Work Text:
Alec never learned what it means to worship, he realizes as his gaze locks with Magnus’s. The Clave has a central doctrine, rooted in dogma, he supposes, but it’s not a religion in the mundane sense. At least, he never thought so. It’s always been rules and order and unwavering discipline from the very beginning.
His knee sinks to the ground, gaze still locked with Magnus’s. The rug scratches against his bare skin but he relishes in the discomfort.
Faith, the Clave asked, demanded, left no room for anything but compliance. Faith as order, an imposed will crushing your own. Faith as obedience.
Knee shifts, rug scrapes, eyes blink. Magnus, there and gone and there again.
Faith with Magnus as trust. Trust that he will be there between one blink and the next, faith that anything they face they face together. Magnus’s hand on his chest, pressing him down into the bed sheets, sliding against him for the first time. Faith Magnus won’t break him. Trust that he can be vulnerable around him.
Magnus’s fingers under his jaw, tilting his head back. Gazing down at him with something beautiful in his eyes that’s hidden behind the prominent expression on his face. Dominance, control. But in his eyes: praise
Praise, weakness, must you have everyone’s approval? Praise as arrogance. Praise has no business in the Clave. They beat it out of you when you’re young (so young) at the same time they teach you obedience. Faith in the Clave.
But Magnus’s eyes. Alec can’t turn away, wouldn’t even if he wanted to as his other knee finds purchase on the floor. Those deep and old eyes that hold so much. Those eyes that can’t hide anything from him.
With Magnus, praise as love. Adoration. The warmth of Magnus’s arms around him and his whispered words of encouragement and love. The tilt of his head in amusement when Alec does or says something that surprises him. The press of Magnus’s lips to his temple when their bodies are connected, tethering Alec to the present, to the moment, with love.
Magnus’s body above him, loose and bare. Beautiful tan skin stretched over taunt muscles. A temple, holy in its existence.
Holy and sacred in the Clave as untouchable. Distant. Display. Even the marriage rune is mostly for show. The grand ceremony and marking just to bind two people together who never had a choice in the first place. Obedience. Faith.
But Magnus. Magnus the holy, sacred temple Alec is free to touch. Holy, meant to be touched. To bathe in, let wash over him until he and Magnus are one. Until he is holy, too. Basking in the temple of Magnus’s body, not just a place to gather (Clave, temple, gather, train, teach) but built for touching, giving and taking, built for worship.
Alec’s gaze breaks from Magnus’s, his eyes sliding closed as he leans forward and wraps his lips around Magnus’s cock. He never had a need for the word worship. The word never belonged in the Clave’s teachings.
But here, on his knees, it washes over him like a religious experience. In moments like this, giving everything over to worshiping Magnus body and soul. Taking care of Magnus, giving Magnus everything he needs whether he knows it himself or not. Alec, on his knees with lips open like taking communion, he gives Magnus everything and receives everything in return.
Trust; faith. Adoration; praise. Touch, until he is holy as Magnus, until he feels a part of Magnus in a way no one could separate them. Until worship is just as much about Magnus as it is about him.
In Magnus, Alec finds sanctuary. In Magnus, Alec finds peace.