Al's always been wary of magic, but there's no way he'd buckle when his husband depends on him. Even now in the middle of the storm, with Marco's mad magic whipping the sea around them, Al just closes his eyes and grits his teeth, holding the blond firmly to his front, nose buried against the wet, pale hair.

It takes longer than he'd like for them to weigh anchor at safety, but when Aidan informs him of it, he dips his head, giving a little kiss to Marco's cheek.

"You can stop casting, sweetheart," he murmurs, giving a squeeze to Marco's middle. "We can rest here until the storm's passed."