howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen huffs, and tucks his face against Alistair's neck. Alistair might be able to detect how red he's turned by the extreme heat radiating off his cheeks.

"Trebuchets," he grumbles, for lack of anything else to say.

"It wasn't always trebuchets," says Alistair peaceably. "Sometimes it was other tactic-y things."

He turns his head enough to kiss Cullen's hair.

Still grumbly:

"Go kiss a siege engine, then. Or -- whatever."

Struggling not to laugh: "I love you, too."

He squeezes Cullen's hand. Then, more sincerely, Alistair adds, "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Hmph," Cullen says into his shoulder.

Then:

"At least trebuchets don't turn me on."

Alistair splutters a laugh.

"That is not how I meant it, Rutherford -- "

"I don't think I believe you," Cullen says cheerfully.

Alistair groans.

"I meant that seeing you deep in thought over complex math problems is incredibly endearing and kind of attractive," he says. "Not that I want to have illicit relations with a trebuchet."

"But I'm not doing anything. The trebuchet's more believable."

"Is this where I remind you -- "

And his smile is crooked now.

"That I'll still love you no matter how much or how little you may do?"

"It's good to know," Cullen murmurs, kissing his neck. "But I didn't think we were talking about love."

He tips his head to the side with a soft hum.

"All right, lust then," he says, chuckling softly. "Or that simpler moment when you look at someone and realize, 'Oh no, they're quite cute.' Anyway, I could also argue that you were doing something at the time. You were thinking."

"You don't know that for certain." He does it again, taking his time. "I could have been meditating. The opposite of thinking."

Alistair breathes out, eyes slipping closed.

"I suppose you could have been," he murmurs. "Were you?"

He kisses his way up Alistair's neck again.

"Of course not." Smiling against his throat. "I was learning about integrals."

"I -- " His breath hitches, faintly. "Knew it. Mm."

Right. Focus.

"When you're meditating you close your eyes. Very obvious."

Cullen hums with amusement against his skin.

"We could just leave it with 'there's no accounting for taste.'"

Alistair starts to chuckle again. "If we must."

He insinuates himself more thoroughly against Cullen.

Softer, "So long as you keep doing that."

Cullen adjusts his hold on Alistair, pulling him more snugly to his chest.

"We'll be interrupted." No louder. "You know that."

A sigh. "I know."

He turns his head enough to shoot a small, rueful smile Cullen's way.

"We'll have time later."

Considerably later, perhaps, depending on how badly things go. But still.

Cullen kisses his cheek. Low, firm: "I'll make time."

Alistair's smile grows at the kiss.

"You treat me so well," he murmurs, slouching lower so he can tuck his face against the crook of Cullen's neck.

"You deserve it."

Cullen slips one hand into Alistair's hair.

"And more."

Alistair hums again, contented, and closes his eyes.

That uncertain feeling at the pit of his gut subsides. Cullen's good work, as usual. There will be time to nudge that again later, too; all he has to do now is wait.

Cullen rests his chin on top of Alistair's head, and does his best not to think about anything at all.

So when Josephine knocks, Cullen says, quietly, "Come in," and doesn't bother moving at all.

Josephine looks harried -- but something in her face softens at the two of them.

She says quietly, and precisely:

"Lavellan has disbanded the Inquisition. Effective immediately." Beat. "In front of the Council, so there's no taking it back."