Chapter Text
"He is quiet behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains."
"Yes, Cole. Cassandra told me. I'll go check on him."
₪
You stand in Cullen's office, observing the Commander pace back and forth, slating himself. You try to talk him down but he keeps spiraling, and in the end, you just wait for him to finish raging.
"I should be taking it!" he snarls and slams his fist against the bookcase. He remains frozen in place, with only his panting causing movement. You take a moment to compose yourself. Watching a templar lose control causes you to enter a basic 'flight mode,' but this is Cullen. You trust the man with your life. So, you move to the space between him and the furniture. He stares at his feet while you gaze up at him. You notice the dark circles under his eyes. His skin is clammy and gray, and his cheeks are hollow. You lower his hand from the bookcase with yours. He lifts his eyebrows when you clasp it and runs your thumb over his bloodied knuckles. He watches you heal his cuts and then lifts his gaze to yours.
"No one has ever healed me with magic before," he confesses. "After what happened at Kinloch Circle, I wouldn't let mages anywhere near me."
He knows that you know what happened. He had Leliana inform you to avoid talking about it, himself, you suspect.
"That explains the scars-" you reply, looking at the fine line above his upper lip. He shifts uncomfortably.
"-and why you rarely look me in the eyes," you continue.
"That's not why I-"
He interrupts himself with a sigh. "I have no problem with you being a mage. You know that."
You don't believe him, but let it go.
"Where does it hurt?" you ask.
"Everywhere…"
The man is not lying. The word comes out through his clenched teeth and his face twists from pain.
"What you are doing, refusing to take Lyrium, I have the utmost respect for it. But I don't want you to resign. We need you, Cullen..."
You realize you are still holding his hand in yours. He hasn't let go, so you won't either. "...I need you."
There is something unsaid between you. The templar and the mage. You are in the middle of a civil war between your factions, and yet you've found an ally in one another.
For your part, you've flirted shamelessly with the man, with only awkward requests to talk about something else in response. You were certain he didn't welcome it until you came to Skyhold. When you got a chance to talk with the commander, his face crumbled when he realized you could have died in Haven. And his voice softened into something endearing as he vowed, he would never allow something like that to happen again. That confirmed he cares for you, one way or another.
"I'd like to try something before you turn to lyrium," you say, "but I need you to trust me."
"I trust you," he whispers, and his breath grazes your forehead. You wonder when his mouth got so close to your face.
You collect his fur mantle and lift it over his head, letting it fall carelessly to the ground. Then you start working on the leather straps holding his spaulders. Confusion, bordering on panic, is in his eyes, but you don't stop. Piece by piece, you remove his armor by loosening various buckles and straps. You let each section drop to the floor with a clonk, hoping it signifies his heavy burden. You stop undressing him when he stands in his undershirt and leather pants. It's a good look on him, and you force the blush building in your cheeks to subside.
He wears a strained expression on his face.
"Sit," you say as you gesture at his chair by the desk.
He obeys without a word. You follow to stand behind him and slide your hands along his freckled neck. The touch makes him stiffen his body entirely.
"Relax, please, or this won't work."
He breathes out and relaxes his shoulders a bit. You let your healing magic pour over him while you circulate your thumbs at the base of his neck. You begin with light strokes to let him get used to your touch and then add pressure. The heat caused by friction along with the healing reddens his skin as you lose his stone-like muscles. You dig your way into a tight knot, and when you hit the sweet spot, a less-than-dignified groan escapes his throat. His skin flares up, but you don't comment on it, although you can't refrain from smiling.
"Your armor is heavy. Is it necessary to wear it all the time?" you ask.
"Well… No, but I would rather be wearing it, should Corypheus attack."
"Are you sleeping in it?"
"What? Maker, no! That would be- I mean-"
"I'll tell Josephine to get you some light armor you can wear while at the office. I'm sure she would love to dress you like the pretty doll you are," you grin.
"Maker's breath."
You feel the miosis loosen under constant heat and pressure, so you move further out on his shoulders. Your fingers slip under his shirt, and you smile at the tiny sounds of pleasure he can't suppress. Some of them he tries to conceal by clearing his throat. You wonder if that's what he sounds like when he has sex, and now it's your turn to blush. Luckily, he can't see that.
₪
There is a knock on the door, and Cullen lifts his head from his arms where it had rested.
At some point, he had shifted forward, placing his arms on the table. Then a little while later, he buried his head in them. You clasp a hand over his mouth before he can answer.
"Who is it?" you shout at the door, all too aware that his lips touch your palm.
"A… a message, S- Serah?"
"This is the inquisitor. The Commander is… unavailable at the moment. Unless there is an emergency, do not disturb him in the next half hour, is that clear?"
"… Yes, ma'am."
You know what the messenger will conclude from that information, but you don't care. Cullen might see it differently, but you're not sure he's even aware of how loaded that sounded.
You remove your hand from his face and gently push his head back into his arms. Cullen remains silent and tense. The disruption has ruined some of your hard labor. You suspect the pain is not only caused by Lyrium withdrawals. The constant stress the man is under is more likely the perpetrator.
"How many hours do you sleep at night?"
"Uhm… about… four?" he answers muffled.
You hum disapprovingly. "And how many meals do you eat a day?"
"One. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he informs you.
"I see. And how many breaks do you take, and for how long?"
"None… and for no time…"
You let him stew in those answers and hope he repeats them to himself as many times as you do.
"And what about..." you trail off, contemplating how you should ask this question without him dying of embarrassment. "I mean… sexual tension is just as damaging as any other."
He lifts his head abruptly. There is a long awkward silence.
"…What are you asking me?"
This is not a subject the Commander is comfortable with.
"I don't expect you to seduce the first maiden you run into, but you should at least take care of yourself regularly."
There is another long and very uncomfortable silence. Cullen moves to sit upright in his chair, and you let go of him and consider aborting the mission. But then he finally sighs and turns his head slightly to talk to you.
"It's not easy for me... I grew up in a chantry where I slept in a great hall along with thirty other boys. And while it wasn't illegal, it certainly was frowned upon. I guess there is a lot of shame connected with- you know."
"Masturbating," you blurt out.
Cullen's neck and ears turn red to emphasize how shameful he finds it.
You almost offer to help him. But you don't. Instead, you decide to inform him that you do it at least twice a week. Even on the road and in a tent right next to your companions. You were trying to make him feel less embarrassed, but it had the opposite effect. The man's neck is even redder now, and he stammers something you can't even understand.
"I- That's- Uh… Maker's breath!" he finally manages.
"I'm just saying it's natural… and it has the perfect side effect of being a natural painkiller."
"I- Really?"
"Oh yes. It's more effective than elfroot which, by the way, is addictive and not recommended for daily use."
You put your hands back onto his shoulders, and he jumps by your touch. You work him in silence for another five minutes and then exploit your position as his boss.
"I hate to do this," you lie, "but I'm ordering you to eight hours of sleep, three meals a day, and a one-hour massage in the afternoon."
He is silent for a few seconds and then shakes his head.
"You can't waste an hour every day with me," he protests.
"Do you need all that in writing, Commander?" you say, ignoring his inquiry.
"No… Inquisitor."
"Anyway, I'll leave for the Western Approach within the week, so someone else will take over while I'm away."
"Oh…"
"I'll have Josephine find someone suitable," you state. Then you release him from your grasp. "There. How is your pain?"
"It's… almost gone," he whispers in awe.