#and i just like envisioning that the ritual a tad painful for him

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Just some general angst

I mean, it’s kind of ‘fluffy’ angst because it has a happy ending and it isn’t CRESTWOOD, but still angst. 

Enjoy a concept of Fane’s vallaslin removal. (I’m writing a follow up with smut, so shhhh!) I told you there would be tears, @oxygenforthewicked! I supplied them, even if I was somewhat tearing up the whole time writing this! 

***

“Sit down, vhenan.”, Solas directed Fane gently, holding his face between his hands with a tenderness he had long thought was wasted on him. “Let me free you from these shackles you should never have known.” Two thumbs ghosted along the high points of his cheekbones before they flicked up to trace his vallaslin - his shackles.

Fane let his eyes flutter shut at the feather light touch, reveling in the feeling of safety and warmth it gave him. He became literal putty in this man’s hands - melting, molding, and melding until their souls felt as if they were intertwined like a beautifully tied knot. To anyone else, that may seem like slavery, like the very inked bonds upon his face, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. This was a promise, a devotion that ran so deep he no longer knew where one end began and another ended. 

This was a vow plated in gold so, so long ago. A vow that had been shattered, forgotten, and then reforged anew with emerald fire and blue water. It would never be sundered again. Never.

Fane took a deep breath, opening his eyes slowly to see a pair of stormy blue gazing at him patiently, lovingly. The gorgeous array of blue, grey, indigo, and hints of lavender were waiting for him, but not rushing him. They housed eternity, and a sky he had turned his back on for too long. They would never end, never go completely grey. Not as long as he breathed. Not as long as he endured.  

Fane paused in his thoughts as he stared ever deeper into Solas’s eyes, watching as quiet indigo sparked within steely blue. That spark made a similar spark within his chest ignite, slamming his prior, old thoughts into the ground. No, he didn’t just endure this world, or the ignorant people within it. He didn’t just observe how that ignorance did not paint everything without feeling this same spark in his soul, or fostered guilt when otherwise there had been none. He knew more now, he knew better now. 

He lived, and everything they had been through; the tears, the triumphant victories, the soul crushing anguish, the seemingly uncrossable rifts, and the madness of a world so desperately crying for help, proved he was alive and had a place in it.

A place, but a place without being bound and shackled with chains that had always threateningly rattled in the back of his mind even when he had not known the truth. 

“I’m ready.”, Fane said after a few moments, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. Their eyes connected without hesitation, without reservation, and he couldn’t help a tiny smile from forming despite his inner trepidation. “Take the vallaslin away. Free me from this nightmare I unknowingly walked into due to forgetfulness and my own ignorance.”, he pleaded with a desperation he hadn’t known was still lying dormant within him. 

Solas’s eyes softened further at his words, the grey within swirling with age old sorrow and guilt before they shut themselves slowly. He momentarily mourned the loss of those eternity bearing eyes. He had never realized just how much he had missed them until he had realized who they belonged to once again. 

They sat in silence amid the moonlit grass and the starry bathed canopy of trees that shielded them from the world outside of this forested refuge they had found after their flight from Skyhold, from the Inquisition. Fane’s eyes idly roamed the expanse as he waited for Solas, offering the elf resting against him the same amount of time that he had offered him. He watched the quiet bobbing of fireflies as they wove up and under each other in a seemingly ritualistic dance of their own. Their gently ebbing glow lightly bringing a golden sheen to the pale green grass every time they hovered along it. 

I wonder, will my eyes look the same when the ink is taken away? Fane found himself thinking as he watched the grass take on a more verdant hue. Once upon a time, the thought of seeing his eyes in their full glory terrified him, disgusted him to the point where he’d shatter glass without fear of slicing into his fist. But now, he yearned, painfully yearned, to see them ebb and flow like the fireflies did with so much whimsical abandon. 

Fane let his gaze travel away from the dancing dopplegangers of his eyes to look upwards. The moon was out in its full glory this starry eve, bathing the world in white ivory and pale yellow. It was such a beautiful contrast to the twinkling, but dark sky that was its home. He felt his eyes go hooded as another thought flickered into his mind without a preamble.

So white. Like new fallen snow. Will my face be as glowing as ivory? Will I be unscarred, and untouched as if I had just awoken once again? As if I still had my scales? Will I be able to see every freckle and birthmark that I couldn’t, or rather, wouldn’t before? 

These questions permeated his mind like the scent of steaming water - invigorating and freeing. How far he had come. To being repulsed with his own reflection, thinking it looked so much like a monster’s he now knew he had no connection to, to desiring to see it and to never look away.

To never look away. The thought made him smile a bit more as he watched a shooting star soar across the blue-black backdrop of the night sky. Yes, he would never look away again. Not for fear or indifference. He would keep his gaze skyward as the world reflected him in two forms. 

One form would be as itself - ever reaching and boundless. And the other form..

..would be his sky - flesh and bone with a spirit so bright that he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Fane slowly drew his gaze away from the sky above, giving it a silent nod in acknowledgment before looking at his very own expanse of eternity, who had reopened their eyes to watch him with a tender smile and a wealth of adoration. He had to clear his throat a bit as embarrassment at being watched so closely had his ears heating up a bit. Okay, maybe he would look away sometimes, but not often.

“Something interesting?”, Fane grumbled with a tiny frown, shifting his gaze back and forth between Solas and the ground below. Damn, he was getting flustered so easily now that it was just the two of them. It was refreshing to be able to indulge without constant stares, but he was still getting used to vulnerability.

Solas let out a quiet chuckle before shifting closer to him. Fane felt himself stiffen a bit as their knees brushed together, his scars jumping in protest before he forced them to relax. No, now wasn’t the time for his body to ruin things. He had accepted the pain of his body, and he would live with it. 

Live. Such a freeing word. Yes, he would live. Live, live, and live. The word made him feel light like he could fly once again.

“I am merely curious as to your conversation with the sky.”, Solas said after a few moments, voice light and soft instead of guarded and measured. It would see he wasn’t the only one to have changed with their disbandment. It was...nice, even if Fane knew they both held guilt and dread of years to come in their hearts.

Fane let out a quiet scoff, turning his gaze back to give Solas a withering glare. “I wasn’t talking to the sky.”, he said. Okay, maybe he was a little bit, but the elf didn’t need to know that.

“Mm-hm. The illumination of gold told me otherwise.”

“Do you ever stop talking? Like seriously?”

“I believe you said you enjoyed our discussions.”, the Elvhen mage quipped back with amusement, eyes surprisingly bright for once.

Fane let out a tiny growl. “Only when you aren’t being full of yourself.”

“I thought I was only asking a question. You like curiosity, correct?”

“I swear to anything that’s fucking holy, Solas...”, he warned, leveling the man with a dangerous glare that he knew wouldn’t make the other shrivel up, but he did it anyway. Force of habit.

Solas only raised an eyebrow at him, one side of his face bathed in moonlight to where many of his already sharp features appeared sharper, while the other was shrouded in gentle shadows, making those same sharp features soften as if melding with the darkness. There was a tiny knowing smirk upon his lips, stormy eyes twinkling like the stars above with mirth and tenderness, but still a form of apprehension towards what they were about to do. 

Fane’s embarrassment and grumpiness trickled away at that hint of hesitation in deep blue. He let out a quiet sigh, calming himself of his agitation before reaching down to take a hold of Solas’s hands, which had been resting on his lap as if awaiting his command and consent. Immediately, the mage’s fingers entwined with his own, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. He let out a tiny laugh before shaking his head at that. He should have known. Leave it to this fool to worry. All the taunting and all the teasing was just Solas’s way of trying to filter that emotion out. He was starting to think that’s all his sky could manage some days.

“I’ll be fine, Solas.”, Fane said, gently tugging on their joined hands to coax Solas closer. He would be lying if he didn’t feel a smidge of anxiety towards the removal, but that was only because of the fact that he may potentially get sick. Sensitivities didn’t just go away within a year when they had been festering for ten, but it was no matter. He wanted this, and he would have it.

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, easily coming closer to press their foreheads together again. “I know, but the last time such magic had been so close to your mind, you--”, he trailed off, softened features hardening with painful memories.

Fane shook his head firmly, even though they were connected. “Stop. I’ll be fine.”, he reaffirmed before unraveling one of their hands to place it upon the back of Solas’s neck. “I can endure any amount of discomfort.”

“That you can. However, that does not mean I like that you must, ma’isenatha.”, Solas told him, reaching up with his own freed hand to cup his cheek reverently. “I would prefer you knew no pain.”

He rolled his eyes a bit at that before sighing gently. “You know that’s a hazy dream, Solas. Pain is a part of life. It’s embedded in the path we tread, and the one before.”, he stated before leaning in closer, brushing their lips together to whisper against them. “But so is love, and I’ll endure anything, anything, if it means that that’s what’s waiting for us in the end.”

Solas chuckled, lips curling into a smile against his own. “Such optimism. Are you sure I am the one dreaming?”, he teased.

“Maybe.”, Fane said with a light shrug before giving the lips against his a light peck. “But dreams are nice, aren’t they?”

“They are, indeed.”

“Then let’s make one seemingly unreachable dream a reality. Let’s make the world a little less grey. Let me be free.”, he offered before continuing with more determination. “So, please, free me, Fen’harel. Let me be your dragon again. Not the..”, he trailed off, motioning to his own face. “...Not the ones who enslaved me in the first place.”, he finished, huffing a breath out through his nose as an ember of anger tried to break through. He wasn’t going to get angry during this. Not this time. He wouldn’t let his creeping insanity spoil this one happy moment. 

He pulled away slowly with those words, watching as Solas’s pupils widened and then narrowed from the change in light. He had to smile a bit at that. Eyes were windows indeed, and how he loved the ones shining back at him with equal emotions of wonder, adoration, and tempered grief.

He loved the sky, and all it offered.

Solas watched him closely, steely eyes boring holes into him before a tender, but slightly sorrowful smile graced his lips. Fane felt his own widen a bit more at that, the muscles straining slightly, but he willed them to obey. It was time, he knew. 

It was time for him to be freed from the leash that ensnared him.

“You will tell me if anything is beyond bearing, understand?”, Solas said with a stern expression, his softness and unguarded smile gone to harbor seriousness. “I know this is something you desire fiercely, vhenan, but I will not put you in jeopardy if I see agony in your eyes.”

Fane felt his own face fall and harden with seriousness as he nodded once. “I understand.”, he said, even as minor irritation made him want to growl. He knew Solas was just being caring, but he wanted this more than anything right now. He wanted to see himself without a mask hiding him.

“Very well.”, Solas said before reaching up gingerly to delicately cup his face, his hands cool despite the warmth of blood rushing through them. “Take a deep breath, but do not hold it.”, he instructed.

Fane let out a tiny snort. “I know how to breathe, you ass.”

He watched with a tiny spark of mirth as Solas gave him an exasperated glare. That only made him give the other a tiny shrug before a tiny smirk broke his serious mask.

“That’s what you get for being full of yourself.”, Fane said with the same smirk, trying to ease the tension that had settled in the air around them. As much as he knew this was a serious situation, it didn’t have to be. This was a moment, and he wanted it to be light.

My, how he’s changed, hm? Who would have seen this day? Not him.

“You are insufferable.”, Solas said flatly before shifting closer, face relaxing a tiny bit. 

“You love it. Don’t lie because I can see it.”

A deep chuckle had a shiver running down Fane’s back as Solas came closer, holding his face all the while. Ohh, he had forgotten the other could make that sound. A sound that reminded him of his kin. That was a dangerous sound. 

“And I can see you love me being an ‘ass’.”, the mage shot back, the area around them beginning to glow a calming blue. “Or is it more you love my ass? I seem to recall you stating something along those lines.”

Fane grimaced slightly despite their banter, the smell of mild ozone making his mouth water with the want to expel, but he swallowed around it. “Ngh.. Shut it.. mgh..”, he said between quiet grunts. 

“Breathe, Fane. Listen to me.”, Solas gently instructed, dropping their back and forth immediately upon signs of his discomfort. “Focus on my eyes, block out all your other senses. Use your abilities, if you must, and tell me what you see.”

Fane swallowed around some rising bile, his body beginning to tremble slightly and sweat lightly as more magic was gently brushed along his face like a thin sheet. Focus on...Solas’s eyes? He wanted him to...observe him right now? Why? As a distraction maybe? Well, if it would get him through this then he’d give it go.

“I...ngh..!”, he grunted out harshly before he could even try to do what was instructed of him, feeling how the ink upon his face pulled like a bandage was slowly being peeled away. “D..Damn..”, he cursed, reaching out blindly, as his vision was blurring with pained tears, to wrap his arms around Solas’s waist. 

Ugh, how this hurt! Solas had stated it wasn’t supposed to be painful, but maybe this was just his body’s doing. It was so sensitive to magic that it spurned even the most gentle spells? How typical!

“Shh, ma’isenatha. You are doing fine.”, Solas murmured to him soothingly, easily coming closer when he pulled with insistence. “Tell me to stop and I shall.”, he offered a way out, even as methodical hands continued to work their magical cleanse. 

Fane shook his head lightly, merely tightening his hold around the mage’s waist with a gasping breath. “I..It’s fine. I..I’m fine..”, he managed to get out before blinking away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes to meet Solas’s worried, but proud ones. That nearly had Fane wanting to cry openly. Such pride. For him. He couldn’t take it, but he wanted to!

“Are you--?”, Solas began to ask, but Fane cut him off with a deep growl.

“I want this. N..No matter the agony.”, he snarled out as another wave of nauseous had him nearly ripping his head away to puke onto the pure, moonlit ground. Yes, he wanted this! He wanted this! For the first time in his life, he would proudly soak in all this pain if it meant he could be free to live!

Through his own tears and slightly blackening vision, Fane swore, for just a moment, he could see a line of dampness reflected back at him from the sky watching him. He swore he saw rain clouds beginning to roll in hues of purple-grey and deep blue. He swore he could feel droplets kiss his cheeks as the sky closed him to meet him.  

He swore Solas was crying. 

At that, gold tinted his vision, obscuring it more with its gentle brightness before it ebbed away to signify his eyes had swapped colors from emerald to gold. He watched as Solas’s whole visage nearly crumbled with more pride and more grief built love, the hands upon his face trembling for a moment to where magic washed through his it with renewed vigor. Fane bit down on his cheek, willing his eyes to stay open despite how they wished to close from the sudden surge of hot pain that bit into it. There was no turning back, no matter what Solas saw! 

With a shaky, tense movement, Fane reached up to cup Solas’s face with his hands, brushing away a few errant tears that had miraculously escaped from the stormy clouds harboring them. A sensation of warmth and relief washed through his sweating body as his earlier observation was confirmed.

“You’re crying..”, Fane murmured, stroking the mage’s damp cheeks with clumsy movements. “You’re crying with so much love within blue. Adoration with indigo. Devotion within grey. Pride within lavender.”, he rattled off each emotion as his draconic nature burst forward, wishing to soak in and freely observe every last morsel given to him. “And they..ngh..all swirl together..to make eternity.”

Solas’s expression only twisted with a sorrowful, but yet, happy smile as the aura around them brightened another fraction. There were no words, no comments, no distracting banter. His sky was watching him, just as Fane watched it. He let out a slightly choked sound, taking a deep breath as he felt more of his skin tug and unwind. It was almost over. It had to be! Almost, almost, almost!

It was warm. It was cold. It was stinging. It was soothing. It was grey. It was blue. It was eternity. It was the end. The ritual was all of these things, all of them, and he could feel how his body tingled and shook with them rather than pain. 

Come on. Come on. Come on! Fane’s mind roared like the dragon within his soul as impatience began to rear its head. They were nearly there! Nearly! The tugging was becoming less in certain places, the sting left behind no more than a memory!

Suddenly, upon those thoughts, as Fane thought he was about to pass out from how much he was gasping and sweating, it was over. No contradictory sensations. No tang of ozone tickling his nostrils. There was stillness, and silence, apart from both he and Solas’s gasping. 

The blue aura dissipated, his vision clearing to allow delicate moonlight and glowing fireflies to grace it once more, and most of all, there was no more pain, no more sharpness. 

There was only light and freedom soaking into his soul much like how the sweat upon his brow was. 

“Ane vasreëm, ma’isenatha.”, Solas’s voice pushed through the euphoria and residual pain, eyes swimming with tears, but also genuine wonder as they flitted across his face as if never having seen it before. 

Fane blinked, his mind in a haze as magic continued to slip away from his face like water on a cliffside. He was...free? He was free… He was free! He was free!

“I’m..”, Fane began to say as unrestrained jubilation coursed through his body, but soon after, a sudden rush of dizziness had the world spinning before him. “I’m..”, he tried again, but couldn’t continue as he felt the world rush to meet him and black suddenly drowned out all the eternal colors that were widened in horror and deep concern.

“Vhenan!”

The desperate voice of Solas reached him, but he was unable to respond as his body met the ground behind him. However, he knew he would be okay. He just needed to nap. Just a small one. Nothing to fret over. He’d apologize when he woke up for making his sky panic. 

I’m free. I’m free. I’m free. Those words echoed with certainty and childlike joy, even if he could not see himself as black finally followed with true silence.

***

I’m not crying. Solas is crying! I make him cry because he needs to, so yeah! I’m not fucking crying! *sniffles*

#my writing #solavellan #drabble #solavellan hell #oc: fane lavellan #solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #this is big deal for fane you know? #it's why Im still playing around with how it'll go down #and i just like envisioning that the ritual a tad painful for him #magical sensitivity doesn't just go away #i love writing solas as a smart ass too #fane doesn't XD

[madamedeher]

No pressure

Cullen and Trevelyan fight to release something unspoken. What happens when that becomes not enough? a.k.a the one where everyone knows but the couple.

Maybe it's just me, but I almost never see fics of Cullen pining. I thought it'd be interesting to explore that. Also I'll be loosely messing with the canon in this story. Nothing too story shattering, just a few tweaks you might notice. If you'd like, you can go to my oc page on here and see what I envisioned Maxwell to look like. (Spoiler: he's based off my own inq lmao) just go to the oc page and Andrew Trevelyan is who I described :)

Also this is on AO3! I’m a bit paranoid with the link purge but my profile is /users/ordinarycrayons :)

Come two weeks, it will have been one year since the inquisition had been formed. Cassandra tried to argue that the inquisition was official once Trevelyan accepted his role, but he thought it was too self righteous to agree to that date.

Varric, Trevelyan’s self claimed “closest dwarf” was now standing in front of Cullen’s desk, a knowing gleam to his eye and a smirk ever present on his face.

“All I’m saying is you’re invited.”

Cullen sighed lightly. Varric has decided to celebrate the first nameday of the inquisition by holding a grand game of cards. Apparently everyone in the inner circle will be there, and then some.

“Plus,” Varric leaned in a little, smugness on his face ever present.

“Max is definitely coming.”

Cullen couldn’t help but bristle. He never thought of himself to splay his emotions out on a platter, but even before Haven’s collapse Varric took it upon himself to tease the commander for his one sided infatuation for the Inquisitor.

“Like I have told you, I will probably be busy. Thank you. I will send Maxw— the Inquisitor my regards.”

“Whatever you say, Curly. If you manage to unglue yourself from your desk, invitation’s always open.”

Varric turned on his heels out Cullen’s office and once Varric was out the room, Cullen let out a breath he did not realize he was holding.

Maxwell Trevelyan was not an enigmatic man. He wore his heart on his sleeve, heaving his opinions like he does his broadsword. He seemed to have a permanent tan to his already brown skin and dark freckles that dusted his face, accentuating an innocence that wasn’t exactly there.

Cullen would often daydream about those freckles. They complimented dimples and round cheeks, making Trevelyan look much younger than he actually was. The amount of teasing they both got when it was found out Trevelyan was the same age as Cullen still makes the blond burn in embarrassment.

His thoughts on the leader had shifted recently. What it had shifted to, though, Cullen still does not know.

Trevelyan has never called Cullen by his name, always some form of Commander. In turn, Cullen always tried to make it a point to call him the Inquisitor. Even if Cullen finds himself saying it offhand to himself, noting how easy it slides off his tongue, how it would be so gratifying to have Trevelyan grab him and make him say his name over and over and— Maker.

The Inquisitor had been gone for two weeks, something about peace talks in Orlais. He’d be back by the morning, no doubt irritable from dealing with stuck up nobles day in and day out. Cullen very much looked forward to seeing him again, much to his chagrin.

Cullen stood from his desk and paced for a moment. A slow throbbing was approaching from behind his eyes, a sign that his body was getting too tired to go on without pain.

That night, Cullen touched himself, spilling Maxwell from his lips.

He didn’t have feelings for Trevelyan, oh no. Simple infatuation. Forbidden fruit. Nothing real there, whatsoever. Truly. Hopefully.

+++

As predicted, Trevelyan was back in Skyhold by dawn. Josephine was on him the moment he stepped into the fortress, asking about how it went, who he impressed, who he more importantly pissed off. Vivienne, who attended the talks, stepped in to answer. Maxwell was brooding the moment they left Orlais and was not in the mind to answer her questions.

A random Orlesian had mentioned his father, how he was a noble who fell from grace by scandal. That scandal, being him and a servant creating Trevelyan’s half sister. Great stuff for Trevelyan’s psyche to go over several, several times.

His legs walked for him at that point. His target, Commander Cullen’s office. He knew the commander wouldn't be asleep right now, as many times as they've done this.

Something of a ritual had formed between the two. When one was upset, they would invite the other to spar. Neither has ever declined the other and it proved to be therapeutic in some primal way.

With a hard knock, Trevelyan announced himself outside the office and walked in. Unsurprisingly, Cullen was hunched over his desk, though he was still dressed in casual clothing, his armor sitting well placed next to him.

Looking up, Cullen acknowledged him.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

Then, the ritual begins.

Trevelyan would comment on the time of day.

“Morning, commander. Up early today I see.”

Cullen would make a comment on his work load.

“Yes, I have much to do.”

Trevelyan would proposition.

“Don’t you need a break, Commander?”

And Cullen would fall for it.

“I suppose I do. Meet you by the usual place?”

The, “usual place” was near the southern entrance of Skyhold, where only some immigrants and the merchant would see them. They use to practice by the tavern, but they eventually gained an audience. Trevelyan didn’t mind, but Cullen drew the line when he overheard Iron Bull and Dorian wondering if who wins the spar means who takes the other that night.

He didn’t tell Trevelyan the exact reason why he wanted to move, citing the noise of the crowd was distracting and if Trevelyan suspected another reason, he didn’t show it. Since then, they fought in their place. Truthfully, Cullen has several places mapped if they gained a crowd once again.

Trevelyan waited patiently by their spot. He took it upon himself to grab their usual weapons. Cullen relied on a rather large wooden shield and right handed sword. Trevelyan had his two-handed broadsword tucked into his elbow, leaning on it as he waited. Both weapons were old and dull, only able to do real damage if using blunt force.

Cullen bounded towards him ten minutes later. His lion helm was left behind, but his usual armor was donned. Trevelyan wore similar armor, though his was less stylized.

“Commander.” Trevelyan handed Cullen his sword and shield, a half smile on his face.

Cullen’s heart thumped in his chest. Their sparring use to be simple, he played as it was. But when his feelings deepened into whatever they were, their dueling fueled more. An itch he couldn’t scratch was the only way he could describe it.

He watched as Trevelyan oriented himself with the sword. It was a tad smaller than his actual battle weapon, with the hilt being a thinner leather than usual as well.

“Ready, Inquisitor?”

“Always, Commander.”

No matter what, it felt like the world disappeared when they did this. In Cullen’s mind, it was just them in this moment. No Inquisition, no reports, no worry. Just them.

The pair rounded themselves, facing the other. Cullen noted how even though Trevelyan’s brown eyes looked very tired, he still managed to create a spark behind them.

Trevelyan was the first to move, stepping to Cullen’s right side, swinging his sword. It was a test, as Trevelyan never actually made his swing come all the way down to hit Cullen’s shield. The pair locked eyes again and Trevelyan let out a breathy laugh.

“Did not expect cold feet from you, Inquisitor.”

“Simply gauging my prey.”

Prey. Cullen let out an incredulous noise and suddenly charged with his shield, catching Trevelyan off guard and knocking him back with a loud oof.

Trevelyan recovered quickly, but not before Cullen got a good jab at his rib, causing the other to groan in pain. With a well placed turn, Trevelyan brought his foot up and kicked Cullen’s shield towards the left, stuttering the commander’s reflex and bringing down a harder than intended swing to Cullen’s side. It made the commander make his own noise of pain and he gripped his side as best he could.

He knew there would be a big purple bruise there in a few hours. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Trevelyan came at him again, his sword menacingly in front of him. Cullen blocked last minute with his shield and pushed back, staggering the man for a moment. Cullen did his best to round his own sword back to the other, but it was successfully blocked by the left metal bracer Trevelyan wore. Not missing a beat, Trevelyan awkwardly switched his sword to his non dominant right hand and clumsily hit the bottom of Cullen’s thigh.

Cullen reminded himself to warn the Inquisitor about learning to be ambidextrous with his weapons. Two-handed weapons tend to spoil those wielding them.

They pushed off each other, both slightly out of breath. Mirroring the other, they both stepped towards each other and arched their swords, the swords hitting each other with a loud metallic pang. Trevelyan pushed against Cullen and the commander pushed back, deadlocking the two into a power struggle. Cullen was close enough to Trevelyan’s face he could count the freckles on his nose. He got to twenty before a voice cleared from behind him.

Trevelyan was the first to back off and an innocent grin spread on his face.

“Are you two playing nice?”

Morrigan. Cullen whipped around and put his hands to his sides. He felt as though he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“I always play nice. What isn’t nice is watching people without their knowledge.”

There was no bite to Trevelyan’s scolding.

“Oh, but I am not a nice woman. Is it a crime to watch two attractive men beat each other with sticks?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you thought I was handsome.”

“Tis’ not a secret, Maxwell. I am not the shy type.”

Before Cullen knew it, he realized the pair were… flirting?

A knot of jealousy settled in Cullen’s stomach. It made him feel hotly ashamed and a bit nauseous. He brought his hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

Trevelyan mistakenly thought it to be lyrium withdrawal pain and placed a comforting hand on Cullen’s shoulder. It made his heart beat even harder.

“As much as I enjoy this chatter, is there truly something you needed?”

When Cullen opened his eyes, he found Morrigan transfixed on him. He shifted uncomfortably under her stare.

“I was hoping to discuss The Winter Palace with you.”

Her gaze shifted between the two and settled on Cullen again, her face looking more knowing than before.

“That is, if you two are quite finished.”

Trevelyan straightened and stuck his sword into the ground. Clapping a hand on Cullen’s back, he smiled warmly at him and stepped towards Morrigan.

“I guess we’ll have to finish this later. See you later, Commander.”

Cullen watched Trevelyan and Morrigan walk off together. They started their light flirting again from what Cullen could tell and the weight in his stomach seemed to have snaked up to his chest, constricting his heart. He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, willing the emotions to fade away. Cullen made it a point to himself to get over this crush effective immediately.

“Oh, and Commander,”

Morrigan’s voice rang out again, though she was much farther away. Cullen sheepishly looked up from his brooding thoughts.

“Shall I remind you I am not the villain here?”

Trevelyan looked between the two, settling on raising his eyebrows at Cullen. Although Trevelyan didn’t really know what Morrigan was talking about, he was surprised to see a bashful look on Cullen’s face.

+++

Cullen has not spoken to the Inquisitor since they’re last sparring. He’s not quite sure if he appreciates or hates that fact.

It’s easier to forget about his situation with Trevelyan this way, even if he misses him. Besides, it isn’t as if he is purposely avoiding the other. Trevelyan has made no attempt to talk to him. Although, that fact stings, so Cullen tries to forget that as well.

Varric’s celebration is tonight. Cullen made no plans to go up until earlier today. After a rather tedious war meeting, Leliana stopped Cullen to talk to him alone in the hallway out. Once again, Trevelyan made no attempt to talk to him and it grated on his nerves more than it should have. Them standing in the cramped space between the main hall and Josephine’s office did not help his growing nerves.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Cullen’s voice sounded strained even to his own ears, causing him to briefly wince.

“You are going to the celebration tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You think I do not know of what is going on between you and the inquisitor?”

Cullen blinked and felt the tip of ears grow hot.

“I do not know what—”

“Do not lie to me, Commander.”

“...there is nothing unprofessional between me and the Inquisitor. I say that truly.”

Leliana’s eyes were piercing, as if she was trying to read his mind. Cullen would never admit he wouldn’t be surprised if she could.

“That is precisely the problem.”

Cullen stepped back and hit his back against the brick wall. He’s sure if he saw his face it would show a look of complete and utter confusion. “Are you suggesting me and the Inquisitor start some illicit affair?”

“If I thought it would just be a some dirty affair, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Then I am at a loss as to what you are suggesting.”

The woman shifted her weight to her left foot and crossed her arms. A ghost of a smirk was on her face.

“I know love when I see it, Commander. It is something to be cherished. The Maker made us this way to embrace love, not run away from it. Do you not understand that?”

Cullen’s heart started thudding against his chest and he instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t meet Leliana’s eyes even if he wanted to.

“It is not mutual.”

The smirk widened on Leliana’s face. “Because you have been rejected, or because you refuse to consider it’s possibility?”

Cullen had no answer. He had not even entertained the thought that the Inquisitor might feel the same way. Trevelyan had made no moves, had he? Belatedly, Cullen realized he and the Inquisitor spent the most time together out of everyone in the inner circle. Trevelyan is the one whom Cullen bared his deepest struggles to, and Trevelyan was the only one to take the time to comfort him, tell him how proud he was of Cullen. While Cullen wasn’t as eloquent as Trevelyan when it came to praise and feelings, when he did do the same to Trevelyan he could swear he saw a blush come to the warrior’s cheeks. It all came naturally, and Cullen kicked himself for being so hung up on their names.

Leliana spoke again. “Are you coming to the celebration?”

Cullen steadied himself on his sword, gripping the handle hard. He tried not to get his hopes up.

“Yes.”

+++

The tavern was bustling. It seemed as though everyone in skyhold had stuffed themselves in there, from the chargers drunkenly guarding their corner of the bottom floor to even Vivienne chatting idly to Dorian and Solas, all three drinking some expensive wine Varric managed to get his hands on.

Trevelyan was drinking a tankard of beer with Blackwall, Cassandra, and Varric. Their conversation devolved the more the night went on. While he didn’t drink that much, Trevelyan saw his companions get more and more inebriated. By the time Varric managed to round up the inner circle for their wicked grace game, Sera was asleep on the floor and Bull was so loud it was starting to make Trevelyan’s ears ring.

“And THEN, and then, oh shit boss you’re gonna love this one, and then he went, ‘But I barely knew her!’” The table erupted in incredulous laughter and a solid eye roll from Cassandra. Trevelyan tried to hide his laugh behind his drink, clapping Bull on the back for his story. Naturally, the conversations went on. His hand in the card game wasn’t great, but he didn’t really mind. It felt good to celebrate something amongst the string of tragedies he has to deal with.

Varric sat next to him, the two occasionally sizing each other up. Josephine was the best at the game, but Varric could bluff like nobody’s business. It gave Trevelyan a sense of confidence being around him when playing wicked grace. It wasn’t until he jabbed Trevelyan in the ribs with his elbow did he get his head out of the game. He nodded his head towards the entrance of the tavern and Trevelyan’s eyes landed on the blond that was making his way through the door.

Cullen walked towards the table but stopped just short of it. Varric stood up and waved the commander over.

“Glad you made it Curly, saved a seat for you.”

Trevelyan looked wide eyed at Varric who shot back a wink. He went off to drag another chair to the table, leaving Cullen to sit down next to the inquisitor.

Cullen’s entrance didn’t stop the flow of conversation, but Leliana, who was leaning against one of the support beams in the tavern threw Cullen a look. She turned to whisper something to Cassandra who was some steps away. Cassandra not so subtly glanced at the pair with raised eyebrows. Both Cullen and Trevelyan looked elsewhere to avoid the questioning eyes.

“I… guess I have arrived too late for the game.”

“Don’t worry, there will be plenty more rounds. Lest we forget your last game.”

Cullen smiled at Trevelyan despite the embarrassing memory. “Ah, I do not plan on losing my clothing tonight, though.”

Trevelyan perked up at Cullen with newfound confidence. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Something told Cullen they might not be talking about the game anymore and he looked away shyly. He never knew what to do in these situations. Especially since this is the first time in many years he wanted their affections in the first place.

“S-so, uh, I feel as though we have not seen each other in a while.”

Trevelyan deflated at that and Cullen recoiled slightly wondering if he said the wrong thing. Thankfully, Trevelyan continued on the conversation. “Why is it always I who seeks you out? You’re free to come to me for a change, you know.”

A hardened tone took over Trevelyan but he still tried to mask it with a forced lightness. Cullen felt the guilt wash over in a wave. He had never thought about that. For the past year, it had always been Trevelyan who progressed their friendship. It hit Cullen that even if he had feelings for Cullen, Cullen was not showing any signs himself that it could go anywhere. Tonight felt like it was a turning point in their friendship— or what it could be.

“I came tonight. I… hope that is a sufficient start.”

“You act as if you came to the party only for me.”

It was invitation to go further, Cullen saw it clear as day. Trevelyan was baiting him to go farther, and he knew he would always go for his game.

Cullen acknowledged him.

“Perhaps… perhaps I did.”

Trevelyan craned his seat to look out a window at the far side of the wall to their left.

“It’s getting quite late, Cullen.”

Cullen’s eyes widened and he could feel his pulse thud in his ears. He wanted to ask Trevelyan to say his name again, over and over. It was by far the only sound Cullen wanted to hear from then on. He had half a mind to ask him to say it again before he remembered what he was doing.

“Yes, I finished my reports early.”

Trevelyan prepositioned.

“Well, I’m sure you deserve a long break.”

And Cullen falls for it. Every time.

“What do you suggest we do, Maxwell?”

The grin that split onto Trevelyan’s face was unfiltered excitement and it made Cullen mirror one of his own.

“Walk me to my quarters? It is just so late.”

“Of course, dear inquisitor.”

+++

Cullen had never been in Maxwell’s quarter’s since it was being built in the first place. It awed him how much of Maxwell emanated from the room since he last saw it. The Orlesian linens had been replaced by woolly blankets and fluffy pillows that looked perfect for winter. The couch, desk, and bookshelves were all the same but had been covered by different memorabilia Maxwell had collected over the past many months. His desk especially was cluttered with dozens of half written missives and reports. Cullen wonders how he manages to get anything done with the mess in the way. Incense sits in the air as well, a mix of cherrywood and lavender. It relaxed both of them greatly.

Behind him Maxwell stokes a fire he lit. It was late fall and a chill had comfortably settled over skyhold.

When the fire seemed to be going full force Maxwell stood. He and Cullen shared a brief moment of eye content before they both looked away nervously. Maxwell admittedly didn't think this far into this, considering he didn’t even think Cullen would accept the offer to walk him to his room.

“I like your quarters.” Cullen blurted out after a beat of awkward silence.

“Do you?”

“Yes, I now know why you smell so good.” He faltered at the tail end of that sentence. Cullen inwardly smacked himself. You smell so good? Maker, Cullen, you’re bad at this.

Maxwell laughed behind his hand, “Thank you. I’m glad my… smell? Pleases you.”

Cullen hoped his face didn’t seem to red, but just in case he looked down at his boots to hide at least some of the embarrassment.

Maxwell walked towards an empty loveseat that was in the corner of his room and pushed it towards the fire that crackled noisily. He sat down casually and patted the spot next to him, beckoning Cullen who obliged readily.

“I’m glad you agreed to come with me to my quarters. I’ve… admittedly missed you. And I’ve been wanting to speak about something.”

This time it was Maxwell looking down at his feet. Cullen wanted to reach out and hug him.

“What did you want to speak of?”

Maxwell took a deep breath and looked up, but not at Cullen. “Cullen, I care for you, more than what I’ve let on and I—” He shook his head and tried to gather his words.

“I don’t— I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just want to know if you could care for me as I care for you.”

Cullen felt his mouth dry and he swallowed thickly. He tried to bring up words but nothing seemed to do justice.

“I could. I-I mean I do. I’ve… often wondered what I might say in this situation.” Cullen’s voice wavered a tad but he continued, “I didn’t think it was possible for there to be something, much less admit to it.”

“Now that it is possible, what do you intend to do?”

Maxwell was looking at Cullen now, the pair meeting each other’s eyes. Cullen shifted closer to Maxwell and started to slowly lean into the other’s space, closing his eyes and hoping he’s met with what he wants.

With a sharp intake of breath, Maxwell met Cullen halfway and kissed him.

Cullen had imagined this a dozen times, in a dozen different ways. He knows it’s cliche to say it is like no other, but he can not remember a time where something as simple as a kiss filled him such an indescribable joy.

They seperated momentarily, looking into each other’s eyes with a newfound ferocity. Cullen grabbed Maxwell by his collar and pulled him back into the kiss, their mouths naturally falling open to explore the other. Maxwell tangled his left hand into Cullen’s hair and moved to straddle his lap, his other hand finding itself on the other’s waist.

It stirred something familiarly warm deep in Cullen’s belly, causing him to involuntarily moan. He could feel Maxwell smile into the kiss and it caused him to smile back, effectively ruining the kiss they had going. It devolved into a fit of shy giggles and chaste face kisses between the two.

“I can’t remember the last time I was into another man’s lap.”

Cullen pressed several kisses along Maxwell’s jaw and neck, causing the other to crane his neck back for better access. A passing thought wished Cullen would divulge in as many love bites as he could.

“If I get what I want, I’ll be the last lap you’re in.”

Maxwell meant to softly put their foreheads together but misjudged the force of it and thonked their heads together, causing another bout of breathy laughter.

“Whatever you want, I’ll grant it.”

Maxwell brought his hips closer to Cullen’s and ghosted contact. In retaliation Cullen settled his hands on Maxwell’s hips and brought them together himself, the hard grind bringing groans out of both of them.

Their lips connected again, the kiss hard and wet. They fell into a slow rhythm, grinding until they were both hard and desperate against each other.

“Grant me a spot on your bed?”

Maxwell smiled crookedly and stood, taking Cullen’s hand in his and leading him to the bed. They kissed on their way there, unbuckling and fastening each other’s clothing the best they could until they fell on the bed in their underclothes, never separating until both needed a breath. Carefully, Maxwell made his way from Cullen’s mouth down his chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses across his torso and taking a moment to lavish a nipple with teeth and tongue. It made Cullen’s breath hitch in his throat, stifling a kean that came with it.

Calloused hands made their way down Cullen’s soft thighs, tracing a map for Maxwell’s lips to follow. It was slightly ticklish, Maxwell’s plush lips mixed with his rough stubble rubbing against his thighs, it forced Maxwell to steady a hand against his stomach to keep him from squirming too much. With steady hands, Maxwell pulled off Cullen’s last bit of clothing and discarding his own in the process.

They stared at other, breathing heavily. Maxwell tried to drink up the sight in front of him as much as he could, while Cullen tried to commit to memory what it looks like to have one of the most powerful men in Thedas kneeling above him completely naked.

Without wasting another second Maxwell puts his lips to Cullen’s dick, kissing the head, then spreading them just enough to suckle at the tip. Cullen quietly gasped, swallowing hard. It had been years since anyone had touched him this way. He never thought he would find someone he trusted enough to take to bed, yet here he was, thanking Andraste and the maker himself for allowing him to climb into Maxwell’s space.

Maxwell got more bold as he worked, taking more of Cullen into his mouth. Cullen unconsciously thrusted into Maxwell’s slack mouth. He couldn’t very far, the arm that steadied him earlier was placed back on his stomach, restricting his movement. A frustrated groan escaped Cullen before he could catch it and caught Maxwell trying not to smile. The brunet pulled off and licked the precome that got on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

Cullen flustered and pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn’t trust himself not to say something completely embarrassing.

“Can… can I take you?”

That got Cullen’s attention. Maxwell had settled himself in between legs that Cullen didn’t know he could spread that far. Maxwell had clear sight of his hole and it made Cullen want to close his legs out of bashfulness, yet he relented on the thought.

“Y-yes. I… I don’t… I’ve never...” Cullen looked up at the ceiling, willing the Maker to not let him mess this up.

“It’s okay, we, um, we don’t have to.”

“No! I mean. No, I want to. I just... have never been taken. Please, I do want you.”

Maxwell flashed a warm smile then pressed a long kiss to Cullen’s lips.

“If anything becomes too much, you know to stop me right?”

Cullen nods and takes a deep breath. He lets his legs fall open as they were and watched Maxwell’s gaze fall from his face to between his legs. He knew his face and chest were flush red yet he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Maxwell reached over him to ruffle inside his nightstand for a small container. When opened, the smell of mint and earth filled the air and Cullen looked at Maxwell questioningly.

“Don’t ask why I have it, but it’s oil with a special root infused. Will help with comfort, helps relax muscles.” Maxwell dipped his fingers into it with a shrug. The liquid was even thicker than oil and the smell made Cullen’s nose tickle.

When Maxwell made first contact with Cullen’s hole, he circled his index fingers around the ring before pressing up to his first joint. Cullen tensed under him, not parsing the feeling very effectively. It was hard to describe, especially since Maxwell took this as an opportunity to start sucking his cock again. He sighed, but it turned into a breathy whimper. Maxwell finished pushing his first finger into Cullen, quickly doing the same thing with his middle finger. After a moment of adjustment, Maxwell pulled his fingers out only to slowly put them back in. It took everything in Maxwell not to fuck Cullen right there, the man above him spilling little mewls and begs the more he moved.

Maxwell didn’t have to explore the inside of Cullen for long before he found his spot, causing the blond to buck up into Maxwell’s mouth and choking his lover, making him sputter on his dick.

“Oh— oh Maker I’m sorry, so sorry.” Cullen slurred a little, hazy from the pleasure he was receiving but nonetheless felt bad for choking Maxwell. The other man shrugged and smiled, coughing a little.

“No need to apologize. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that a little.”

Cullen gasped and Maxwell chuckled lowly, pressing a small kiss to the top of Cullen’s thigh. He moved his fingers again over Cullen’s spot, making him moan and slam his eyes shut. Occasionally, Cullen would be able to find it himself when he fingered himself, but he was always too awkward to get the right angle. He wondered what else Maxwell would be able to tease out of him. The thought made him shudder.

“I think I’m ready, please, Maxwell,” Cullen pleaded, pulling at Maxwell’s arm to get him close. Maxwell obliged and settled above Cullen, but he didn’t expect Cullen to grab his cock and shakily stroke it, causing him to cry out. He ignored his own pleasure for the sake of Cullen and didn’t realize how desperate he was starting to get.

Swatting Cullen’s hand away, Maxwell lined himself up with Cullen, pressing the tip to him and slowly pressing in, causing both of them to moan. Maxwell hitched Cullen’s legs up to wrap around his waist, of which Cullen readily clung to.

Maxwell added more oil to where they joined and in a slow swoop put his cock to the hilt in Cullen. Cullen shook below him and Maxwell kissed all over his face, from his nose to his cheeks to his lips.

They stilled, letting Cullen adjust and Maxwell catch his breath. Cullen was... divine. Tight and warm, so soft and sweet under him. Somewhere dark in his mind wanted him to be like this more often, pliant and cute, wanting to be taken care of. Without thinking, Maxwell searched for Cullen’s hand, binding their fingers together to help anchor him. He left little kisses on Cullen’s neck, letting his free hand stroke Cullen’s side.

Cullen breathed heavily, feeling increasingly impatient in the stillness. “You… you can move…”

Not needing another cue, Maxwell experimentally rolled his hips, making Cullen grunt and seize. Another thrust, and another, and Maxwell falls into an easy rhythm. The thrusts weren’t particularly fast, but they were deep, causing Cullen to whimper everytime Maxwell bottomed out. Again, though, Cullen grew impatient and requested Maxwell go faster. He happily obliged, quickening his pace.

It was Maxwell’s turn to groan, the pleasure that coiled in his stomach making his shake. He buried his face into Cullen’s neck, tightening his grip on his hand and latched his lips on the tender skin, surely leaving a love bite for later. Cullen under him was alternating between moaning and catching his breath, the slap of skin ringing obscenely through the room. If the balcony doors had been opened even a fraction the couple would have surely been heard.

Maxwell was lost in the scene but caught himself enough to move to stroke Cullen’s cock. A low sob emanated from him, Maxwell not only stroking him but his thrusts brushing against his prostate. Cullen’s eyes were shut so hard he was starting to see stars behind his eyes and every thrust pushed out a chorus of ah ah ah.

Cullen’s free hand found its way into Maxwell’s hair, pulling hard and making Maxwell loudly whimper. Cullen foggily made sure that he would remember that for later.

Maxwell removed himself from Cullen’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. Cullen took it upon himself to kiss Maxwell open mouth. The kiss was noisy and messy, neither of them having the right mind to fix it.

It wasn’t long before Cullen felt that telling coil in his belly. His toes curled and his mouth fell slack, his eyebrows furrowing and a long deep cry left his mouth. Hot strings of come covered both of their stomachs, Cullen shaking and bucking against Maxwell, his body not knowing whether he wanted to get closer or farther away from the thrusting.

Maxwell willed his eyes open to watch Cullen come undone, which only egged on his impending release. His pace quickened brutally, his thrusts getting out of rhythm. Cullen writhed and loudly whimpered, overstimulation getting the best of him.

Maxwell tried to bury his head in Cullen’s neck again but Cullen stopped him, pulling his hair again and keeping his face where it was so he could watch Maxwell cum. His eyes screwed shut and he yelled brokenly, spilling inside Cullen, his stroke only breaking when he couldn't physically go on.

The two of them breathed heavily, Maxwell falling on top of Cullen after a moment. Cullen felt like jelly under Maxwell, and urged for another kiss that Maxwell happily gave him. He pulled out after they pulled away, both of them shuddering at the loss of contact.

Taking it on himself, Maxwell cleaned them off with a wet cloth from his wash basin. He discarded of it and quickly made his way back to the bed, lavishing Cullen in little pecks on his face.

Maxwell was the first to speak. “Are you okay, honey?”

Cullen nodded and smiled lazily, tackling Maxwell onto his back and throwing a leg over his.

“I’m more than okay.” Cullen’s voice was listful and soft. The good feeling in his heart had shackled itself there.

“Are you staying here tonight?”

Cullen swallowed and looked at Maxwell. “May I?”

Maxwell grinned and snaked his arm around Cullen’s shoulder, grabbing on the blankets that were jostled off the bed and throwing it across the pair.

“I’d love nothing more.”

The fire made earlier was dying down but the blanket was warm enough between them. Nonetheless, Maxwell snuggled closer to Cullen, placing a kiss to his forehead.

For the first time since either of them joined the inquisition, they went to sleep without a worry.

+++

Josephine was tipsy and counting her winnings from wicked grace. She scanned the room but didn't see her desired person anywhere. "Has anyone seen the Inquisitor? He promised to have a drink with me after I won!"

Varric let out a hearty chuckle and Bull gave his own belting laugh.

"Haven't you noticed who else is missing, Josephine?" Bull's voice boomed and his tankard sloshed.

Josephine looked around again and noticed Commander Cullen was gone as well.

"Are they fighting again? At this time of night?"

Varric leaned into the table and raised his eyebrows.

"They're doing some sword fighting alright."

Bull laughed and Cassandra who caught the tail of that conversation sneered.

Josephine looked at Varric before it hit her. Oh. Oh.

#cullen rutherford #m!inquisitor #bi!cullen #inquisitor/cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #maxwell trevelyan #male inquisitor/cullen rutherford #be warned there is sm*t in this #cullen x m!inquisitor #bottom!cullen