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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Threesome)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 1,353 (this chapter); 7,508 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Blindfold | Under the Sheets | Chains | Shivers Down His Spine | Best Kept Secret

Read on AO3

Threesome

Fall crisped the air, leaving Evie grateful for the coat that Cora had pressed upon her when she'd announced her intention to go for a walk. It was early yet, the sun having barely crested the horizon, and the world was still but for the occasional birdsong and the sound of Woof's and her footsteps. Even he was subdued, seemingly content to pace at her side instead of ranging afield as was his wont, and she buried her fingers in his ruff, grateful for the warmth and company.

"It's been a while, boy, hasn't it? Just you and me?"

Woof looked up at her and let his tongue loll, wiggled his back end in apparent agreement before he pressed against her, close enough that her thigh ruffled his fur with every step. She scratched his shoulders fondly as they walked—ambled, really, with no destination in mind. Paths unfurled and they followed them, wound through fields and copses, just a woman and her mabari.

By the time they stumbled upon the pier, the sun had fully appeared, and Evie shaded her eyes against it as they stepped onto the wood planks and approached the pier's end. The sun glinted off the water like flakes of gold, shifting as it lapped against the bank. She crouched at the end, trailed her fingertips through the water and shivered at the biting chill. "No swimming today," she said, and behind her Woof barked his agreement. She turned with a laugh, knelt on the damp wood and patted her thighs. He didn't hesitate to crawl into her lap—as much as a mabari could fit into anyone's lap—and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his fur.

He smelled of outdoors and dog, soothing in its familiarity, and she closed her eyes as his tongue slobbered over her neck. Growing up, she'd never have believed it if someone had told her that some day she'd happy like this; even when she'd rebelled against her parents' expectations, she'd had no concept of what possibilities life could offer, that she didn't have to bind herself to the world of salons and paper smiles that did little to conceal fangs. The family she'd found, the family she'd built herself, was more than she could have ever expected, and it was perfect.

Woof licked her neck again, then barked and wiggled away to bound along the pier with a scrape of claws. It hadn't been a warning bark, so she didn't bother opening her eyes, instead turned her face to the sun, imagined she could feel its warmth despite the wind that chilled her cheeks. She listened to her own breath, the rippling water, the soft tread that approached to stop next to her. She leaned in as a warm body settled against her side, cuddled under the arm that wrapped around her shoulders. She only opened her eyes again when Woof attempted to wiggle back into her lap, and then only to give him a chiding look. He whimpered, ears drooped in a way that was patently crocodile tears, and squirmed closer inch by inch, until he was draped over Cullen's lap with his broad head across Evie's thighs.

"Don't worry, you're still her favorite."

Evie glanced at Cullen as he patted Woof's side, and rocked her shoulder against his. "It's not a competition. Can't I love both of my boys?"

Cullen pressed a kiss to her temple, nuzzled the hair above her ear. "Is that what we are? Your boys?"

"Of course." Evie scratched behind Woof's ear, stopped only when Woof's hind leg began thumping the wood. "Mine." She'd never had that before, and couldn't help but repeat, "Mine."

"Evie," Cullen began, only to trail off. A ragged exhale punctuated the silence, and Evie turned a concerned look on him, lips parted to ask him what was wrong, only to find a small box in front of her nose. Cullen looked everywhere but at her, even as he slowly opened the box to reveal the ring she'd suspected it would contain. It sparkled in its white satin bed, the weak sunlight caught in its facets and spun into sparkles. "I'm already yours. Will you be mine?"

Evie stared at the ring until its glimmering hurt her eyes, then moved her gaze to Cullen's face. He looked at her at last, his expression carefully neutral, but she knew him well enough now to see the hope and terror that warred beneath the façade. She touched his hand, still aloft with the small box, touched his cheek, curled her fingers around his chin and turned him to face her enough that she could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering and not enough. She kissed the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth again, the tip of his nose, the sensitive spot in front of his ear, and it still was not enough. She sought his mouth, but paused with no more than a hairsbreadth between them, shared his breath as she stared into his eyes, caught by his amber gaze. "Yes," she breathed, then slid her hand into his hair and closed the distance between them. His lips were a brand on hers and she made a soft sound as she opened to him. Time stretched as they kissed, without end or meaning, until she pulled away just enough to murmur, "I will."

Cullen's smile, soft and somehow shy, was something she would never forget. It lingered as he pulled the ring from box and caught her hand, as he pressed a kiss to the tip of her third finger before he slid the ring over it. She didn't even pause to admire it before she caught his hand, pulled it to her mouth to nestle a kiss into his palm, then pressed it against her cheek. "Mine," she said again, and suddenly she couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face, so great that she felt she might split in two from the force of it. "We're going to have to elope."

"Elope?"

She laughed, a high, bright sound even to her own ears, giddiness that bubbled from her lips. "Unless you want a large affair. Between our friends and your family, there's not much middle ground." She laughed again at the dumbstruck look on Cullen's face, and snuggled closer to his side even as she used both hands to scratch the sides of Woof's neck. "Either way, we've already got our ringbearer."

Cullen wove his fingers through hers to join in scratching through Woof's fur. "He should be up there with us, wherever it is. He was our serendipity, after all."

Evie leaned in for another brief kiss, then bent enough to be able to blow gently against Woof's ear, smiled when it twitched. "I’ll never forget how you looked the first time I saw you.”

"Facedown and flailing in the grass?” Amusement warmed Cullen’s voice. "I never was much good at first impressions.”

"Nonsense. You were perfectly charming." Evie giggled when Cullen shot her a skeptical look, then eased Woof's head from her lap and got to her feet, reached a hand down to Cullen. "Memorable, at least."

Cullen took her hand, held it as he rose. "I'll take memorable. It got me you."

"So it did," Evie said, and tugged Cullen's hand to rest at her waist. Woof leaned against her leg and she smiled down at him as she wove her fingers through his fur again, caught by the flash of the ring there. "Thank you, Cullen. For being you."

Cullen chuckled and pressed a kiss into her hair. "You're the best part of me," he murmured, so softly it was almost lost in her hair, and then there was only the sound of lapping water, the soft scratch of Woof's fur, the thunder of her pulse. The sun continued its climb overhead and cool breezes pinked their cheeks, but the only thing that mattered was that moment, that perfectly encapsulated moment when it was her and her boys, and all was right with the world.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Best Kept Secret)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 1,085 (this chapter); 6,155 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Blindfold | Under the Sheets | Chains | Shivers Down His Spine

Read on AO3

Best Kept Secret

When Cora had linked her arm through Evie’s as soon as they’d walked into the house and whisked her away, Cullen had nearly followed despite her admonishment to give them some "girl time”; the expression on his mother’s face never boded well for him. In the end, however, he’d swallowed his trepidation and returned outside to help Branson with some repairs, and only occasionally glanced at the house.

Branson was quieter than he had been in his younger years but bits of his gregarious self were re-emerging, and they chatted with only occasional awkwardness as they fixed the wall of the chicken coop that had been damaged during a recent storm. Four hands made quick work of it, and as they put the tools away Cullen casually suggested they head inside for a drink before tackling the next task. When Branson shot him an amused look, Cullen dropped the nonchalance and ran a hand through his hair, looked again at the house, and muttered, "Mom is telling her every embarrassing story about me she knows, isn’t she?”

"Probably.” A smile played around the corners of Branson’s mouth. "Why else would she ask me to keep you busy?”

Cullen groaned, then squared his shoulders. "I’m going in—if I’m going to be humiliated, I might as well know by what.”

Branson chuckled—weak but welcome—and saluted as he saw Cullen off.

The house was quiet but for the occasional soft murmur of voices, and Cullen followed it to the family room. He was very nearly there when he heard Evie laugh delightedly and exclaim, "Oh, Maker, just look at him!”

Panic hurried his feet, and he burst into the room to find Evie and Cora on the overstuffed couch, a photo album perched on Evie’s knees and more of the same piled at her hip. She was still laughing when she looked up, and it hit Cullen straight in the chest as he realized again how beautiful she was with her face bright with happiness. He barely heard his mother’s chiding utterance of his name, too caught in Evie’s gravitational pull to do anything but cross the room, move the pile of albums to the floor, and sit next to her. Her thigh was a warm brand against his as he fought the urge to catch her chin and turn her to face him, to kiss the laughter from her smiling lips.

"What are you looking at?” he asked, grateful that his voice didn’t sound as tight as his throat felt. He glanced down at the open album, then winced when his eyes lit on the photo dominating the page. "Maker’s balls, Mom—how did you get this?”

"Language,” Cora said mildly, then smiled beatifically. "That nice girl you were dating sent it to me. What was her name? Mary?”

"Merrill,” Cullen corrected weakly, "and she was just a friend. I didn't realize you were that well-acquainted."

"She still writes to me, now and then." Cora patted his shoulder and pressed a fond kiss to his temple. "I'll start supper. No, dear," she added when Evie started to get up, and gestured her back to the couch. "You can help me next time. The two of you look through the albums some more."

Evie turned a smile on Cullen as Cora left, all sharp, playful edges and sparkling eyes. "Are there more like this?"

Cullen twirled a lock of hair from Evie's ponytail around his finger, brushed the ends of it lightly over her cheek. "Maker willing, no. I didn't even know she took that picture."

"Merrill, hmm?" The corners of Evie's mouth lifted a fraction more and trembled with poorly-suppressed laughter. "You've never mentioned her before."

Cullen collapsed against her side like a fallen soufflé, tucked his face against her neck and sighed. "She was a friend from college on the social work track, went into Elvhen rights advocacy after graduation. Sweet girl." He nuzzled into her throat, inhaling the light scent of tulips from her perfume. "Haven't seen her in a while, not since I've been back here."

Evie tilted her head to rub her cheek against his hair as one hand found his and wove their fingers together. "You should call her." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, squirmed a little closer and exhaled. "Maybe see if she has any more pictures of baby hipster Cullen."

"No," Cullen groaned, and pressed closer still to Evie. "One is enough." A giggle vibrated against him and he chased it with his lips, brushed them up the column of her throat until he reached her chin. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Never," Evie cheerfully agreed. She dipped her chin to meet his lips with her own, a light buss that was still enough to tear the breath from his lungs. He caught her as she withdrew, his hand tight on her shoulder as he dragged her back for a proper kiss. The thud as the album slid from Evie's lap to the floor barely registered as she kept moving until she could loop her arms over his shoulders, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. The kiss lengthened, turned into two, into three. Only when his hand began to creep up her thigh under her skirt did they break apart. Their breaths mingled in the small space left between them, heated and sharp, and only through a supreme effort of will did Cullen lean back when Evie's eyes dropped to his mouth and the tip of her tongue flicked over her lower lip.

"Supper will be ready soon," he said lamely, grateful when she nodded and grudgingly released him. She smoothed back the hair that had escaped her ponytail, then smiled and ran her fingers through his hair, tousled by her earlier grip.

"You know, Cullen, your hipster phase was adorable, but this is the you that I fell in love with." She pressed a kiss against his cheek, then bent to retrieve the photo album from the floor and opened it across her thighs once more. "It's part of who you are, but you're so much more than that." She slanted a smile at him, shifted closer to bump her hip against his. "Ask nicely and some day I'll share photos of my emo phase."

Cullen chuckled and slung his arm around Evie's shoulders, cuddled her closer still. "Something to look forward to," he said with a smile, then reached down and turned the album page.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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[podfic] What Is and Never Was

Fandom: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II Pairing: Male Hawke / Fenris Rating: SFW Length: 4:27 Summary: After their night together, Fenris thinks too much.

On AO3

#dragon age #dragon age ii #fenris #male hawke #podfic

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Shivers Down His Spine)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 2,259 (this chapter); 5,070 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Blindfold | Under the Sheets | Chains

Read on AO3

Shivers Down His Spine

"Will you let me?"

Cullen, startled, looked at Evie, who perched on the bathroom counter and idly swung one foot in a contrapuntal rhythm to the stroke of his razor over its strop. It wasn't that he'd forgotten she was there—as if that would be possible, the first morning in their shared apartment—but rather than he'd dropped so easily into the usual meditative state of his morning shave that even the silk of her soft voice had jarred him. He realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly and snapped it shut, could feel a flush rising over his cheeks. "Do you want to?"

Evie smiled, that slow, sweet smile that pooled warmth in his gut, and rubbed her thumb over his stubbled chin. "What if I say yes?" Her smile sharpened, impishness peeking from the curl of its corners, then repeated, "Will you let me?"

"Yes," Cullen said, to the surprise of both of them, to judge by the widening of Evie's eyes. "That is... have you ever used a straight razor before?" When Evie nodded, he frowned, even as he told himself that it was stupid to be jealous of a faceless, nameless man who'd had Evie's touch against his skin. "When was that?"

His deliberate nonchalance sounded forced even to his own ears, but Evie graciously let it pass without comment, simply smiled again. "My grandfather used a straight razor. When he'd visit, I'd always want to watch him shave. He taught me how to shave him instead—maybe he just got tired of me staring at him, but that was the most time we ever spent together and I treasured it." She sobered, dropped her eyes to the strop so that her lashes cast crescent shadows over her cheeks. "He died a few months before I was sent off to school, so it's been a while, but I still remember how."

Cullen finished stropping the razor in silence as he considered. Evie spoke so rarely of her family, even more rarely fondly, that he felt like he'd been given a precious gem, one that he could smash on the floor so easily with one wrong move. "All right," he said, carefully, as he flicked the razor closed and offered it to her. "My lady."

Evie leaned forward as she took the razor, found his mouth for a hard kiss that was over too quickly. She slid from the counter in a graceful descent, her body pressed against his barely long enough for him to feel the heat of it through her nightie against his bare chest. Before he could claim another kiss, she'd twisted away, set the razor on the counter and turned on the water to soak his towel.

"Sit down," she said—soft, implacable—and Cullen found himself perched on the lid of the toilet seat as she wrung out the towel and wrapped it around his face. She rested her palm against the hot cloth as she bent, her breath somehow even hotter as it fanned over his ear, and murmured, "Do you trust me?"

Cullen closed his eyes as shivers jolted down his spine, but managed a weak nod. When she simply patted his cheek and pulled away, he opened them again to find her lathering the shaving soap in its mug. The flick of her wrist, the sound of the brush bristles over the soap cake were hypnotic, and he found his eyelids listing until he watched her through his lashes, a strange soft focus that just added to the surrealism.

Her lips found his again as she unwound the towel, a kiss that lingered longer but was still over too quickly. He touched the tip of his tongue to the center of his lower lip, swallowed thickly as she pulled the brush from the mug and began to swirl lather over his cheeks. It was disconcerting, the familiar sensation at another's hands, and he stared at her, watched her eyes as she watched the brush lather his face, dip under his chin, tease at his throat. He swallowed thickly then, but either she didn't notice or didn't care, as she instead simply set the brush down and reached for the straight razor.

He'd expected her to begin immediately, but instead she stared at him, her expression one he couldn't identify. "Evie," he began, cut off when she pressed the razor guard against his lips.

"Shh." It was barely a breath of sound, but it was enough to keep him silent when she pulled the razor away and moved closer to him.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't for her to straddle his lap, her pale, bare thighs a sharp contrast to the deep grey of his sleep pants. The edge of the guard under his chin made him realize he'd dropped it to take in the aesthetics of her position, and he raised it again to find her smile turned on him, a little playful, a lot heated.

"Hold still," she said, and slid the razor open. He swallowed again, but it wasn't nerves that were constricting his throat.

Her fingers were still warm from the towel when she slid them next to his eye and pulled his cheek taut. The first slide of the razor over his skin was a revelation, an intimacy that he hadn't expected to hit him so hard, and he wrapped his hands around her thighs simply for something to hold on to. The contact made her pause, but when he made no other move, she continued, stroked the razor down the side of his face until it was clear. Each time her off hand moved to tauten another part of his skin, he could feel his eyelashes flutter with the urge to close his eyes, but he didn't want to lose the sight of her focused expression as she watched the razor strip the hair away.

She was so careful it nearly hurt, and knots twisted in his belly, tightened with every stroke. He exhaled heavily when she moved to the other side of his face, repeated the process with confident strokes, inhaled when she paused and stroked her finger along his freshly-shaven jaw.

"Do you trust me?" she asked again, and for a moment Cullen didn't grasp her meaning. It was only when her fingers touched under his chin, slick with lather, to tip it up that he understood.

"I do," he said, soft and hoarse. He could see her process it as her pupils dilated and she shifted in his lap, her skin furnace-hot even through his pants.

Though he'd anticipated a kiss, she simply said, "Good." A moment later, the razor was stroked over his him again, skimmed the thin skin of his throat, and it was only at the last moment that he remembered that swallowing was not the best idea.

It was a relief and a disappointment when she rose from his lap and set the razor aside. He closed his eyes as she wiped the last lingering traces of lather from his face, waited for the splash of aftershave, only to snap his eyes open again when instead came the sound of his brush whipping up a fresh lather.

"Again?" he asked, and mentally winced at the relatively high pitch of the question.

Evie only smiled and swirled the brush over his cheeks again, finished with a dot of lather on the tip of his nose. "If you're going to use a straight razor, you might as well go whole hog, right?" She set the brush aside, then tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged him down to press a kiss to his forehead before she wiped the smear of white off his nose. "Now hold still."

Cullen obeyed—he had no choice, really, not when Evie straddled his lap again and began to work the razor across his face—but it was a testament to his willpower that he made it through, and when she had finished and wiped the lather from his face the second time, he exhaled heavily. She was too close, too warm, too... everything, and it was increasingly difficult to ignore the shivers that raced down his spine each time her fingers pulled his skin taut, each time the blade kissed his skin.

He closed his eyes again, tipped his head back as he focused on his breathing in an attempt to distract himself from the heat that pooled in the pit of his belly, tingled through his limbs. He sucked in a sharp inhale when her lips traced the column of his exposed throat, grabbed blindly for her only to find her already out of reach. It wasn't until the sound of the brush lathering the shaving soap in its cup began again that he realized her intent, and he dropped his chin to look at her in incredulity.

"Again?" he repeated, and she laughed this time, set the cup down to slide into his lap, the brush still held in her other hand.

"One last time." She rubbed her cheek against his, breathed over his ear. "Don't you want to be as smooth as possible?" She turned her head so her lips traced the line of his cheekbone, followed it to his nose, then dropped to the corner of his mouth. "Smooth as a baby's bottom, isn't that what they say? I wonder how that would feel between my thighs."

Cullen wasn't sure if he actually made a sound or if it was just his brain snapping, but he could no more resist twisting to catch her mouth with his than he could breathing. She opened to him, familiar but still somehow new, and it was perfect because it was her and she was his and he still didn't understand how he'd gotten so lucky.

Evie wound an arm around his neck, pulled him closer as she shuffled further into his lap, until her legs spread around his hips, her nightie doing little to shield his chest from the press of her breasts, nipples already tight against him. One kiss bled into two, into three, and he fisted his hands into the fabric at her hips, tried to wriggle it free and draw it up so he could get at more skin, only to be stymied when Evie pulled away, scooted back until she was barely perched on his knees, and pressed her hand against his chest.

"We're not done yet," she said, her voice heated velvet, but her gaze resolute. "I don't like to leave jobs half-done." She smiled then, a slow curl of kiss-swollen lips that went straight to his cock, which already throbbed, heavy and stiff, within the loose confines of his sleep pants.

She seemed to be waiting for something, so Cullen swallowed thickly and managed to grind out, "OK," then closed his eyes as she again lathered his face. He didn't know if it was better or worse, being unable to see her focused expression; he suspected that either option would be agony. He focused on the rasp of his breathing, the throb of his pulse, the fire that each brush of her fingers left in its wake, until he heard the razor set down with a click on the counter, felt the soft terrycloth of the towel slowly wipe away the last of the lather, smelled the bay rum-scented aftershave he preferred before she splashed it over his skin.

He didn't realize what he was going to do until he was already in motion; he hooked his hands under the tops of her thighs and hefted her as he stood, opened his eyes to see her surprised expression as she reflexively wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and clung to him as he hustled into the bedroom and tipped her onto the bed.

She landed, limbs askew and mouth shaped into a small 'o' and hair tousled around her head like a halo. This time, when Cullen reached for the hem of her nightie, she didn't resist, simply lifted her hips to allow him to work it up. He abandoned it at her waist and found her with his fingers, slid them through slick folds to flick over the nub of her clit. She whimpered, arched, and parted her thighs further as her fingers curled in the blanket, drew it into peaks and valleys as she twisted and tensed.

Cullen had to admit that she'd been right to insist upon the complete shave when he rubbed his cheek up the inside of her thigh; without the barrier of even the slightest stubble, her skin felt even softer against his, silken and flawlessly smooth. He imagined he could even feel her tremors more clearly and reveled in it, rubbed between her thighs like a large cat as he worked his way to their juncture and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

In the end, he wasn't late to his first appointment, but it was a near thing, and every time he touched his cheek, tapped it in thought, he was reminded again of her skin against it—her fingers, her inner thighs, her own soft cheek. The third time he had to wrench his thoughts away from memories of that morning, he forced himself to keep his hands in his lap, wrestled his attention back to the task at hand. His patients needed him now. Evie would still be there when he was done, though hopefully without a straight razor; he wasn't certain his heart could take another shave so soon.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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[podfic] Physical Training

Fandom: Mass Effect Pairing: Kaidan Alenko / James Vega Rating: NSFW Length: 1:02:52 Summary: Podfic of Physical Training by @w4rgoddess. It's not the first time James Vega has questioned his sexuality. It's just that... well... shit.

On AO3

#nsfw #mass effect #mass effect 3 #kaidan alenko #james vega #podfic

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Chains)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 914 (this chapter); 2,811 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Blindfold | Under the Sheets

Read on AO3

Chains

"Here, Evie. I want you to have this."

Evie set down her cup of tea and took the box Cora held out to her. The size of her palm, hinged, and covered with leather, she knew it was a jewelry box even before she saw the jeweler's stamp on the lid, and she frowned in bemusement. "What is it?"

"It was my grandmother's—Cullen's great-grandmother's. I was saving it for him to give to someone special, but, well... men are awkward, aren't they?" Cora smiled and patted Evie's arm. "I believe you're meant to have it."

Evie lowered her eyes to the box, told herself that the sting in them was nothing more than a stray bit of dust, inhaled, and flipped open the lid. Inside the box, nestled on a bed of white satin lay a silver chain, from which hung a delicate pendant: a spiral of emeralds, graduating from tiny at the origin to what looked to be almost a half carat at the terminus. She very nearly dropped the box, caught it at the last moment and carefully closed the lid again. "I can't possibly accept this," she insisted. "It's too much, Cora. You should keep this in the family."

Cora pushed Evie's hands away when Evie tried to return the box, her smile not wavering in the slightest. "You are family, dear. I'd rather see it in your hands than mouldering in a drawer; I know you'll take good care of it."

There was no denying the sting was tears this time; Evie felt one slip down her cheek and struck it hastily away with the back of her wrist. "It's too much," she said again, though she gave up trying to push it back into Cora's hands. She started to put it on the table, but somehow found herself cradling the box to her chest instead, her chin tucked over it as another tear escaped. "Do you know what the stones alone are worth?"

Cora laughed and scooted her chair over to wrap an arm around Evie's shoulders. "What does that matter? I'd never sell it anyway. I'd much rather it go to a good home where I know it will be appreciated."

Evie sniffled and hugged the box tighter. The pendant paled in comparison to some of the jewelry that awaited her in her inheritance. The Trevelyans could trace their line back to the founding of Ostwick, even farther in Tevinter, and had held a title for much of that history. Over the ages, they'd accumulated a collection of jewels and valuables that rivaled even those of the royal houses, some of which could pay her salary from the center for a decade or more. But none of them struck her as strongly as the spiral of emeralds dangling from the simple silver chain and, despite her hesitation to accept it, the thought of giving it up was terrible.

"Thank you," she said—or attempted to say, though it came out more as a dry croak than intelligible words. She tried again but couldn't force the words past the tightness in her throat, a tightness that stung nearly as badly as her eyes, and one tear became two, became a stream, became a flood, until she was sobbing uncontrollably as Cora rubbed her back.

It took a while, but eventually Evie calmed enough to be able to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, to exhale shakily but without bone-wrenching sobs. She smiled tremulously as Cora pulled away with one last pat to her back and forced her fingers to loosen from their death grip on the box. "Thank you," she said, relieved when the words came out properly, despite the thickness that lingered as an after-effect of tears. "I'll treasure it."

"Why don't you put it on?" Cora squeezed her arm around Evie's shoulders again, then took the box from Evie's unresisting hands and retrieved the necklace from within it. She tucked Evie's hair over her shoulder and slid the chain around her neck to clasp at the back, then straightened Evie's hair and circled her to lightly brush her fingers against the pendant tucked between Evie's clavicles. "It's beautiful. I knew it would suit you."

Evie swallowed and replaced Cora's fingers with her own to trace the line of the spiral. "Thank you," she said again, then impulsively hugged Cora, who didn't hesitate to return the embrace. "I don't know what to say."

Cora squeezed her tightly. "You don't need to say anything, Evie. It's where it belongs."

"I feel as though I've missed something," Cullen said from behind Evie. "Should I come back later?"

Evie spun from Cora's arms to wrap her own around Cullen instead, tucked her face against his throat and breathed deeply. "No, don't go." His hands rubbed her back in much the same way his mother's had, yet the comfort they provided was uniquely Cullen. "Can we just stay like this?"

Cullen's cheek rubbed over her hair as he murmured, "OK." His back was solid under Evie's hands as she clung to him, his breathing steady and even, and Evie slowly felt herself relax, the tension banding her chest ease. Over her head, she was vaguely aware of Cullen speaking with his mother, of Cora's receding footsteps, of the click as the back door shut behind her, but they didn't matter. All that mattered was the man in her arms, his warmth as comforting as the weight of the necklace at her throat.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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[podfic] Contradiction

Fandom: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II Pairing: Anders / Fenris Rating: SFW Length: 5:42 Summary: Fenris likes people who fit neatly into boxes. Anders tends to spill over.

On AO3

#dragon age #dragon age ii #fenris #anders #podfic

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Under the Sheets)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 477 (this chapter); 1,897 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Blindfold

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Under the Sheets

The kisses were addictive, the sex was mind-blowing, but Cullen decided that if there were one thing he would never give up, it was lazy mornings in bed with Evie.

Wrapped in a cocoon of sheets, it was easy to lose himself in warm skin. He smoothed his palm over the curve of Evie's hip, dipped a finger into the well of her navel, nuzzled his nose against the nape of her neck and inhaled the soft floral scent of her shampoo. Still mostly asleep, she'd occasionally move under his hands like a cat insistent upon more petting, stretch under his touch or shift to guide his fingers to just the right spot, but for the most part Cullen was able to simply indulge as he wished.

"Move in with me," he murmured into her hair, then frowned slightly at his plaintive tone. "Move in with me?" he said again, then, "Move in with me." He sounded foolish—too hesitant, too unsure, too pleading—and he mentally kicked himself; it was turning into his marriage proposal all over again, a memory that still made him wince, despite Evie's graciousness in declining. "Move in with me," he tried once more with a hint of seductive purr, then sighed. Maker's balls, it shouldn't be so hard to ask his girlfriend to cohabitate when they were in each other's beds more often than not, when they were rarely separated outside of working hours. "Dammit."

Evie's giggle sounded entirely too lucid and Cullen sighed again as he pressed his forehead to the back of her shoulder. "You heard that, didn't you."

"All of it," Evie admitted, then snuggled into his embrace and tugged his arm tightly around her waist. "There's a shared suite open. I asked Solona about it last week and she said no one else had applied for it, so it was ours if we wanted it, anytime."

Cullen blinked, then kissed the side of her neck. "You talked to Solona." A trail of nips led to the point of her jaw, terminated with another tender kiss. "About us." He nuzzled behind her ear and exhaled slowly to warm the skin there, perversely pleased when it sent a shiver down her spine. "Living together."

"I did." Evie's voice was velvet, low and smooth, and it wrapped around him like a plush blanket, warmed him from the inside out. "We don't have to, if you don't—"

She cut off abruptly when Cullen rolled her onto her back, pinned her beneath him, and caught her mouth with a desperate kiss. "I want to," he murmured against her lips, then slid his hands into her hair and kissed her again. She whimpered into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his back, gripped his shoulders tightly as though she were afraid he was going to slip away—something Cullen had no intention of ever doing.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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[podfic] Such Solace Find We for Our Loss

Fandom: Pacific Rim Pairing: Raleigh Becket / Hercules Hansen Rating: SFW Tags/Warnings: Grief/Mourning, Pre-Slash Length: 9:17 Summary: An empty casket is all of Chuck Herc has to bury. Raleigh may know a thing or two about what that's like. Written for the Herc/Raleigh Bingo Challenge prompt: Hand

On AO3

#pacific rim #raleigh becket #hercules hansen #podfic

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Blind Spots: Peripherals (Blindfold)

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Evelyn Trevelyan Rating: SFW (this chapter); NSFW (overall) Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Medical Professionals, Substance Abuse Word Count: 1,420 (this chapter); 1,420 (overall) Summary: Short pieces related to Blind Spots, based on a dauntingly large prompt list.

Read on AO3

Blindfold

Evie exhaled slowly as the blindfold settled over her eyes. As the silk tie—she wasn't going to ask how Bull was able to acquire it so quickly—tightened around her head, she squirmed in her seat and curled her fingers into loose fists in her lap, pressed them against her thighs. "Is this really necessary?"

"Think of it as my present to you," Bull rumbled near her ear as his large fingers smoothed the silk against her hair with surprising gentleness. "You can thank me later for giving your man ideas."

Evie knew she flushed even as she scowled, though there was no heat in it. "We do just fine on our own, thank you," she said primly, then smiled despite herself. "Very well, then. Begin your test."

Scattered laughter met her demand, underscored by the soft music that filled the staff lounge. There was whispered discussion to her left, then the light touch of fingers to her chin, coaxing it up.

"Dorian," she said even before lips touched hers, then laughed. "No one else has such a fine moustache."

The chuckle confirmed her guess, and Dorian's fingers tapped her cheek. "I told them it was too obvious. Point for you."

"Give me a challenge," she said, leaned forward as she grinned. "Come on."

Breath fanned over her cheek, warm and sweet with traces of birthday cake, before lips pressed against hers: soft, plump, the faintest hint of fruity slickness. The kiss was almost chaste, but a hint of humor sparkled through it like champagne bubbles. It lasted only a second, but it was enough.

"Josie," she declared. "You're the only one I know who likes that strawberry gloss."

"She said a challenge," Dorian said from a few feet away, the drawl in his voice tinged with tipsy sarcasm. "Make her work for it."

Evie tilted her head, mouth open to snark back, only to have it suddenly captured by a rough, deep kiss. Lips almost as soft as Josie's pressed against hers, thick and wide, as a broad tongue expertly plundered her mouth. Despite herself, she leaned into it, twisted her own tongue into the fray. By the time the kiss was broken, she could feel herself sweating under the blindfold as tingles coursed through her belly.

"I can see how you won Dorian over, Bull. Is my hair on fire?"

Bull's large hand patted her head. "It wasn't his hair I set on fire."

"Such a charmer," Dorian grumbled, amidst laughter from the others. "Who's next?"

The next few were easy: the awkward contact that felt like kissing her sister was Cassandra; the kiss that was even more bristly than Dorian's was Thom, the center's chief of security; the kiss that slobbered from her chin to her nose was Woof. There were good-natured grumbles at her successful guesses as she wiped the drool off her face with the damp napkin someone handed her, and murmured consultation she couldn't make out. She tilted her head as she waited for the next challenger, worried her lower lip as she listened to her own breathing, overloud in her ears.

Familiar, full lips caught hers, coaxed her lip from between her teeth with light brushes of contact. She parted her lips to exhale only to instead suck in a breath when she was teased with a gentle nip, promptly soothed by the soft sweep of a warm tongue. She knew she made a noise and hoped it wasn't as pathetic a squeak as it sounded to her, but it didn't matter; the lips against hers continued to explore, accented by the occasional scrape of teeth.

By the time the mystery person's tongue found hers, Evie was all but panting. It was perfect, as though they knew her every button: where she was most sensitive, when she liked it hard, when she wanted gentleness. For a long, heady moment, she was convinced it was Cullen despite his decision to bow out of the game, but the lips against hers lacked the scar that notched his. That someone else could wring so much pleasure out of a single kiss was disconcerting, and Evie finally tore her mouth away and pressed against the back of her chair as she turned her head to a side and struggled to catch her breath.

Silence descended upon the room, only kept from being complete by the music still playing softly across the room. Lost in it, Evie licked her lips, swallowed, and tore off the blindfold; she had to see just who had managed to wind her so tightly.

Pale eyes met hers from barely a foot away, and Evie felt her own widen. "Cole!?" she blurted, then flushed. She'd always thought of him as a naïve, innocent young man, but she'd apparently been doing him a great disservice all that time; there was no way anyone who kissed like that was innocent. "I'd never have guessed," she added when she realized that she'd been staring, then laughed nervously and hid behind her hands. "Maker."

Cole straightened and finally took a step back, expression guileless. "Does this mean I win?"

"You win everything," Evie said, muffled by the press of her hands over her face, then repeated, "Maker." She fought the urge to squirm, her clothes suddenly too constricting and the chair suddenly too hard and—Andraste's flaming knickers, she wanted to crawl out of her skin and it was embarrassing and hot and she really needed to think about something else. "Is there punch left?"

Fingers at her wrist tugged a hand from her face and pressed a cup into it. She looked up to find Cullen studying her with an inscrutable expression, broken only when he bent to press a light kiss to her lips. Even that brief, barely-there contact was almost too much against her sensitized skin, and she hastily covered her tenuous hold on control by taking a sip of punch. Someone had spiked it—it tasted like it was more vodka than punch—and she closed her eyes with a silent prayer of thanks as she took another sip.

"Finish your punch," Cullen said against her ear, and Evie startled badly enough that she nearly spilled her drink in her lap. His lips skimming her earlobe didn't help matters any, and she turned her head to side-eye him. "I'll make our excuses."

"It won't fool anyone," she grumbled into her cup, but she didn't have it in her to resist, not when heat still coiled in her belly, aching and insistent. When Cullen began to move away, she caught his hand and dragged it to her lips. "Hurry," she murmured against his fingertips, then released him and took another sip of punch, unable to resist a self-satisfied smile at his sharp inhale and hesitation before he left her side.

It was surprisingly easy to slip from the lounge without anyone stopping her, and Evie suspected that was deliberate. Mortifying as it was to think that everyone knew exactly why she was leaving, she was relieved at the polite fiction of unnoticed escape; she didn't know if she had it in her to linger, half-attending to conversations as she thought of ways to subtly extract herself. As it was, she barely remembered to drop the cup she'd emptied into the trash on her way out, distracted by more... prurient thoughts.

She hurried to her room and let herself in, and stripped off her shirt before the door had even finished closing. It landed somewhere near the hamper, which would just have to be good enough. Her skirt joined it a moment later, followed by her undergarments. The cool air against her heated skin was a relief and she took a moment to simply breathe, to focus on the rush of air in and out of her lungs.

A knock came at the door and Evie crossed to open it, unconcerned with who was on the other side; on the off chance it wasn't Cullen, her visitor would just have to deal with her naked self. Still, it was a relief to see Cullen standing there, a wicked smile on his face and a scrap of ivory-colored silk dangling from his fingers—a scrap she realized after a moment was the discarded blindfold.

"I thought we could get some more use out of this," he all but purred.

"I'm sure we can think of something," she agreed, then fisted her hand in his shirt and pulled him into the room, his laughter cut off as the door shut behind him.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #evelyn trevelyan #female inquisitor #fanfiction #alternate universe

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gwyllgi-writes · 7 years ago

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Whoops, I’ve been neglecting my cross-posting! I’m going to be queueing up things I’ve posted since 2015 (:cough:), mostly Blind Spots with a smattering of podfic. If you’ve hit them up already on AO3, you won’t find anything new here (with the exception of a bonus on chapter 11 of Blind Spots).

#not fic

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gwyllgi-writes · 9 years ago

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Ad Amorem Librorum

Fandom: Dragon Age; Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: Cullen Rutherford / Dorian Pavus Rating: NSFW(ish) Word Count: 6,720 Summary: Cullen reads folktales, Dorian doesn’t like spiders, and books are an awkward medium for flirting.

Written for the Cullrian mini bang (prompt: books). Art by the lovely thehawkeguy, who put up with my procrastination and writer’s block.

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.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullrian #cullorian #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #fanfiction #cullrian mini bang

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