[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

[howtoactfereldan]

"Now, Alistair," Cullen says, reasonable, "you're much more adorable than a dog."

[bringspeopletogether]

"A high bar," he says, laughter eddying through his voice. "I'm lucky I cleared it."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Very few have what it takes," Cullen agrees.

[bringspeopletogether]

Still smiling, Alistair runs one hand up Cullen's back, settling it on the back of his neck.

Close as they are, he barely has to move at all to kiss him; he luxuriates in it much like he did while taking off Cullen's armor.

[howtoactfereldan]

If Alistair's goal was to get Cullen to melt against him, he's succeeded. A hand fists in Alistair's shirt. There's no possible way Alistair can touch him enough, he thinks, hazy.

(The armor's gone: work's over. It's -- safe to put things down. Even here.)

[bringspeopletogether]

That works out well. Without the earlier self-conscious restraint to trouble him, Alistair lets his hands roam freely along Cullen's back -- now trailing along the ridges of his spine, now digging lightly into the dip of his waist, now sliding beneath his shirt to delve for bare skin. True to his word, he stays quiet: nothing but ragged breathing when the kiss ends, before another one begins.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Well done," he murmurs low in Alistair's ear, when he pulls away long enough to begin struggling out of his shirt. "No noise at all. Beautiful."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair chuckles, barely audible. Like Cullen said: he's a quick study with the proper motivation.

(It takes so much restraint not to say that aloud.)

He helps him yank off his shirt, dropping it atop the pile of armor on his desk; in short order, Alistair's own shirt joins it. As he kisses him again, more fervent, his hands venture lower to work at Cullen's trousers.

All the self-deprecating jokes about not being able to keep his hands off Cullen aside -- Maker, it's nice to finally give into this need.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's hands run up and down Alistair's back, as though searching for something.

(Maybe -- answers. Why this? Why now? There's still that little niggling question that won't go away -- but it's easy enough to put it to the side.)

He nips at Alistair's lower lip, moves to his throat, spilling hot kisses over his pulse point.

(Definitely easy enough.)

[bringspeopletogether]

His breath stutters; his head falls back to give Cullen all the space he wants. "Yes --

(So much for that self-restraint.)

Alistair splays a hand over Cullen's abdomen, pushing gently, pressing even closer. The sooner they take this horizontal, the better, as far as he's concerned.

...The desk seems to be in the way, though.

[howtoactfereldan]

Yes, well, part of being a mighty warrior turned desk jockey is the ability to navigate around said desk in a pinch. Cullen pivots --

-- and takes Alistair down with him. Gracefully.

At least his laughter is mostly silent.

[bringspeopletogether]

Truly, such grace will be sung through the ages.

Alistair's laughter isn't quite as soft, but compared to his usual volume, it passes muster. Anyway, his mouth's occupied with doing other things soon enough. For one, it's much easier to run his tongue over Cullen's chest now, tasting salt and feeling out the smattering of scars -- and then to start venturing lower as his nails scrape lightly over his hips

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen shudders, back arching, head tilting back.

"Bad man," he mutters; the way he's gripping Alistair's arms suggest that this isn't an invitation to stop.

[bringspeopletogether]

A low laugh. Alistair looks up with the smirk of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

One hand tangles with Cullen's; the other cradles his hip as he sets to work in earnest.

[howtoactfereldan]

The challenge then becomes silence.

It's the kind of thing he's loath to tell Alistair, but it's true nonetheless: the same strategies he uses to delay or lessen pain, the same rituals he uses in prayer -- they're what Cullen calls on now to make what he feels diffuse from the point of greatest intensity. It's how Cullen endures, this kind of dissociation.

It comes out in his hands, in the way his fingers clench Alistair's, in the way his other hand begins to tangle in Alistair's hair before Cullen pulls it away lest he inadvertently hurt him.

It comes out in his breath, ragged but striving for an even rhythm.

It's safe, in here. But it's not safe enough to let go of discipline, to turn himself wholly over to Alistair, body and soul. One clear thought, a prayer to no one: Don't let my failures hurt him.

[bringspeopletogether]

And Alistair --

It's want, and desire. It's seeking unconscious solace after venturing into the field alone. It's admitting that sometimes, the brief, chaste moments aren't enough for him, that sometimes he doesn't want to smile and get by on the bare minimum.

But it's also...well. Getting Cullen to rest lately has been more of a trial than usual. I want people to be happy, he said once amid a bunch of drunken rambling, and it still holds true, always. Especially where Cullen's concerned.

Maybe he can't bodily drag him away from his desk like he can at Skyhold, but at least -- he hopes -- he can get Cullen to stop thinking about it for a minute.

[howtoactfereldan]

On that front, at least, Alistair has succeeded. Cullen's too occupied with maintaining some kind of equilibrium, some kind of control --

-- because it's dangerous to lose control, especially in an unfamiliar place where you're vulnerable and where demons burst out of rifts nastier than anything the Inquisitor's seen thus far --

-- and when you know what demons would do with you, given a sliver of a chance --

-- to think about his desk, or maps, or intelligence reports in from the distant camps regarding the movements of the Jaws of Hakkon.

Cullen has found that rest and proper vigilance are mutually exclusive states of being.





Perhaps someone somewhere has managed to wholly separate mind and body; it's not Cullen, at any rate. When he comes, it's with a great shuddery breath. He presses his hands to his eyes, drags them down.

Reaches out, after a moment, and cups the back of Alistair's head, fingers sliding into his hair. Aims a warm, foolish smile at Alistair as though no one else exists in the world.

(For a moment or two, there isn't anyone else.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wipes a thumb over his mouth. He settles his chin on Cullen's belly, smiling up at him, fond and pleased.

(He could watch Cullen smile like that all day.)

"All right?" he murmurs.

[howtoactfereldan]

He combs his fingers through Alistair's hair, the gesture protective, possessive.

(Anyone rash enough to press an ear to the side of the tent will have a good idea of what goes on tonight. Of course, that would also mean getting caught, and getting latrine duty.)

"Unless you wanted me to move any time soon." One corner of Cullen's mouth curls up further. "But I'll get my revenge."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair chuckles. He turns his head so he can rest his cheek on Cullen's stomach.

Warm, and contented: "Take your time."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen settles his hand on Alistair's head, fingers rubbing gentle, idle.




"I suppose," he says, softly, "it's only fair that I take my turn at being a pillow."

He shifts his legs, the better to accommodate Alistair.

"A pleasure, to serve a handsome man."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm." He makes himself comfortable, one hand curled loosely around Cullen's thigh.

(It takes a little effort: he's trying not to break contact with Cullen's hand.)

"You think I'm handsome?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Severely." Solemn. "Severely handsome."

[bringspeopletogether]

"That sounds like entirely too much handsome."

No less fond, and struggling not to laugh.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm. No." Cullen shakes his head a little. "Just the right amount."