Thank the Maker for that hand in his hair, because it gives Cullen an excuse to turn his face away, and close his eyes (with the possibly fortunate side effect of baring his throat). There's no way he could ever, ever say this to Alistair while looking him in the eye.

As it is, Cullen reddens -- not just his face, either.

"I want -- you to use me. For, for your own..." Even in the middle of this, even as he says it, his mouth quirks at his choice of word: really, Cullen? "Gratification." A small, swift sigh, then rushed: "I serve at your pleasure. For. Anything. Really -- really anything." He draws in a swift breath. "At your order."

He has just enough presence of mind left to swallow down the words my lord. Not now. Not like this. Not after what Alistair's just told him about his name.