howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Alistair props himself on one elbow, watching Cullen.

Softer, "Bad meeting?"

He stretches, tucking his hands behind his head.

"Not really. Just... we're back." Wry. "I've managed to secure the rest of the day, but tomorrow I'll be at my desk. All day."

Pause.

"And likely after dark."

Disappointment flickers again, quickly squashed. You knew what it would be like when you started all this, he reminds himself.

"Well," lightly, "then I suppose we'll have to make the most of what we have." He settles a hand on Cullen's hair. "Starting with, if you'd like -- I say this not to fuss, but just to enlighten you -- "

He tips his head toward the foot of the bed.

"I brought us meat pies and some wine."

(Alistair isn't the only disappointed one.)

Cullen aims a smile at the ceiling.

"Well done, Double Commander."

Alistair's smile returns. He leans over to drop a kiss on Cullen's brow.

"Want me to fetch you one?"

"Not yet?"

He reaches one hand up to brush a thumb over Alistair's cheek.

"I'm enjoying this."

Alistair closes his eyes with a soft hum of appreciation.

"We have walls again."

Back to smirking.

"Very observant of you." Cheerful. "You might also notice we've got a door or three."

"Interesting."

Alistair leans further over him, still smirking, and props his hand on the other side of Cullen's chest.

"Very interesting indeed. And have they been locked?"

"They have," Cullen informs him. "I'm nothing if not diligent, Theirin."

"Of course." Serene. "Wonderful."

And with that, Alistair swings a leg over Cullen's hips and kisses him with far more fervor than before.

Cullen would laugh if he wasn't very busy at the moment. As it is, he runs his hands up and down Alistair's back. This does come with some encouragement for Alistair to get even closer.

No need to ask him twice. Alistair presses flush against Cullen, one hand finding its way to his hair, tangling fast enough that it'll look even more sproingy when all this is over.

(Which it hopefully won't be for some hours yet. Peace and quiet and privacy. Finally. It might be the best 'welcome home' present Alistair could ask for.)

"Good to be back," he breathes against Cullen's cheek, laughing a little, once the kiss breaks. Then he picks up right where he left off.

Cullen arches his back, tightening his arms around Alistair.

"Tell me you're planning to make this last a while," he gasps. "We have -- some time."

"Oh yes."

He insinuates one leg between Cullen's; nips lightly at his neck; moves up to his earlobe.

"As long as you'd like." A beat, and then -- as he recalls a certain moment in the Basin -- a wicked smile. "So long as you're good."

His breath catches.

"Alistair -- "

Cullen's fist tightens in Alistair's shirt; his eyes are very wide, and very dark.

"Yes. Please."

(It all settled on him within twenty minutes of arriving back at Skyhold. If he could just do something simple -- )

A low, pleased laugh. He catches Cullen's mouth in another kiss; the hand not buried in Cullen's hair fumbles for the hem of his shirt.

"Let's start with you helping me get this off, then," he whispers in Cullen's ear.

He immediately starts wriggling out of it. Some corner of Cullen's mind notes that his pulse has quickened, considerably; part of him hopes Alistair doesn't notice.

A much larger part of him hopes Alistair does.

"Well done," he breathes as they toss Cullen's shirt aside. Alistair presses another kiss to his neck, feeling Cullen's pulse race under his mouth; he finds himself laughing again, soft and warm.

Doing this is -- different. Not bad, though; not in the least. Especially not when it excites Cullen this much.

And Maker help him, when he so often feels like he can't even control his own mind anymore...it's nice to feel in control of something for once.

He trails a line of open-mouthed kisses along Cullen's neck, then sits up, half-straddling him. Slowly, without breaking eye contact -- and without losing that little smirk -- he peels off his own shirt, putting a little more showmanship into it than usual.

(Cullen's being good. He deserves a little show as a reward.)

Still wide-eyed, and smiling, Cullen reaches out to trail his fingers down Alistair's chest.

"I get the impression," he says, and his voice isn't entirely steady, "you've been planning this?"

"Maybe a little."

He catches Cullen's hands, guiding them lower to the waistband of his trousers.

"Hard to think about much else on the way home."

Cullen's hands start working at the laces. "And you never shared with me?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

As soon as the laces are undone, he shimmies his trousers down his hips and flings them aside.

"Anyway -- " serene, more lofty, "you didn't ask. Shame, that." His fingers delve at Cullen's own trousers. "I'll have to demand you make it up to me."

Cullen runs his hands slowly up and down Alistair's thighs.

"At your order."

It's a little... too sincere.

Alistair can't suppress the shiver that runs through him.

(Something else, just out of reach of articulation: Cullen has said over and over, in word and deed, that Alistair will never take priority over the Inquisition. Here, like this, he can be a priority. He can demand, be selfish, give voice to his desire for Cullen to join him in that selfishness -- and for a few hours, Cullen will always say yes.)

He bends over Cullen, sliding his hands up his chest, putting a bit of his weight into it: nothing light or tentative about this touch. "Finish with your trousers then, Commander. I want to see them on the floor in ten seconds."