#cullen stanton rutherford lingerie is expensive

[nuggalolisk]

Up The Ladder

Cullen x Inquisitor 

Words: 5070

Nsfw

Read on Ao3

Fleur doesn’t know how she wound up in this…Position: Cullen over the top of her, his hips grinding into hers and the tops of her thighs, his lips pressing against hers. It was a blur. She was talking to him about…What was I talking to him about? And then she was on the desk and his mouth was on hers. 

Oh, his mouth. 

It’s softer than she had imagined. He’s such a hard man that she only assumed every aspect of him would be: not that there aren’t certain hard parts. His tongue traces the seam of her lips, gently, not prodding, before he takes her lower lip between his again.  She makes a noise in the back of her throat, an altogether embarrassing, needy noise that has her cheeks turning bright red. She feels him smile against her. 

“You can touch me, Fleur.” His lips ghost over hers when he talks. 

She opens her mouth to say something. 

His hand cups her full face. “You can look at me too.” 

She slowly opens her eyes to see that he is smiling at her, his eyes holding a warmth she seldom sees directed at her. She’s closing in on herself: suddenly hyper-aware of her double chin looking huge, her eyes looking smaller, smushed by the plump of her cheeks, of her thighs, the rolls in her stomach. 

Cullen frowns at her, his lips pull downward in a way that is still annoyingly attractive. “Fleur,” he pushes himself off of her, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “if I have pushed myself on you, that is if I have done something that has made you uncomfortable–”

“That was my first kiss.” She admits it without thinking about it. Without thinking of the implications of being a twenty-six year old woman who has never been kissed. Who has never been loved. 

Cullen blinks, surprised by the confession. “I…” He isn’t sure what to say. All he knows is he’s making it worse by being silent. “Fleur, if you wish to leave… we never have to speak of this again.” 

She’s looking down at her hands: they’re large with fat stubby fingers. They aren’t even soft anymore, the cold mountain air drying them. She can feel him watching her. Gray eyes focus on the floor. She can hear herself breathing quickly, forcing the air in and out of her lungs. She should run. Even if she wouldn’t get far. Cullen’s pristinely polished boots come into view. His hand is on her chin, lifting her face towards his. 

His eyes are still kind. They always are, even when he’s angry. She noticed that the first time she saw him at Haven. Still he frowned at her. 

“Fleur,” he whispers. He says her name like she’s a delicate maiden from a fairytale who will break if addressed by anything louder than a whisper. 

Fleur wants to kiss him again, but fear strikes her body cold. He’s changed his mind. He won’t want me now. He thinks I’m pathetic. “I should go.” 

“If that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you.” 

She sits still on his desk. Her eyes dart from his face to random places around the room. He is too intimidating to stare at for too long: like the sun. She runs her pink tongue across her lips before dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. Her gaze snaps back to him when Cullen lets out a moan. 

“You really…” 

“Maker, yes.” Now he blushes. It creeps over his cheeks and spreads over his ears. Even his neck turns red in his embarrassment. 

Fleur finds herself smiling at him. She’s never had this kind of effect on men, not even when she got boobs. Hesitantly, she leans forward, eyes drawn back to his lips, to that scar. 

“Fleur, do you want this?” 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

He closes his lips over hers. She lets her eyes slip closed again. There’s too much happening at once, too many sensations: their quickened breathing, Cullen’s lips on hers, his hands on her face and in her hair, his hips pressing between her legs. Bravely, she slips her hands into his hair. It’s soft like silk between her fingers. His lips move down to her jaw and she stops, frozen in her tracks. He nips the skin there gently before he kisses. 

This close to him, she can smell him fully, not just in wafts like she does in passing. Parchment. Ink. Snow. Is that… Amber Aoud from Orlais. Oh I won’t let him live this down. An indignant squeak slips from her lips when he nips tightly again at the base of her neck. In retaliation, she turns her head and bites the shell of his ear. What she didn’t expect was his soft whimper. 

“I think,” he pulls back from her again, “I don’t want– That is to say that I– Maker’s breath this never gets any easier.” 

Fleur chuckles and let her hands drop to his chest. “Well I’ll take your word for it.” 

Her Commander draws his thumb over her cheek, fingers sliding back into her hair. “I just don’t want your first time to be on my desk. It’s not very...Romantic.” 

“Are you a romantic? That’s adorable.” 

He removes himself from between her legs and smirks at her. “Up the ladder with you, Babineaux.” 

Her stomach flutters a little at his request. She slides off of his desk slowly, her feet struggling to find the stone floor. She watches him go to the west side door and lock it before she sets herself to climb his ladder. I swear to the Maker if this thing breaks under me it had better kill me, or I shall be forced to throw myself off of the battlements. Blessedly it holds, and she quickly climbs until her feet are on solid floor. 

Should I get undressed now? Should I wait and let him undress me? Guys find that sexy, right? Or maybe–. 

The ladder is creaking under his weight. She breathes out and lays her head back on her shoulders. Her head tilts to the side, shifting her brown bangs across her cheeks. “Cullen? There’s a hole in your roof.” 

“Ah. Yes. That.” 

Fleur turns to face him and finds the Commander standing stiffly with his hand on the back of his neck. She can’t help but to smile at him. 

“I don’t like the heat.” 

Fleur nods. She can understand not liking the heat, often she opens one of the doors in her room to get a breeze. 

The aura in the room was pregnant with awkwardness. The pair stare at each other for a few moments before Cullen initiates movement. He turns his back to Fleur, sensing her embarrassment, her fear. He wants to give her the opportunity to undress without him scrutinizing her. 

Fleur takes the opportunity and quickly tries to unlace the back of her dress. It’s from Val Royeux and a gift from her grand-mère. It is a beautiful shade of pink, the light color is supposed to be flattering on a girl of ‘her size’. Regardless of the intention behind the dress, Fleur loves it. It’s made of the finest silk and has blush colored fur around the collar. The v-neck shows a great deal of cleavage, and the skirt flows away from her body and moves like water when she walks. It is one of her few garments that make her feel beautiful. And Maker be damned, she can not get it unlaced. 

She turns, hands falling to her side in a loss to the laces. “Cullen–” The question fades on her lips as she caught sight of him removing his shirt over his head. His back is covered in thick scars that run from the tops of his shoulders to the bottom of his shoulder blades. They look almost like claw marks. Still, his back is strong, muscles well defined and a crease down the center. There were two dimples in his hips, just above the swell of his ass. 

“Yes?” He turns to face her, an eyebrow raised. 

Fleur swallows before she speaks. “My dress… I can’t get it unlaced. Could you…?” 

He nods, hands already sweating at the idea. He watches her walk to him, head raised high, but eyes focused on the floor. He gently turns her around, hands trailing over her shoulders as he does so. 

“There’s, uh, there’s a clasp hidden in the fur.”

She is so beautiful. 

Cullen leans forward, lips trailing the side of her neck and the tiny portion of exposed shoulder. She smells like lilac and sea air. He finds the clasp after a few moments, unsnapping it with a grunt after struggling with it. His fingers set to the laces and begin untying them slowly. Underneath the pink silk he catches a glimpse of mint colored lace. Gently he pushes the dress from her shoulders and down her arms, kissing the back of her neck when he leans in. The garment drops to the floor in a silky pool and Fleur is left standing in a sheer lace corset. The noblewoman bites her bottom lip. She can feel his eyes on her, looking her over, memorizing every dip and flaw she has. She never should have come up to his loft. She should have left and died of embarrassment in her room. It was a mistake to think a man like Cullen could ever desire a woman who was fat.

“Wow.” He’s left breathless looking at her.

Her head snaps up and she turns her head to look back at her Commander. There’s a blush on his cheeks and desire in his eyes. 

“May I take this off you?” If she is more comfortable with it on, he won’t push. Though he wants to feel her, wants to touch her, to memorize every glorious inch of her. At her nod, he begins pulling out the laces of the cruel binding. He throbs at the pleased sound of her exhale the looser the corset gets. When it’s finally unlaced, he throws it away from the both of them. 

“Commander Rutherford, that was expensive!” She turns to face him, nakedness completely forgotten. 

Cullen smiles and pulls her against him, capturing her lips with his. “I’ll buy you a new one.” His hands grab gently at her stomach, at her hips, the softness of her rump. “I want to devour you,” he whispers in her ear when he finally stops kissing her. 

The Inquisitor shudders, feeling his breath tingling her ear. This time it’s Fleur that moves her head to the side to kiss him. He’s curling his hand around the back of her neck, pressing her closer to his body. Her gut clinches when she feels his hardness press against her hip. She runs her hands over every inch of him that she can, feeling the muscles move under her fingers.

  He slides his fingers into her lace underwear, pulling his lips away from hers. “I would very much like to kiss you,” his fingers slide against her sex, “right here.” He watches her gasp. His finger presses against her clit with just a hint of pressure. “And here.” 

Fleur bites her lip and looks away from him, embarrassment rising on her cheeks. 

“Is that alright?” He slowly slides his finger across her, avoiding direct touch where she wants it most. 

“Oui.” Her pink nails dig into his shoulders and her head drops back. He was teasing her, mercilessly moving his finger against her. “Cullen, please.” 

The commander removes his finger and drops to his knees in front of her, kissing her stomach and her hips. He notices her tense; her hands clenching into fists by her side. His hands run over her thighs and bottom. “Oh, Fleur.” He leans forward and kisses a roll above her hip. 

She’s not looking at him, eyes trained on the ceiling as she shivers in the cold air. She feels his lips trail over every inch of her skin. Calloused hands trail down the back of her thighs and then slide inward. He grips her tightly, pulling her forward. She tries to relax, to enjoy what he’s doing. His teeth drag over the skin above the lace underwear. Her walls clench, hands finding his hair and digging in. 

“Can I take them off?” He sits back on his heels to look up at her face, to watch her expression. Her bottom lip is caught harshly between her teeth, her eyes are shut lightly, cheeks flushed dark pink. He draws his hands back up and around to her hips and he rolls the flesh in his hands. “Fleur?” 

She nods before she can remember her words. “Yes.” 

Cullen hooks his fingers through the sides of the garment before he glides his hands around to finally feel the flesh beneath them. He pulls her cheeks apart before drawing his hands down and freeing her from the lace. Nails drag across his scalp and he moans at the sensation. Her legs are shaking under his touch. When he leans forward to slide the lace down to her feet, he places a kiss on her inner thigh. 

Fleur moves away from him and quickly makes her way towards the bed. Mercifully, Cullen lets her go so she can slide under the covers of his bed. When she looks back at him, she finds him slowly unlacing his trousers, watching her with eyes full of passion. She licks her lips and lets the blanket droop down to her waist exposing her breasts. Cullen’s eyes rake over her. 

I can do this. I can be sexy.

Fleur trails her fingers over her breasts and nipples, pinching them slightly. She rolls her head back and slides her hands over her stomach and back up to her neck, her lips. 

Cullen’s eyes follow her hands, fingers at his laces completely forgotten. She’s enthralling, enrapturing, gorgeous. He catches himself whimpering when her hand drops below the blanket and her mouth opens in a silent ‘o’. His boots are toed off quickly so he can shove his pants off his hips. The Commander of the Inquisition wants nothing more than to serve his Inquisitor, to taste her lips, her breasts, her clit, her thighs. He wants to bury himself in her, to lose himself so completely in a woman he would give everything. 

The brunette lets her fingers slip between her folds and she finds her clit with expert ease. His whimper goes straight to her chatte. She can feel him watching her, and she fights to stave off embarrassment. He wants me. He wants me. He wants me. His finger feels better, she decides. 

“Cullen.” 

His name slipping from her lips is all it takes before he’s pulling the blanket back and kneeling between her spread legs. He removes her fingers from her clit and draws them up to his mouth. Slate eyes watch him carefully as he takes her finger into his mouth. He could smile at her embarrassed look, but he doesn’t. Keeps his eyes on hers and withdrawing her finger slowly, gently biting the pad before dropping her hand back to her side. He pushes her to lay down on her back, his hands resting on the bed beside her breasts. 

Fleur knows she looks terrible at this angle. She has to. And yet…Cullen is still here, still smirking down at her, pupils dilated with lust, his cock still hard and pressing into her. Her Commander leans down and she expects him to kiss her lips again, feels foolish when his lips settle on her shoulder. His scruff tickles. Fleur closes her eyes and threads her fingers through his hair. She can feel his mouth getting closer and closer to her nipple, and gasps when he closes his lips over her. Her groan is held back in her throat when he sucks at her. He burns her clear through. 

His left hand trails over her other breast, pinches her nipple between his fingers before moving them over her stomach. Thick and calloused fingers trace lightly over the seam of her sex, making them both shudder with anticipation. Cullen removes his mouth and kisses a sloppy trail over to the other side. She feels so soft under him, so warm and inviting. He pushes a finger into her gently and feels her tense. 

“Relax. Relax, I have you. I have you, Fleur. I won’t hurt you.” His voice is deep when he speaks to her, rough with lust. He raises his eyes to meet hers, catches her embarrassed gaze and locks his on her. Her hair is tousled, cheeks bright pink, mouth open, her full lower lip caught between her teeth. He moans looking at her. “The ways I want to make love to you, Fleur.” 

She swallows when he drags his stubble over the swell of her stomach before he wiggles down between her thighs. His breath ghosts over her and she clenches her hands into fists beside her. What if he can’t find it? What if I’m too fat for him to do it prop- oh. He places a kiss over her opening.

“C-Cullen, you don’t have to if you–” She exhales when his tongue flattens over her and licks slowly up “–Maker.” 

Fleur kicks his leg when he chuckles. His hands trail up and down her thighs, gripping the flesh in handfuls before he spreads her open. She is about to say something, something she forgets as soon as his tongue finds her clit. Her legs tremble from being kept open so long, for resisting closing around his head. I could smother him. When he takes her clit into his mouth she reaches for him, struggling to find his hand, his hair, anything she can grab a hold of. Her fingers finally find his head and she grips the short locks there tightly. 

Cullen continues to suck and lick at her like he’s never tasted anything quite as good as she is. He moans loudly, proudly, when she twists his hair on accident. He knows she’s probably blushing and her eyes are clamped shut. His tongue circles the fascinating bundle of nerves before he works his way down and slides it into her. She’s quiet, but he’s been with quiet before. One hand keeps her spread open for him and the other he trails up her stomach to pinch and roll a nipple between fingers. She bucks into his mouth, a quiet moan slipping from her. 

Her chest shakes with noises she’s trying to hold in. A hand twists into his sheet, clenching so tightly that her fingers start to ache. In all her fantasies, this was never once part of them. Never allowed herself to believe that he could want this, want her. Her orgasm is climbing, a forest fire sweeping through veins. His fingers pull at her breast, roll the flesh like dough, his mouth sucks and holds her clit firmly, pushing her towards that proverbial cliff. The rise is sharp and she breathes in high-pitched staccato. She whines when he takes his hand from her breast and trails it back down to join his mouth. He slips a finger in and then suddenly a second. 

He thrusts them shallowly, pulling his mouth away from her so his thumb can rub her in circles. His fingers are curve upwards dragging along her upper walls. Lips trail over her fat thighs as he watches her react to him. Her hair is spilled over his bed like a halo, plump cheeks are a brighter red than normal, and her gray eyes are still closed to the world. The hand in his hair tugs sharply. Her back arches when his fingers press against that rough bit of flesh inside her and he knows he’s found it. Fingers tighten in his hair and he bites her nips her inner thigh, sucking a mark into her flesh. 

“Maker, you are divine.” He listens to her groan. “Come for me, love.” 

She tries to speak, her mouth opens and air comes out but no sound. His fingers are thumb are pressing against nerves and sending her reeling. “I want,” she pushes out. 

“What do you want, love? Tell me what you want.” 

Fleur opens her eyes and finds his face between her spread legs. “Your mouth,” she says it before she has a chance to lose her nerve. 

The moan Cullen lets out as he descends upon her once again is nearly enough to send her over the edge. He is sin incarnate. She doesn’t have time to morn the loss of his thumb before his mouth takes its place. Her toes curl and uncurl as the fire burns hotter. Each breath she lets out is a high pitched short whine. Cullen stops himself from grinding into the mattress. His cock aches with the want of being inside her. 

The attention he gives her is nearly painful before she finally comes against him, hips and legs shaking from trying to stop herself from bucking into his face. His fingers keep pushing in and out of her gently, curling against her. The sucking noise of his mouth on her would make Iron Bull blush. Her cupid’s bow lips open in a silent ‘o’ until finally she breaks and cries out sharply into the room. Cullen keeps his fingers moving, keeps licking her gently for a few moments until she whimpers and pushes at his shoulder. He kisses every inch of her he can as he crawls back up her, marveling at her shaking thighs. Fleur breathes in and out sharply and brings a hand up to wipe across her forehead, down her cheek, over her neck and chest before Cullen links his up with hers. He takes a nipple into her mouth and she sighs pleasantly, her free hand trailing over his back. When she draws up his back with her nails pressing against him, he shudders under her, looks pained for a moment. She stops, retreating to just her fingertips against his flexing muscles. 

He pulls from her, his hand massaging her thigh, and looks at her. Fleur stares back and for a moment they are not Commander and Inquisitor. They are two lovers spanning across time and titles, forgetting the chaos that threatens to burn everything to cinders. He smiles at her, that smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. He pulls their joined hands up and kisses her knuckles before moving to suck gently at her wrist. 

There’s a muffled knock at the door and the Commander reappears, looking over his shoulder towards the ladder. Fleur moves her hand from his back and grabs his jaw, turning his face back to hers so she can kiss him. He forgets the sound of the door as he kisses her back deeply, trailing his tongue across her bottom lip. She follows him when he moves up and draws her hand over his chest. Her lips curl into a smile when she drags a thumb nail across his nipple lightly and he whimpers before biting her lip. She moves on, fingers trailing across clenching abs before she wraps them around his jutting cock. 

Cullen gasps against her mouth, squeezes his eyes tighter and bucks into her hand. He can feel the precum leaking from him, dripping onto her stomach. He’s thick and heavy in her hand, warm and twitching against her grasp. She strokes him slow and soft, unsure of how much pressure will hurt him. 

“Stop,” he gasps, untwining their hands so he can grab per wrist. “Not yet. I want–” he drops his head to her shoulder. 

“What do you want, love? Tell me what you want.” She throws his own words back at him, squeezing her hand still around his member. 

Cullen mewls before jerking her hand from him and pinning it by her head. “You want to know what I want?” When she swallows and gives a short nod he continues, “I want to be inside you. I want to hear my name fall from your lips because you can’t remember any other words.” He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he speaks. “I want to lay claim to you.” He leans down so his lips are centimeters from hers. “I want you to lay claim to me.” 

Fleur closes the distance first. Her hands strain against his where he has them pinned to his bed, where he has her pinned to his bed. He rolls his hips against hers, pressing hard against her. Then he lets go, pulls away from her and leaves her panting on the bed beneath him. He takes his cock in his hand, licks his lips and strokes himself. 

“Cullen.” His name is want on her tongue, another name for desire. 

“You’re sure you want this?” He has to ask, has to make sure. 

“Yes.” 

He grabs her hips and gently pulls her down his bed towards him. Her lover takes his cock in one hand and places the other by her head. She closes her eyes when he starts to watch her, too embarrassed, too intimate to keep watching. He leans forward and places a kiss to each of her eyelids. 

How is this real? 

She feels him rub his cock against her folds before he’s slowly pushing in, gently spreading her apart beneath him. She bites her lower lip, the sting pulling her mind away from the stretch around his cock. Cullen pulls out before pushing in again, getting her used to his girth, and it is torture for the both of them. Her name is a whimper from his lips. Gray eyes open at the sound, finding his face just above hers, eyes clenched shut his mouth parted as he pushes forward and then retreats. She moves her hands and trails them up his thick arms to cup his face. He lets her pull his mouth down to her raised head. The kiss is fierce, full of teeth nipping lips, tongues soothing the bites. 

Finally, he pushes completely in her and relishes in her groan, in the way her nails dig into his shoulders. He breaks the kiss, to plant one on her jaw, then a bite to her ear before he pulls his head back to watch her. Brown hair clings to the sweat on her forehead, cheeks are flushed bright pink in the fading light of the day. Every gentle thrust is accompanied by a soft exhale from her lips.

  “Please, faster. S’il te plaît, amour.” 

Cullen smiles and continues his pace. “Orlesian sounds so much better coming from you.” 

Fleur whimpers, tossing her head back and baring her throat to him. “Alors Je vais parler tout ce que tu veux, juste s’il te plaît aller plus vite.” 

The man has the nerve to chuckle, but he picks up his pace regardless. Each hard thrust into her pushes a cry from her. Cullen drops his head back to her shoulder, harshly sucking and nipping a mark into her skin. She moves her hands down his back to the curve of his ass and digs her nails in gently. He growls in her ear and locks his eyes on hers. Fleur smiles at him and does it again, watching his eyes narrow and that sinful smirk to pass over his lips again. She cries out when he presses his thumb to her clit once more, rolling and pushing the group of nerves until she’s nearly sobbing beneath him, thrusting her hips as much as she can to meet his thrusts. 

“Fleur, Maker you’re so beautiful.” He’s breathless watching her. He can feel his orgasm swiftly approaching, balls tightening against him. 

All she can say is his name, over and over again like she’s reciting the chant. He feels so good it nearly hurts. His cock stretches her, lays her bare before him, neck thrown back so he can take what he wants from her, however he wants. She loves him. The realization forces her to look at him. He feels it too. Cullen holds her gaze in his, sees the fear of a new emotion, knows just what she’s feeling. He loves her. 

She comes, her muscles spasming and clenching. Her orgasm has her crying his name, gripping at any part of him she can get her hands on: his lower back, his hips, his arms, his shoulders, his head. He works her through it, keeps his thumb rolling over her clit gently, her rocking hips helping with the work. Fleur bucks her hips into him, cries out as a seemingly endless wave of pleasure crashes over her again and again. Cullen’s ass clenches and he spills into her, groaning as his orgasm rolls through him. He throws his head back and thrusts erratically into her, letting her milk him. Teeth close around the side of his neck before lips start sucking the skin into her mouth. He gasps and lets her mark him, lets her claim him like he did her. 

When he lays his heavy body onto hers, she relaxes under him. Her hands trail over his back, one venturing into his hair. They both pant heavily into the quiet room around them. When he tries to move off of her she pulls him back against her, wraps a leg around his. 

“I’ll crush you,” he whispers against her neck. His voice is gravely and low. 

“Hush.” 

Cullen hums and kisses her cheek before moving to slide his relaxing member out of her. His chuckle reverberates through him when she grumbles at the loss. He rolls onto his back and opens his arm for her when she rolls to her side. Her hand rests on his chest and her lips kiss his side before closing her eyes. 

“They’ll come looking for us.” His hand draws patterns in her back. 

“Tell them I died.” 

“La petit mort?” The Orlesian is clumsy on his tongue, but she laughs nonetheless. 

“Yes, but nothing about that was little.” She tries not to feel embarrassed about the way her body jiggles when she laughs. She should leave him before things get awkward. Before he realizes what just happened and with who. 

“Stay with me?” He kisses the top of her head, curls his body closer to hers. 

“Always.”