[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair surprises himself: he adapts to the Basin a lot quicker than he expected.

The camps feel -- snug, he decides. In a good way. Trees overhead, a limited number of egress points, a vantage point so high it puts every night by the ladder to shame: they're not the stone walls of Skyhold, but maybe they're the next best thing. After an initial restless night or two, he sleeps soundly.

(Knowing he's surrounded by lots of people with sharp, pointy weapons? Also helpful.)

Joining the patrol rotations seems like a decent next step. No point in being in the field, especially after all that training with Bull, if he's just going to twiddle his thumbs all day.

Comments

[bringspeopletogether]

"A little. Maybe." He grins, rueful. "The older I get, the more I seem to say that about Morrigan."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Appalling." He squeezes Alistair. "Just awful."

[bringspeopletogether]

"The worst thing that's ever befallen me, for certain." Very solemn. "Forget the Blight and the Fade. I actually agreed with Morrigan."

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's like I don't even know who you are any more."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And it only took three minutes to go from you knowing me well to me being a complete stranger." Alistair sighs, mournful. "Morrigan still ruins everything."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Does she?" Cullen arches an eyebrow. "It seems to me as though it presents us with an opportunity for me to make a very thorough investigation."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Hmmm." His hands wander a little lower down Cullen's back. "A fair point. Where would you like to start?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Lower: "It starts with getting this damned armor off."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair laughs next to Cullen's ear, very soft. "The best sentence man could ever speak."

He presses a kiss to his neck.

"Had your fill of the air, then?"

[howtoactfereldan]

A pleased mm.

"They've got air lots of places."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I hear," says Alistair, gravely, "there's even some in our tent."

He steps back -- not without reluctance -- and snags one of Cullen's hands.

"Come on, Commander."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Lead on, Double Commander." Cheerful.

[bringspeopletogether]

The last streaks of deep purple have faded. There's little color to the sky; the camp's painted in orange and yellow torchlight. Alistair lets go of Cullen's hand once they're inside its borders, but sticks close.

When they reach their tent, Alistair pulls the flap aside, holding it so Cullen can enter first.

[howtoactfereldan]

Whereupon Cullen immediately begins shedding layers, starting with his coat.

Eyes tracked their movement, he knows. He's used to it. But not so much that he doesn't notice it. It's better, now that they're inside.

[bringspeopletogether]

Soon: another set of hands on Cullen's shoulder, unfastening one of his pauldrons. Alistair works his way down Cullen's arm, fingers trailing, cradling at every opportunity. He sets the unbuckled vambrace aside; peels off his glove as if peeling off a much more intimate layer of clothing.

Quiet, he thinks, and probably some measure of speed as well. Maker knows if they'll be interrupted by an emergency summons.

But surely they can linger over this part of it. Right?

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen removes his armor in a workmanlike fashion, usually; it's as close to comfortable as armor can get, and when it's off, that means the day's work is over.

(If he doesn't sneak down to his desk to make sure he didn't miss anything when briefing for the following day.)

This --

It's not workmanlike at all. Cullen... finds he quite likes it.

Alistair removes his glove. Cullen catches Alistair's fingers, quickly, briefly. What's in his face is interest -- and curiosity.

"You're interested in my armor." It's a question, with a more important question underlying it: are you sure you want to do this?

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

It serves as answer to both questions. So does the smile on Alistair's face.

"Is that all right?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods. Light: "Let me know if I can -- help."

It's -- stupid to say. He knows it. They're not quite the right words.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair chuckles, low, indulgent. "Of course."

He moves to Cullen's other arm, taking the same slow path as the first, leaving pieces of armor on the desk in his wake. He smooths his hands over Cullen's shoulders, inward, down to the straps of his breastplate. Alistair savors the unbuckling of each strap like some men might savor a particularly good wine.

That done, he sinks to his knees. His eyes never leave Cullen's face.

...And then he starts to unfasten Cullen's greaves after a deliberate (and faintly teasing) moment's pause.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen rolls his eyes to the ceiling (or what passes for it, in a tent), and brushes his hand over Alistair's head.

"You," he says, firmly, "are a very bad man."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I can't possibly know what you mean." Serene.

Right greave; left greave. Alistair runs his hands up Cullen's legs as he rises to his feet.

[howtoactfereldan]

"No?"

He rests his palm against Alistair's chest.

"No clue at all?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"None whatsoever," he says, in direct opposition to his knowing smirk. "Care to enlighten me?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Pranks," Cullen says, sorrowfully. "Bad jokes. All those times you've tried to smother me with the bedclothes."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm. No mention of snoring, I notice."

He slips his arms around Cullen.