(no subject)

[howtoactfereldan]

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.)

Comments

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm." Just as mild; still smiling, a little.

(And still not looking up.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"And I've got to have plausible deniability if you're planning to launch anything at anyone's head."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair breaks into a laugh, and gives Cullen's shoulder a gentle nudge.

"All right," he says. "To maintain your pristine reputation, then."

[howtoactfereldan]

"I appreciate it," he says, very dignified.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair lapses back into quiet.

The trail curves, bringing them close to the shoreline again. He breathes deep, taking in the scent of mud, of clear water, of healthy vegetation -- like Skyhold's garden multiplied for miles in every direction. No wonder Cullen likes to hang out in the garden during his down time.

With some embarrassment, he realizes a tiny tense spring has uncoiled under his ribs, now that he's back under the trees. Easier here than under open sky.

[howtoactfereldan]

"A complete lack of excitement."

Quiet. And very satisfied.

"Excellent."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair laughs, softly. "Don't say it too loud," he warns, "or fate might send something crashing through the underbrush straight into us."

[howtoactfereldan]

"The eels won't grow legs," Cullen says, "and there aren't any gurguts."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Bears?" suggests Alistair. "Harts? An eagle mistaking one of us for a tree branch and perching on us for the rest of the afternoon?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Alistair, if you don't stop cultivating mayhem on the one break we get, I will be forced to take drastic action."

(He's smirking.)

[bringspeopletogether]

With one eyebrow arched:

"Oh? Just how drastic are we talking about?"

Is it the fun kind of drastic?

[howtoactfereldan]

"You'll regret finding out," he warns.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not the fun kind of drastic, then," he sighs. "Woe. Alas."

[howtoactfereldan]

"I didn't say that." Peaceful.

Cullen stops. His hands go to Alistair's hips.

Slowly, never breaking eye contact (and never losing that smirk), he goes to his knees.

[bringspeopletogether]

Oh. Well then.

Alistair's eyes widen slightly. His throat bobs; one hand settles on Cullen's shoulder, the other sliding to his hair, cradling the back of his head.

[howtoactfereldan]

"All right?"

Quiet; smiling, now. Asking permission.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. It takes a moment to find his voice; when he does, it rasps a little.

"Yes." His fingers curl more firmly into Cullen's hair. "Please."

[howtoactfereldan]

As he works on Alistair's trousers, he murmurs, smirking again:

"Cultivating mayhem leaves very little time for this sort of thing, Alistair. You ought to know that."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I wasn't cultivating," Alistair protests, hoarsely. "I was preparing. Just in case."

His thumb strokes along Cullen's temple.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Hmph," Cullen says, and then sets to with a will.

(Where the regret comes in: Cullen fully intends to both a) make sure Alistair can't walk straight after, and b) refuse to carry him back to camp.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's had a lot of thoughts circling around his mind -- not all of them pleasant -- since they made camp, and a few more joined in once they started walking.

This? This is the best way possible to make all of them shut up.

Everything fuzzes out, like a mirror fogging up under hot breath. As in all things, Cullen's very diligent in this work; Alistair digs in the hand at Cullen's shoulder to steady himself, gasping. Sometimes it forms into words: Cullen, and please, and yes. A few curses slip in.

The world's small again, focused on the point where they meet. He doesn't have to think about anything else.



And he does indeed have to brace himself on the nearest tree trunk when it's over, laughing weakly, lest his knees give out entirely.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen gets to his feet, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

He looks unbearably smug.

"All right?" he asks again.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Very," manages Alistair. Fumbling a little -- his legs aren't the only thing feeling pleasantly shaky -- he gets his trousers fixed back up. "No more mayhem. Promise."

Beat.

"I need to sit down," he says, the weak laughter starting up again, and proceeds to do just that.

[howtoactfereldan]

"I told you there would be consequences." Cheerful. "And I'm not carrying you."

[bringspeopletogether]

"You monster."

That would be a way more successful deadpan if he could keep the dazed, happy grin off his face. Alistair tips his head back until it hits the tree trunk with a small thud.

"Come sit with me, then?"