howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Would that make something that makes you hung over also revenge juice?"

Alistair considers this.

Thoughtful: "No, that's just cruel juice. Tricks you into having a good time and then bam!"

He nudges Cullen for emphasis on the last.

"Sneaks up behind you with a club."

"Sounds more like murder juice to me."

"Murder juice," he echoes, eyes wide with something close to delight. "Even better."

"...oh no." He thunks his head back into the pillow for dramatic effect. "I've given you ideas again."

Alistair pats him and says, with unholy cheer, "You really ought to be more careful about that, Commander."

"Welcome back to Skyhold, Cullen," Cullen says to the ceiling. "There's a mountain of paper on your desk taller than the ones outside, Cullen. Sera's stolen a trebuchet but we allegedly have it under control, Cullen. Alistair's getting ideas about how to weaponize the wine cellar and Leliana and Vivienne are excited about the possibilities, Cullen. I think I'm going to go jump off the battlements."

"But," says Alistair, and trails his fingers from Cullen's navel up to his chest, "you have privacy again, Cullen."

"Your ideas of privacy -- "

He pauses long enough to snag Alistair's fingers and kiss them.

" -- appear to be incompatible with peace and quiet."

"Well."

Serenely.

"You keep giving me ideas."

"True."

A loud sigh.

"I suppose I should go to sleep, then, lest I give you any more. Good night. Stay on your side of the bed, would you?"

Laughing, "Oh, no you don't -- "

Alistair grabs him by the waist and rolls over to pull Cullen atop him.

Cullen lets out an obliging squawk.

"What's that supposed to achieve?"

"I can't get to my side of the bed now," says Alistair, cheerful once more. "Tragic, really. I'll just have to stay put."

"And I'm stuck," Cullen says, plaintive. "What about peace and quiet?"

"You've seen me be quiet!" he protests. "...Sometimes."

A beat.

"We could be quiet while eating pie."

Cullen thinks about this.

"Only," he says, solemn, "because I'm in an excellent position to get crumbs all over you."

Alistair snorts. "It's a burden I'll have to bear, I suppose," he says. "All right. Basket's -- "

He waves a vague hand toward the foot of the bed.

" -- over there...somewhere. Ish."

Cullen rolls over and peers at the floor, brightening quickly.

The basket as a whole comes up, but he immediately seizes upon a bottle of wine. "This one's mine."

"Ah, yes," intones Alistair, with as much snootiness as he can muster. "I see you've selected our best murder juice vintage."

He grabs another bottle, plus one of the pies.

"Cabot foisted some wine glasses on me as well," he adds with another laugh. "He's more optimistic than he lets on."

"Perhaps another time." Cullen settles back against the headboard; he's got a pie in one hand and the bottle in the other. "I intend to make efficient use of these last few hours."

"Agreed."

Alistair nestles close; taps his bottle against Cullen's, gently. "To a few hours of peace, quiet, and no wine glasses."

"And no stairs," he says with satisfaction, and drinks deeply.

(It's true that Cullen doesn't care to drink too much. But they're back in Skyhold, and tomorrow -- )

Fortunately, Cullen says that before Alistair takes a gulp of his own wine. He snorts, loudly, and lifts his bottle a few inches in agreement.

The drink's excellent -- thank you, Cabot, as always -- and sets to warming Alistair's belly in short order. The pie's even better, flaky and flavorful and filled with meat that hasn't been salted to the Anderfels and back. Maker, he's missed real food.

(He could get a little -- inebriated. A little.)

Between bites:

"How's Kieran?"