howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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Cullen is fine in the field. He can set up a tent, build a fire, find water safe to drink, make something edible. But he hasn't traveled enough to get the knack of what's wise to bring.

These days it makes little difference, given his status: he helps to set up camp, but there are runners and adjutants to find and fetch things. And there are few enough of them, this time -- not the massed force of the Inquisition, but a patrol's worth of soldiers and scouts and accompanying support -- that in the evenings, Cullen finds himself... restless.

It's akin to the reason he doesn't frequent the Herald's Rest, but there's no office to hide in, and no paperwork to justify staying in the tent.

At least tomorrow he and Alistair will peel off to where Honnleath used to be, to spend the night and rejoin the rest again late the following day.

(This may also contribute to his fidgeting.)

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A fresh lump rises in Alistair's throat.

Definitely better to act than speak, now: he kisses Cullen again, as if the overflow of emotion in his chest could pour into him, as if Cullen could miraculously know, by one action, everything Alistair has ever felt for him.

(As if he could, at last, see himself the way Alistair sees him.)

No miracle occurs. But Cullen does suspect that Alistair is -- overwhelmed. He wraps his arms around Alistair in as steady an embrace as he can muster.

It's all right, he thinks. It's fine.

When it breaks, he rests his forehead against Cullen's again. Takes a moment to right himself, emotionally speaking.

"It would absolutely ruin the moment if I tried to take off your trousers again, wouldn't it."

He's struggling not to laugh.

"An astute observation, Theirin."

Cullen is stifling laughter as he rubs Alistair's back.

"I thought so." He gives into the laughter, soft as it may be. "See? I can be romantic sometimes."

Swords and Shields taught him well. Ahem.

"I'd go so far as to say 'not infrequently.'"

"It's the rose that did it, wasn't it."

Solemn.

"Of course not," Cullen says. He makes sure to sound very outraged. "It was the sock full of worms. Obviously."

"If only I'd thought to put them in your hair like a five-year-old." Alistair tsks at himself. "That truly would've sealed the deal."

"...no grass whistles, and no worm hair."

Alistair heaves a long, doleful sigh.

"No fun either, apparently."

Cullen shrugs a little, smile going crooked, gaze sliding away.

"I know I've not got a lot to recommend me." Wry. "A reliable schedule, perhaps?"

"I was teasing, Cullen."

Softer, as he smooths a hand over Cullen's hair.

"You've plenty to recommend you."

"...including a reliable schedule."

"Yes," he says, dissolving back into laughter. "Including that."

Cullen pats his back. "You know how to make a man feel wanted."

"It's a gift," he agrees, before sneaking another kiss.

And then another, just to be certain.

Only when Alistair is satisfied does Cullen tap him on the shoulder.

"Budge up," he tells Alistair. "You got heavy."

"...Right, yes. Sorry."

Sheepishly, he rolls off Cullen. Twisting just enough to reach the blanket, Alistair snags it to drape over both of them.

"Don't apologize." Mild. "It's a -- notice, not a complaint."

"Still," says Alistair. With a lopsided smile, he works his arm around Cullen's shoulders. "I'd be very sad if I accidentally smothered you. No telling how I'd explain it to the Inquisitor, either."

He turns in toward Alistair with a contented sigh.

"Make up something suitably graphic and you wouldn't have to provide a full explanation."

"That could be a fun challenge," he muses. "Think up something so horrifying that even Lavellan would recoil and beg off two sentences in."

He smooths his hand over Alistair's chest: complete hedonism. "Has to be in bed. Remember that. Something you could say with a straight face."

"Mm."

It's possible he meant that to be a thoughtful sort of hum. Cullen's hand feels very nice, though; the hum sounds a bit closer to the noises Alistair was making earlier.

"Not laughing at my own terrible jokes may be difficult."