howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen leans in again and says, barely a whisper, "There's reason to think we've already got one."

He's starting to look a little pinched around the eyes.

"They're organized, Alistair."

Alistair breathes out a curse, barely audible. He tightens his arm around Cullen.

(He can feel his gut tightening to match. Calculated follows too easily from organized; if the Qunari are marshalling an organized force and aiming it for Halamshiral -- )

Cullen closes his eyes for just a moment: it's all he can allow himself to do.

"At least it started out a nice day." No louder.

"It did." He touches his lips to Cullen's brow. "And we'll have more nice days ahead. Just have to..."

Alistair trails off into a rueful sigh that does a fine job of finishing the sentence on its own.

Just have to make it through this.

Just have to endure, again.

Cullen sighs as well.

Softly:

"When you're done with..." He nods at the sword. "Let's retreat to the house. We're meeting in the cellar when the time comes anyhow."

If Josephine or Leliana saw him this undone, they'd never let him hear the end of it -- and they'd be right.

"I can finish up later." He chances a smile. "A blacksmith'll have to look at a few of the rusty bits anyway. And the sword I've already got is plenty useful."

The sooner Cullen can have a little shelter, the better, as far as Alistair's concerned.

He gives Alistair a small smile.

Says, lightly:

"At your order, Theirin."

Alistair's smile grows. He steals a brief, but heartfelt kiss.

"Then I order," he says, as he sheathes Calenhad's sword, "that we return to the house, climb into bed, and rest a while without any talking whatsoever." He gets to his feet. "...Or with minimal talking."

(He knows himself.)

Alistair holds out a hand to Cullen.

"Far more realistic," Cullen says softly, slipping his hand in Alistair's.

In the house's sitting room, Josie says that Most Holy will be joining them to wait for news. Cullen responds that he and Alistair will be upstairs, but will be ready to move at a moment's notice.

(This is the best way he can think of to say do not expect a sock on the doorknob.)

As soon as they're in their bedroom, with the door firmly shut, Alistair draws Cullen close and winds his arms around him.

"I love you," he whispers. "I promise we'll have a wonderful honeymoon after all this. Anything you want."

Cullen links his arms around Alistair's waist, tucking his face into Alistair's neck.

When he's sure he's under control, he settles his chin on Alistair's shoulder and murmurs, "Stone-Bear Hold? Away from the spiders. And gurguts. And everybody."

"So long as you promise to do one feat of strength for me."

He threads his fingers through Cullen's curls.

"Doesn't even have to be a public one."

He sighs, soft, content.

"For you, I'd manage two or three."

A quiet laugh. "Riches beyond imagining," he murmurs in Cullen's ear, warmly, as his fingers continue their work.

Those are very good sounds and Cullen likes them a lot. He does his best to winkle even closer, which is difficult, given they're still standing. "With or without a shirt, as you choose."

Ever the helpful one, Alistair wraps his arms even more securely around Cullen.

"Shirtless, of course," he says with another soft laugh. "I would never turn down a chance to see you without your shirt."

He lifts his head a little. "That sounds like you think this tunic is terrible and I should get rid of it."

(Hopefully.)

"It's the worst." Solemn. "I think we should throw it in the fire during our honeymoon as well. Can I help you out of it?"

"I'll get out of it faster if I do it." Cullen pulls away, just a little -- enough to start undoing buttons. "Don't want you to get distracted."

"I suppose that's fair." He spreads his hand at the base of Cullen's neck, traveling down Cullen's spine until he can lace his fingers together at the small of his back. "I can get a bit distracted when you're taking off your clothes."

Cheerfully innocent.

Cullen laughs quietly, and turns in Alistair's arms -- the better for Alistair to ease the horrible tunic off his shoulders. "You'll make me too vain to function, Theirin. Careful."

"If it's yet to happen in two years, I think you'll be all right," says Alistair, peaceably, as he slides the tunic off. He presses a kiss to the nape of Cullen's neck. "Besides, all I'm saying are true things."

Cullen huffs a breath and pulls his shirt over his head. "I do hate it when you're right."

Then, free of clothing on the upper half of his body, he leans back against Alistair. "Better?"

"Mmm. Much, yes."

He runs his hands down Cullen's bare sides; circles them in front to pull Cullen closer.

"Handsome man."

Cullen snorts; it's in an effort to cover a shiver. "What did I just say about vanity?"

He leans his head against Alistair's.