howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

The best way to discomfit Alistair, Cullen figures, is to do the opposite of what he expects. Alistair probably figures that Cullen will resist. The best strategic option, therefore, is to lean back into him, head falling back against Alistair's shoulder.

(That this yields other benefits is beside the point. This is strategy.)

"If you want her to spend hours explaining why that's a terrible waste of time and limbs," he murmurs -- his arms still folded tight, mind -- "then yes. By all means."

Hmmmm. Interesting strategy indeed, Rutherford.

Not that Alistair has any complaints: smirking, he nips lightly at Cullen's neck, and strokes a hand along one of Cullen's arms to trace out the ample muscle there.

"I expect I could cut that down to fifteen minutes with enough stupid questions. She'd just make one of those disgusted noises of hers and stomp off."

Cullen stifles a small sigh of pleasure, and closes his eyes.

"And you still wouldn't get what you want out of her."

"That depends on how soon I deploy the stupid questions," he murmurs against Cullen's throat. The hand not busy at Cullen's arm slips an inch lower, teasing. "I might be able to get a thing or two out of her first."

Cullen flexes. Just a little. Perhaps in warning?

"And then you'd be eaten by a dragon."

"Or," says Alistair, in tones of great enlightenment, "we could simply cut a hole in the roof with a saw."

He curls his fingers at Cullen's belly, venturing no lower for now.

"Some sense," Cullen says, cheerfully.

And turns his head just a little -- enough to meet Alistair's eye. "And now that we agree..."

"We can skip this charade, I can throw you over my shoulder, and we can go about consummating our marriage?"

Equally cheerful.

A quiet laugh. "Do we want to risk you throwing your back out?"

"I've lifted heavier things than you, love."

As if to demonstrate, he wraps his arms more firmly around Cullen's waist and lifts him an inch off the floor.

Cullen obligingly makes an exaggerated choking noise. "Not romantic, Theirin."

"Sorry -- " Laughing, as he sets Cullen down and gives him a much gentler squeeze. "Sorry. Gently nudging you onto the bed, then?"

That means Cullen won, right? Cullen definitely won.

He turns to face Alistair, winding his arms around his neck. "A reasonable compromise, I think."

Alistair is magnanimous enough to let Cullen believe that!

"Oh, good. What a relief," he murmurs before drawing Cullen close to kiss him, fervently.

(Apparently the bed can wait another moment.)

"Unless you follow through on your threat," Cullen mumbles into his ear, "I'll have to put on a shirt."

(There's a draft.)

Alistair breaks into laughter.

"Oh, now you've no patience for games?" He hooks two fingers into Cullen's waistband, pulling him toward the bed. "Come on, then."

Once they're closer to the mattress, he splays his hand over Cullen's abdomen and gives him a light shove, smirking all the while.

"I've plenty of patience for games," Cullen protests -- and flops dramatically back onto the mattress, and does his best to take up the whole damn thing. "Do you want me to catch a chill? And be even more difficult than usual?"

"Of course I don't."

If there's no room for Alistair, clearly that means he'll just have to climb on top of Cullen and straddle his hips. The smirk stays put.

"We'll have to find a way for you to stay warm."

"Like a coat," Cullen suggests. He wiggles a little under Alistair -- just enough to find a comfortable spot, of course.

Alistair hums in soft appreciation, rocking a little more of his weight against Cullen's hips.

"Here." Grinning, he unbuttons his shirt and shucks it free. It lands right on Cullen's face. "This might help."

Cullen stills, and huffs a a breath. Part of the fabric parachutes up, and then back down again.

Slowly, he raises one hand, hooks two fingers in the fabric, and pulls it down across his face just enough to reveal his eyes.

Which are glaring.

Accusingly.

Alistair, by contrast, wears a look of such innocence that Andraste Herself would weep.

....from laughter, maybe, but still.

"Too thin for the cold weather?"

Cullen narrows his eyes even further.

Nods.

"Oh, dear. I'm terribly sorry then, ser."

He whisks the shirt away from Cullen's face.

"That's colder," Cullen complains.