Author: Guede Mazaka
Sometimes when Alec woke, he had no idea where he was. It always startled him for a moment, and he'd had more than a few near misses due to his instinctive reach for the nearest gun. This time, though, a bulky and weighty object blocked his grab long enough for him to come to his senses. Fortunately, because it appeared that he was in a commercial airliner. MI6 was already nasty enough about sending them first-class; it wouldn't do to add to matters by making them pay for panic control and rerouting.
Of course, it was James that was in Alec's way. His famously cool, sophisticated partner had fallen asleep and slid down the seat to rest a warm forehead on Alec's shoulder. Hair ruffled like an errant schoolboy's, and with one hand oh-so-casually draped across Alec's knee. If James had been a woman, the position would have been…cute. Like a kitten, to be smiled at and then forgotten.
But James obviously was not and would never be of the female persuasion. Alec sighed and plucked the hand off his leg, but before he could tuck it under his partner, the fingers unconsciously curled about his own. Which sent a very self-conscious jolt through him, as if someone had held a lit cigar tip too close to his skin. Bond couldn't possibly know what he was doing.
Bond couldn't stay in one place for very long, either. James softly snorted, hand falling back as he turned away. And Alec felt a brief chill.
It could always be blamed on the air conditioning. He shook off the cold and signaled for the flight attendant. When she came, he asked for some cognac. No liquid ice for him like James' preferred vodka. Alec had a mission to carry out, and for that, he needed to stay alert. Hot.
And if he had to sacrifice parts of himself to keep the fire going, then so be it. That was the job, after all.