howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Anything," he murmurs in Alistair's ear, and picks up the pace, rocking gently. "Any time."

It's not a true release, but it's an outlet: Alistair grinds against him, matching his pace.

That's better. He can think a little more clearly now. (A very little.) He's not so dizzy with overwhelming need, so long as Cullen keeps that up.

"I could strip you at the start of the meeting," he whispers eventually, breath hot against Cullen's skin. "Imagine what they'd think, you standing there naked. They'd see how beautiful you are and they'd know only I can touch you. No one else."

He digs in his nails again.

"Mine."

His breath hitches; his back arches.

Low, fierce:

"And what would you do when someone tried?"

"Push them away. Punish them. Make it very -- very clear that you're not to be touched. And if -- "

A brief, involuntary gasp; his grip tightens.

"If they ever do so again they'll suffer far worse consequences. I won't share you. I won't let anyone but me lay a finger on you."

Cullen shudders. Alistair's words wash over him like cool water on a hot day -- instant relief that promises to last forever.

Safe, he thinks.

"Please," he whispers.

"Please what?"

His thigh moves, reflexively.

"Keep them away. Let me serve you."

"Always." He grips Cullen's hair. "Always. Ah -- I promise, love. You're mine as long as I live and I'll always keep you safe."

Tears sting his eyes, and Cullen knows he shouldn't think about why that might be. Not right now.

Fortunately there's a reason for him to look away. He bares his throat, head turning with Alistair's grip. He runs his palms up and down Alistair's bare sides.

With a tremor: "At your order."

"Good." He kisses Cullen's neck -- for now, he doesn't add another bite to the growing constellation of marks. "Good."

When Cullen's hands reach his waist, Alistair catches one of them; guides it to his front. Laughing a little, "Want to see if we can get this behaving better so I can fuck you properly?"

All things considered, it's not very difficult to shove whatever horrid emotion that might be into the abyss where it belongs.

Cullen tightens his grip.

Peaceful:

"Oh, I suppose."

Another soft laugh, trailing into a hum. He pushes into Cullen's hand and winds his arms more firmly around him.

"No more drinking games with the Chargers while we're here," he says. "Promise."

Cullen (carefully) runs his thumbnail up the underside, and then grips Alistair more lightly, because he is a monster.

Gravely: "Did you win?"

Alistair shudders, ecstatic, as his back arches.

-- right, yes, Cullen asked him a question.

"Yes," he manages. "I think. If the point was to drink a lot, yes."

Cullen laughs, and gently twists his hand around Alistair. "My champion."

Either Alistair's finally beginning to sober up a tad, or all of their combined machinations are finally beginning to transcend the alcohol. The movement in Cullen's hand isn't much, but it's definitely something.

"Anything for you," says Alistair, trying to catch his breath. "Next time -- when we're not here -- I'll be certain to stand on a table and declare my victory for your favor."

"Mm."

Cullen leans up and kisses him, hot, and fierce. So much for Alistair catching his breath.

"You have it," he whispers.

Alistair shivers. His head spins; he leans it against Cullen as he rolls his hips against Cullen's hand.

Come on, he thinks. Just a little more.

"Always?"

"Always." He moves his hand a little more swiftly, grip tightening. "The only one. Always."

He exhales a small, giddy laugh. "I love you," he whispers.

Alistair draws his wandering focus to the feel of Cullen's body heat; Cullen's hand; Cullen's breath against his cheek. He pictures everything Cullen said to him earlier. A crowded office; Cullen on his knees; Alistair holding off as long as he can, still trying to conduct business, before giving in to the feel of Cullen's mouth with utmost abandon.

All because Alistair simply asked.

"I think," he breathes, a bit shakily, a few moments later, "I think we can get the oil."

Take that, Orlesian ale.

Cullen huffs a laugh against Alistair's neck. "We can wait until later. If you'd rather."

It's an impressive effort, either way.

Alistair shakes his head -- but, almost immediately after, he says, "Do you want to wait?"

It...might be better, or at least easier, in the morning, but he doesn't want Cullen to fall asleep unsatisfied. (Their earlier exploits notwithstanding.)

He nips at Alistair's shoulder. "I want what you want, Theirin."

Alistair laughs, low and helpless; how many times have they hit the same impasse in the years they've been together?

"I want you to enjoy yourself." He thrusts into Cullen's hand again. With some reluctance, he admits, "But...you might enjoy yourself more tomorrow."

Who knows how long Alistair will stay up, considering how long it took to get him there.

Cullen is laughing too; now he presses a kiss to Alistair's shoulder. "All I want right now is for you to fall asleep satisfied. That's all. You've done well by me, my love."