howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Thank you." Quietly, as it settles around his shoulders.

He doesn't say I don't deserve this, because it'll just start it all over again.

(But he's thinking it.)

Alistair hesitates a moment, unsure if he wants to leave his arm around Cullen as well. In the end, he does.

He doesn't do more than that though. No attempts to guide Cullen back to the tent; no drawing him closer, or pushing him further away.

No words.

Slowly, carefully, attuned for any sign of resistance, Cullen turns to bring his arms around Alistair, blanket and all. Like a damp, surly bat.

Alistair exhales. He shuts his eyes, and offers no resistance as Cullen draws him in.

(Damp, surly, and cold. At least Alistair's body heat can help with the last bit.)

His fist tightens in the blanket.

Murmured into Alistair's neck:

"I mentioned I was difficult?"

Alistair nods. Quiet, "It might have come up."

There's very little emotion in his voice.

Cullen breathes out.

Smaller: "I'm sorry, Alistair."

And at that, Alistair's shoulders slump. He presses his face to Cullen's hair; relaxing a little, finally.

"Thank you," he whispers. "I appreciate it."

He tightens his hold on Alistair, wincing a little.

"I'll try." Uneven. "To -- remember it's all right to ask for things. Can you remind me?"

"Yes." Still soft, but without hesitation. "Of course."

He kisses the top of Cullen's head.

"As often as you need."

Cullen lets out a breath.

Then, smaller:

"I don't know why, but today -- I don't like thinking about it as -- revenge. It -- bothers me."

"Ah."

It's more exhalation than word, full of dawning comprehension.

"I'm sorry, then. I didn't mean to -- set something off."

He nods against Alistair's neck.

"Freely given," he murmurs, "or not at all."

"Yes."

Alistair wraps his arm more snugly around Cullen.

"I won't joke about that sort of thing anymore."

Another nod.

Then, light, lingering, he kisses Alistair's neck, and says softly right in his ear:

"I fear what joke you'll replace it with."

He hums, low in his throat.

His mouth twitches in a badly suppressed smile.

"Two cookies are in an oven. One turns to the other and says, 'Hot in here, isn't it?' The second one says, 'Maker's breath! A talking cookie!'"

"Ugh."

He lets his forehead fall on Alistair's shoulder.

Alistair pats him, snickering faintly.

"I save ones like that to make all my other jokes look good in comparison."

"You mean the one where you suggested that we start entangled and then end up swimming? Because Alistair, we're well situated for that -- "

"No." Laughing outright now. "I take that one back. You still feel cold."

More 'light breeze' cold than 'ice cube' cold by now, but still.

"A smart man would retreat inside his tent, then. What do you think?"

"I think," he says, "that sounds like an excellent idea."

Alistair finally draws back, but only so he can take Cullen's hand.

Cullen stays close, holding the blanket together with his free hand.

"I think that was both my best and worst idea," he muses.

He chuckles. "Once we've gotten you warmed up, we can move it firmly into 'best,' I think."

Whatever Cullen needs to do to clear his head -- even if it's jumping in a freezing-cold lake for five minutes -- Alistair approves.

"I'm plenty warm," he protests. "Unless you're objecting on your own behalf, which is reasonable."