howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

You'll have to make a decision quickly. Either don't come home and meet me in Halamshiral, or come home and have a day or two before turning for Orlais. They've called an Exalted Council. Josephine, Lavellan, and I must speak for the Inquisition in front of Orlais, Ferelden, and Divine Victoria. Two of those parties appear to be hostile to our continued existence. I will leave it to you to contemplate which two.

Be safe, Alistair, and go with my love.

Cullen doesn't bother signing it.

The library is silent. No one is in the rotunda -- Solas's rotunda, he thinks, even after all this time. There are always people in the yard, but many fewer than before.

(It's downright lonely, when Alistair travels. Cullen will never complain to him. Not after the last few years.)

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He winds his arms around him, just as snug. Lightly, "Every so often I have a flash of a good idea."

Alistair kisses him tenderly.

Deeply content, he insinuates a leg between Alistair's, and hooks his other foot over Alistair's ankle.

When he can manage it: "Oftener than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm glad you're around to remind me of it," he murmurs. Alistair threads his fingers through Cullen's hair. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

The words are light enough; the sentiment isn't.

"You'd get by."

Cullen rubs his thigh up against Alistair, very innocently.

"Probably have a bit less fun, though."

Alistair's breath catches. Without thinking, he rocks against Cullen's leg.

"Much less, I'd daresay."

Cullen laughs, low and warm, and nips at Alistair's throat.

"Not likely. I haven't let you get ninety per cent of the statues you want."

Another soft gasp, as his fingers tighten in Cullen's hair.

"Lots of wedding anniversaries coming up," he manages. "There's time yet."

Who's making noises now? Cullen thinks, smugly.

"And I keep rejecting your architecture proposals."

"I'll content myself with -- " His hand slips from Cullen's hair; Alistair curls his fingers, dragging his nails lightly down Cullen's back. "Building a small shed in the backyard and inflicting all my questionable architecture choices on it."

Cullen's shoulders come up around his ears; he shivers, a little, in Alistair's arms. He doesn't look as though he wants to complain about it, however.

"I look forward to the coming eyesore," he murmurs politely, and rocks his thigh against Alistair with lazy intent.

Alistair laughs, a little shaky, and begins to match the rhythm, grinding slow against Cullen.

His next kiss is hungrier, ending with the smallest nip of Cullen's lower lip.

Another soft laugh. He rests his palm against Alistair's face. "What do you want, Theirin?"

He closes his eyes, turning his head enough to kiss Cullen's palm.

Hoarsely -- without opening his eyes -- he asks, "If I wanted to fuck you, would that be too much athleticism?"

Cullen huffs an amused breath, brushing his thumb over Alistair's cheek.

"Not if we work up to it properly." Beat. "If we -- could you -- not...
rough?"

Even after all this time, it's still terrifying -- and not in a good way -- to make himself vulnerable like that. Even if it's Alistair. Even when they've got several hours in front of them.

"Not rough," he promises, opening his eyes. A soft smile curves his mouth. "Nothing of the sort."

Cullen wants closeness and peace; nothing adversarial. Alistair's perfectly happy to join him in that space.

There's still something a little hesitant in Cullen's eyes. "And you won't leave me alone after?"

Alistair's eyebrows tug together.

"No," he whispers. "I won't."

Of course I won't.

He traces the pad of his thumb over Alistair's lower lip.

"Then... let's work up to it." Crooked smile.

Alistair's own smile grows a fraction. Another kiss, lighter; he runs his fingers through Cullen's hair.

"You'll tell me if you need to stop?"

The thought of it closes his throat for a moment; it's what Alistair wants, and it's something Cullen can give him.

What helps, though, is the thought of Alistair's own feelings about that sort of thing. Knowing that if Cullen keeps his mouth closed, it'll hurt Alistair more.

He touches his forehead to Alistair's. Soft, a little thick: "Yes. I will."

"All right." He strokes his hand down Cullen's cheek; rests it there. "Good."

And slowly -- even gently, at first -- he resumes rocking against Cullen's thigh.

Cullen lets out a breath. "Like that," he murmurs against Alistair's mouth. "Yes. Please. Easy."

Alistair nods. He brushes his lips over Cullen's; shifts one leg a little higher to give Cullen more friction of his own.

"Is that good?" he whispers.

"Mm." It's an affirmative. He tangles his fingers in the hair on Alistair's neck, seeking purchase. Then, warmer, a little amused: "Clearly you've done this before."

Alistair chuckles. "Perhaps."

A little more pressure.

"Of course, we have been sharing a bed for some years now."