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Logically, Dorian knew that Cullen was an intelligent man; no-one who was anything less could defeat him so consistently at chess, never mind command and coordinate the mighty forces of the Inquisition. Cullen had demonstrated time and again mental nimbleness and focus that put most to shame, yet the sight of him in the library, book in hand, was enough to make Dorian forget his own errand to stop and stare instead .
Ignorant of Dorian's shock, Cullen opened the book he held and read from it, only to close it a moment later and replace it on the shelf. He repeated the process several times before he seemed satisfied with the book he held. He tucked the book under his arm and turned toward the stairs, only to pause when their eyes caught. "Dorian," he said, the faintest lift of a question at the end. "Can I help you with something?"
"Not at all." Dorian tilted his head and dropped his gaze to the book, only a sliver of its spine visible. "Anything interesting?" When Cullen pulled out the book to display its cover to Dorian, Dorian read aloud, "Small Legends: Of Nugs and Foxes?" He narrowed his eyes at Cullen, who watched him with a self-conscious quirk to his lips. "Are you tired of books with big words?"
Cullen sighed softly as self-consciousness slipped into resignation. "This is more palatable when I have difficulty sleeping," he said, and Dorian blinked at his unexpected honesty. "There is comfort in familiarity, after all." He smiled faintly as he tucked the book under his arm again. "On particularly difficult nights, I find myself reaching for A Compendium of Orlesian Theater. I quite recommend it if you find yourself in need of a sedative."
"I'll bear that in mind." Dorian shifted to a side to allow Cullen to pass. "Commander," he said to Cullen's back, then, when Cullen half-turned to him, added, "I would like to read that myself when you're done." He was surprised to find that it wasn't entirely a lie, though he'd rarely been given to such frivolities.
Cullen's eyebrows lifted slightly as though he could read Dorian's bemusement from his thoughts. "I shall see it into your hands." He nodded, then resumed his path to disappear down the stairs.
"Folktales, honestly." Dorian shook his head and wondered why he was smiling.
"Commander Cullen sends this for you, messere."
Dorian looked up from his letters to find a young page before him, eyes wide with what Dorian assumed was trepidation; the lads always met him with the same fearful look. Honestly, did they think all Tevinters were dragons, intent on devouring their unwashed Southern flesh? "Well, let's have it, boy."
The page scampered off as soon as the book he'd carried had left his hands, and Dorian exhaled heavily through his nose as he looked at the revealed cover.
"Small Legends: Of—oh." The conversation that had slipped his mind in the week since he'd encountered Cullen in the library returned to him, and Dorian tilted his head. "Am I expected to actually read this foolishness now?" He opened the cover to find a penned note tucked inside, a brief missive:
Fancy a game? I anticipate your criticism of heathen Fereldan folklore as I trounce you.
"Trounce—" Dorian huffed and shut the book firmly, set it down next to his letters. "The gall. The cheek. The sheer nerve." He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and grumbled as he wrote a reply. "Trounce me, indeed."
So it was that Dorian found himself two days later settled across from Cullen in his usual chair in the Skyhold gardens, the cursed book clutched in one hand. Cullen glanced at it, then looked back at the pieces he was setting on the gameboard, but made no comment beyond a soft huff of laughter.
"You Fereldans are so quaint," Dorian drawled as he sat back and rested the book against his belly, hands folded over it. "Talking crows? Dogs drinking rivers? Exploding frogs? Nuggins?"
"You read it." Cullen's quiet delight shone in his eyes, crinkled at the corners by his smile. "I feared you would not."
Dorian curled his fingers around the edges of the book, stroked the spine with his thumb. "Nonsense. I am not a man to shy away from a challenge, after all." He leaned forward to make his first move, absently shifted a piece. "As I'm certain you've noticed."
Cullen chuckled, the sound still rough with disuse, but increasingly familiar. "Why else would you return time and again to inevitable loss?" He tapped his fingers against the edge of the table before he took his turn, and Dorian found his eyes drawn to the rhythmic drumming. "Was it truly such a trial?"
Dorian sighed. "No," he admitted, "it was charming, in truth. Much less fire and brimstone than the tales of Tevinter, what few I grew up with; my nannies were more interested in teaching me bloodlines than whimsical tales."
"Nannies, hmm?" Cullen took the piece Dorian played. "You must've been young."
"Quite." Dorian considered the board, shuffled a piece into a new position. "They were terrifying—they would switch me when I transposed the Murriuses with the Balventiuses." He sat back again and traced the edge of the book cover.
Cullen echoed Dorian's position, settled deeper into his chair and eyed Dorian consideringly. "I'd imagine it wasn't often that they used the switch; you've never struck me as dull-witted." He leaned to move a piece, then sat back again. "Despite your difficulties at chess, that is. I'm certain there is a switch somewhere in Skyhold—should I locate it?"
Dorian laughed as he took his turn. "That will not be necessary, Commander." He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "It might in fact be less of a stick and more of a carrot." He let a slow smile curl one corner of his mouth as his eyes went heavy-lidded. "I'm often quite naughty, you see."
Cullen stared levelly at Dorian, then shook his head with a wry smile. "Dorian," he began, then shook his head again. "You'll have to try harder than that to discomfit me."
"Oh, was that my intent?" Dorian rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin in his hand, and tapped a finger against his cheek. "I'm not certain that's entirely accurate." When Cullen's expression didn't change, Dorian sighed. "Very well, then. Back to Fereldans and their dogs. Slobbery, smelly things, yet even your children's tales feature a disproportionate number of them."
"If you've an interest, I'll locate The Trials of Barkspawn for you—the tale of the Fifth Blight from the point of view of the Hero of Ferelden's mabari. The passage in which he leaves a dead bird for a companion is particularly... what was the word you used? Ah, yes: charming."
Dorian squinted at Cullen's bland expression, then huffed lightly. "Perish the thought. I've had enough charm for some time."
Cullen chuckled and reached for a piece, and for a while they played with only quiet companionship. Pieces piled up on each side, though Dorian's pile grew greater as time passed, until at last Cullen stared at the board, then tipped his emperor. "This one is yours. Perhaps you discomfitted me after all."
"Don't make excuses, Commander," Dorian said, then closed his mouth with a snap when Cullen abruptly leaned across the board.
"Cullen," he said, far too near. "My name," he continued, as though reading Dorian's confusion from his face. "Not Commander, not here."
Dorian exhaled heavily. "Very well, Cullen." It was strange hearing the name on his lips, and he frowned at the force of it. It was sharp, knifing from his tongue, and... not right. "Cullen," he said again, drawing out the syllables to soften the sound, much as he'd used to practice his ancestors' nomina. It wasn't until he repeated it again, imagined his tongue wrapping around the syllables, that he realized that Cullen was staring at him with an odd expression, eyebrows lifted and lips turned down in a faint frown.
"Ah," Dorian said, "well, this is awkward." He pushed away from the table and stood, bowed slightly to Cullen, turned to go, then paused. "I find myself in a lull, incidentally. If you've further... recommended reading, do feel free to pass it along."
"Of course, Dorian." Cullen, it seemed, had no trouble with Dorian's name, and Dorian felt heat rush into his cheeks—unprecedented, inexplicable heat.
"Well, then, I'll take my victory and go. Do practice before next time; it's disappointing when there's no challenge."
As Dorian took his leave, he could still hear Cullen chuckling behind him.
Dorian startled when a book was slid into his vision; he'd been so lost in his thoughts and wine that he hadn't noticed Cullen's arrival in the tavern. He squinted at the book with the hope that Cullen wouldn't notice his surprise, and frowned until the letters obediently arranged themselves into comprehensible words.
"We Need Not Demons?" Dorian turned his frown on Cullen, who watched him with his own faint frown in return. "I couldn't agree more, else I wouldn't be here." He slurred only a little, a point of pride that seemed wasted when Cullen's frown deepened. "What do spiders have to do with it?"
Cullen's gaze dropped to the book cover, emblazoned with a dramatic image of an adventurer facing down a giant spider with a torch. "It's not about demons, Dorian," he said, then gently slid Dorian's wine out of his reach. When Dorian reached after it, Cullen caught his hand and instead pressed it to the book. "You've had enough."
"I've had nowhere near enough," Dorian protested, then sighed at Cullen's implacable look. "Very well, then. Help me up." He held both hands out to Cullen as if he were a child, waggled his fingers when Cullen didn't immediately take them. "Afraid of the evil Imperial mage, are we?"
The world spun when Cullen grabbed his hands and pulled him from the chair, and Dorian staggered, caught himself against the table with his hip, then slumped against Cullen. The armor that pressed into him could be more comfortable, but the reflexive slide of Cullen's arms around his waist was certainly nice. "I guess that's a 'no'," Dorian teased, and looked up to find that Cullen watched him with narrowed eyes, brows knit together. "Going to sweep me off my feet?"
Dorian had expected a protest, perhaps even a little embarrassed stammering. Instead, Cullen asked, "Would you like me to?" and shifted, crouched to slide an arm under Dorian's thighs and scoop him up.
The fur of Cullen's collar was an excellent place to hide his face, and Dorian took advantage of it for a moment before he thwacked Cullen's armored chest. "Put me down, barbarian. I can walk."
Cullen obligingly let Dorian's feet down, though he kept his arm around Dorian's shoulders as Dorian found his balance and straightened. "Don't forget your book," he said, and pressed it into Dorian's hands.
Dorian clutched it automatically as Cullen guided him from the tavern, even as he wondered why he was following as docilely as a lamb. He'd certainly managed his wine for long enough that he didn't need the assistance, yet there was a part of him that wanted to soak it up, to bask in the weight of the arm around his shoulders, the faint scents of elderflower and oakmoss that occasionally tickled his nose.
They were halfway across the courtyard before Dorian straightened and shrugged Cullen's arm off. "I don't need an escort, Commander," he said, a little sharper than he'd intended; he'd never been good at admitting weakness, much less showing it to the world, and it would be too easy to come to rely on Cullen.
It was a surprise when Cullen's hand wrapped around his biceps, pulling Dorian up short to face him. For a moment, Dorian thought he'd given offense, but Cullen's expression was more pensive than irritated. "Cullen," he said. "Have you forgotten already?"
Dorian blinked, imagined the heat of Cullen's hand branding him even through Cullen's glove. "We aren't playing chess," he argued, then blinked again when Cullen chuckled.
"Cullen," he repeated. "When it's only between us." He released Dorian's arm and absently rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes flicked away, caught by something else. "You don't serve under me; there's no reason you can't use my name."
Dorian leaned into Cullen's line of sight, smiled slowly when Cullen's eyes met his again. That he needed to brace a hand against Cullen's chest was a happy coincidence as he leaned closer. "And if I wished to serve under you, Commander?"
Cullen's eyes widened, and Dorian was certain that he'd be able to see him blushing were the light better. "You're drunk, Dorian," he deflected, then caught Dorian's hand, pulled it from his chest, and released it. "Are you able to see yourself to bed?"
The wine had left him with just enough sense to not latch onto Cullen's innocent question and twist it into something filthy, though Dorian was devilishly tempted. "Your concern is appreciated, Cullen, but I'm quite able to manage it myself." He lifted the book he held in a salute. "I may even read before passing out in a drunken stupor."
Cullen's smile looked forced, tight and flat in the dim light of the courtyard. "Good night to you, then. Take care, Dorian."
Dorian didn't watch him leave, instead turned his steps toward his own chambers. It wasn't until he was sprawled beneath his blankets that he let his mind return to the memory of Cullen's body against his. Even with layers of clothes and armor between them, Cullen's strength had been apparent, and Dorian was the first to admit a weakness for strong men. It was unfortunate that Cullen seemed more flustered than interested by his flirting, Dorian mused as he drifted off, and then he thought nothing more as sleep drew him under.
Cullen had his back to him when Dorian stalked into his office, his attention diverted by a letter he held. Dorian admired the way the sun shining through the window limned Cullen's light hair, before he remembered that he was irked with him.
"It just had to be a book about giant spiders, didn't it?"
Cullen didn't seem surprised by Dorian's appearance; he lowered the letter and turned to face him with every evidence of calm. The sun haloed his head and Dorian had to stomp down admiration again as he brandished the book.
"Did you think you were funny?"
Cullen frowned at him, his thoughts very clearly elsewhere. Dorian was just beginning to get offended when Cullen's expression cleared and the faintest smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "It is about more than giant spiders."
Dorian huffed and read the subtitle with deliberate enunciation. "Our Dangerous World. I expected abominations, not spiders."
Amusement flickered across Cullen's face, and Dorian scowled at him. "I was unaware that you were afraid of spiders, Dorian." He tilted his head ever-so slightly to a side. "Do I owe you apologies?"
"You most certainly do." Dorian shuddered theatrically, then sobered. "The horrors, in the Fade. They were spiders. I'd almost rather have had Cassandra's maggots." He spread his hands out before him, palms up as though in supplication. "I'm sure you can see how even a man as marvelous as myself can have some... trepidation when it comes to the beasts."
Cullen dropped his gaze to the floor, rubbed the back of his neck. "I apologize, Dorian. I had no idea—the Inquisitor never made any mention, and—"
"Enough, it's done." Dorian gestured dismissively. "May I say that you're in my debt? I must come up with something properly horrifying to repay you."
Cullen's lips smiled, but his eyes remained still. "I'm certain you'll find something," he said, and Dorian didn't know if he was imagining the hesitation in those words. "Was that all, Dorian?"
Dorian knew a dismissal when he heard one—though it was usually him doing the dismissing. "For now," he said, and, with a nod, turned on his heel and marched from Cullen's office.
Dorian dropped another book after a moment's perusal and sighed; there had to be something in Skyhold's library to properly appall Cullen, but he was having little luck in locating it.
"The Botanical Compendium?" he muttered, then shook his head and dropped the book to join the others on the floor before him. "An Examination of Orlesian Government?" He considered for a moment, then dropped that one as well. "I want to horrify him, not put him to sleep."
"Who are you trying to horrify?"
Dorian paused with his fingers on the spine of yet another book and glanced over his shoulder to find Evelyn standing there, an amused quirk to her lips. "Why, no one," he deflected, then sighed when she arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Your commander."
Evelyn's second eyebrow joined the first, lifted in apparent disbelief. "You seemed to be getting on so well. Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I am a child." Dorian smiled wryly; the admission was only slightly humiliating. "He's been giving me books. The last made me uncomfortable—entirely through no fault of his—and I saw fit to hold it against him. We'll work it out, Inquisitor; there is no need for you to concern yourself with our foolishness."
Evelyn narrowed her eyes as she studied him, then smiled. "Of course. Do be gentle with him, Dorian."
"When am I not?" Dorian drawled, then sighed at Evelyn's sharp look. "Very well, I'll be gentle with him."
Evelyn nodded firmly before she headed to Helisma, while Dorian turned his attention back to the shelves. He looked down at the books he'd discarded and frowned, reconsidered, then pulled another from the shelves. The Dowager's Field Guide to Good Society joined the pile, as did Architectural History of Orlais, Volume 1. He considered Songs of Northern Ferelden; he'd never took Cullen as being particularly musically inclined, but he was the most Fereldan Fereldan that Dorian had ever met.
"This is useless," he grumbled, and headed down the stairs. He nodded at Solas as he passed through his domain and crossed the bridge to Cullen's office. The open door revealed Cullen alone in the room, bent over something at his desk. He looked up when Dorian knocked.
"Dorian," Cullen said. His face was pale and drawn, his voice tight as he folded his hands over a box on the desk before him. "What can I do for you?"
"Never mind that; you look as though you could use my services instead." He took a couple of steps into the room, then stopped with his arms folded across his chest. "What is that charming expression? Oh, yes: you look like the north end of a druffalo heading south. Surely you can escape your duties for a time; it seems as though you're not accomplishing much anyway."
"Dorian," Cullen repeated, then sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Perhaps you're right. Some time away might be best." He pushed himself to his feet as though it required every last bit of his strength, and picked up the box, quickly obscured in the folds of his coat. "Give me a moment, would you?"
"I'll just wait outside, shall I? I would appreciate it if you didn't keep me long." When Cullen waved an acknowledgment, Dorian slipped out the side door and walked a short distance down the rampart, leaned against the parapet as he waited.
The scenery still made him dizzy, between the height and unrelenting white of the snowcaps stretching out below the keep, and he revelled in it; it was a breath of fresh air, quite literally. He leaned farther over the parapet and closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. It was intoxicating, a cleaner rush than any wine had given him, and he imagined it permeating his very being.
Fingers slid under the straps at his shoulders and tugged back, away from the open air. "Careful," Cullen said, soft and closer than Dorian had expected. "Unless you've learned how to fly, that's quite far enough."
Dorian turned to look at Cullen, a bit surprised—and put out—to realize that he actually had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. Cullen's proximity registered a moment later, as did the fact that Cullen's hand was still at his shoulder, fingers warm against his bare skin even through Cullen's gloves. "It's a good thing you're here to rescue me, then," he teased—or tried to, only to be betrayed by a soft, unexpected earnestness that made Cullen's eyes widen slightly.
"Dorian." Cullen's muted voice went straight through him. "What is it that you want from me?"
Dorian caught and held Cullen's gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded. "I could ask the same," he purred, and smiled, a slow curl of his lips, at Cullen's silence. As it stretched out, taut between them, Dorian's smile fell away, to be replaced by a sudden breathlessness. "I'm to be gentle with you," he said, softly now, and if Cullen was lost by the non sequitur, he didn't show it. "Is that what you want?"
Cullen shuffled forward, crowded Dorian against the parapet. "You are not a gentleman, Dorian." He dipped his head so that Dorian could feel Cullen's breath fanning over his lips. "I would not expect you to be one."
Dorian exhaled heavily, tilted his chin up in expectation, only to frown when Cullen took a step back. "Are you retreating, Commander?" Dorian followed, pressed a hand to Cullen's armored chest and pushed until Cullen's back was against the tower wall. "Am I to assume victory?"
Despite his disadvantageous position, Cullen seemed more relaxed than he had only a short time before in his office. "Victory, is it?" One hand found Dorian's hip, the other his waist, held him firm. "Am I to be your spoils?"
"A fine enough trophy," Dorian agreed, and searched Cullen's eyes in the lengthening shadows. "I must admit, I'm not familiar with being the conquering hero. Is there a formula to follow?"
Cullen chuckled and tugged Dorian closer. "Were I a fair maiden, I'd swoon into your arms and you'd carry me off to your castle. I suspect, however, neither of us is much the swooning type, nor do we hold castles." Cullen lowered his head, tilted it slightly. "I suppose we must settle for a tumble in one of our quarters."
"Why, Cullen," Dorian said, and the breathlessness was only partially put on, "you say the most romantic things." When Cullen flushed, Dorian raised an eyebrow and studied Cullen's face. "You aren't used to this, are you?" His lips curled in a slow smile. "Was that talk of a tumble all bravado?"
"Not entirely," Cullen's eyes flicked to a side before they met Dorian's again, a new sharpness in their depths. "I have some things to take care of, Dorian." He closed the slight distance between them to lightly kiss Dorian's mouth, smiled crookedly when he immediately pulled away, then manhandled Dorian out of his way. "I'll find you once I'm done."
Dorian blinked, then frowned as Cullen slipped from between the wall and him. "Are you... turning me down?" Cullen's lips against his had been so fleeting that not even a hint of sensation remained. "I must admit: that's a surprising turn of events; I'm not used to being put off."
Cullen caught Dorian's wrist and spun him, before a hand at his shoulder forced him against the wall Cullen had so recently occupied. Dorian was still trying to align the world when Cullen's mouth crashed against his, eager and forceful in a way that made other parts of Dorian sit up and take notice. His hand left Dorian's shoulder to instead curl at the side of his neck; his fingers brushed through the fine hair at Dorian's nape, and damned if it didn't send shivers coursing through every extremity.
Dorian fisted his hands in the fur of Cullen's coat and hauled him closer, dragged him back when Cullen made to pull away. For a moment, it seemed as though Cullen hesitated, but Dorian barely had time to consider Cullen flagging before Cullen released his wrist to grip his hips, slid down to the backs of his thighs, and hefted Dorian off his feet.
Dorian knew he made an undignified noise, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind, not when Cullen supported Dorian as he wrapped his legs around him. He slid his arms over Cullen's shoulders, wove one hand into Cullen's hair as the other anchored around his neck. It was like the shock of lightning, each new brush of contact, and Dorian could no more stop the soft moan that rose in his throat than he could resist the press of Cullen's tongue into his mouth.
It was perhaps more of a surprise than it should have been that Cullen's earlier reticence had covered a lack of experience in flirting, rather than the culmination of it. Maker knew there was no way an inexperienced man could kiss like that, much less know exactly how to hoist Dorian to best settle between his spread thighs. There was a rawness to him, certainly, but it was intoxicating; he was no more similar to Dorian's past lovers than a mabari was to a pampered Orlesian lapdog.
It was too soon when Cullen broke the kiss, and Dorian pressed his head back against the stones of the tower to keep from chasing it; it wouldn't do to appear too eager. He opened eyes he didn't remember closing to find Cullen watching him with an unreadable expression. It didn't change even when he gradually released his hold on Dorian to return him to his own feet, or when he took a step back, then another.
"Is that a good-night, Cullen?" Dorian teased. "I must admit: I don't think I can sleep, after that."
Of all things, Dorian hadn't expected Cullen to flush again, but he did just that. "It's not," he said, and the velvet sound of his voice did unexpectedly evil things to Dorian's insides. Maker, the man sounded like sex. "I truly do have some things to take care of, I'm afraid." He paused, then caught Dorian's hand and bowed over it, raised it to brush his lips over Dorian's knuckles. "Fear not: I shall find you the moment my duties are dispensed with."
"Don't disappointment me," Dorian demanded, then pulled his hand away when Cullen lingered there. "Go now, before I change my mind about waiting."
Cullen's chuckle was liquid heat. "At your command." He bowed ever-so slightly again, then turned and made his way back into his office.
Dorian watched until the last glimpse of Cullen's fur-clad shoulders had passed, then pushed away from the wall and turned in the other direction. A walk along the balustrade could only help; the wind certainly went a long way toward cooling his blood.
There seemed no better time to take another stab at Swords and Shields; an amorous mood made it almost palatable. Dorian turned the page, then turned it back when he realized he had no recollection of what he'd just read.
Cullen was taking his own sweet time; night had long since blanketed Skyhold. After some debate, Dorian had retired to his own chamber rather than linger indefinitely in the library, and stretched atop his bedcovers with Cassandra's favorite drivel. Despite the attempt at literary distraction, he couldn't focus on the words; the memory of Cullen's mouth against his, the slide of his hands over him, the hard press of his body conspired to give him no leave to think of anything else.
The rap of knuckles against his door was a welcome interruption, and Dorian pushed himself from the bed to cross the short distance to the door and pull it open. Unsurprisingly, Cullen stood at the other side, but it was a shock to see him out of his armor; he wore instead a loose tunic and breeches, and Dorian found himself staring at the unexpected sight. Even out of the bulk of his armor, Cullen was impressive, and Dorian was not above admiring his broad shoulders, the hint of clavicle at the neck of his tunic.
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, and Dorian's eyes tracked the way the motion lifted the hem of Cullen's tunic to bare a sliver of belly. Only when Cullen cleared his throat did Dorian meet Cullen's eyes. "I hope I am not imposing."
"Oh, you're quite imposing. Fortunately, that's how I prefer my men." Dorian stepped to a side and gestured Cullen in with a flourish. "Please, do make yourself comfortable." When Cullen entered and made for the chair at Dorian's small desk, Dorian caught his arm to draw him to a halt. "That's not what I meant," he chided, and drew Cullen to the bed. He sat, then patted the spot next to him. "Sit. I insist."
Cullen's expression was awkward, but he complied readily enough and settled next to Dorian—just far enough to avoid contact, just near enough for Dorian to be able to feel the warmth radiating from him. "Dorian," he said, then paused and tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on Dorian's pillows. No, not the pillows, but—
Maker's breath, had he left that out?
"I see Cassandra's gotten to you, too." Cullen grinned as he leaned over Dorian—this close, Dorian could see that his hair was damp but beginning to evidence curls as it dried—to grab the book Dorian had discarded. He flipped it open to Dorian's marked page. "Chapter eight? I confess, I didn't make it through six." He closed the book again and set it at his hip. "A bit too much melodrama for me."
"A man after my own heart," Dorian agreed, and moved closer, slid his arm around Cullen's waist and rested his chin on Cullen's shoulder. "I detest melodrama. There are so many better ways to pass time."
Cullen hummed, and turned his head to be able to meet Dorian's eyes. "Did you have a particular one in mind?"
"You'd mentioned something about a tumble, I believe." Dorian couldn't help a slight victorious smirk when Cullen's nostrils flared, and wiggled closer still. "I must admit: I'm quite open to idea. I may actually be quite behind it, in fact."
Cullen's chuckle was unexpected, as was the tight curl of suppressed amusement at the corners of his mouth. "I'd imagined you'd prefer I be behind," he said. When Dorian arched an eyebrow, Cullen's smile widened ever-so slightly, before he flushed and looked away, his smile growing with a wry twist. "Maker, that was terrible." He curled a hand around Dorian's knee, rubbed the inside of it with his thumb. "Let me try again."
"If you're going to try to seduce me with lines like that, we'd best dispense with them entirely," Dorian murmured in Cullen's ear, then nibbled lightly at the lobe. "Consider me a sure thing, Cullen."
Cullen exhaled heavily, the tension that had been coiling his muscles bleeding out with his breath. "I would never do that," he said, and turned to meet Dorian's eyes. "You're worth seducing."
Dorian struggled to not lose himself in Cullen's earnest gaze, instead grabbed Cullen's shoulders and dragged him along as Dorian fell back, until they were sprawled together with Cullen a heavy weight over him. "The things you say," he murmured before Cullen's mouth silenced him. It was every bit as heady as their kiss on the balustrade; what it lacked in titillating exhibitionism, it more than made up for in heat and open intent. This was not a kiss to tease, to promise future seduction: this kiss was sex and nothing else, an immediate prelude of things to come.
It should have been familiar ground, but, as Cullen's hand slid beneath Dorian's loose sleep shirt to find bare skin, Dorian couldn't deny the tingle of anticipation, the spark of a new realm of experience. He could no more resist it than he could fly, and so he let himself be swept away by it, let it wash over him in waves of sensation and pleasure until the world was nothing else.
Dorian woke far, far too early, to judge by the dim light barely penetrating his window. He wondered drowsily what had woken him at such an unholy hour, until a rustle of fabric caught his attention. He rolled over and squinted bleary eyes to see Cullen draw his trousers over his hips. The faint light limned his profile and hinted at the muscle yet mostly concealed by darkness, and Dorian admired the sight as Cullen tightened the drawstring at his waist and reached for his tunic.
"You needn't go, you know," Dorian said, and propped himself up as Cullen turned to him. "Surely you've earned a little bit of a lie-in."
Cullen's answering chuckle was low, more intimate than ever before. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a kiss to Dorian's lips, close-mouthed and sweet. "I have duties, Dorian." Though the words were chiding, there was nothing but warmth in his tone. "Perhaps another time we'll be able to linger."
"Another time?" Dorian reached for Cullen, pressed his hand to the small of his bare back like an anchor. "Will there be another time? We had our fun, Cullen."
"We did," Cullen agreed. "Yet I find myself unsatisfied." He looked away—the turn of his head revealed a bite mark at his throat that Dorian couldn't help but admire—and inhaled deeply. "You are in my blood," he added quietly, little more than a whisper, yet the words rang as clearly as a bell in the quiet of dawn.
"Am I?" Dorian drew his hand away and rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling as he absorbed Cullen's soft words. "That sounds painful."
Cullen's chuckle was little more than a huff of breath, but still a comfort to hear. "I wouldn't say that." He leaned over Dorian, braced a hand at his side and bent to brush a kiss beneath his eye, then at the tip of his nose, then across his lips. "Truly, I must go, Dorian, as much as it pains me."
"Go on, then." When Cullen began to straighten, Dorian caught Cullen's shoulder, let his movement draw him upright, then pulled Cullen hard against him. "Before you go, though," he murmured, then pressed his mouth to Cullen's.
Cullen opened to the kiss, though Dorian suspected it was more surprise than intent. Still, he wasn't about to miss such an opportunity, and forayed into Cullen's mouth, an exploratory mission intent on claiming territory. He was rewarded a moment later when Cullen groaned softly and wrapped an arm around Dorian's waist to settle them even more firmly together.
It was over well before he wanted, but Dorian couldn't be truly put out when Cullen pulled away, especially not when he immediately returned with a light, nipping kiss, then another. When Cullen finally released him, it was to retrieve and pull on his tunic, a sight Dorian admired even as he mourned the loss of the expanse of skin. By the time Cullen stomped into his boots, though, Dorian's eyelids were drooping.
"Go back to sleep, Dorian," Cullen said, and Dorian blinked open eyes he didn't remember closing. He found Cullen smiling fondly at him, but the energy to protest had fled and Dorian closed his eyes again as Cullen turned to depart. He was asleep again before the door had clicked shut.
Dorian collapsed into his armchair and rubbed his temples, struggled with a yawn for a long moment before he surrendered to all but crack his jaw behind his hand. He loved Evelyn dearly, in truth, but her bouts of gallivanting about Thedas could get downright exhausting, and the dragon at the end of it hadn't helped matters.
He considered seeking his bed, but it had been entirely too long since he'd had more than a single book to read—the Inquisition camps offered as much comfort as tents in the wilderness could, but they hardly boasted a well-stocked library—and the call of fresh pages was too tempting to resist. It took a moment, but he managed to pry himself from the comfortable depths of his chair and make his way to the shelf he'd been working his way through before they'd departed.
The Shape of the Fade? No—his memories of his own time in the Fade were far too fresh. A Study of Thedosian Astronomy? A promising option, but... perhaps another time. He was reaching for A Chant for Dreamers when someone reached past him for the same. Even before their fingers touched, he recognized the vambrace and gloves, and leaned into the body behind him. "How did you know I was here? We only just returned. Perhaps you visited every night, hoping against hope that you'd be graced by my shining presence? I'm flattered."
Cullen chuckled and tugged the book off the shelf, pressed it against Dorian's belly as he brushed a gentle kiss behind Dorian's ear. "Those are my guards at the gates," he said, and Dorian imagined Cullen's smile, soft and playful to match his tone. "I may not be Leliana, but I am aware of it when the Inquisitor returns—especially with her problematic companions."
"Problematic?" Dorian clutched the book against himself as he turned, "Do you mean to imply that I am problematic? I assure you, I'm nothing of the sort." He met Cullen's eyes and the words petered away, lost in warm amber.
"It's not that you're problematic, precisely," Cullen teased as he touched Dorian's cheek, stroked his thumb beneath Dorian's mouche. "Distracting may be more accurate. Maddening. And I would very much like to kiss you now."
Dorian snorted lightly and raised an eyebrow. "Are you waiting for permission?" He'd never get tired of Cullen's flush; it was appealing enough that he couldn't even mind the loss of Cullen's hand when he moved it to rub the back of his neck. "Consider yourself permitted, Cullen. Indefinitely."
The expected kiss was little more than a peck, a brief contact that did little to satisfy the anticipation that tingled through Dorian's veins. He frowned and crossed his arms between them, book clutched in one hand, a bound anchor to keep him from taking steps of his own. "I've had warmer welcomes from qunari. Honestly, is a little passion so much to ask?"
"No." Cullen glanced away, then met Dorian's eyes again as he curved a hand at Dorian's waist. "I fear that, were I to give in here, I would not be able to stop. I'd rather it be somewhere near a bed."
"Oh, Commander, you say the most romantic things," Dorian teased. "If that's the case, let us seek an appropriate venue, for I'd rather like to kiss you, as well."
Cullen didn't resist when Dorian slid from his hold, and followed behind when Dorian headed for the door and his chamber beyond it. The solid sound of Cullen's steps trailing him was its own kind of foreplay, and Dorian found himself grinning with the giddiness that overwhelmed him.
By the time they entered Dorian's quarters, it was almost too much—all of it. But, as Cullen pressed him against the door and brushed his fingers along Dorian's jawline, it wasn't anywhere near enough. He would think about it in the morning—perhaps, if he didn't decide to practice the tried and true method of ignoring his conflict instead. For the moment, though, all that mattered was the reverence in Cullen's touch, the gentleness of his kiss that melted with desire.
He didn't pay attention when the book he'd held hit the floor; all that mattered was the twist of Cullen's hair around his fingers, the roughness of stubble against his palm as he gripped Cullen's chin. It, too, would wait until the morning. For the night, the heat between them was all that there was, and Dorian was going to revel in it as long as he could.