[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]

"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."

[bringspeopletogether]

"An excellent way to wake you up in the mornings, however."

So cheerful. So very cheerful.

"...If I want to be bitten."

[howtoactfereldan]

"You do seem to enjoy it," Cullen murmurs, right before matching action to words.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair inhales sharply, head falling back. His grip tightens on Cullen of its own accord.

Soon enough he's laughing again, quieter, undeniably pleased. "It's true," he admits.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen seized the opportunity: now he's straddling Alistair's lap, kissing his throat. "Noted." Low.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair urges him closer, one hand tangled in Cullen's hair. His breath speeds up to match his racing heart.

Entranced, half-pleading: "Will you mark me?"

(Even just asking that much sends another thrill through him.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen runs his tongue over Alistair's pulse point.

Nearly a growl: "Are you mine?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes," he gasps. "Yes. Always, I promise. Please -- "

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mine," he breathes roughly in Alistair's ear, before touching his lips to his pulse again. He digs his fingers into Alistair's hips -- hard enough to give Alistair what he wants.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Maker, Cullen -- "

He shudders with delight; his grip firms up on Cullen's hair, pulling the slightest bit.

"Yes. Please, more of that."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen growls again, and -- as though Alistair's hair-pulling is a goad -- ratchets up the pressure, grinding down against him for good measure.

"Mine," he snarls, when he comes up for air -- briefly.

[bringspeopletogether]

Maker's breath --

Alistair can't do anything but moan. (A little louder than is appropriate, probably.) Blindly, he wraps his arms around Cullen and just holds on, letting the sensation wash over him. The tiny spikes of pain are -- good. They always are. Little focal points; little gaatlok bursts that carry him higher for the instant they last.

Yes, he keeps breathing without quite being cognizant. Yes. Yes.

"Yours," he finally manages.

[howtoactfereldan]

Something in him (bizarrely) unwinds with every sound Alistair makes. Cullen isn't just a burden, if he can do this for Alistair; he isn't worthless; he does give Alistair something he wants.

"Good," he breathes, hard, against Alistair's throat. "Mine. You're good." It helps to stop and catch his breath, even if he's still rocking slowly against Alistair in a steady rhythm. "So good to me."

[bringspeopletogether]

Despite the many, many distractions in play, Alistair huffs out a small laugh. "I try," he says, breathless; unconsciously, his hips roll up to meet Cullen's. "I do my best, ser."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm." He dips his tongue in the space between collarbone and throat; what a lovely place to leave another mark, he thinks.

"None better," he murmurs after a moment. "None but you."