howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"What?" He lifts an eyebrow, tips his head enough to look up at Cullen. "Me, exaggerate? Never."

He's finally hit a full, bright grin.

"Not even once," Cullen agrees, smile warming in response. He gently tugs a tuft of Alistair's hair. "Liars eat nothing but porridge, you know."

Alistair wrinkles his nose.

"Good thing someone had the foresight to bring some wine and pie up here, then."

"A stroke of brilliance, really."

"Now I'll just have to ration it very carefully." He snags Cullen's free hand, twining their fingers together. "Delay my sad, porridgy fate as long as possible."

"I see you're trying another strategy."

He strokes Alistair's hand with his thumb.

"Turn yourself into a limpet to leech off my breakfast. Clever."

Alistair puts on the most innocent expression he can muster.

"Is it going to work?"

"I'm not sure how I'd counter such a tactic," he returns, gravely. "I suppose you'll succeed."

"Mm. Well, then."

There's not much space left between them, but Alistair does his damnedest to snuggle closer anyway.

"I ought to practice now so I'm in fine form by morning."

"As long as you leave me some breakfast."

Cullen disentangles their fingers in order to bring both arms tight around Alistair.

"Of course."

He tips his head, the better to nuzzle the underside of Cullen's jaw.

"I can be a generous and fair limpet."

"Mm." Content. "Of course you are. Leaving me an entire crust of bread."

"Have a heart," he protests. (Or, well, murmurs against Cullen's neck.) "I'd save you a whole slice. I'd even put jam on it."

Cullen arches his neck. "Jam. Perfect. Could even leave the bread off."

He laughs, softly, a light rumble at Cullen's pulse point. "Just a spoon and a jar, then? Hm. I suppose it'd be very portable if you couldn't finish your whole breakfast."

Just as lightly, he kisses Cullen's neck.

"Brilliant, Commander."

Cullen shivers pleasantly, and confides, "Not really. I just like jam."

Alistair dissolves into snickers.

"You know what I ought to do sometime," he says, before trailing another soft line of kisses along Cullen's jaw. "Ask them to make you a batch of shortbread sandwiches with jam in the middle. For a special occasion."

His fingers dig into Alistair's flesh; he sighs.

"Not every day?" Plaintive.

His back arches, just a little.

"Bit like our neighbor's wine, isn't it." No less gentle, he nips at Cullen's earlobe. "We have to have regular shortbread sometimes so we can appreciate the jam and shortbread better."

Cullen catches his breath, and protests, "Then it ought to be for more than just special occasions."

"We can make up our own special occasions."

He flattens his palm against Cullen; slowly draws it across his belly.

"Had a pleasant morning. Saw three birds in the sky. Didn't run across any druffalo in our barn."

"Jam and shortbread are useful by themselves. Very different situation -- " He taps the back of Alistair's hand. " -- from the whole wine thing. No occasion necessary."

"Hmmmm."

Alistair makes a great show of considering this, which has the (perhaps unfortunate) side effect of making him pause mid-caress.

At last, lofty: "I'm doubtful of your logic, ser, but since this means I might get jam and shortbread too, I won't argue."

"We've achieved an accord," he murmurs into Alistair's hair. "A landmark day."

"We should -- "

Alistair starts to snicker.

"We should celebrate with jam and shortbread."