howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Struggling not to laugh, "I'm sure it would cooperate as long as it gets its share of the fish."

Cullen pats Alistair's head. "I'd never intended to do anything else."

"Oh, good." He closes his eyes. "The beast is appeased."

Beat.

"Though it's still not letting go of you any time soon." He suits action to words and drapes an arm around Cullen's middle.

Cullen laughs quietly.

"Not even if I point out there's still work to do before the fishing can commence?"

A small, grudging sigh.

"I suppose it might let go in that instance. After a few moments."

"A few moments I can allow."

He sinks his fingers into Alistair's hair.

Softer: "Good."

The sigh that follows is far more contented.

"Thank you for bringing me here. It really is lovely."

Cullen huffs a breath. "I'm just glad it's still worth looking at."

(Yes, his strategy is still going to be 'pretend things that are hugely important have little value lest someone suspect me of having strong feelings.')

"That's a long way to come for disappointment that could've been easily avoided."

"Mm."

To Alistair's credit, it's only a little dry -- and outweighed heavily by affection.

"Yes, very fortunate, then, that it's like you remember."

"I should write my sister."

Quieter. A little absent.

"She'd like to know, I think."

Alistair's eyebrows rise.

No louder -- his smile's grown a bit, somewhere between pleased and proud: "I think that sounds like an excellent idea."

"They wouldn't want to come back," he says, alarmed. "Nothing like that. They've got -- they've built -- they're fine. In South Reach."

"No, I know," he's quick to say. Cullen gets a small squeeze of reassurance. "I think you're right, is all. She'd like to know."

More importantly: if Cullen's talking of voluntarily writing his family, Alistair's going to encourage it with all he's got.

(Cullen actually has siblings to write, after all.)

Cullen raises his head long enough to give Alistair a suspicious look.

How would you know? he almost asks -- but doesn't.

This isn't the time to get in a contentious conversation. They don't have enough time here for that.

He wouldn't know -- but he can make assumptions. Mostly assumptions of the she writes you all the time, ergo she'd probably enjoy a letter in reply variety.

He's absolutely going to ignore that suspicious look, though. His thoughts run a similar path: this is the happiest Cullen's looked all day; he won't ruin it; he won't ruin this.

It would be better -- safer -- if they'd just pretend he didn't make it out of Kinloch. Or Kirkwall. Or died along with their parents. They don't know him. They've gotten along just fine without him for fifteen years.

What Alistair doesn't understand, he thinks, is the way misery and violence come to everyone around him. At least with Alistair it's a given, what with being a Warden. But it wasn't what Cullen thought he'd signed up for. It wasn't what his parents agreed to let him do.

If his siblings have built a life for themselves -- and they have -- the best thing he can do for them is stay away.

Cullen turns his head away from Alistair, and lets out a breath. Alistair's got to let him get up soon, he thinks, and then he can just -- stay busy.

Several long moments pass in silence.

Alistair's hand shifts higher; he rests it on Cullen's cheek, pressing gently, hoping to guide Cullen to look at him again.

Which he does, a little reluctantly.

(Though he does his best to hide it.)

He trails his hand up to Cullen's hair, carding his fingers through. Alistair tries for a smile.

Then he leans in to kiss him, just as gently. (And, perhaps, a bit apologetically.)

Immediately he tightens his arm around Alistair. The thumb of his free hand brushes along Alistair's jaw; he likes the feeling of stubble against his skin.

Oh. Well, in that case.

His fingers wind deeper into Cullen's hair and hold firm. The kiss isn't so gentle any longer; for days they've had the barest modicum of privacy, and now -- it's like drinking your fill after a drought, coming home to a banquet after weeks of rations.

Surely they can put off finishing their campsite for a bit longer.

If it distracts Alistair --

It's not like it's unpleasant.

Cullen slips his hand down Alistair's back, pulling at the hem of his shirt until he can find bare skin.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a relief to go unobserved. It's been -- too long. Much too long.

A small, appreciative hum; it fades into a soft laugh. "Down to business, then?" he murmurs.

He shifts -- above Cullen, now, rather than beside him -- and picks up the kiss again, one hand planted in the dirt. The other traces a path up Cullen's side.

Which tickles. Cullen tries not to squirm too much.

"I'd hope -- " Between kisses. "Business can -- wait for a bedroll."

(There's definitely a rock digging somewhere it shouldn't be.)

"So practical," Alistair sighs once the next kiss breaks. (It's closer to laughter than actual disappointment.) "All right, fine."

One more kiss.

...Okay, one more kiss after that one, too.

"Can I say," he adds, "that I am exceedingly glad I don't have to go without this for six weeks?"