howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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Cullen sets a brisk pace on their way back to Skyhold. He's been away long enough; he's ready to relieve Briony; he's ready to go about receiving full intelligence reports from Leliana instead of the truncated, heavily coded ones he receives in the field.

He is also ready to personally see to the laundering of his coat.

And Cullen is also ready to take at least half a day, and preferably more, to revel in solid walls and doors that lock.

As they ride through the sally port, Cullen glances over at Alistair. "I'll need to see Briony, and then I'll likely be called to the war room -- you're going to see Kieran?"

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After a time, Alistair shifts in Cullen's arms. Partly, it's to make himself more comfortable.

Mostly, it's to make it easier for him to kiss Cullen properly: gentle and sweet, with -- for now -- no expectation of more.

(It was a very vigorous bout.)

When he slips his fingers in Alistair's hair, similarly, it's for nothing more than sheer hedonistic pleasure.

(The kind of thing he can try to lose himself in, with mixed results.)

"I love you," he breathes again when they break apart. Another, lighter kiss follows. "I'm glad we're home."

He strokes his thumb along Cullen's cheek.

"That we made this a home."

Soft: "Our home."

He essays a smile, small and sheepish. "Thank you for putting up with me."

Alistair shakes his head a little, still smiling.

"Freely," he murmurs, "and very happily."

Besides: Cullen's put up with him plenty of times when Alistair's not at his best.

"Even when I've no sense of humor?"

"Even when you've no sense of humor."

He leans his forehead against Cullen's.

"That's what I'm here for: to be the funny one."

"Well done, then, Double Commander."

Alistair huffs out a small laugh, and descends into quiet for a moment.

Then, softer: "You're also under no obligation to laugh when my jokes aren't funny. I know they're...not, sometimes."

Never through malice; not with Cullen. (Not with anyone, really.) But that doesn't change much.

"And I'm sorry for that."

"They would be if I weren't so..."

Weak is one way to finish that. Prone to disaster is another.

"That's not your fault, Alistair."

"Regardless."

Still quiet.

"It's -- well." A small, crooked smile. "Another place where we ought to meet each other where we're at. And I don't want to go farther than where you're comfortable."

Trying for lightness:

"Then how am I supposed to get less stuffy?"

"Mmm. One bad joke a day, perhaps," he suggests. "Just enough to stretch your humor muscles."

"Three," he demands.

Later he will look back on this and wonder why he makes such terrible life choices.

Because no one can resist Alistair's charm and wit!

"Done," he says, promptly, and plants another kiss on Cullen.

That was entirely too easy.

"Five," he demands, eyes narrowing.

Alistair's eyebrow's lift. "Living dangerously," he muses. "I think I like it."

He settles his hand on the back of Cullen's neck.

"Ten."

If Alistair thinks he can't take it --

"Really."

He's starting to laugh, with all due fondness.

"Twenty, then? Fifty?"

Cullen, true to form, is taking this (too) seriously.

Scowling: "All of them."

"All right, all right."

He tips his head enough to kiss Cullen's forehead.

"Point taken, Commander. All of them."

Still scowling:

"I'm not fragile."

Alistair sobers; he sighs, resting his forehead against Cullen's again.

"It's not about whether I think you're fragile," he says. "I know you're not. All right? I just -- want some part of your day to be a little easier."

Cullen can recognize when he wants to pick a fight. He can try to back off, but --

It's difficult.

"All right," he makes himself say. And makes himself not say anything else.

Alistair doesn't say anything else, either.

(If Cullen wants to pick a fight, he won't give him any more ammunition.)

He stays close, though. Keeps his hand on the back of Cullen's neck; keeps their foreheads pressed together.