howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen laughs softly, and shifts himself upright. "Never. Back soon."

He pulls up a smile, lopsided but genuine. "Thank you, love."

And once Cullen's gone, he flops back onto the pillows with a louder grumble as he tries to will the hangover out of existence.

Cullen returns with bread, cheese, and a steaming cup of tea. He puts his burden on the table beside Alistair, and bends down to kiss the top of his head.

Alistair's smile grows. "My favorite," he murmurs.

Tea seems like a good idea first. He takes careful sips; his stomach grumbles, but not overly so. Good. If this hangover denies him cheese on his wedding day, he'll be quite vexed.

...His wedding day.

"How long before the Council?"

"An hour." Regret crosses his face. "It... probably this afternoon? Unless you want to eat on the way to finding a revered mother."

Alistair winces, rueful. "Probably best I don't," he admits. "I'd rather have a clear head when I say my vows anyway."

Cullen can't quite quash a dopey grin as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Which reminds me." He clears his throat. "I said I'd ask again. Is this something you want?"

Even through the hangover malaise, Alistair's whole face lights up in a bright smile.

"Yes." He holds out a hand to Cullen. "I want to marry you. I will."

Cullen takes his hand. He's pinked, some; he has to clear his throat again before he says, "All right.

He lifts Alistair's hand to his lips.

"All right," he echoes, soft and warm.

He slips his hand to the back of Cullen's neck, drawing him down for a proper kiss.

When it breaks, he leans his forehead against Alistair's.

"You're killing me, Theirin." Low. Content. "You know I can't stay."

"I know." He tips his head back to kiss Cullen's forehead. "More of this after. We'll get an early start on the honeymoon."

Beat.

"Also," cheerful, "I know you hate the outfit, but you do look quite dashing all dressed up like this."

"Ugh." Cullen straightens, scowling. "You were doing so well."

"Sorry." Laughing a little, creakily. "Sorry, love. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He snags a bit of the bread.

That earns Alistair a small smirk. "Really. I'd like to hear your best idea, then."

"I'm not sure I need to share."

Another bite of bread; he mirrors Cullen's smirk.

"You seemed to have quite a lot of good ones last night."

"Those were my ideas," Cullen says placidly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Now I'd like to hear yours."

"Mm."

As casual as he can, punctuated by a sip of tea.

"Well. You did mention coming to me in private to ask for more correction, yes? I wonder what I might have on hand to help with that, aside from my...hands."

Cullen does his best to cover his reaction with a cough.

Unfortunately, his face matches his jacket.

When he recovers: "Such as...? A warhammer, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that."

So serene, as he watches Cullen over the rim of his cup.

"I was thinking smaller. Lighter. Might throw in some ropes as well."

Too bad for Alistair: Cullen's had a chance to recover something resembling composure.

"So that's it? Too long hanging around Bull?"

Alistair snorts, amused.

"Look, Rutherford, out of the kindness of my heart I'm trying not to get you too hot and bothered before you have to go sit in front of the Divine for Maker knows how many hours." Beat; without changing his tone, "Also, I'm hungover and you're lucky I strung together several mildly sexy words at all."

Cullen laughs. "Yes. There it is."

He ruffles Alistair's hair. "When you've returned to the living, wait for me by the tavern. I'll come as soon as I can."

Alistair scowls playfully, but makes no attempt to fend off the hair-ruffling.

"Yes, ser," he says. "And good luck, all right? I love you."

"It won't be that bad," Cullen says, with wry confidence. "Hadn't you noticed by now? My job is to stand there and look pretty."

One final kiss, and Cullen slips out of the room.

The first one he sees upon exiting the house is Varric -- tailed, of course, by Seneschal Bran, who appears to want to ignore Cullen as much as possible.

Varric observes that Curly is looking very relaxed, if not well-rested, and appears to be making an attempt to waggle his chest hair.

Cullen can't even bring himself to roll his eyes.