howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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.)

"Yes, but -- "

But I don't want to make things worse. Bad enough to lose a partner; to lose a husband within scant years, possibly even months, of getting married --

Very quiet, another voice chimes in. Well. All the more reason to do it, then, isn't it?

They've been wholly committed to each other for years now. A marriage wouldn't change that for ill; it'd just -- codify things. And a few months, or years, of calling Cullen his husband would be far better than having no time at all. Wouldn't it?

The longing in his chest swells greater. His eyes are bright; his face aches, and he realizes he's beaming bright enough to light half of Orlais.

"I'd like that," he says, softly. "I'd want that. Yes."

"Well."

Cullen clears his throat.

"Then we should..."

As long as he lives, he will never forget the look on Alistair's face. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Do that, then. Soon."

"Yes." He cups Cullen's face in both hands. "Yes. Maker, Cullen -- "

He draws him into a long kiss. Well...he intends for it to be a long kiss. The delighted laughter keeps getting in the way.

He feels like his whole body is made of light; he's dizzy, overwhelmed by it. Every time he has to come up for air, he whispers, I love you, and it's as if the light pulses that much brighter.

Everything has happened very fast, and it takes Cullen a little bit for the rest of him to catch up to where Alistair is. He's wound his arms around Alistair, one hand fisting in his shirt; he realizes, slowly, they're rocking back and forth, as gentle and predictable and necessary as the tides.

"Mine," he murmurs finally. "Alistair. You're mine. And I'm yours."

"Always," he whispers -- and that just makes him grin harder. "In the eyes of the Maker and everything soon enough. Cullen, I -- "

He breaks off there to kiss him again.

"...Do you want to do it here? Maybe without the bells so it doesn't raise too many eyebrows when the Commander runs off to get married in the middle of an Exalted Council?"

"After what Lavellan's done, no one will be looking at me," Cullen says -- with some satisfaction. "We could do it while they're in session, even. I won't be required to sit through it all."

Alistair snorts a laugh. "Perfect. Much more preferable to whatever's going to happen over there."

Another kiss, lighter.

Only half-joking, "Or we could do it right now. Run to the Chantry before they've finished disassembling everything from Lavellan and Sera's party."

For just a moment, Cullen is ready to do it, but then --

But then he thinks.

"Tomorrow." Softly. "I can't risk a hangover in the morning, and we'd get caught by the Chargers. And you should know -- " A small smile. "I'll ask you again in the morning, when the ale's worn off."