howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Alistair fumbles for the lock. It takes a couple tries, but he manages to get it fastened.

Working at the buttons of his shirt -- getting them undone isn't proving any easier than getting the door locked -- he wanders back to Cullen's side. "Damn things," he says, half-laughing, around the fourth or fifth time a button slips out of his fingers.

Cullen's hands cover his, and squeeze.

"Not your job tonight, Theirin." And with that, he slips Alistair's hands out of the way and sets to work. "You don't want to deprive me of the pleasure."

"Mmm."

Goosebumps rise along his arms; his hands drift to Cullen's waist, settling there idly as he watches him undo each button, one by one. Whispered: "That'd be awful cruel of me, wouldn't it."

"And not in the good way."

He murmurs this against Alistair's throat.

"If you feel motivated -- " A kiss, lingering. "You could mark me. Where everyone could see."

His breath catches. Shivering, Alistair tips his head back to give Cullen more room.

"Yes." He cradles the back of Cullen's head, sliding his fingers into his hair. "Everyone'll know you're mine. Even before we run off to the Chantry they'll know."

He runs his tongue over Alistair's pulse point. It'll be impossible to get Alistair's shirt off, but far be it from Cullen to interrupt what he's doing.

Instead, he turns his attention to the laces of Alistair's trousers.

"All yours," he breathes. "Please. Please mark me."

"Come here -- "

He doesn't wait for Cullen to finish untying his trousers: Alistair pulls at his hair, gentle but firm, to draw Cullen's head up and expose his neck. He tightens his free hand in the hem of Cullen's shirt and scrapes his teeth along the bump of his throat, tongue tracing the faint roughness of his stubble.

Just beneath Cullen's ear, he bites a little harder.

Cullen's grip is tight on Alistair's hips, his breathing ragged. "Yes -- yes -- "

And then Alistair bites, and Cullen cries out, going boneless for just a moment -- enough to need to lean against Alistair. "Please," he manages. "More."

Enough, too, to unbalance Alistair; he staggers, catches himself and Cullen both, and falls back into laughter.

"Bed, love," he manages. "Before both of us fall over. C'mon."

He pushes Cullen in that direction.

Cullen stumbles, and braces himself against the door jamb. He's a little slow to stand upright.

"Theirin," he says mildly, and moves toward the bed without looking back. "You'll be the death of me yet."

"Give yourself credit," says Alistair. "You're far hardier than that."

He winds a hand into Cullen's shirt again, and drops onto the mattress in something that's more like a slow, deliberate toppling than anything. Wasting no time, he gets back to work at Cullen's neck, nipping right next to the (already reddening) spot, moving an inch lower to suck out another mark.

Cullen whines, the noise sharp in his throat. He pulls his legs up, squeezing Alistair's hips with his thighs, rocking against him.

What was it Alistair just said? -- oh.

"No I'm not."

Oh that's nice. The ale's...inhibiting things somewhat, but if the sharp hitch to Alistair's breath is any indication, he's still enjoying himself.

"I'd argue," he murmurs against Cullen's throat, "but I think my mouth's put to better use here."

He strips off his shirt and starts fumbling for Cullen's, continuing his slow track down Cullen's neck as he does.

"You agree?"

Shivering, Cullen runs his palms up and down Alistair's back.

"To anything. Anything you want."

"Good."

He moves to the other side of Cullen's neck, tracing out a spot with his tongue before he bites again. "Help me with your shirt?"

If Alistair couldn't get his own shirt off, it was perhaps overly idealistic to think he'd be able to get Cullen's off.

Cullen blinks at Alistair; he's not quite able to process thought at the moment. "You mean...?"

Ah. He immediately starts squirming, tugging his shirt over his head.

"Yes." Laughing. "There you go. Good man."

Thanks to Cullen's earlier assistance, Alistair doesn't have nearly as much difficulty shucking off his own trousers. He pins Cullen's wrists to the mattress as soon as he's done; the next bite is at his collarbone.

"Fuck," Cullen hisses, writhing happily under Alistair. "Yes. That."

Just because Cullen has a preference for Alistair marking him in visible places doesn't mean every mark has to be visible. Laughing softly, he rocks his hips against Cullen as he works his way further down his chest, leaving a fresh mark every couple of inches.

"I love seeing you like this," he whispers against Cullen's belly. "Can't wait to do this when I'm your husband."

He licks a stripe from the waistband of Cullen's trousers up to his navel.

Cullen arches his back, hissing softly; his fingertips dig into Alistair.

Challenging (or as challenging as he can, under the circumstances): "What's the difference going to be?"

"I'll be your husband."

Laces: much easier to navigate than buttons. Alistair pulls Cullen's trousers down just enough to take him in hand.

Beaming up at Cullen: "That makes everything better."

Cullen gasps. The fingers of one hand tangle in Alistair's hair.

Another challenge. "How's that, then?"

(Because if Alistair can make it clear -- well. Cullen would like to hear it.)

"Those marks you'll have tomorrow."

Slowly, he works his hand up and down, up and down.

"Before now, if you had them, everyone assumed I gave them to you. Tomorrow, they'll know. Even people who've never spoken to us. 'Ah, the Commander's husband must have claimed him there.'"

A quick swipe of his tongue.

"Everyone really will know you're mine."

Cullen shudders softly. He makes himself breathe; no fun letting Alistair off too quickly.

"You old gossip," he manages, eyes glinting at Alistair. "You want to make them talk. Watch me -- ah -- have to walk among them, waiting to see who's noticed."

Serenely: "But they won't be talking about that handsome eligible bachelor anymore."

He touches his mouth to the inside of Cullen's thigh. In contrast to the bites along Cullen's neck, the kiss is downright gentle.

"No more asking after your lineage. No more Josephine pestering you to be nice to the fair maidens of Orlais when they try to chase you down. Just you -- " A kiss to his other thigh. "And me. For as long as we both shall live."