t h e . a l a r m . i s . o n . l o v e

The Alarm Is on Love
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: Stuck on a job, Alec and Seregil find a way to pass the time.

Notes: Written for Bethy's birthday. Thanks to Devil Doll for betaing. Title from Jonatha Brooke and the Story.

Date: December 16, 2005

They haven't actually been hired to burgle Magistrate Royce's home, and they aren't in desperate need of money or food, but Royce had insulted Seregil's singing earlier in the evening, and while Seregil hadn't appeared to care, Alec had thought a spot of burglary could only cheer Seregil up. His mood has improved over the past few weeks, but he still gets that sad, faraway look in his eyes sometimes, and it makes Alec's chest hurt to see it, to know that he can't quite take that pain away, and maybe nothing ever will.

Now, jammed together inside the wardrobe in Royce's bedroom because his wife had come home unexpectedly, Alec thinks maybe it wasn't the best idea he's ever had.

Seregil is peering out the tiny fissure between the doors of the wardrobe, assessing the situation. When he turns back to Alec, his mouth is curved in a wry grin. He takes a step forward, and suddenly, his long, lean body is pressed to Alec's, and Alec is pressed up against the side wall of the wardrobe.

Seregil's breath is hot and his lips brush against Alec's ear when he says, "It may be a while. We should get comfortable."

Alec wonders how that's even possible, because Seregil's proximity is making it hard for him to think, to breathe, to do anything but--

Wicked flash of white teeth is all Alec sees before Seregil leans in and slides his lips along the line of his throat. Alec makes a choking sound, quickly muffled by the press of Seregil's lips over his.

The kiss is hot and slow, the teasing lick of Seregil's tongue against his, and Alec growls low when Seregil pulls away, wanting more.

"I can think of several ways to pass the time," Seregil says, tucking a lock of Alec's hair behind his ear, voice and fingers trailing heat along Alec's skin and setting desire rushing in his veins.

Not trusting himself to speak, he nods once and reaches up to draw Seregil into another kiss, needy and fierce, then lets his hands slide down Seregil's body to rest lightly upon his slim hips, the leather of his breeches cool in the humid air of the wardrobe. Alec is still learning the many ways they can be together, and Seregil has been a patient and skillful teacher in this, as he is in everything else. In some ways, Alec thinks, it's exactly like jiggering a lock or learning to dance -- action produces desired reaction, the proper touch or twist of fingers and hips means everything, and it's exponentially more enjoyable than the latest minuet -- and in some ways, it's utterly different. The trust Seregil shows him, the way he opens himself up, makes Alec's heart soar, and sets his body on fire.

"Shh, talí, slowly," Seregil whispers against his lips. "We have time." He places one hand on the wood beside Alec's head and slides teasing kisses down the length of his neck, hips shifting so Alec can feel his arousal. Alec pushes back against him, and even through the layers of their clothing, the contact sends a dizzying rush of pleasure through him. Seregil sucks in an unsteady breath and laughs almost silently against his skin.

Roguish grin on his face and gleam in his eye, he unbuttons Alec's trousers and slips his hand inside, and it's Alec's turn to gasp as warm, deft fingers curl around him and begin stroking, firmly and slowly.

"Bilairy's balls," Alec manages as Seregil's thumb brushes the head of his cock.

Seregil responds with a smug look and a deep, possessive kiss, the latter distracting enough that Alec almost lets the former go, but he's learned a few tricks himself since they've been together. He slides his hands down and unlaces Seregil's breeches in return, wrapping his hand around Seregil's prick and earning a choked moan that cuts off almost before it begins from Seregil, still mindful of their precarious location. Alec raises an eyebrow and grins at this response.

"You've always been an apt student," Seregil murmurs.

"I have an excellent teacher," Alec responds before capturing his mouth again, eager for the taste and feel of him, as much as he can get, as often as possible.

Seregil wriggles a little, a quick tug here and there on their trousers making both of them a little more comfortable. He twines his fingers through Alec's so they can thrust together, quick and hard now, tension building inexorably to the tipping point.

Alec breaks first, the tiny world inside the wardrobe shattering into white hot pleasure as he comes, warm and wet over their thrusting bodies. Seregil kisses him hard, swallowing his keening cry, one hand tangling in his hair, holding him safe even as everything else disappears.

He forces his eyes open, though, even as he's floating back to earth, so he can watch Seregil strain and shudder, body taut as a bowstring, and Alec knows how to handle that, using hands and lips and whispered words to draw him over the edge. Seregil's eyes are wide and vulnerable as his climax takes him. He sighs into Alec's mouth, and Alec breathes him in greedily.

They slouch together against the smooth wood of the wardrobe, trying to regulate their breathing. Alec runs his hands through Seregil's damp hair as Seregil presses tiny kisses to his jaw and temple. These after rituals are almost more precious to Alec than the act itself, still so new and dizzying. He can't quite believe his luck, but he is learning not to question it, to just accept that Seregil returns his feelings.

Seregil produces a handkerchief and begins cleaning them both up, jolting Alec from his burgeoning sentimentality.

"As pleasant as this has been," Seregil whispers, "I think it's time we were going."

Alec blushes and Seregil presses a fond hand to his cheek, thumb lightly stroking his lips, and then does up his trousers. While Alec is still sorting himself, Seregil peers out of the wardrobe.

"She's gone," he says softly, and they spill out of the wardrobe into the bedroom, silvery moonlight softened by gauzy white curtains stirring in the breeze. He does a quick search of the dresser drawers and the night tables, and shakes his head. "Nothing worth taking here." But he's smiling his jaunty, wicked smile, the one that's been so rare since Nysander's death, and Alec thinks maybe this was the best idea he's had in a long time. Before they slip out the window, he pockets a silver mirror from the vanity, a keepsake to remind him.

end

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Disclaimer: Nightrunner belongs to Lynn Flewelling and her publishers. This piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.