Anael had closed his eyes, a hand in Alcuin's hair, and he moaned softly when his friend's tongue found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. His eyes fluttered open, and he frowned as they focused on the figure standing in the doorway - cold, cold Hannibal, his face an expressionless mask.

"Alcuin," he breathed out, shifting his hands to Alcuin's chest to push him back just enough for him to leave his neck alone. Once he had Alcuin's attention, he nodded in the direction of the doorway.