howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"You and me both," he murmurs, wry. "I've no idea what any of them look like any more. Just... march over to South Reach and look for the farm full of loud curly-headed blondes, I suppose. A local attraction. Can't miss it."

"And then from afar comes the mysterious quiet curly-headed blonde," intones Alistair. "Just to add some variety."

"More like from afar comes the mysterious stranger with a very small golem, and his dull, unremarkable retainer."

"You are not," Alistair protests. "You're very remarkable. And -- shiny. Interesting. Don't forget handsome too. And I love you a lot."

"That's you," Cullen retorts, mildly. He's still cradling Alistair's hand in both of his; his thumb strokes the back, back and forth, back and forth. "You're biased."

Alistair wrinkles his nose; it's even odds whether that's in response to the first half of Cullen's statement or the second.

"Maybe, but I still think you're wonderful. And I still love you. So there."

Cullen hums, the noise low in his throat; it's not quite a laugh, not quite a snort.

"While I'm grateful and arguably undeserving, the fact remains that at this moment, I'm not shiny, unless you've had more tonight than I thought at first. And I'll disagree flatly with interesting."

"Mm. Remind me to argue that point better when I'm sober."

He turns his head just enough to kiss Cullen's jawline.

"Otherwise we're just going to spend the rest of this very lovely night going 'no I'm not,' 'yes you are,' 'no I'm not' -- "

Now Cullen laughs, no louder, and pinks a little -- for whatever difference that makes in the dark.

"Yes," he says. "We are."

Alistair descends into another round of snickering.

Fondly: "We're terribly predictable sometimes, aren't we."

He traces lines over Alistair's palm. "Don't tell my siblings that. They'll use it against us."

He hums, softly, at Cullen's touch.

"Not a word," he murmurs. "For all they'll know we make every choice by flipping a coin. Everything left to chance."

Slowly, carefully, Cullen places a kiss in Alistair's palm.

Soft: "Good man."

A long, contented sigh; Alistair nestles closer, daring to let his eyes drift closed a moment.

This is perfect, he thinks, a bit hazily.

Cullen's right there with him. It's simple. It's good. And if Alistair wants to be up here all night... it's not as though Cullen didn't already have plans for the next day that will have a poor effect on his mood.

Another kiss, then, and a third.

His hand curls inward, just a little. The backs of his knuckles brush Cullen's jaw; Alistair uncurls his fingers, settling his palm against Cullen's cheek.

Smiling, he trails his thumb across the scar above Cullen's lip, then leans up to kiss him properly.

"Do you want to go in." Low, with only a slight tremor. "Or we could -- wait."

Alistair smiles. He brushes his lips over Cullen's pulse, and murmurs against his neck, "I could do with a little time inside, couldn't you?"

"I -- "

Bells ring.

From a small distance, Sera yells, That's our bells, nobbers! We frigging win! Her unmistakable cackle drifts closer as she and Lavellan streak by. Lavellan is in the uniform. And Sera -- Sera is in a white dress.

Josephine's problem, Cullen thinks with a shiver, and turns his attention back to Alistair. "I hope it's rather more than a little."

Alistair, alas, continues staring after Lavellan and Sera, transfixed. "Was that -- ?"

And he cracks up, sagging against Cullen. He manages to cup a hand around his mouth and call, "Congratulations!" toward the rapidly dimming flash of white, but even that's more laughter than word.

(The perils of drinking: Alistair often becomes very distractible.)

"You don't think they -- ?"

"I think they did." Delighted. "Honestly, why else would Sera ever put on a dress?"

All Cullen can hear for a moment is his own heartbeat.

And then, as though from a far distance, he asks:

"Is that something you would want?"

Alistair grows still. He turns to Cullen, eyes wide.

"I -- " Hesitant. (Some great yearning stirs in his chest, but he can't acknowledge it yet; he can't. Not until he's sure.) "Would you be all right with it? With me...probably not living much longer?"

A beat.

Very wry, "Not to put too large a damper on the evening or anything."

What a ridiculous question.

Cullen ignores Alistair's last words and says, briskly, "I can't see how that's relevant to the question. I'm here, aren't I?"

(Cullen gets a little waspish when he's nervous.)