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Cullen growls low in his throat, the smouldering coals behind his eyes blaze bright, and his scar lifts in a dark smirk. He tilts his chin, enticing, challenging, just a fraction but it’s enough, and a bare breath later Alistair’s mouth is on his, hot and fervent and brimming with affection. They lose themselves in it, until nothing exists outside of the taste and feel of the other.
Their kiss is as it always has been; the fulfillment of a promise, the renewal of vows, a physical manifestation of the bond that tethers them ever together. It’s how they communicate, beyond words, beyond sex. It was a kiss that first expressed their hearts, and every time since.
Their dance slows, and slows, until they are barely moving, until the connection between fills them, until they are so engulfed with their love for one another that it radiates from them. It’s as obvious as the sky is blue and rain is wet, and not a single witness could deny it.
Now a common sight about the Keep, Skyhold's residents politely avert their eyes and hold their tongues, not even a whisper of gossip surround the pair, affording them unprecedented privacy. It is with respect for the Commander and Warden-Commander, and with honest fondness, that they have come to accept a simple truth - there is no one Commander without the other.