Disclaimer: All characters and weapons mentioned belong to the lovely world created by miss Cassandra Clare.

- - - - -

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Alec's pleading voice rang loudly throughout the Institute, reverberating off the pale walls and through the many empty halls, lined with doors leading into uninhabited rooms.

Magnus smirked down at the Shadowhunter, folding his long arms nonchalantly over the chest of his neon pink T-shirt. "I kid you not, darling," he purred cleverly, lifting one hand to cup Alec's face in his palm. He curled his slim fingers into the dark hair curling close to the boy's temples, tugging on it teasingly, trying discreetly to coax any sort of reassuring reaction from Alec.

He was not disappointed.

Alec shivered and leaned unconsciously into the warmth of Magnus's hand, reveling in the feeling of manicured fingertips stroking pleasantly over the sides of his face, up through his unkempt curls, scratching lightly, drawing incoherent stammers from between the Shadowhunter's pale pink lips.

Magnus watched those familiar lips shamelessly. He smirked when they suddenly parted in pleasure, sucking in a shocked inhalation when the warlock slid his hand down to grasp Alec's strong jaw, tugging until his head was tilted to just the right angle. Magnus leaned down quickly, pressing his own mouth to the boy's in a sweet kiss. It was a chaste kiss, but definitely not lacking in the pleasure department. Alec moaned hoarsely when fire shot through his veins at the feel of warm, supple lips pressed hungrily against his own, kneading mercilessly.

It was over much too soon in Alec's opinion. Magnus pulled away with a seductive grin and a bat of his sparkly lashes before turning and hurrying out the door of the Institute, out into the pouring rain and relentless cold, but not before turning and calling teasingly over his shoulder, "Make sure you're ready by seven o' clock, my little Shadowhunter!"

As he watched the warlock's neon-clad back disappear into the heavy flow of pedestrians braving the storm, Alec nearly forgot why he was upset with him. His nerves were still fizzling with the intensity of the short kiss, sparking electrically inside him, heating his insides with pleasant flames.

But Magnus's cheerful reminder tilted his smile abruptly upside down. He never left any room for argument when he had something in mind. "Damn," Alec sighed weakly, turning to look up at the face of the ticking clock on the wall. He mumbled something not reserved for the faint of heart, and turned on his heel, stalking to the staircase. "Might as well start getting ready. It's almost five."

As he stalked up the stairs, boots clunking carelessly along the wood, he muttered to himself, "Halloween party. Bah."

- - - - -

It was nearly five-thirty when Alec finally slipped out the door of the Institute. The rain had eased into a light drizzle, and it coated Brooklyn in a sheet of misty fog. The blazing sun had been swallowed by the ruthless black clouds painted across the sky, casting a dreary veil over the city.

Alec slid his hands into the pockets of his long coat as he started at a brisk pace down the puddle-washed sidewalk, dodging past jogging pedestrians that rushed to their destination. He barely missed colliding with a short woman stalking quickly down the sidewalk, her head bowed against the harsh winds, straggling strands of steel-gray hair escaping from the hood capping her bent head, hands tucked firmly into the pockets of a simple trench coat. Alec's shadowhunter training easily allowed him to side-step her, sliding quickly to the left on silent feet, his face calm and unruffled.

The old woman shot him a look through startled brown eyes that widened to show her obvious shock. Alec smiled sheepishly at her before turning to round the corner onto a sidewalk lined with little shops and empty restaurants.

The flow of pedestrians roaming the sidewalk abruptly seized on this street, easing into nothing but a young teenager, dressed all in black and stalking across the slick pavement like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and an older man with graying red hair and a cold glare. Other than that, the entire street was deserted, the small shops quiet and empty, the pavement painted dully with untouched puddles and running streams of leftover water from the earlier storms.

Alec stepped over a glob of something that looked suspiciously like mud mixed with mutilated worms. His eyebrows piqued with disgust.

Quickening his pace, Alec stalked across the slick sidewalk, his boots gliding carelessly through hazy puddles, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his long coat, head bowed slightly against the harsh winds sweeping past the empty buildings.

He finally slowed to a halt at the last building on the block, a crumbling brick shop that boasted various outfits and masks in the window. Pete's Halloween Emporium was scrawled in sloppy, half-hearted hand across a simple sheet of stained white paper that had been taped to the window.

Peering into the tiny shop through the grimy window, Alec cringed when he caught the thick sheets of dust layered over everything. Unnamed creatures slithered disgustingly over the floor. The urge to leave was prodding at the back of Alec's brain insistently.

But he couldn't turn back now. The Halloween party was at seven o' clock, and Magnus was really counting on him to be dressed and ready by then. Alec knew that letting Magnus down would result in a guilt trip, followed by the manipulative pout that never failed to break Alec's resolve into a shard of sympathetic apologies.

So, doubtless, he would have ended up in a costume anyway.

Squinting through the dirt flecked across the Plexiglas, Alec smiled softly when he recalled the excited glow in the warlock's eyes as he had explained all the details of the party. There would be, according to Magnus, 'dark, flashing strobe lights that will cast an eerie glow over the room, crepe streamers in the prettiest shades of pumpkin orange and midnight black, and everyone who attends shall be dressed in the most fabulous costumes possible, or they will promptly be kicked out'.

Alec shivered as he remembered the heated kiss that had followed his outburst afterwards. His lips were still warm, his scalp still buzzing with the slight amount of energy Magnus had supplied there through his manicured fingertips.

Sighing, he straightened his shoulders and stepped up to the cracked glass door, nearly hidden behind the colorful flyers taped to the surface, boasting lowered prices and sales on everything that didn't go within the next two weeks.

With a wince, Alec lifted his hand and pushed in on the spider-webbed glass, shoving it open with a sweep of his arm.

- - - - -

By six o' clock, Alec was back in his bedroom at the Institute, staring at himself uncertainly in the full-length mirror Magnus had gifted him with.

He had first picked a simple black cloak to wear from one of the racks at the shop, complete with a hood that folded over his face, and a plastic scythe that had been painted with something that made it shine like steel. The tight black trousers and matching long-sleeved shirt had fit him perfectly, and Magnus had once told him that the drab color suited him well, despite his prejudice against it.

But Alec knew the warlock definitely wouldn't approve. He remembered the earlier warning, and realized that it would probably be pretty embarrassing to have your lover of nine months kick you out of his apartment for not dressing 'in the most fabulous costume possible'. So the simple cloak and pants had been hung back on the rack, along with the well-polished plastic blade.

Scanning over everything in the dusty shop had been tedious work. Nothing there seemed that it would have fit Magnus's tastes, or even Alec's, for that matter. It was all a jumble of unrealistic costumes and horridly-made rubber masks that felt like a suffocating bag around his head. But then he found it.

The costume had taken nearly half an hour to find, and it was hidden strategically behind two racks of sparkly outfits complete with dangling sequins and loose glitter. The arms of his black coat had been glowing with sparkles by the time Alec finally pulled away, but it would be worth it to see the expression on Magnus's face.

Now, though, as he watched his reflection in the full-length mirror, he felt an unsure reluctance gnawing the pit of his stomach. The toga was cut short, four inches above his knees, and a simple sash cut from his right shoulder to his left hip, leaving most of his torso bare. Leaving his soul bare, and his sexuality, for the most part.

Alec was sure that every Downworlder and Shadowhunter in Idris knew of his sexuality now, after the gossip-worthy scene in the Hall of Accords, but how many would approve of his being gay? This costume would leave him half-naked and blushing most of the night, he was sure, especially whenever Magnus's predatory gaze would be on him. That had sounded pleasing at first, but now the hesitation was making his fingers twitch nervously with the fabric cutting across his torso.

Finally, Alec dropped his hands limply to his sides. His head fell back loosely, the audible pop his cracking muscles created accompanied by a frustrated groan. His eyes slid closed, shielding the pale blue irises from the horrid frustration this predicament was creating for him. The satiny white fabric of the toga brushed pleasantly along the bare skin of his thighs and hips, and Alec shuddered slightly as he was once more reminded of Magnus's nimble fingers on his body. The thought sent shivers raking down the Shadowhunter's bare spine. His lips tingled again, and he found himself longing for the feel of Magnus under his body, under his hands, his lips...

With an echoing sigh, Alec leaned backward and fell heavily to the edge of his bed. The ticking clock hanging next to his locked door announced that it was quickly nearing seven o' clock, and the thought sent a nervous chill down the naked, tense muscles in Alec's back. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea...

But he knew that Magnus would be so disappointed if he didn't show up. It would, no doubt, result in something that included a furious, but weeping warlock who demanded explanation, and day after day of stammering apologies from the Shadowhunter.

So, Alec finally stood from his slouched perch along the edge of his bed, stretching his arms tightly behind him, until they cracked with the feeling of a familiar burn lingering in Alec's shoulder blades and biceps. With a final, longing glance at his neatly made bed, Alec grabbed his simple black coat from the back of his desk chair, slid the plastic ring of golden-painted leaves and twine into his unkempt mop of black hair, and trudged out his bedroom door, toward his unpredictable doom.