[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 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."

[bringspeopletogether]

Another shiver that shakes his breathing into a rasping, uneven hitch. Alistair's smiling helplessly, dazed, as he leans his head back against the chaise; his hips start to fall into the same slow rhythm as Cullen.

"I'm glad." He tries to say more; it takes a little effort. "So glad I belong to you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen winds a hand in Alistair's hair, kissing his way up Alistair's throat.

"Is this what you want?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

Begging outright, now; too overwhelmed to have any shame about it.

"It is. Please -- please, Cullen."

[howtoactfereldan]

Well. That comes perilously close to short-circuiting his brain.

"Again," he demands, with a wet kiss under Alistair's jaw. "With why."

[bringspeopletogether]

He wants Alistair to be coherent? Oh no.

He tries. Panting, Alistair shuts his eyes, working to dig up enough self-control. He grabs a fistful of Cullen's robe to anchor himself.

"Please," he begs again. "I want to -- I want you. I want to wake up with marks everywhere that say I'm yours. I want to think of you every time I touch them. Every time they -- ah -- ache. I'll know you own me. I want you to own me. If anyone sees them they'll know you own me too."

(It's hard not to think of the scarf he'll have to wear tomorrow like a collar; like a leash. But that's harder to put to words, even as the thought makes his hand clutch tighter.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen sighs, a little shakily, and gently bites at Alistair's ear.

"You can talk like that," rough, "as much as you want. But you'll take the marks I give you."

It's worth a try, he thinks. if this is how Alistair's talking. There's still that small discordant note of trepidation he feels underneath all that lust.

"And you'll thank me for it. Understand?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair doesn’t hesitate. “Yes ser.”

He feels dizzy. Breathing too fast, he thinks distantly. But if there were a way to stop, he’s fairly sure he wouldn’t take it.

[howtoactfereldan]

Patient, inexorable:

"What do you say?"

[bringspeopletogether]

“Please.”

His throat bobs.

“Please, ser.”

[howtoactfereldan]

All right. This will work.

Amused: "I was looking for the other one."

Another bite.

"But since you asked so nicely... I'm minded to give you one you can see." Cullen moves out over Alistair's shoulder, trailing wet kisses as he goes.

[bringspeopletogether]

A shaky laugh; he digs his other hand into a swatch of robe near Cullen’s thigh, hiking it higher. “Thank you,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, ser. I forgot my manners.”

[howtoactfereldan]

"Never apologize," he murmurs against Alistair's skin, "for asking nicely."

With his free hand he covers Alistair's, halting its progress. "But don't be greedy."

[bringspeopletogether]

Don't be selfish.

Alistair's thoughts stutter -- not in a pleasant way, this time. Obediently, he slackens his grip on Cullen's robe; he keeps his eyes closed, drawing his breathing down to a slower pace.

(He wants Cullen to own him. But he wants -- )

Silent, he nods.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen keeps his hand where it is, palm spreading, fingers curving over Alistair's palm.

"Wish you could see yourself." He moves over a few inches. "Being so good for me. Beautiful."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair cracks a smile, eyes still closed. He squeezes Cullen's fingers; doesn't let go.

(It's another anchor point.)

"Thank you," he breathes, and shivers as Cullen moves.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen laughs softly, delighted, and pauses just long enough for a brief, tender kiss. "Good man."

Then he doesn't say anything else: he's busy giving Alistair what he wants in slow, excruciating detail.

[bringspeopletogether]

There's no need to be greedy or selfish. Just polite. If he just says please and thank you, Alistair will get exactly what he wants.

Or what Cullen wants to give him; fortunate, really, that those two objectives align. But there's a small worry snaking through the back of his mind anyway: what if he stops, what if he says no, what if --

He tries to breathe through it. He'll take care of you. Trust him.

And that's all he has to think for a while. Mind blissfully blank, he turns himself over to whatever Cullen wants to do him.

(If that means they never make it back to their bed -- well, no big loss there.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Several marks later:

Cullen settles down on Alistair, winding his arms around him, resting his head on Alistair's shoulder as though ready to sleep.

He murmurs, "I could keep going, but my face might fall off, and I've only got the one. And I think you'll be properly black and blue. Is that all right?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair gradually comes back to himself. Idly, he links his hands behind Cullen’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against the extra weight. He opens his eyes.

“Yes.” A soft, contented sigh. “That’s fine.”

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets out a soft hum.

(He feels... protected like this. It's -- nice.)

"Is it enough?"