The fact that he wouldn't complain felt no better. It spoke more of what Fenris had lacked in his life than any quality Cullen brought to such encounters. Intoxicated as he was, he still knew that.

He tipped up into his touch bonelessly. Maker, he felt so good, somehow cut through the numbness. He looked down at his hands and chuckled. Both of his hands lifted to cover Fenris' and clasp them. "Here, let me," he murmured.

He'd be no better at the buttons. He tugged his shirt up from its tuck and dragged it over his head. He got caught up in it temporarily, fighting the cotton, until eventually his head popped free, hair mussed, and he could toss the whole thing aside.

"Mmmnh. Come here..." He reached for him again to draw him in against his bare chest. He felt entirely too hot all over. It didn't matter. He needed him close, something to add to the dizzy spin of booze and open camaraderie.