Hello all! This is my first story so please read and review. Let me know if I should keep going or scrap it and try a new one.

I own nothing! All rights go to Cassandra Claire

It still wasn't quite right, something was missing but what? In frustration, the not so well known interior designer Magnus Bane let lose a growl as he raked his hands through his hair. The whole place was wrong to begin with, who seriously messes with lofts modernity? It was a paying job so he really had no room to argue and took to sketching as best he could. The place was at most, salvageable but he was hardly a miracle worker… somewhere between the cold metal frames and the barren floors Magnus lost himself to his work…the soft sound of the pencil scraping paper filled the dusty air. His hair was not done today, he simply was not inspired to do anything more than wash, brush, and pull it back. It seemed that all he had was going into his work now.

Straight from an art school that no one heard of Magnus had been going from one gig to the next and soon lost all his wide eyed wonder of decorating and appreciation for colors. It was work, plain and simple. Work and you get money, money to pay the bills and keep a roof over your head. With a resigned sigh, he finished. He would call the furniture companies the next day but he needed to shop for the odds and ends himself, he had insisted that at least some of the whole project be hands on by him.

Heaving away from the work table he grabbed his trench coat and shucked up the collar to guard against the rain as he ducked into a cab and rode to the end of the small town. Idris, a hick town with hardly anyone in it, not even a mall to call its own. Magnus shuttered when he learned it did not even have a nail salon; he was on his own in more ways than one now. After paying the cabbie he stalked along the sidewalk to the only store that sold vases, pillars and the like. He looked up at the sign Lightwood's Creations. Whatever worked for this "Lightwood" he supposed. He sighed dramatically.

All goods were handmade right there in the store; at least so read a sign that was leaning on a stump near the door. (A sign that he barely avoided taking out with his long legs.) Magnus dinged the bells overhead as he entered the small and welcoming shop. His eyes took in wondrous works of intricate lines, smooth slopes, warmth erupting from it all. He drank it all in but what struck him was that it was all naturally colored, no paint at all save for a protective laquor. He smiled despite his mood and approached the counter; he rang the bell once and was accosted by a black haired girl with deep brown eyes.

"How can I help you?" she asked, resisting the urge to tap her foot, she acted like she had places to be, boys to kiss…

Magnus shrugged off her attitude and kept a tight smile. "I just need a few things for a client's new loft. Price is not an issue…I can help myself and let you know when I am finished" she seemed relieved and waved him off with a flick of her hand as she drew out a cell phone and started texting, giggling at whatever response she received. Magnus turned and rolled his eyes, going up and down the small aisles choosing a few large floor pieces and some smaller table ones. He seemed satisfied until he saw an off shooting hallway and a light from an opened door, from which poured soft classical music. People still listened to that? Intrigued Magnus followed but was cut off by that girl again

"The artist, my brother, does not like to be disturbed" she announced as she scooped up a large vase and helped him carry his choices to the counter. Magnus was now more than a little curious. He had to find a way to—

A harsh ringing cut him off mid thought rant, the girl turned to the other side of the counter to answer an old phone. Old as in, it still had a dial pad. He almost snickered but slipped away silently instead. Walking slowly, he leaned against the wall and listened outside the door with the light. Quick as a hare he poked his head in. A black Labrador lied on the ground next to boot clad feet. A man, whom Magnus assumed was the artist, sat on a stool with a carving tool hovering over a vase. His fingers were smoothing over the wet surface as he went. Slow and with purpose he carved elegant lines. Magnus followed from the floor up, he saw the boots go up into feet that were attached to long, slim legs. Thin, long fingers went about making a wonderful new piece. Magnus licked his lips as he drank in a back that was encased in a tight black shirt. He cleared his throat. The man jumped but did not turn.

"You can't be here" the man said quietly. Unperturbed Magnus waltzed in and shut the door, sliding the dead bolt into place. Humming to the tune from an old boom box, he went up and leaned over the man's shoulder "I love what you do. I just wanted to se—" he stopped as the man spun to face him. BLUE. Magnus gulped. Holy hell the man was gorgeous in ways that should be bottled up and made into artifacts. Or a weapon of mass-love-destruction. He swallowed as the blue eyes danced around, not focused. The man bit his lip, and Magnus felt himself melt into his socks. "Please" the man begged.

Sighing softy Magnus knelt down to be eye level with the sitting man. "A name exchange, perhaps even phone numbers" he said firmly "And I shall leave, for now" he promised.

The man shook his head and held out a hand, missing Magnus'. Magnus frowned but took it anyway. As soon as he touched his skin, sparks flew, and Magnus knew he was a goner. "I'm Alexander Lightwood. Everyone calls me Alec" he said with a hesitant frown.

Magnus all but purred. "I'm Magnus Bane" he replied coolly. The handshake went on a few extra pumps, but Magnus's world spun. Officially and rather quickly, he was hooked.