance.

From where they stood, it was impossible to miss the closeness between the boys; Magnus pressed flush against Alec’s back, his arms a protective band about Alec’s waist, their movements in perfect synchrony as Queenie glided through the sunlit arena.

Andrew squinted, a slow grin spreading across his face as he caught the sight, while Will’s eyes lingered on the pair, a proud smile blooming across his features. “Told you he didn’t stand a chance,” Andrew chuckled, voice tinged with laughter. “Alec’s galloping...” Will whispered as his chest swelled with pride at Alec’s progress.

Will had always feared that Alec would struggle to find his footing in this new life; a world of unpredictable horses, early mornings, and the unspoken expectations that hovered in every shadowed corner of the ranch. Yet, in the span of a single week, Alec shattered those doubts with a courage and determination that left Will breathless. Each day, Will marvelled at Alec’s quiet bravery: the way he attacked each unfamiliar task with grit, refusing to let setbacks dampen his resolve.

It wasn’t just the mechanics of horsemanship that Alec was absorbing; it was the soul of the work, the unspoken language between human and animal. Even with several seasoned wranglers, Will found himself making space for Alec, compelled by the uncanny ease with which the boy moved among the horses. There was something almost magical in the way they responded to him: even the most skittish mares softened under his touch, their suspicion melting into trust with every gentle word Alec uttered.

Before the sun had even dared to crest the horizon, Alec would slip through the barn doors, silent as a gentle breeze. His presence alone seemed to soothe the most restless horses; in the hush before dawn, he moved among them like a ghost; steady, sure, and impossibly gentle. Will often watched from the shadows, transfixed as Alec murmured soft reassurances to the nervous colts and wary fillies, guiding them with a patience far beyond his years. The wranglers who had once eyed Alec with scepticism now exchanged glances of grudging respect, quietly awed by the transformation unfolding before them. Horses that had always shied from strangers now pressed eager muzzles into Alec’s hands, seeking out the comfort he seemed born to give. In those moments, it was as if Alec carried some ancient, secret magic that bound him to the wild hearts beating in every horse’s chest.

Alec reminded Will so much of his mother, and he felt his heart tighten with the weight of memory. Their time together had been nothing short of a tempest; an exhilarating, chaotic affair that swept through Will’s life with the force of a sudden summer storm. She had appeared when Will least expected, her arrival carving fissures into the routines of his days; her departure, just as abrupt, left him emptier than he’d ever been. One moment she was beside him, laughter ringing in the dark, her touch lingering long after she had left; the next, she had vanished, as if the world had simply swallowed her up. Never a word, never a letter, only the echo of what might have been.

Will often caught himself brooding over those stolen hours with her, the way the light caught in her hair as she spun away from him, the fleeting expressions; joy, regret, defiance; playing across her face. But despite all the what-ifs, Will did not regret staying and working to fix his marriage.

Sometimes, watching Alec at the ranch, Will would be struck by the uncanny echoes of his mother that shimmered in the boy’s mannerisms. Alec’s quiet determination, the fierce patience in his eyes as he calmed a skittish colt, the way he squared his shoulders against adversity; all of it called back his mother’s own fire. She had possessed a stubbornness that could move mountains, a grace that burned away embarrassment or self-doubt with a single smile. In Alec, he saw that same spirit, coaxed out in gentle words and earnest effort, a reflection of strength and vulnerability intertwined.

The memory of Alec’s mother was bittersweet, a tapestry woven from regrets and longing, stitched with the choices Will could never undo. He wondered, at times, if the ache would ever fade, or if he would always carry the remnants of that near-forgotten whirlwind; a reminder of what was lost and what remained. Yet as Alec forged his own path, showing courage and compassion in equal measure, Will found hope blossoming.

When Will first received word of Alec, disbelief was his instinctive response. It seemed too improbable, too entwined with the regrets he kept locked away, to be anything but a cruel joke. But there, in the grainy photograph emailed to him, was an undeniable truth: the boy’s features were an uncanny mirror of his mother; her piercing eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin; but there was something of Will in the set of his jaw, the familiar contours that made denial impossible. The recognition struck him like lightning, illuminating old wounds he’d struggled for years to keep buried.

Jace’s reaction was immediate and fraught with emotion. He had known of his father’s affair for years, his mother having confided in him once he was old enough to grasp the complexity and hurt of adult failures. For a long time, resentment coloured every interaction between father and son. Jace was angry; not just with Will, but with the ripple of betrayal that reverberated through their family. He watched his mother’s silent heartbreak and absorbed the lingering coldness that seemed to settle over the dinner table, the way laughter gave way to tense silences, the warmth of home shifting into something brittle and uncertain.

Still, over time, and with much effort, Will and Jace found a way to mend the fissures between them. There were no real apologies, though, just clumsy, half-spoken ones. The family found a tenuous peace, one that felt hard-earned and fragile, but real. That balance was threatened again when tragedy struck: Jace’s mother died in a sudden plane crash when he was eighteen. In the aftermath, grief drew Will and Jace together as much as it pushed them apart, but eventually, they carved out a new relationship built on mutual understanding and the recognition of shared loss.

For several years, things were good; or as good as could be, given the history they carried. Father and son rebuilt their lives, drawing strength from each other, believing that the past had been, if not forgiven, at least accepted. Then the news of Alec arrived. The existence of a half-brother, the flesh-and-blood evidence of old secrets, upended the tentative peace they had managed to create. Jace felt blindsided, a maelstrom of emotions; anger, sadness, and betrayal roiling within him. For Will, the revelation forced him to confront the full consequences of long-ago choices. The arrival of Alec was not just a new chapter; it reopened every wound he thought time had healed, demanding that both he and Jace navigate a future forever altered by the resurgence of the past.

Yet beneath Alec’s quiet diligence and the gentle rapport he built with the horses, there ran a current of old, silent pain that even Will could not ignore. The boy’s past was a patchwork of blank spaces and half-answers; the social worker involved in Alec’s case had provided little more than a thin file, pages sparse with detail and heavy with omissions. All of Will’s conversations with the social worker unfolded by email or over the phone; never in person; leaving him with even less insight into Alec’s history and circumstances.

Whenever Will pressed for more; about Alec’s mother, the circumstances that led him to the group home, or the grandparents whose names were listed but never spoken; he was met with evasions and tight-lipped refusals. Alec guarded those parts of himself with the same fierce protectiveness he showed towards the most skittish colt, deflecting questions with a shrug or a quick change of subject, his eyes shuttered behind a wall of wary composure.

There were nights, in the long hush after chores, when Will caught glimpses of the loneliness Alec carried. Sometimes he would find the boy curled in the hayloft, shoulders drawn tight, gaze fixed on some distant, invisible horizon.

The group home, Will learned in fragments, had been little more than a holding pen for children adrift; Alec’s year there marked by a revolving door of faces and the dull ache of waiting for someone, anyone, to claim him. He never spoke of friends, nor of the bitter months spent navigating the wary alliances and unspoken rules that defined his world. The past clung to Alec like a shadow, shaping the careful reserve with which he approached every new kindness, every offered hand.

For Will, the weight of responsibility pressed down with a force both overwhelming and inescapable. Still, even as the presence of this quiet, wounded boy threatened to reopen old wounds in his fractured family, Will could not turn away.

He owed Alec more than a roof and three meals a day; he owed him patience, gentleness, and the chance to build a life beyond the pain of what had been. Each day, as Alec claimed his place among the horses and the dust and the dawn, Will clung to the hope that time would work its slow magic; that Jace, in his own time, would come to see Alec not as a living reminder of betrayal, but as a brother: a boy deserving of love, loyalty, and the belonging they all so desperately sought.

In more ways than one, Will was profoundly grateful to have Magnus in his life. He often wondered if Alec would be navigating the tangled terrain of their new family with such resilience had it not been for Magnus’s presence; brilliant, flamboyant, and endlessly empathetic. From the moment Magnus set foot on the ranch, he radiated a warmth that seemed to permeate even the most fortified walls. He had an uncanny knack for reading a room, diffusing tension with a perfectly timed quip or a generous, disarming laugh. With Alec, Magnus was patient and persistent, never pushing too hard but never letting the boy retreat wholly into himself. He met Alec’s silences with gentle humour or quiet companionship, intuitively sensing when to offer a story, a song, or simply a shared moment over a mug of tea at the kitchen table.

Magnus recognized the nuances of Alec’s guarded nature; better than Will ever could; and approached every interaction with careful respect, never prying but always attentive. He seemed to know how to coax the boy out of his shell, sometimes through playful banter, other times through acts of subtle kindness; a favourite treat left on the tack room bench, an impromptu lesson on braiding a horse’s mane, or an invitation to help repair a broken gate. In these small ways, Magnus made it clear that Alec belonged, not just as a guest or an obligation, but as someone whose presence was valued and whose voice mattered.

Will watched, often with wonder, as Alec began to respond. The boy’s posture eased under Magnus’s guidance, his guarded eyes brightening with curiosity during their shared chores. When Alec stumbled through a task, Magnus never corrected with impatience; instead, he guided with encouragement, turning mistakes into opportunities for learning and growth.

It was in the everyday rhythms of ranch life; early breakfasts, daily chores, the hush before a thunderstorm; that Will saw the true impact Magnus had on his family. The boy-wonder’s vibrant energy filled the space with music and laughter, but it was his unwavering presence during moments of difficulty that mattered most.

When Alec faltered, haunted by memories of the group home or by the ache of not quite fitting in, Magnus stood by him without judgment, offering comfort simply by being steadfastly there. His ability to infuse even the mundane with meaning seemed to anchor Alec, giving him the confidence to reach out, to trust, and to try.

As the ride wound to a gentle close, Queenie was lathered and still breathing hard, mirroring Alec’s own laboured pants. Magnus swung his leg over her back and landed lightly in the dust, boots stirring a cloud around his ankles. He glanced up, fully expecting Alec to follow suit, but Alec remained seated, his hands loose on the reins and his gaze fixed on the mare’s twitching ears.

Magnus shielded his eyes from the glare and tilted his head, a teasing smile already forming. “You did great,” he said, voice husky. Their eyes met, Magnus’s dark and knowing, a flicker of heat there that made Alec’s stomach flip.

“Felt good, didn’t it?” He clapped Alec on his thigh, the touch sending a fresh jolt through his over-sensitised body, before turning to check Queenie’s flanks. “Let’s go grab lunch.”

But Alec shook his head, a small, reluctant smile flickering and vanishing almost at once. “You go on,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I wanna walk Queenie out, she’s still blowing a bit.” He patted the mare’s damp neck, his focus turning inward, as if the simple act of tending to Queenie was both anchor and refuge. Unaware that Magnus was testing him.

Yet beneath his practical words, Alec was hiding something more complicated. Though Queenie genuinely needed the walk, the quiet after the ride was a convenient shield; Alec didn’t want Magnus to see what the ride had done to him. The closeness of their ride had unsettled him in more ways than one. Stirring his cock, making it hard and heavy in his jeans, and leaving him both flustered and quietly mortified. He needed a moment to gather himself, to let the rush subside before he rejoined the others, hoping his embarrassment wasn’t written all over his face.

Magnus was proud of Alec for knowing Queenie needed longer to cool off, but he hesitated as he sensed something fragile in Alec’s reserve.  The way he hunched his shoulders ever so slightly, the way his thumb stroked slow circles into Queenie’s slick mane. For a moment, the only sound was the distant whine of cicadas.

“You sure you don’t want company?” Magnus questioned. “I can do it on my own,” Alec insisted. “Alright,” Magnus relented, stepping back with a gentle nod. “I’ll save you some food.”

Alec’s lips twitched again in silent gratitude, and Magnus let himself be drawn away by the promise of shade and cold lemonade, leaving Alec alone with the horse and his humiliating secret.

He gave Queenie a final, gentle pat and dismounted, careful not to disturb her calm. He couldn’t stay on her, not like this. Not when his cock screamed for release. It was too much, and too dirty.

Alec’s boots hit the ground with a thud, his legs wobbling slightly from the impact.

His erection strained painfully against the soaked denim, the head of his dick pulsing with every heartbeat, trapped and aching like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. The damp fabric chafed against his sensitive skin, a constant reminder of how far gone he was. Pre-cum cooling into a sticky mess that made him hyper-aware of every shift.

Alec stood there for a beat, cheeks burning under the imagined scrutiny, even though no one was watching. His cock throbbed insistently, so hard it bordered on pain, the denim seam digging into the underside like a cruel tease. Every breath he took dragged in the mingled scents of horse sweat and sun-baked earth, undercut by the sharp, salty tang of his own leaking arousal wafting up from his crotch.

He couldn’t think straight, his mind looked back to the ride, Magnus’s thighs clamping down, that brush of fingers on his inner thigh… was it accidental? Intentional?

The touch had sent sparks straight to his core, making his hole clench and his tip leak steadily. What if Magnus had felt it all, the way Alec’s body had betrayed him, hips bucking subtly with each jolt, dripping pre-cum like he was starving for more contact?

Embarrassment twisted in his gut.

The arena stretched out around him, ringed by the weathered fences, the ground packed soft from countless hooves, stirring up a faint dusty haze as Queenie shifted. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, voice strained and rough as he picked up her reins. “We need to walk a bit more, just till your breathing calms.”

Alec led the mare forward at a slow walk. The leather reins creaked slightly in his palms, warm and supple from the day’s heat, but his focus splintered. Each step jostled his erection, sending sparks of discomfort-laced pleasure up his spine.

He paused near the rail, his hand dropping from Queenie’s neck as he steadied his breathing.  His cock strained against his jeans, the ache from the bareback friction refusing to fade. Not that walking around didn’t add its own kind of friction. Every shift of his hips reminded him of Magnus’s strong thighs bracketing his own, the way those callused fingers had gripped his waist to correct his seat, pulling him back flush against that solid chest.

“Relax into it… let your hips follow mine.” Magnus’s low murmurs in his ear replayed like a command, sending a fresh throb through his groin.

Heat flooded his face again. What the hell was wrong with him?

He glanced around the empty yard, heart pounding at the risk of someone spotting him like this. Hard and desperate.

Alec’s mind spun a dangerous what if: Magnus’s hands sliding lower during the ride, not just guiding but claiming, fingers dipping under his waistband to wrap around his leaking cock, stroking in time with the horse’s gait.

No.

He bit his lip, shoving the thought down even as his balls tightened at the idea. He wasn’t some animal in heat.

But the pain in his groin begged for it, his shaft so engorged it felt like it might split the zipper.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to start walking again, fingers tightening on the reins until his knuckles whitened.

The walk dragged on, Queenie’s hooves clipping rhythmically against the dirt, her breath steadying into soft snorts that puffed warm air against his arm. Alec’s shirt clung to his back, sweat trickling down his spine, mixing with the overall stickiness of his body. He couldn’t escape the throb, leading the horse meant his free hand brushed his thigh too often, inches from where he craved though, and every sway of his hips ground the denim against his balls, drawing out more pre-cum in torturous drips.

His mind raced with fragmented images: Magnus’s hand slipping higher, fingers curling around his length instead of brushing past. It made focusing impossible; he stumbled once, yanking Queenie’s reins too sharply, earning an impatient flick of her ear. “Sorry,” he whispered, stroking the length of her face in apology.

He led her to the rail, rubbing her down with practised hands. The brush glided over her sides in firm, circular strokes. The motion was methodical, grounding and soothing both horse and boy, letting the hush of the afternoon settle around them. But it did nothing to dull the insistent pulse in his jeans.

If anything, the physical act mirrored what he denied himself, his hands aching to slide lower, to palm his own cock and end the agony.

When Queenie’s coat gleamed drier and her breathing had fully eased, Alec slipped her a chunk of carrot from his pocket. Her favourite treat. The crisp snap echoed as she crunched it eagerly, her muzzle velvety soft against his palm. The simple reward steadied him a fraction, a brief anchor amid the chaos in his head.

Satisfied she’d cooled enough, he guided her toward the barn, the shade welcoming as they crossed the threshold. The air inside cooled instantly, thick with the comforting smells of straw, aged wood, and lingering manure, a balm against the arena’s openness.

Queenie’s stall waited at the end of the row, gate swinging open, fresh bedding fluffed high. Alec unclipped her halter with trembling fingers, the metal cool against his heated skin, and watched as she stepped in, shaking out her mane with a content sigh.

He latched the gate behind her, giving one last pat to her flank before stepping back, his own body still humming with unresolved tension, the pain in his cock a relentless drumbeat urging him toward privacy.

Alec stumbled into an empty stall, heart hammering.

His cock throbbed insistently against the tight denim of his jeans, the pressure unrelenting and demanding now that he wasn’t focused on Queenie anymore. He fumbled with his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down to his knees in one frantic motion.

Alec’s dick sprang free, heavy and flushed, the head glistening with smeared pre-cum that stung from the slit like a lewd thread. The cool barn air hit his heated skin, making him shiver, but the fire in his gut demanded release.

Leaning against the wall, rough wood scraping his shoulders, Alec wrapped his fingers loosely around his shaft, groaning low as he dragged up slow, the relief immediate but not enough.

He started with slow strokes, baste to tip, twisting his wrists at the crown to rub the sensitive underside, mimicking the way he’d craved Magnus’s thumb there during the ride. “Fuck,” he whispered, balls drawing up tight as he pictured Magnus pinning him down right there on Queenie’s back, unzipping to slide his thick length along Alec’s crack, teasing entry.

His free hand roamed lower, cupping balls, rolling them gently before tugging harder, the pull echoing the yank of reins in his mind. Pre-cum welled anew, lubricating his strokes as he pumped faster, the wet smack of his fist on flesh filling the stall. Hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into his grip, chasing the ghost of Magnus’s body moulded to his.

Alec’s mind flooded with the memory of Magnus behind him on Queenie, their bodies locked in that rhythmic gallop. The way Magnus's thighs had clamped firm against his own, muscles flexing with each powerful stride of the horse. Alec's grip tightened as he recalled the solid weight of Magnus's chest moulding to his back, the heat seeping through their shirts like a brand, every inhale and exhale syncing in a way that made his skin tingle.

He could almost feel it again… the insistent rub of Magnus's hips grinding into his ass with the horse's motion, that hard bulge pressing forward, unyielding and hot through the layers of fabric. Alec braced against the stall wall, the rough wood pricking his palm as he imagined Magnus's breath hot on his neck, the subtle shift of his partner's arousal dragging against him, teasing, promising more.

Sweat beaded on Alec's forehead, dripping into his eyes as his pace turned punishing. He braced on foot on a misplaced bucket, spreading wider. “Fuck… Magnus,” he gasped, voice breaking, envisioning those strong hands pinning him down, Magnus’s mouth on his neck, biting as he jerked Alec off with rough, unrelenting pulls.

The build was merciless.

Strokes blurring from long drags to short, frantic twists at the head, his thumb smearing pre-cum over the slit until it overflowed. The barn's ambient sounds blurred. The distant whinny of a horse and the rustle of straw underfoot were overwhelmed by the rush of blood in his ears and the vivid replay of Magnus's fingers intertwining with his on the reins. Alec's balls drew tight, the ache building deep in his gut, every pull of his hand mimicking the friction of their bodies jolting together.

With a stifled groan, he came hard, ropes of cum spilling over his knuckles, splattering the straw-strewn floor. His knees buckled slightly, chest heaving as the aftershocks rippled through him, the scent of his release sharp in the confined space. He milked himself through it, hips stuttering, until the last drops oozed out.

Panting, Alec leaned his head back against the wood, the memory of Magnus's warmth lingering like a ghost on his skin, leaving him spent and panting.

But even as the high faded, the craving for the real thing lingered, sharp and unsatisfied. Alec wiped his hand with straw from the floor, yanking his pants up just as Magnus’s voice called from outside: “Alec? You in here?”

Alec kicked the scattered straw over the semen coating the floor. “I-I’m coming!”