“Well?” Alec glances up as Magnus drags it out, concern pausing his hands momentarily — but only momentarily, since the ichor is still smeared on bare skin. It’s not a good sensation, he knows, and that’s why he’s trying to work as quickly and carefully as he can. If only he wasn’t quite so distracted by his patient.
“Of course it was successful,” he snorts dismissively as he resumes working, “you were the one flushing it out of its nest.” There’s no doubt in his mind that such an attempt would have been successful; Magnus is very good at what he does.
Ichor is quite destructive, though, as evidenced by that waistcoat ( which… Alec was never really a massive fan, but Magnus is quite clearly mourning its loss so maybe he can drum up a sympathetic face for a while ). At the mention of his tender ministrations, Alec flushes a dark shade of red, but he can’t help but smile. “Almost done,” he murmurs with another gentle dab at the edges of the wound, “will you be able to heal yourself when this is clean, or do I need to find some supplies?”
“---ooh, compliments and tender ministrations? Lucky me...” Magnus preens, privately thrilled by the matter-of-fact tone of Alec’s voice, the way he so easily validates Magnus’s unmatched prowess as a Warlock. Not that Bane needs validation, of course, but it’s... nice. Unexpected. Alexander praises him with such surety that it almost seems like the younger man doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and...
Well. Magnus can’t really remember the last time someone believed in him so completely.
He keeps that thought to himself (the Warlock wants to flirt with Alec, not scare him away), instead focusing on the lovely flush deepening the archer’s pale cheeks. By Edom, why are Lightwoods always so damn Pretty?? Magnus muses, the corner of his mouth curling upward, expression soft in response to Alec’s concern.
“I can handle it, darling.” The Downworlder replies gently, rotating his arm in Alexander’s hold, his palm brushing lightly down the inside of the Archer’s muscled forearm. Lifting his opposite hand, Magnus flexes his fingers over the freshly cleaned wound, blue tendrils of his magic pulsing from his fingertips and reaching to close the edges of the gash. “...thank you.”