[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Skyhold gets quieter and quieter as the days move on. It's not a complete stand-down; there's cleanup to do, stragglers to round up, the same sort of business Alistair remembers from the months after the Blight. The Thaw, as Wardens call it. Thedas is thawing again, but the fortress only grows colder for it.

He won't lie: he'd feel warmer if Kieran and Morrigan were still there.

When Cullen suggests a vacation, Alistair lights up, only to deflate slightly when he realizes they'll be "vacationing" in Orlais. There's business to attend in Val Royeaux -- not the sort of business that'll keep Cullen occupied from sunup to sundown, but enough to require an in-person visit for a week or so. On the one hand: Orlais. On the other: he can't argue that time away from Skyhold, especially in Cullen's company, will help.

...So will the cheese, probably.

(Look, as Alistair has said many a time, he is a very predictable man.)

They room at a small place in the university quarter that's downright plain for Val Royeaux. Libraries for Cullen, a cafe around the corner for both of them, limited contact with people trilling about whatever stupid, petty scandal's hit the court this week -- it could be far worse. Alistair takes to writing his letters at the cafe, usually accompanied by some flaky pastry or another.

Today, they're cheese-filled. It's hard to descend too far into a personal funk when you've got a cheese-filled pastry.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets out a long, shaky breath; his eyes fall closed as he slides a hand into Alistair's hair, fingers tightening.

Uneven: "And that was the end of the quiet."

[bringspeopletogether]

"But..." He trails one hand inward, teasing, then rests it atop Cullen's navel. "The start of some other rather nice things to make up for it."

He nips at Cullen's neck, lightly.

[howtoactfereldan]

A small yelp, more startled than anything else; he brings his free arm around Alistair's shoulders, holding on.

"I'm not in a position to deny it, Theirin."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair grins, the epitome of innocence and cheer. He makes himself more comfortable against Cullen; it might involve more shifting and wriggling than strictly necessary.

(It's a very deliberate sort of shifting and wriggling.)

"You're the only person in the world," he murmurs, fond, "who can call me that and make me like it. Did you know that?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's fingertips dig into Alistair's back: shifting and wriggling has consequences, especially if Alistair doesn't seem inclined to get on with it.

Then, thankfully, a distraction. "I -- no." Beat. "Really?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Really."

His smile's gone softer, now.

"Other people say it and it's a burden. You say it, and it's...not. I don't know how you do it. But it just feels like -- me. Like my own name."

Alistair stretches to kiss Cullen again.

"Not Maric's."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen runs his hands down Alistair's back, smoothing palms over his spine, his scars.

"Never knew the man." Cullen's smile is crooked. "But I know you. The name's yours."

[bringspeopletogether]

A soft, contented hum. "And it can just be a name. Nothing more."

No expectations beyond simply being himself.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm." He keeps running his hands over Alistair's skin.




A little more quietly: "Why didn't you ask me to stop?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Because it stopped bothering me before long."

Not much louder.

"And soon enough I started to like it. You always sounded..." He searches for the right word. "Comfortable when you said it."

[howtoactfereldan]

"This might surprise you -- " Lightly wry. "But at times I've come to care about your comfort."

[bringspeopletogether]

That spurs a quiet laugh out of him.

"Well," he says, in light ironic tones that nearly match Cullen's own, "at the time I was also marveling at things like food, clean water, and a decided lack of being in the Fade anymore. You could have called me 'that red-headed bastard in the corner there' and I probably wouldn't've minded."

He kisses Cullen's forehead.

"But by the time I was used to all those non-Fade things again...'Theirin' was comfortable to me, too."

[howtoactfereldan]

"The point." Cullen lightly tugs on a tuft of Alistair's hair. "Is to tell me to stop doing things that make you uncomfortable. All right?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wrinkles his nose, but has the good grace to look a little sheepish.

"All right," he agrees.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's smile broadens.

He says, mild:

"Thank you for indulging me."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And thank you for being patient with me."

Still sheepish, but fading quickly in the face of more pressing matters: like running his fingers through Cullen's hair and kissing him again, a bit harder this time.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen hooks a leg over Alistair's thigh. That's a good spot; let's keep him there, he thinks, hazy.

[bringspeopletogether]

A soft rumble of pleasure catches in Alistair's throat. Slowly, he rocks his hips against Cullen's.

(They've got the whole evening; he's been instructed to do his worst. That means not giving Cullen what he wants too quickly.)

"I love you." A rough whisper. "I love how you feel."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen can't stifle a groan. He brings up his other leg to match the first, and curls upward just enough to run his tongue over Alistair's collarbone.

Slightly strangled: "How's that, then?"

[bringspeopletogether]

His breath catches. The slow rhythm of his hips doesn't falter.

"Warm." He runs his palms down Cullen's sides. "Solid. Real."

One hand slips between them; grasps, lightly.

"Hard."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen hides his eyes in Alistair's shoulder as his arms close around him.

Trembling, a little: "You noticed." A hot sigh, breathed against his skin. "Your good work."

[bringspeopletogether]

He chuckles: soft, a little uneven. "Yes."

Just as slow, he works his hand over him.

"I love that I can do this to you." Alistair traces the shell of Cullen's ear with the tip of his tongue. "Make you enjoy it. You don't want me to take care of it too quickly, do you?"

[howtoactfereldan]

It's taking a distressing amount of will to keep from bucking up into Alistair's hand.

"No." Feels like his back is breaking into gooseflesh. "No, Alistair. Please." Cullen brings a palm down, hard, on the bed, and twists the blankets tight into his fist. "Whatever you say. I'll -- please."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Good," he breathes. "Good."

His free hand slides back into Cullen's hair. He curls his fingers, pulls: not enough to hurt, but enough for an unmistakable tension.

"Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me what you think about when I'm away."

[howtoactfereldan]

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.