[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]

"You said it." A very light nip at his ear. "I didn't."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's breath stutters.

"It's true." His arms tighten around Cullen. "The most I can say for myself is that I don't hum loudly when I'm attempting to sneak around."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Because you can't hum and talk at the same time," Cullen rumbles in his ear.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Also true." He's starting to laugh again. "Because that's called singing, Cullen, and we all know I'm terrible at that."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Only when you're purposefully trying to make everyone around you make mistakes." He settles his head back on Alistair's shoulder with a contented sigh. "Still haven't forgiven you, by the way."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not like you got in trouble for it." He prods Cullen in the side, gently. "Instigators don't get any supper. The poor souls who fall into the instigator's trap just get a stern 'ahem' from Sister Candace."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen squirms. He might overdo it a little, in hopes of punishing Alistair further. "Yes, but I wasn't singing to the Maker's approval, either."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I'm sure -- "

It's getting more difficult to focus on the conversation at hand when Cullen is squirming like that. Unconsciously, he winds one ankle around Cullen's leg; his hands slide to Cullen's hips.

" -- the Maker forgave your mistakes. He was well aware of the brat in the choir, too."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Didn't work like that, Theirin." He says this against Alistair's throat. "You know what they say about one bad apple."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm."

Cullen can feel Alistair's pulse fluttering faster.

"Could point out that actual bad apples don't really spoil everything. Just -- a couple extra apples. Sometimes. And you can always cut off the rotten parts if you want."

Beat.

A little more thready: "This metaphor's getting away from me, can't imagine why."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen laughs softly and slips a hand inside Alistair's robe, smoothing his palm over his chest. "I'm mystified."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's chest rises and falls on a quick breath. He leans upward into the caress.

"Almost like there's a distraction coming from somewhere." His hands grasp at Cullen's robe, release it, grasp tighter.

[howtoactfereldan]

"All the more reason to hone your focus." Another light nip at his ear. "Very important, Theirin. Someone's depending on you for that."

[bringspeopletogether]

A tiny, breathless whimper; it fades into equally breathless laughter. "I think the problem here is I'm focusing on the wrong thing."

He hooks his leg more securely around Cullen.

"Am I right?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Very right." Laughing too. "So right. I believe in you."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Oh, good." Cheerful. "In that case -- "

He grabs Cullen's face in both hands and plants a long, thorough kiss on his mouth.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen hums happily and shifts in Alistair's lap, sitting more comfortably. His arms wind around Alistair again.

[bringspeopletogether]

Easy from there to trail his hands down Cullen's neck; to slip them inside his robe and draw him closer, running his palms along bare skin.

Moving things to the bedroom ought to happen eventually. Maybe. But Alistair finds he's content with this for now: closeness, and warmth, without the gasping intensity of before.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen is right there with him. He threads his fingers through Alistair's hair. His robe falls off one shoulder; he's not feeling very inclined toward fixing it.

(It's a gift he hadn't looked for, the ability to shut down his thinking to retreat into sensation. He always thought it would be more -- dangerous.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hums softly. He kisses the underside of Cullen's jaw; his hands keep roaming, slow and deliberate, like he's mapping the contours of Cullen's back by touch alone. Where he finds the stripes and divots of old scars, he traces them with a fingertip, lingering a moment before he moves on.

It's hedonism, in the purest sense of the word: simple enjoyment of the physical. Of how Cullen's body feels under his hands.

(And his mouth, as he presses more soft kisses to Cullen's neck.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen shivers -- and laughs, sudden and high. "Theirin." Warm, and helplessly happy. "That tickles. Don't -- "

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair pulls back. He breaks into a grin.

Innocently: "What, this?"

He circles his fingers over one of Cullen's scars again.

[howtoactfereldan]

"I will bite you -- "

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair cracks up, which has the fortunate side effect of stopping any tickling.

He tries to say something that might be playing rough now, are we? but, in reality, doesn't cohere too well into understandable words.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Not a good way to get me into bed." Cullen pokes his chest, grinning. "Much less keep me there."