His hand dove beneath my seat and surfaced with the sawed-off vintage Lupara.
"I distinctly remember telling you not to bring that thing," I complained.
"Felt like you were daring me.

Oh! Do you have a pocketknife?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Pocketknife?"
"Don't men your age always have pocketknives?" I asked in a high-pitched voice.
"My age? I'm not a fucking grandfather," he snapped.

You're adorable is what you are.

Alec cleared his throat. He felt dizzy, but he also felt alive — blood rushing through his veins like traffic at top speed, everything seemingly almost too brightly colored. As he stepped through the door, he turned and looked at Magnus, who was watching him bemusedly. He reached forward and took hold of the front of Magnus’ t-shirt and dragged the warlock toward him. Magnus stumbled against him, and Alec kissed him, hard and fast and messy and unpracticed, but with everything he had. He pulled Magnus against him, his own hand between them, and felt Magnus’ heart stutter in his chest.
He broke off the kiss, and drew back.
“Friday,” he said, and let Magnus go. He backed away, down the landing, Magnus looking after him. The warlock crossed his arms over his shirt — wrinkled where Alec had grabbed it — and shook his head, grinning.

For Gat with everything, everything. Cady

I find Mormons adorable.