Work Text:
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Your Majesty. The title still rings a little foreign in his ears, the same twitch around the corner of Alistair's mouth. It's been years, nearly twelve now, since his coronation, and Cullen wonders if he'll ever get used to the prestige of his rank. King. It's nothing either of them ever foresaw. He was nothing more than a bastard, back when they trained together at the monastery. Back when they were boys, when everything began. It's how their peers considered him, for the most part. It's how Alistair saw himself, and it broke Cullen's heart, every time, because even then, he was so much more. Not a bastard, nor a King; simply him, and it's how he sees him still, Alistair, his childhood friend, his better half, beyond titles and deference, and he can't believe he's finally come to that point in his life he can fully share with him.
There was a time where he thought it'd never be possible. Too much at stake, war, as harsh on the battlefields as it was in his heart. They subsided, eventually, demons, not quite vanquished but tamed, and Alistair was hurled back into his life like a breath of fresh air, a future by each other's side.
The thought never fails to soothe his nerves, and he smiles to himself as the bard leaves the room, faint notes of a sweet melody fading down the hallway. A light flush has crept up to his cheeks, the taste of wine still fresh on his tongue, and when he brings his glass to his lips again, Alistair's eyes are fixed on him, his grin barely veiled across the table.
"You know," he says, gazing warm and impish over the flickering flame of the candle set between them, "dessert has always been my favorite part of supper."
His voice lowers on the last few words, and Cullen's brows rise, a swipe of his thumb across his, fingers linked beside his empty plate.
"There were a few pieces of cheesecake left in the kitchens, if you'd like me to fetch you one... or would you rather I bring them all back?"
"You know I like the way you think," Alistair's mouth widens, the same reddish colors spread across his face. "But no. I had... something else in mind, actually. Crazy, isn't it."
"Too much wine, perhaps. You do look a little flushed."
"Do I? Hm. Maaaaybe I drank a glass more than I should have, but. No, I'm fairly suuure it's the treat I've been starving for since morning that’s causing all this… craziness.. It's gotten to my head, and now I can't stop thinking about it."
"If there exists such a thing that you covet more than cheesecake, perhaps I don't know you as well as I thought," Cullen laughs softly, watching the glow in Alistair's gaze darken and stir, causing his mouth to instantly grow dry.
"Oh, you do," Alistair stands slowly, rounding the table with that predatory glint in his eyes that Cullen recognizes all too well, and his breeches tighten. "But you clearly underestimate the wicked effects you have on me."
"Wicked," Cullen merely repeats, hoarse, amused, lip pulled in the same kind of raw longing curling Alistair's, and he's on his feet before he even reaches him.
Alistair catches him, his hand on his arm and his fingers upon his cheek, and he dips in and their noses touch, a tender caress before he presses his lips to his. Maker's breath, but I've missed you, and Cullen knows just what he means, leaning into him with a content sigh he doesn't mean to sigh.
He doesn't spend nearly as much time with him as he'd wish. Between his duties as military advisor and Alistair's role as king, days—and sometimes weeks—go by without a modicum of privacy, of intimacy, the certainty of their shared devotion the only thing keeping him warm when slumber overtakes him. His love for him never withered, once he acknowledged what he felt, the culmination of their concealed affection bursting forth a moment too late... but he remembers that night as if it were yesterday, and it's kept him sane during all these years, until they came together once more.
Until Alistair came back from death, and Cullen knew then, that he would never allow himself to leave his side again.
Ever.
The memory wavers in his mind as his fingers grip Alistair's waist. He licks across his parted lips, mouth slanting over mouth and moan melting into moan, the taste of him and his touch, gentle across his cheek and sharp around his arse, rushing down to his heart and pooling lower, there, a slow kind of friction that sends his senses reeling.
"Just how... wicked did you wish me to be?" he asks inbetween kisses, open-mouthed across his jaw, his cheek, until he finds his ear and nibbles there, Alistair's body instantly slacking in his arms, his cock jerking.
"Sweet Maker, Cullen," he groans, shivers, tilting his face to give him better access. "I thought I might... be the wicked one, actually. If I don't... explode before I even manage to do anything, anyhow."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well... nngh. A game. Maybe. Where you get to sit in all your... magnificent glory... and watch me. You're not allowed to touch, though. Not until I've left you completely crazy for me."
"I'm already crazy for you, Alistair. Perhaps more than I should be."
"Argh, Cullen," he hisses, pulling away, just enough to gaze breathless into his eyes. "Allow me to... tease you. You're always so..."
"Stern?"
"Disciplined. Well. Not here, not when... not when we're together, like this, but..."
He understands. The thrill of unraveling his resolve, tormenting him until he surrenders, until he can't endure, subdued and smitten, overwhelmed with desire, because of him...
"Alright," he whispers, rubbing his nose against his with a lopsided smile, and Alistair grins in turn, fingers weaved in the fur of his coat.
He doesn't keep them there long. He moves, unhurried, palms flat against the sides of his torso as they slide down, and his gaze bores eager into his. Cullen's breath hitches, Alistair's touch leisurely through the fabric, and he feels his warmth and he reaches up, a tsk on Alistair's tongue as he grabs both of his hands and shakes his head.
"Don't prove me wrong just yet," he admonishes, a playful glint in his eyes. "You're supposed to be disciplined. No hands. Anywhere. I want your eyes on me... and nothing else."
"My... eyes," Cullen croaks, a soft, strangled chuckle, because discipline has never sounded so foreign before. "Of course. Forgive me."
His arms fall limp at his sides, and Alistair sighs appreciative, fingers hooked around his coat. It pools at their feet a moment later, Alistair's fingers fanned underneath the cambric shirt he wore all day; it smells of him, and Cullen watches Alistair drift closer through fluttering lashes, breathing him in as calloused hands caress his skin. There's a hint of impatience in his touch, a twitch in his fingers as he strives to keep it light, but he shivers with him the moment he faces him bare, chest exposed, and Cullen hisses at the brush of his nose along his jaw.
"You're making this more difficult than it should be," he breathes, and Alistair chuckles, nipping his neck and suckling, causing Cullen's head to fall backwards.
"Weeell, I never said it would be easy..."
Alistair's hum echoes pleased around Cullen's moan, and Cullen arches, pushing against his hands, roaming free across his torso. His own tremble at his sides, eager to feel him, and he knows he can't and it drives him mad, a muffled whimper in the back of his throat as Alistair cups his cock through his trousers.
He sways, straightens, chin dipped as they both look down, and he leans against him, lips parted and foreheads connected, sighing the same sighs. He nuzzles him, idly, mesmerized as Alistair unlaces his breeches, and he pulls down and his cock springs free, an absentminded thrust that leaves a trace of precum across Alistair's clothed loins.
"Maker's breath," they groan in unison, and Cullen doesn't think, tilting his head and seeking, capturing his lips with the same hunger Alistair feels, avid strokes of his tongue as they momentarily lose themselves in a kiss that shouldn't be.
Alistair ultimately draws back, when Cullen's fingers slip underneath the hem of his breeches, a breathless laugh that mirrors the smoldering heat in his eyes.
"The game's barely begun and you're already breaking the rules," he shakes his head, and Cullen notes his beating pulse, quick along the vein in the crook of his neck, and his chest rises at the same rhythm as his own, skin flustered.
"I did say I was crazy for you, if I recall..." Cullen rakes a shaky hand through his hair, and he doesn't miss Alistair's gaze, pinning him there effortlessly as he ogles him up and down, a swipe of his tongue across his lower lip.
Sweet Andraste.
"And it worsens by the second," he adds, his cock bobbing thick between sculpted thighs, and Alistair crouches, grabbing the discarded mantle before standing back up again. Closer. "Perhaps if I hadn't missed you so much—"
"Ohh, you're just scrambling for excuses now," Alistair wriggles his nose, a crooked smile, and he drifts in again, just close enough to cause Cullen's cock to jerk, friction denied. "It won't work, you know. I know exactly how you feel... trust me."
He grins against the corner of his lips, careful to keep an inch of space between them, painful, and Cullen hisses, eyes knitted shut and nostrils flaring as Alistair's scent invades his senses.
"But I'll make it worth your time," Alistair all but purrs in his ear, lifting his arms, one by one, and slipping his coat around his shoulders again, before taking a step back to admire the view. "...I hope."
"You—"
"Maker preserve me," he cuts him off, and Cullen wonders if he even heard him, mesmerized as he looks. "No one should look this good in fur."
Cullen can't help but snort, a smidgeon of tension relieved, but it doesn't last, his attention lured lower, where Alistair's hand squeezes, a languid stroke to adjust his clothed arousal. The sight goes straight to his own and it juts heavier, jaw clenched on barely controlled desire.
He wants him.
"I remember you looking quite delightful when you wore it," he sighs ragged, and Alistair's mouth quivers, catching his gaze in an abrupt intake of air.
"So I fooled you, did I," he grins, breathing quicker, and he presses his palm to his chest and he pushes, until Cullen tumbles back atop the bedding, braced on his hands. "You know, you probably shouldn't look at me like that. It's giving me second thoughts about my chances to win this game."
A spark of dread sears through him, and he stiffens, concern in his eyes.
"Like what?"
"Like you've never seen anything more... beautiful, in your life. Desirable."
Alistair's grin wavers, and Cullen's heart lurches—he's on his feet in one swift move, a few, sure strides to reach him and cup one side of his face, rules be damned.
"I never have," he whispers, fierce, gentle, and he searches his gaze, willing his doubts away.
"I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it," Alistair laughs softly, his hand over his, and Cullen knows of his worries, scars from long ago, underneath his humorous demeanor, and he doesn't try to argue. "It just... sneaks up on me. Every time. When you look at me, I... well, I can't seem to think straight, for one, or at all, actually, and I..."
His voice trails off, but he doesn't need to say more—Cullen knows. He's scared, too. Of being inadequate, a fear Alistair shares, for different reasons, and Cullen wraps his arms around him and he hugs him, because he needs to know that he couldn't ever disappoint.
Him, or anyone.
"Feel me, Alistair," he says in his ear, grabbing his hand and placing it just over his heart, always beating for him, and he thrusts, up, rubbing his erection against his, Alistair's gasp warm on his cheek. "I can scarcely keep my eyes off you, and I long for your touch every waking moment, when you're not with me. I never thought I would feel anything like this, for anyone. You caught me off-guard, all those years ago. I couldn't imagine my life without you then, and I won't allow for us to ever part again now."
"Cullen..."
"Feel me," he rasps against his mouth, and Alistair moans around his tongue, his cock nudging his incessantly.
They both falter, sometimes, but it never lasts long, not with the sort of respect they've always held for each other, affection running deep between them. Alistair seems to regain his composure quickly enough, a smile on his lips as he ends the kiss and pulls back once more, mouth swollen and chin slightly chafed from the gruff of Cullen's stubble.
"See, this is why I love you," he sighs content, an impish glint in his eyes as he tugs at the hem of his shirt, slowly rucking it up. "I'm a lucky man, don't I know it. And a lucky King. I know no other advisor who can make such excellent points... or, well, maybe one other can, actually."
Cullen's eyebrows rise, higher once Alistair's shrugged his shirt over his head, offering a sight that causes his mouth to water.
"Leliana," Alistair goes on, and Cullen exhales through his nose, backwards steps until he finds himself atop the bedding again, feet flat on the wooden floor as he leans back on his elbows. “What was it she said?”
"Leli—"
"Hush." The shirt drops from his hand, and his mouth quirks into a wicked smile. "And just... look... pretty."
And just like that, the tables turn.
His chest expands on a deep breath, and he stands half-naked a few feet away from him, an obvious bulge tightening his breeches. Cullen swallows hard, Alistair's body an alluring display of taut muscles in front of him, sharp and firm lines caught in the candlelight. He's so beautiful. More than he believes he is, oblivious, which undeniably adds to his charms, charms Cullen could never really resist. He doesn't resist them now, lips parted on an onslaught of hums he can't hold as he watches Alistair gazing down the length of his own bare torso, the flat of his palms roaming the expanse of his chest.
"Alistair," he mouthes, but Alistair doesn't hear him, lower lip trapped between full lips and thumbs rubbing slow around hardened nipples, a mix of innocence and utter abandon.
It's both the wanton and candid aspects of him that quicken his pulse, and Cullen shifts on the mattress, his left hand restless over his abdomen.
Alistair's follows the same path, lower across his freckled skin and lingering there over his stomach, soft and firm, his overall frame lean and bulky. It's all Cullen can do not to grip his cock and stroke himself, and he shakes with his need, a moan as he involuntarily bucks up and catches Alistair's attention, instantly riveted on him.
"See something you like?" his face lights up, a dark, playful gleam in his eyes, and his hand glides down and it dips underneath his breeches, a hitch in his breath.
He closes his eyes, and Cullen's widen, Alistair's head tilted backwards as he grabs himself and squeezes, the tip of his cock poking out of his underclothes.
"Look at me," Cullen beguiles, and Alistair obliges, whimpers echoed as one strokes, causing the other to thrust, and Cullen's arse grinds slow against the mattress.
His cock rests heavy on his abdomen, and he smoothes his palm across his thigh, licking his lips the moment Alistair's breeches land on the floor. He stares, gawks, and Alistair can't seem to tear his gaze away, either, the thick length of his shaft gripped in a tight fist. There's a deeper flush covering his cheeks, and he watches him, heavy-lidded, feet planted wide as his body flexes with the motions of his arm, languorous around his erection.
"I need to touch you," Cullen growls through gritted teeth, one moan away from cupping himself and jerking his cock, and Alistair only smiles in turn, lazy, saucy, thumbing the head of his shaft in slow circles.
"Touch me... touch me how," his voice wavers through the question, hoarse as he starts thrusting into his fist, and Cullen growls again.
"With my hands."
"Your... your hands..."
"With all of me. With your fingers in my hair and my body against yours, your breath lost in mine and my eyes locked in yours. Let me touch you, Alistair. I need to feel you."
"Weeeell, I guess you do drive a hard bargain. You're t-trying to distract me, aren't you."
"It only seems fair, when you have all my attention."
"Is it, though? Considering you have all of mine..."
"Alistair," he hisses, knuckles white around the sheets, and Alistair lets out a brief chuckle, lifting his arm above his head and craning his neck until his nose bumps against his bicep.
"What about... tasting me."
And he smiles smug, humming low as he flicks his tongue out and licks, a languid swipe across his own skin.
It's too much, not enough, and Cullen jolts up, trembling fingers clasped around his shaft as he gives himself a few, much needed strokes, the catalyst that breaks Alistair's own resolve. He isn't sure whether he moves first. All he knows is that chests collide in the next moment, hands febrile, everywhere, and lips part over lips and cock rubs against cock, heat and urgency, a shared moan that never fades.
It's a sweet note of desire and it rises between them, impassioned, impatient, and they drift together and they fall, atop the bed, limbs intertwined in quick, languid motions. Cullen's coat is promptly discarded, more skin, more warmth, and he feels Alistair's grip around his arse, pulling him closer, up and down, open-mouthed as they breathe the same air.
"Cullen," Alistair growls fierce and shameless, and Cullen nods, fluttering his lips across his cheek, his jaw, his neck, nuzzling his skin and tasting him, tongue tracing a languorous path down his chest.
He smells of wine and musk, a faint balm of fresh vanilla, and Cullen breathes him in, rubbing his nose across his skin and his cock against his thigh. Alistair's swells heavier with the friction of his abdomen, and Cullen feels him, hard, wet against his stomach as his mouth closes around a tight nipple, and the noises bubbling in Alistair's throat inflame his senses. He arches into his touch, Alistair's nails digging into his shoulders and urging him higher, lower, closer, his own mind lost in desire, and Cullen strokes the hardened point of one nipple, nibbling the other with slow swipes of his tongue to dull the ache.
There's always a hint of urgency looming over them, when they find each other after some time, young again, desperate to feel, to soothe the sting of want, love withheld out in the open. It's how he touches him, and it's how Alistair responds, writhing together in abandon, because there will be more, later, when they wake in the middle of the night and when the sun rises again, patient hands roaming to explore, to revere everything that was missed before.
He doesn't know patience now, and he fumbles lower, where Alistair's hips roll, and he nuzzles his cock and he runs his lips along its thickened length, his own grinding into the mattress. His fingers rest upon his pelvic bone, caresses, and he looks up to catch a glimpse of Alistair, hair mussed and reddened skin, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He stares right back at him, and Cullen smiles hazy, feeling his hand twist in his hair as his tongue skims the plush crown, his palm firm around the base of his erection. It jerks in his grip, and Cullen's own cock twitches against the bedding, his arse flexing with the thorough pushes of his hips. His throat burns, breath raspy as he squeezes and strokes him, and Alistair bucks up, his cock nudging his lips until they part and he slips in, Cullen's moan long and hoarse around the tip.
He loves the taste of him, raw, sweet, salty, and he licks him clean, droplets beading out of the swollen head. It mingles on his tongue with his saliva, and his mouth glistens, a sight he knows Alistair can't resist long. He nearly hears his teeth grind, and there's a whimper threatening to break free, which only prompts Cullen to suck, slow, and Alistair's fingers pull sharp around his hair.
"Alistair," he hisses, groans around him, and Alistair groans in turn, guttural, an abrupt jolt as he sits right up.
"Move away," he breathes, and Cullen stills, frowns, the confusion knitting his brows soothed by the chuckle teasing his ears. "Oh, don't worry, you're not going far. Just... let me."
And he lets him, half-wary as Alistair crawls forward, urging him on his side. It's only when his knee nearly knocks him in the face that he realizes what he's doing, and he barely has time to react; Alistair's mouth closes around him, causing his toes to curl and his eyes to flutter shut, a long, husky sigh grazing his throat.
"Mmm," Alistair moans, and Cullen stifles a curse, cheek pressed to his lover's thigh.
He shivers, pupils wide as Alistair's cock bobs thicker, an inch from his face, which suddenly feels much hotter. It's decadent at best, deliciously so, and he growls and he leans forward, gripping him again and bathing him with languid swirls of his tongue.
Alistair eagerly returns the favor, and the rush of wet heat around his own sensitive, swollen head stirs his pulse, wild in his chest and hard in his temples, vision blurred. He won't last much longer. He pants, and Alistair moans with him, suckling and licking each other, slow and fast and shallow thrusts as pleasure builds up. He feels Alistair's smoother cheek rubbing against his thigh, and the tenderness of his touch, mixed with his lust for him, sends him over the edge.
Tingles race along his spine, and his heart pounds, his balls drawing up.
"A-Alistair," he tries to warn, but Alistair only sucks him harder, knowing, expecting, and he closes his eyes and he gasps, a broken groan as he stills and comes into his mouth.
Alistair welcomes him with a low hum, and Cullen breathes harsh around his cock, idle flicks of his tongue as his orgasm shoots through him, and his lover follows suit. He comes as well, hot spurts as he mewls, and Cullen swallows, suckling him slow as both their hips rock into each other's heat.
Drops of his essence smear Cullen's lips, and he feels them once he opens his eyes again, shivering at the feel of his cock slowly sliding out of Alistair's mouth. He sucked him dry, and Alistair's shaft softens in his palm, soon slipping out of his grasp. He blinks, a shift of blurred movements, and Alistair reaches up to him, looming over him as his head drops to his own, his nose gently nudging his.
"I love you," Cullen whispers, a blissful pang in his chest, and Alistair smiles against his lips, catching his own breath.
"And I, you," he kisses him slow, carefully settling on his side before pulling him close, Cullen's head tucked under his chin.
He holds him back, arms and legs wrapped around each other, and he breathes easy, feeling the beat of his heart quivering in unison with his own. Silence reigns for a moment, sweet as they hug and cuddle, idle caresses across their skin, until he senses Alistair's lips widening in his hair, a soft chuckle flowing past them.
"Soooo," he all but purrs, and Cullen smiles impish with his nose nuzzling his neck, overwhelmed with peace, always soothed in his arms. "Did yoooou enjoy the game?"
He laughs softly, holding him tighter.
"I certainly enjoyed the view."
"Weeeeeell... maybe you could be the wicked one, next time..."
"Gladly, if it means luring you back in my arms sooner."
"It's a wonder I even manage to do anything... kingly, when all I think about is you. Trust me. I'd be with you every hour of every day, if I could."
"As would I," Cullen's smile wavers a trifle wistful, and he flutters his lips up to his chin, coaxing him to look down and kiss him, and Alistair gently indulges him.
The world doesn't stop, for anyone. It doesn't stop for war. It doesn't stop for love. But when they find each other, in the quiet of their embrace, hearts denied for so long, for years, but never forgotten...
...sometimes it does.