howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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."

"All right."

Grinning, Alistair sneaks a proper kiss.

"Then keep doing that," he murmurs. "Seems to be working well so far, doesn't it?"

"You tell me," Cullen says, and picks up the pace. "You're in a much better position to know."

A snicker. "Yes. It definitely -- is."

The last word hitches and twists in time with Cullen's hand.

"Maker."

More soft laughter. "No one here by that name."

"Cullen." He shuts his eyes. "Cullen, yes. Please -- "

(Cullen pleasuring himself; Cullen asking for permission to make himself come; all in front of everyone, just because Alistair asked --

And Alistair could step in and say no; only I get to do that, Rutherford. Could take Cullen in hand and finish him off, with Cullen thanking him all the while -- Maker, Maker -- )

"Yours."

Voice low, a little hoarse.

"Always yours. Tell me what you need."

"Exactly this." He kisses Cullen, open-mouthed, hungry. "Don't stop. Tell me -- "

A small gasp.

"Tell me more about that meeting. You and me. Everything you'd do if I asked."

Another low laugh; this one turns into a hum against Alistair's throat.

"What wouldn't I do. Let's see. Anything to myself, if you asked it -- I'd do it. You wanted to bend me over the table, have me while you conducted your business?" He loosens his grip, suddenly -- only long enough to keep Alistair on edge. "I'd praise your name any way you wanted while you held me still for your pleasure. You could test me. See how long I can touch myself without spilling. If I make it to the end... a reward."

Cullen catches Alistair's lower lip gently between his teeth, and whispers, "But I really like thinking about what you'd do to me in front of all those people if I needed your correction. Would that please you?"

"Yes." He bucks against Cullen, breathing harder, voice shaky. "Yes. What do you think about? Tell me. Please."

With his other hand he smooths pathways up and down Alistair's side.

"You'd say -- " Alistair is hot in his hand, and for one wild and selfish moment Cullen thinks he ought to reach for the oil anyway. " -- that I'd disappointed you. That I should beg you for the chance to do better. And I would fall to my knees. Bend my neck. Beg you -- beg you -- to discipline me. Make me perfect for you, and you alone."

Another brief catch of Alistair's lower lip. "What if I spilled early, because I slipped and thought too much about how well you gave it to me? I'm for you, you'd tell me. All for you. What do you think they would do if you turned me over your knee right there? If you gave me the gift of your correction? Think about how tender I'd get under your hand with every strike. Think about how I could show you my gratitude for making me better. You could leave me there until I got hard again -- and then you'd have me stand next to your chair, where a servant stands, where they could all look at me and know how well you command me. How generous you are with your attention. How -- "

A twist of his wrist. " -- consummate your commitment to perfection. And later, if you saw fit to summon me alone... how red I'd get as I begged you for more of that correction. Please, my lord, I'd whisper. Please. Make me whole for your pleasure."

Cullen's hand twists; Alistair cries out, burying his face against Cullen's shoulder as he grinds helplessly against him. "Yes," he's gasping, "yes -- "

And separate from all this: tomorrow, Cullen will walk around Halamshiral, his neck ringed in marks declaring Alistair's ownership. No need to imagine that. It's true.

With a few more quick strokes of Cullen's hand, Alistair comes -- and Cullen gets another mark as he bites his shoulder in an effort to muffle his cry.

Cullen closes his eyes. (And winces, a little.)

He slides his other hand up Alistair to cup the nape of his neck, the back of his head, whispering small endearments all the while.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't smug. That... well. That surprised even him. He's going to have to think about all that.

At length.

In private.

"Wow," Alistair breathes after a long, long moment.

That was...that was something. That was good. Unexpectedly good; he didn't think Cullen's words would hit the base of his spine that hard.

(Later, he'll wonder why, and frown a little. Cringe back from how good it felt to think of treating Cullen that way. Now? He's far too dazed to care.)

Boneless, he curls up more comfortably in Cullen's arms, smiling a little goofily.

Cullen shifts to accommodate Alistair better, working his arm out from under and rubbing Alistair's lower back in small, smooth circles.

He doesn't say anything just yet, but leans his cheek against Alistair's hair.

Alistair closes his eyes, sighing quietly.

With a trace of laughter: "Consider me satisfied, ser."