howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Perhaps I'll find some time to draft something tomorrow." Another kiss.

Alistair hums, sinking into the kiss. When it breaks: "I look forward to it, whenever it may arrive."

"...in front of an audience?" Cullen hazards, full of innocence.

He snorts out a laugh.

"If you're so inclined, I won't object."

(Alistair totally expects the audience to consist of a random bird and one of the feral barn cats.)

They're only feral if they don't like you!

"Really."

"Really." Cheerful, and matching Cullen on innocence. "You might make me blush, ser, but I won't object."

"So that's... yes on Dorian and Bull, then."

Alistair groans, burying his face against Cullen as his shoulder shake with silent laughter.

(You brought this on yourself, Theirin.)

Cullen sinks his fingers in Alistair's hair. "Consider how much mortification I'm willing to endure to show you how much I love you." Amused, but no less sincere.

"I'm considering it," he says, muffled (and still laughing a little). "And I'm honored."

He lifts his head so he can meet Cullen's gaze.

"Truly."

"For you, Theirin? I'd enlist Varric."

His eyes widen fractionally.

"Not that I've ever had reason to question your devotion," he murmurs, and brushes a kiss over Cullen's cheek, "but now I definitely don't."

Cullen laughs quietly, and ruffles Alistair's hair.

"There's a way it could work," he says. "I relay my sentiments, and Varric... translates them. But that's the only way. He'd demand to edit my remarks otherwise."

Alistair wrinkles his nose at the hair-ruffling, but it's all for show: he's smiling, contented, as he rests his head on Cullen's chest.

"At the risk of insulting Skyhold's resident wordsmith," he says, "I'd rather hear your words than any of his."

"I won't have any metaphors," Cullen warns, threading his fingers through Alistair's hair in an attempt to make it stand on end. "Of course, Varric won't have any good ones... but he'll have them."

"Probably something about love being like a trebuchet filled with livestock."

Beat.

"...Don't ask me to continue that metaphor, I've no idea where I could possibly go with it."

"...messy, disorganized, and frequently leaves a stench upon its logical conclusion?"

Alistair cracks up.

Somewhere amidst the laughter, the words so romantic can just barely be heard.

Cullen is laughing too, despite himself.

"Better all round if Varric knows nothing."

"Indeed," manages Alistair, before lifting his head to kiss Cullen soundly.

A pleased mm, as Cullen tightens his hold on Alistair.

"...you said there was pie."

This, in contrast, is a little shifty.

Alistair laughs.

"There is," he says. "There are several pies, in fact. And a bottle of wine if you're in the mood. Shall I fetch the basket?"

Cullen... isn't letting go. And also considering this carefully.

"Difficult decision."

"I'm telling you," says Alistair, as solemn as he can. (He's not moving, either.) "Borrow some of Lel's ravens and train them to bring us food. We have to make it happen."

"Absolutely not." Peaceful.