Archive of Our Own

“Creators, Cullen—!”

He had to restrain a groan at the desperate hitch in the Inquisitor’s voice, the tension in her neck under his lips. Her hands, strong despite how slender they appeared, wrenched into his hair, mussing up his carefully placed curls. 

He hadn’t been able to resist surreptitiously finding his way to her quarters minutes after her return from the Emerald Graves. Her team had been gone for just over three weeks— three long, lonely weeks, and the moment she’d ridden her majestic hart across Skyhold’s bridge, he was already tripping over himself to greet her at her quarters. To hold her close and breathe her in, to remind himself of the sound of her voice and taste of her lips. That he now found himself tasting the soft skin of her collar bones where he’d impatiently tugged apart the tie on her tunic was a unplanned but no less welcome development.

His heavy armor had clunked down to the ground, piece by piece, as had her own, though the foreign build of her Dalish armor proved to be more difficult than he’d imagined. Now his hungry hands grasped and tugged at clothing he’d never felt the right to touch, heard the sounds of her encouragement and pleasure that he’d not yet had the honor of hearing. More of her fair skin was revealed than he’d seen, and despite the spontaneity of his affection, she seemed utterly uninterested in curbing his enthusiasm. 

“Promise you won’t—” he murmured needily between adoring kisses over the bit of shoulder he could reach, “—that you won’t leave for so long next time.”

“I’d never leave again,” she whispered, squirming under his weight, “If I had the choice. Not without you.” She drew him up with a fist in his hair to meet her lips, her tongue slick and hot against his own. He did groan then, not enough blood in his head to stop himself. Her legs had wound around one of his thighs, the faint feel of her heat pressed against the muscle. She slowly ground down against it mindlessly, only parting from him to confide, “Cullen, I… I want—”

“Message, your worship!”

The messenger’s voice was muffled and quiet as it travelled trough the thick door to her quarters. Avriel was suddenly jerked away from her line of thought to stare intensely in its direction.  

“Can it wait?”

Cullen had to hide his laughter 
in her neck. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so displeased outside of a battlefield. 

“Err… Well, Lady Josephine seemed insistent on the matter. Something about a duke?”

She released something like growl, and Cullen squeezed her tightly, unable to help himself. 

“Very well. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Yes, your Worship.”

She sighed in disappointment. “I’m sorry, vhenan, I—”

“One more thing, my lady,” the messenger continued nervously, “Do you happen to know where I might find Commander Cullen? He’s not in his office, nor the courtyard.”

“Is his presence also requested?”

“That is what I’ve been told, my Lady Inquisitor.”

Cullens amusement crumbled, suddenly faced with the prospect of quickly strapping himself into his armor all flushed and, ahem, excitable. 

“If I see him, I’ll let him know,” Avriel sighed, though she looked far from leaping out of bed, “That will be all.”

“Yes, your Worship.”

The quiet footsteps retreated from the landing, and still neither seemed all that interested in obeying the summons, still a steamy tangle of limbs. 

“My heart…” Cullen said sweetly, and she pulled him back down into a kiss. For his own sake, he kept it tame, but the yearning fingers still curling into his shirt did nothing to convince him to pull away. “We must go.”

“I’m the Inquisitor,” she huffed In annoyance, “One would think that means I can do whatever I want.”

“I suppose it does, only not without disturbance. Or annoyance.”

She sighed, and he finally dragged himself off of her, bringing them both to their feet. His eyes caught on her rumpled clothing, her lovely neck and one exposed shoulder marked and reddened by his eager mouth. The duke could surely wait, couldn’t he?

“Cullen, these last few weeks, I’ve… Ever since we spoke about us finally…”

“So have I,” he admitted breathily, hands running over her shoulders, her arms, wanting only to feel her, to know she was truly here in the flesh. It hadn’t been long after their last discussion about her own lack of experience in such matters that she was called away. And since, he’d had to wrench his mind from the idea on numerous occasions. At least during the day. At night, it was a fight he had no hope of winning, trying and failing to satiate the desire in her absence with nothing but his own hand for company. That she had suffered in her own way brought too him too much pride and far too much hope. “You’ve a talent for distracting me, even when you’re miles away.”

Her lips found his once more, imbuing them with overdue kisses that made his breath hitch and his waning hardness fight back to attention. 

“Avriel, if we are ever to leave this room, you must have mercy on me,” he laughed with a fierce blush. And she only tortured him further when her hand slipped between them, more curious than teasing. She merely glided the back of her knuckles against his stubborn hardness experimentally, and he sucked in a gasp.

“This is because of me?” she asked innocently.

“Maker’s breath, Avriel, what else could have caused it?”

A delighted, breathtaking smile broke over her face.  

“Can I…” when she met his eyes, they were darker than before, “Can I come see you tonight? When we’ve both been relieved of duties?”

“I beg that you do," he said, "Maker, how you torture me.”

“Not for long, Commander,” she grinned and stood up on her toes to leave another kiss on his lips, this one short and simple. “Now, let see what this duke has to say for himself. It had better be bloody important.”

“Rhysland’s men will monitor the situation.” 

A headache began to brew in the back of Cullen's skull, the meeting with his lieutenants dragging on longer with every new development. Did they alway have so much to say, or was it his eagerness for the evening to finally come causing it to drag on?

“Yes sir," one of them answered readily, "We’ll begin preparations at once.”

Cullen nodded, “In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to—” His heart flipped in his chest, for just beyond the assembly he spotted her. She’d slipped into his office at some point, waiting in the shadows for the meeting to end. She remained silent like a snake waiting to strike at its prey, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “…Uh, assist with the relief effort. That will be all.”

“Yes, sir.”

The congregation filed out too slowly for his taste, and surely some took note of her waiting in the wings. Thankfully, whatever questions they might have had cooked up in regards to her presence at that hour were kept to themselves. At least until he resolutely closed the door behind them. 

“There’s always something more, isn’t there?” he complained. 

She smiled and slipped closer, “Wishing we were somewhere else?” 

“Anywhere you are, my dear,” he chuckled, automatically taking her hand in his, “I barely found time to get away before. This war won’t last forever.” She followed him to his desk, the thing filled with half-finished reports, each interrupted by another more pressing matter. “When it started, I… Well, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now.”

That tinge of impishness fizzles away, and she regarded him earnestly, “What do you mean?”

“I find myself wondering what will happen after— when this is over. I won’t want to move on. Not from you,” he admitted quietly. He hadn’t planned to, but that didn’t stop him. The mere idea of her heading back out onto the field in the next few days was bad enough, but the lingering fear of this all being temporary was worse. He’d suffer the workload of a war for the rest of his life if it meant she’d be beside him. “But I-I don’t know what you— that is, if you… um…”

Her smile rendered him speechless, and a sweet hand guided his chin so that he could look nowhere else but at her. 

“Cullen, do you need to ask?” 

His heart pounded. His knees felt weak. He could fall to them in relief if he had a crumb less dignity. 

“I suppose not,” he all but whispered, “I want…” 

They met in a kiss, one that he poured his soul into. As he leaned into her, she must have bumped into the contents of the desk. He heard the shattering of a bottle followed by her small gasp of shock. 

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized, but he couldn’t have cared less at the moment. He regarded his desk with derision and let the impulse he’d had all day win over his typical meticulousness. With a flourish, he swept each and every item on his desk off and onto the floor with a series of crashes, and she laughed, utterly delighted. She hopped up to sit where once his ledger resided, and he took no convincing to join her, crawling over her body as he had earlier. Her beaming smile told him he’d made the right decision. 

Only after a few moments of their lips meeting, her hands blindly scrabbled for the fastens on his chest plate. He eagerly sat up to help her, wanting to feel her flush against him, to be free of the restriction at last. They tugged him free of his mantle and chest plate and gloves, and finally, the simple shirt he wore underneath all of it. With his chest exposed, she pounced. Her hands, more confident than the last time she’d seen him like this, immediately reached out, touching, exploring, winding around his back. He chuckled at her eagerness as if he were not in the same boat. His own fingers sought out the buttons over her vest, trying desperately to divest her of the numerous layers she always donned. Her deft fingers aided him, ridding herself of her outerwear until nothing but a silk blouse hid her torso. 

“May I?”

She took a deep breath and nodded, pushing past whatever lingering nerves she’d maintained. This time he slowed, carefully undoing each button until the fabric fell to the sides. A breast band of fine quality remained, but the swath of new skin set his own tingling. She sat up to let him remove the blouse, keeping her arms away from her body to allow him to undo her undergarment as well. Careful fingers tugged her free of the band, and she watched his expression carefully at the first sight of her breasts. He wondered briefly if he was the first one afforded the honor in this context, and from the tinge of worry in her brow, it seemed somewhat likely. 

“You’re so…” he began, but trailed off, hands gliding from her waist to her chest. It heaved in a breath at his touch, at the way his hands seemed to dwarf her breasts. They were small, much like the rest of her, but soft, tipped with a fair pink, and creamy to the touch. His palms could house them entirely if they wished, and they indeed did. She gasped at the pressure, at the way he fawned over them with careful but calloused hands. “Gorgeous. Just…”

“Cullen, please.”

“Yes, my darling?” he prompted gently and drew her into another kiss. She whimpered into it, dragging him closer by the arms looped around his neck. 

“Please touch me,” she whispered shyly, “I can’t…”

A hand ran down her toned stomach, reaching the apex of her thighs. She gasped at his touch, still nothing but a vague tease through her clothing. She wrenched open the strings over her trousers while he chuckled and rubbed over her sympathetically. When finally the ties loosened, she tried to drag them down her legs, all but ignoring him being utterly in the way. He released a breathy laugh, hoisting himself off of her. Instead he stood at the end of the desk and carefully pulled at the waist, finally freeing her of the (maddeningly tight) trousers and boots. Her smalls were far fancier than anything he’d imagined, with lacy trim and a tiny bow in the front. Instead of saying anything remotely charming, he abruptly asked, “Do you wear these everyday?”

She huffed, the blush on her cheeks darkening, “Of course not. I wanted to look…” she trailed off as he ran his palms up her shins, “We saw them in a shop in Val Royeux. I wanted to look nice for you.”

“You do. So, so beautiful.” His lips couldn’t help but follow his hands’ path, kissing up her legs to her thighs, soft and smooth over taut muscle. Just as his fingers reached the intricate hem, he paused, asking, “‘We’?”

She snorted, a gentle hand coming to cup his cheek adoringly, “Dorian and I. He insisted I buy them.”

He burned with a blush, though it was hardly a surprise. Here at the keep, if she wasn’t loitering in Cullen’s office or he in hers, she was likely off gossiping with Dorian over a bottle of wine. He’d be worried of real competition if the man had the capability of being attracted to her. To know someone who cared for her so often travelled at her side was a monumental comfort and earned no small him no small amount of respect in Cullen’s eyes. The pair made fast friends indeed, with all the dirty advice he could imagine, no doubt. He wasn’t looking forward to the Tevinter’s knowing smirk at their next chess game. 

“By the Maker,” he muttered to himself in embarrassment and began tugging them down, her hips lifting up off the wood to allow it passage. Her legs stayed pinned together out instinct, or perhaps nerves. He could hardly blame her for either. 

“Funny,” she said nervously, almost deliberately ignoring her own nakedness. It was something she did, he’d noticed, deflect her fear with humor or charm. It was one of the many assets she employed as Inquisitor, though she rarely defaulted to it with him. “He was certain you’d rip them off with your teeth like some wild animal.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, her body fully naked before him. And with some heat, he confided, “I’ll admit, there are times you make me feel every bit the wild beast he warned you of.”

“Really?” she asked, bewitched by the idea. He only guided her closer by a hand on the back of her neck to his lips, each kiss deep and enthusiastic, the feel of her tongue sending tingles down his spine. She seemed calmer like this, more comfortable in familiar territory. 

“Are you still doing alright, Avriel?” he asked gently, petting over a kneecap.

“I’m… yes,” she answered quietly, but her muscles stiffened all the same, giving her away. “I trust you.”

“But do you want this? Want me?” he asked earnestly. The path of his hands up and down her still-clamped thighs was aiming to be soothing, but it was hard to tell how well it helped.

“Yes, very much so,” she swallowed, sounding very small when she admitted, “I’m only a little…”

“Nervous?”

“…Yes.”

“I’m nervous, too,” he whispers gently, soothingly.  

“What could you possibly be nervous for?”

“I’ve been considering this night for some time. Long enough to think of all the ways it could go wrong.”

“I know the feeling,” she chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never. I want anything you’ll give me, my heart. I desperately wish to please you.”

She regarded him for a moment, pale blue eyes surveying his face for duplicity. Then she kissed him again, slowly relaxing into it, deliberately letting her knees unpin themselves. A hand grabbed one of his and carefully she guided it down until they reach her point of utmost pleasure. She gasped, not from the feeling as much as the newness of the feeling, and he went on kissing her thoroughly, passionately, to keep her mind from straying to worry. He began touching her gently, trying to gauge her reaction from the tiny hitches in her breath, the humming sounds in her throat. But as he continued his careful exploration, he slid his hand further down her sex, picking up her wetness on his fingers. 

He couldn't help but moan into her mouth, pulling back impulsively to look down between them. She tensed for only a moment, but he didn’t cease in his careful attention but in fact improved upon it, gliding slick fingers over her sensitive little organ with renewed appreciation. 

“Is this..?”

“Yes,” she answered, “Don’t stop. You make me feel— gods, Cullen.”

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he said his mouth finding her neck, freeing up her mouth to spill more desperate little sounds into the air, “Please, can I see you?”

 “I… okay,” she answered shyly, and when he met her eyes, the worry shone through despite her trying to mask it. He kissed between her tense brows, and she took a calming breath. Now she was fully exposed to him, her lithe, willowy legs parted to display herself. She was worried over nothing, as far as this was concerned, for she was beautiful here too. The white-blonde of her hair was echoed here in wispy curls, the shape of her like a delicate flower with blooming petals. His own erection throbbed angrily, still locked away in his breeches, and his mouth outright watered.

“Maker’s breath,” he said without thinking, and she gripped his forearm in alarm.  

“Am I— is it… alright?”

“Alright?” he nearly guffawed, “You are breathtaking. Utterly. Would it be alright if I..? Well— what I mean to say is, are you familiar with the practice of…?”

“…Of?” she prompted, but a tiny smile finds her lips, a splash of confidence finding its way back to her. 

“I want—” he blushed hotly, more flustered with the saying than the doing, “May I use my mouth?”

Her chest rises and falls with a breath of anticipation, the peaks of her nipples tight with arousal, “Are you certain?”

“More certain than I’ve ever been in my life,” he says emphatically, and she laughs, another layer of tension shed. 

She subtly hides her face, coyly divulging, “I admit, this is one act that I found very… compelling in my… readings.”

“Did you?” he asked and kissed his way down her body. She gasped as his lips latched onto a rosy nipple on the way to his destination, suckling it into his mouth. 

“Sometimes when we kiss, I wonder…”

“…what it would feel like?” he grinned, “My lips between your legs?”

“Your lips. Your tongue,” she whimpered at the attention his mouth paid to her stomach, her hipbones, kissing and nibbling as he went. 

He settled his knees on the hard, stone floor but ignored the discomfort. Kissing at the inside of her thighs, he asked, “Avriel, can I..?”

She leaned up on her elbows to watch, her eyes dark and lips kiss-reddened. He had to grip his fingers into her trembling thighs to keep from pouncing.

“Please, Cullen.”

“Anything you want, my dear,” he agreed readily and kissed down one thigh until he reaches his destination. He kissed at the topmost point just under her thatch of curls, trying to ease her into the sensation. Even just the dry press of his lips made her suck in a breath, and he looked up to watch her reaction. Her eyes bore into him, watching his careful movements with equal parts trepidation and anticipation. He let his tongue follow, delving between her lips for the first time, and his eyes fell closed at the taste of her. She was rich and earthy with a touch of salt, the smooth glide of her sex on his tongue sensation he knew he’d never tire of. She took in a shuddered breath, still watching intently. He tore himself away only to assure her, “You’re delicious, my heart.”

And her head fell back at the praise, a soft sound of pleasure now free to fall from her lips.  

“Cullen, it feels…”

He licked a broad stripe from her opening to the crest, and her hips twitched under him. 

“More?” he asked despite knowing the answer.  

“Please,” she whispered, and he smiled to himself and guided her legs to fold over his shoulder, settling in close. 

“Relax, darling.”

And soon she did, letting her back lay flat against the cold, hard wood of his desk. As he worked her over with each lap of his tongue, he couldn’t help think of how he’d never get the image of her spread out across his workspace out of his head. Of how at every meeting held in this office would be held around the altar where their Inquisitor fell to pieces under his worshipful mouth. Where she released ragged moans when he began suckling at her pearl, where her hands dug almost painfully into his hair to draw him ever closer. 

Without thought, he slipped a free hand down toward her opening, fingers seeking entrance. He stupidly hadn’t anticipated to come upon resistance, unable to insert more than a knuckle without being halted by the seal. A sudden wash of guilt ran over him, very suddenly aware of the fact that he’d wanted to fuck her on a hard, uncomfortable desk for her first time. If the sisters at the chantry knew how far his manners had slipped, he be in for a knuckle rapping. 

His train of thought suddenly derailed when her hips bucked against his mouth, a breathy warning sounding out through her labored breathing, “Cullen, please, I… I’m…”

He hummed in satisfaction, smoothing his hands up over her stomach and chest to grasp at her breasts. A small sound, the quick crackle of electricity seemed cut through the humidity for a brief second, and before he could question it, she broke. She spasmed rhythmically against his tongue, a high pitched whine squeaking past her throat, and he felt nearly dizzy with how hard he was by the end of it. He kissed his way back up her body, gentle and patient as she caught her breath, taking his time to enjoy the sight of her flushed and bare for him. By the time he reached her lips, she was happy to draw him closer, letting her own taste fill her mouth with each swipe of his tongue. 

“Cullen, can you… I want— I want everything. Please,” she whispered between them like a secret. His cock twitched in neglect, but he was resolved in his newfound chivalry. 

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“I’m fine here,” she offered, but she was only being kind. Her shoulder blades must have ached against the oak. 

“Come,” he insisted, pulling her to sit up, and no sooner than he did, her arm instinctively rose to cover her chest. He picked over the pile of clothing they’d left on the floor and plucked the nearest one he found. He draped his own shirt over her shoulders, and she smiled, slipping her arms into too-billowy sleeves and folded it over her chest.

“Ma nuvenin, Commander,” she smiled coyly, and he lifted her into his arms, carrying her over the small shards of glass still littering the floor. When they reached the ladder, she giggled, “Do you intend to carry me up?”

“Perhaps I sought to try.”

“Let me down. I’m not too precious to climb.”

“I am inclined to disagree, but as you wish.”

He hoisted himself up and met her at the top, offering a hand to aid her at the landing. She grinned widely once up top, eyeing the roof pridefully.

“My, my,” she teased, taking in the repairs. They were nothing special, just new boards over the lingering holes to keep the snow out, “You’ve got yourself an actual ceiling. You do make a girl feel special.”

He laughed, scooping her back up into his arms and carrying her to the bed, “Anything for you, Madam Inquisitor.”

She shot him a look as he lay her down, sprawling comfortably over his quilt, “Don’t call me that.”

“Ah, my apologies,” he grinned, crawling back over her, “Do you prefer ‘my lady’ or ‘darling’?” He kissed her cheek and neck giddily, “Or perhaps something closer to home, ma vhenan?”

She tugged him close, holding him in a tight embrace, “Ar lath ma vhenan.” He held her just as close, knowing not what the full phrase meant, but that it sounded painfully heartfelt. “Ma emma lath la vhenan'ara.”

“I don’t speak fluent elven yet, my dear.”

“I know,” she said impishly, and he chuckled. 

“I adore you, you know?” he murmured against her hair, and kisses which had minds of their own peppered across her cheek and forehead and all the way to the tip of her pointed ear. “My heart, do you still wish to..?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her blunt nails breathily digging into his back. “Can I… I want to see you.”

“Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan.”

“Very good, my darling,” she beamed. 

He pushed himself off of her and quickly removed his boots. He was happy to finally untie his breeches, the hard shape of him eagerly awaiting its freedom. She sat up in bed, and he had to restrain a giggle at the earnest look of curiosity that took over her expression. 

“Here,” he said softly, taking her hands in his and guiding them to his waistband, “Help me.”

Her gaze fluttered up to his, and a determined little smile graced her lips. She pulled down the fabric, until he could step out of them, and her fingers sought out the hem of his smalls without encouragement. 

“Go on,” he said anyway, and her hands tugged them away. He was harder than stone and had been for what felt like hours, springing up enthusiastically at the first taste of freedom. She took in a breath, wide eyes wider than usual at the sight. 

“Creators…”

He laughed, dipping low to drag her into a happy kiss because he just couldn’t help himself, “Are you still alright?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” she said with some faux indigence, and reached for his length greedily. At the touch of her hand, it was his turn to gasp, hungry for touch after so long. 

“It’s so…” she began thoughtfully, “Are they all this large?”

He snorted, nearly choking on saliva. 

“Ah…some bigger, some smaller,” he answered bashfully, and a moan escaped his lungs as she wrapped a hand around it, stroking experimentally. “Is mine the first you’ve seen?”

“In this state, certainly,” she answered absentmindedly, “In person, at least. Those silly illustrations don’t do it justice.”

“And it’s… does it please you, my lady?”

“Oh, you are beautiful, vhenan,” she quickly assured, “I only worry if you’ll fit.”

He swallowed. Carefully, sweetly, he removed her hand, guiding her to lay back. 

“I will,” he said simply and dug through a drawer for a small vial of oil. The thing was near empty after the last month of torture. He then found his place over her, drizzling some into his palm. “But, darling, I… it may hurt a little at first.”

“I know,” she nodded, some of those nerves returning, her hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her oversized sleeves, “I still want it.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, dipping to kiss her sweetly. His hand coated his length in preparation despite how wet she’d gotten. He’d never deflowered anyone before, but his father had told him to be kind if he ever did, and he planned to follow that advice to the letter. “Are you ready?”

She nodded tightly and whispered, “Ready.”

He lined up the tip, dipping in as far as her body would comfortably allow. He pressed experimentally a few times, and she waited patiently, a small line of discomfort between her brow. He resettled his knees more comfortably on the bed, and a thumb began soothing over her pearl, gently circling to try and draw her attention away from what he was about to do. Her breath caught and she tensed, though this time from pleasure, and he tipped his hips forward, slow but unyielding. 

“You’re doing so well, my heart. Just let me—”

The thin barrier suddenly gave under the pressure and he sunk in another inch. She gasped, a hand blindly seeking his, and he grabbed it, bringing their joined hands to his mouth to press kisses over the back of it. 

“Cullen…” she whined, squirming under him. He resolutely did not think of how good every little movement felt around him. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“I need a moment.”

“As many as you need,” he promised, and carefully he leaned over her to kiss her tense face, her crumpled forehead. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No, just—” she lifted her legs and crossed them over his back, carefully guiding him in another inch or so. He had to stifle a moan into her shoulder, the tight pressure of her heat too much to ignore. “Okay, more. Just… slow.”

He obeyed wordlessly, letting his weight sink into her bit by bit until there was nowhere else to go. He shuddered, breathing shallowly against her collarbone. The pressure was heavenly, the heat breathtaking, the significance overwhelming. 

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he whispered, and a hand combed through his hair affectionately. It made chills break out over his skin. 

“How do I feel?” she asked breathlessly, and he groaned as she squeezed down around him— intentional or no. 

“Incredible. So warm, so tight.”

She clenched down at his words, and he had to take a steadying breath. 

“Try moving. Slowly.”

He again obeyed, carefully withdrawing a few inches and slowly sinking back in. She took a deep breath but made no complaint, so he repeated the action, propping himself up to survey her expression. Her eyes had fallen closed, and her face slowly relaxed with his slow movements. She was still tight around him, but the muscles seemed more willing to accommodate the intruder, periodically fluttering and loosening its vice-like grip. He decided to withdraw completely, shushing her immediate, whiny complaint. He cleaned off the small amount of blood and applied more oil methodically. When he pressed back inside, she hummed in approval, the drag apparently more comfortable the second time around. 

He pressed kisses into her cheek, adoring and warm, and after a minute of simply adjusting to his size and slow movement, her heels dug into his lower back, wordlessly spurring him on. He sped up minutely, drawing back further only to fall back in. And her tense, shallow breaths morphed into something more desperate, more tinged with pleasure. He let himself relax into the rhythm, and her arm coiled around his neck in an embrace. 

“Still alright, my heart?”

She hummed in ascent, answering shakily, “I like being joined with you. It stung at first, but this feels so nice.”

He leaned down to quickly kiss her lips and pulled away with a grin. She let her hands slip from his shoulders with a pout, but he didn’t leave her disappointed for long. 

“It’s meant to feel better than nice,” he chuckled and settled back on his knees. He scooped up her rear-end in his hands, tilting their angle experimentally. It took a few exploratory thrusts, but he was certain he’d found it when she gasped harshly, fingers wrenching into the bedding below. A raspy moan broke free as he doubled his efforts, nailing the spot each time he plunged inside. 

“Cullen, you—” she babbled, her head tilting back into the pillows, “That’s—that’s— gods—!”

He allowed himself to relish in the pride that came over him at the display. The sight was mesmerizing, the way her breasts bounced at every deep thrust where the shirt had fallen open, the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin like morning snow, the green light flickering sporadically in her palm beginning to overpower the dim light of the candle on his beside. She begged and pleaded for him to continue as if he had any intention of leaving her unsatisfied, and he answered by tossing a couple pillows under her hips so that he could free up a hand to touch her, drawing her closer to a second climax. Her hand gripped fiercely at his arm where he held himself over her, all but sobbing pitiful noises into her bicep. 

“Feel nice?” he teased breathlessly, awfully pleased with himself, and she didn’t have the wherewithal to quip something back. He received only a moaned affirmative, her free hand running over her body obscenely. He had to look away to keep in check, lifting a knuckle to his mouth for a strategic bite. It did little to stave off his body’s desperate desire to let go and finish. 

Moments later, she tensed further, arching up into him and came, a sound of sweet agony filling the room and her grip on him pulsed repetitively. It was almost too much, the telltale tension threatening to snap along with her. Then he was yanked from the ecstasy by the sudden sensation of heat to his right. The candle on his little side table had blared to life, the small flame roaring up to thrice or four times its size. 

“Avriel!” 

She swore through her peak, mindful enough to haphazardly extinguish the wick with a crackling coat of frost which spread down the candlestick and across the table top. Despite himself and all lingering fear of her magic, he broke into laughter, letting her cling to him and ride out the last of her pleasure in the moonlight and veil-glow. 

“Sorry,” she breathed as she collapsed back against the pillow, her hair fanning out like a halo, looking like some goddess on his humble bedding. He had to kiss her, to press his adoration to her lips as his own peak approached. But too soon, he was forced to withdraw, taking himself into his hand. 

“Where are you going?” she whined, the legs around his waist tugging him closer. 

“Darling, if I—” he attempted to explain eloquently, “If I… release inside, you may fall pregnant—” 

“I know,” she snipped, tugging stubbornly at his shoulders, “I’m a— well, I was a virgin, not a child, Cullen. I’ve taken precautions.”

He considered her skeptically. 

“Magical precautions?”

“Herbal,” she corrected, “A Dalish mixture. Please, I want the full experience.”

He relented feverishly, sinking back inside prompting a happy hum from his partner.  

“And you’re certain it works?”

“Of course. How do you—” she had to suck in a breath as he began again “—think the clans stay small enough to travel?”

He chuckled breathily, burying his face in her blushing neck, “I thought perhaps they were as proper as you, my dear.”

She giggled, arms circling him in a hug, “Not so proper anymore, am I?”

“I suppose not.”

He picked up his pace, spurred on by her whispered encouragements, by her clenching down around him in a way that was definitely on purpose. Newly minted and already finding new ways to torture him— he really shouldn’t be surprised. As he reached the precipice he swore under his breath, the sounds tearing out of him not much more dignified than hers had been.  

“Come on, Cullen,” she whispered in his ear, as if sensing his arrival, “I want it. I want to—hmm— to know what it feels like to be completely filled with you.”

He muffled a pathetic moan against her neck and snapped. His hips stuttered and forced him deep, emptying himself inside of her, and a small part of him felt like his soul went with it. Her nurturing hands petted over his hair, his back, his shoulders. Small kisses dotted all they could reach, and he distantly heard her saying something in elven, her voice soothing and sweet in a way he only ever heard directed at him. 

When finally he could reemerge, he did so with a bit of an embarrassed chuckle, lifting himself off her slight body for fear of having crushed it. When he slipped out of her, a trail of his essence followed his exit. It made his head spin. Another first for him— never had he been with someone so dear that he could freely spill his seed, never with someone whom he would ever even consider it. He found a place beside her, and she settled more comfortably against the bed and faced him. She gazed at him with the most peaceful little smile and brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. 

“I love you, vhenan,” she said simply, and his breath caught in his lungs. 

“Really?” he asked meekly. She gives him a look of disbelief, breathing an incredulous little laugh.

“Of course,” she smiled, “I wouldn’t have done this if I wasn’t in love with you. I wouldn’t have… shared myself so easily. This was very important to me.”

His mind reeled, trying to come up with a proper response. When they first got together, he had feared he was little more than a rebound. As they grew closer, he feared he would always love her more than she could love him. He worried that her position, that her history wouldn’t allow for her to give him so much of herself, and like the love struck fool he had been, he’d been willing to risk it. Now as she lay in his bed with traces of his lips all over her skin, his essence deep inside her body, her heart on his billowing sleeve, he stood utterly and profoundly corrected. Like many before, he was a fool to have doubted her. 

“If you don’t…” she began, a tinge of worry pinching her brows. He interrupted that treacherous train of thought with a kiss. 

“I—Maker, I love you, too, Avriel,” he confessed hastily, “I’ve spent nearly as much time loving you as I have knowing you.”

Her eyes glistened and she sought out his embrace, and he welcomed her into his arms, holding her close to his wildly beating heart. He didn’t mind that she could hear it pound in his chest. 

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he continued, “It’s not a gift I take lightly.” 

“Nor I, my love. Ar lath ma vhenan,” she repeats quietly, a smile present in her voice. 

He hums in thought, “‘I love you, my heart’?”

“I love you, my heart.”

He jolted awake, the familiar, somewhat formulaic nightmare causing his heart to pound in latent fear. He nearly jumped when he remembered he wasn’t alone. Avriel was sat on the edge of the bed in nearly full dress and stopped fiddling with her boots to find his eyes. 

“Bad dream?” she asked lightly, her eyes wide.

“They always are,” he admitted, his heart beating in his throat, “Without lyrium, they’re worse. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You can let me worry about you a little.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, the thought settling something deep in his heart. She leaned into him, her forehead coming to rest on his, “You are… I have never felt anything like this.”

“Me neither,” she whispered, a little smile tugging at her lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said easily, meaning every word, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” 

“Just getting back, actually,” she corrected, kicking off her boot and scooting back into the bed with him. He welcomed her into his arms, selfishly hoping she’d strip off her clothing too so that they could both be bare under the sheets for a while longer. 

“From?”

“Downstairs. We, erm…” she began, refusing to meet his eye, “Well, you had a runner come by. I told him to come back later.”

“Maker’s breath,” he sighed frustratedly, “I’m surely in for more inane theorizing of my love life if he saw you here at this time of day.” 

“Not… certain there’s much to theorize, my love.”

She bit her lips together, trying desperately to hold back a foolish smile.  

“Avriel, stop making that face.” She didn’t. In fact, she looked more ready to burst than before, “What does that mean?”

“Erm, so as it turns out, we… forgot to lock the doors?”

He froze. 

“And he… he saw…”

She nodded, covering her mouth. 

He went utterly white, imagining the scene that they’d left behind. No one could stumble upon such an incriminating tableau of discarded clothes and desk swept of all documents and make any other conclusion than the truth. She tried to stifle a giggle but couldn’t, hiding her grin behind her hand. 

“This is not funny, Avriel,” he said emphatically, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, “I can’t imagine something less appropriate if I tried. I need my men’s respect if I’m to—”

“Cullen, you slept with their Inquisitor,” she pointed out flatly, and quoted exaggeratedly, “‘Andraste’s chosen.' Who among them would see you as lesser for it? I mean, really. They’ll probably start calling you ‘your worship’ out of mere association.”

“You assume they’ve more reverence than humor,” he grumbled. 

“A little teasing won’t kill you, vhenan. Let them have a little fun at your expense, and they’ll like you all the more for it. Trust me.”

He swiped a hand over his face, “I suppose you’re right. It’s not like I have much of a choice in the matter, regardless. And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?" she scoffed. "Perhaps you’ll receive fewer marriage proposals from various Orlesian nobles now that I’ve so boldly staked my claim.”

“That… would be nice, come to think of it.”

“The best part…” she broke into more giggles, bright and bubbly. It was almost enough to wipe the frown from his face. “…was the runner asking if I’d like a servant to come clean up the broken bottles.”

She laughed until she snorted, and finally, he gave in and laughed with her. He leaned over her and pushed her onto her back, unable to stop himself to dropping kisses to her reddened cheeks. She wound her arms and legs around him, encouraging him closer. 

“Should we take advantage of our moment of reprieve, Commander?”

He shook his head fondly, dipping to kiss her neck, the skin lightly mottled with yesterday’s ravishing. More ammunition for gossip, he supposed defeatedly. 

“And let them make more assumptions? Would that be the wisest course of action, my Lady Inquisitor?”

“They’ll assume either way,” she laughed, “Besides, I’m certain you have more to teach me.”

“We’ve got an hour of solace at most, my dear.”

“Then we’d better get started.”