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Chapter Text

Cordelia slips into Cullen's office as quietly as she can. Several soldiers are huddled around his desk as he gives orders. He's dressed down, his armour surely with the blacksmith for repair after the siege. His vest with its fur collar, however, remains draped around him. This meeting must be important if it couldn't wait until he could be suited up, as he always insists.

She should probably care more about the contents of such a meeting, but she can't right now. Not after what they've been through since the last time they were together in Skyhold. As such, she's not really listening as she leans against the wall next to the eastern door. She is, however, watching Cullen, whose sleeves have been rolled up to expose his forearms. The muscles flex as he crosses his arms over his strong chest. She has to stop herself from biting her lip.

Her lover stumbles over his words when he meets her gaze. She smiles softly. He dismisses their soldiers as soon as he can, follows them to the door, and shuts it behind them. His sigh is familiar.

"There's always something more, isn't there," he says, hanging his head with both hands on the door. Gods, those arms.

"Long day?" They only arrived home from Adamant early that afternoon. Cordelia took time to bathe and rest. It seems Cullen has only done the former. She's not surprised. She rubs her finger over her lip, and he looks up, his gaze landing on the embroidery on her sleeves. It's the same blouse she wore the first time they kissed—green with white elderflowers stitched into the fabric. His lips twitch.

"I shouldn't complain," he says and pushes away from the door. He pivots toward his desk. He isn't planning to return to work, is he?

She can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous. We've been marching for weeks. Most of our troops have eaten and turned in early for the night." She quietly locks the door behind her. She has plans, and, June'enaste, they will not be disrupted.

"I have eaten," he protests, though his frown softens when he finds her smiling at him. "How are you feeling?" They've been apart longer today than they have been since the first day after the siege. She rode at his side the entire journey to Skyhold, sat beside him while they ate, shared a tent at night. Being home, she feels more comfortable not being attached at the hip, but she still…

I feel like, now that we're home, all I want to do is be joined with you because, by my Creators, I cannot die without knowing you entirely. I feel like I need you.

"Better," she says, shifting on her feet. He looks as if he knows she's holding something back. It's gotten harder and harder to hide things from him since they first started out. But he doesn't push the issue. Yet.

"This war won't last forever," he says, like a reassurance to them both. He continues toward his desk. "When it started, I hadn't considered much beyond our survival, but things are different now." She approaches as he turns back to her.

"What do you mean?"

"I find myself wondering what will happen after," he says. He scans her face before lifting his hand to cup her cheek. "When this is over—I won’t want to move on… not from you." She leans into the touch, into the warmth of his bare palm. A shadow of doubt crosses his face, and he looks down at the ground.

"But I don’t know what you—that is, if you, ah…"

He turns to the desk and needlessly shuffles the papers on the surface. Has she done such a poor job of showing him how deeply she cares for him? She could have died, and he never would've known she loves him. The thought makes her stomach twist and spurs her into action.

"Cullen. Do you need to ask?" She steps between him and the desk, gazing up at him. His lips quirk in a little smile.

"I suppose not," he says softly. The knot in her stomach loosens. She leans back against the wood. His hands ball into fists at his sides. His brow furrows, and her heart beats faster in her chest. "I want…" He wants, she wants, they both want. She leans back farther, tilting her head up and searching his face. His focus drops to her neck—to her fresh scar, perhaps?

Glass shatters on the stone floor. She gasps in surprise and looks down at it on instinct. She must have bumped the bottle. Fenedhis. Every time they try to take another step in their relationship there's always some kind of interruption. She isn't about to let his one stop her, however.

She returns her attention to her lover with a face he hopefully reads as apologetic. He stares down at her for a moment. Two. Then he shakes his head slightly and leans over to swipe the scrolls and books and at least one empty tankard off the desktop and onto the floor.

Cordelia starts to smile, watching Cullen intently as he comes back to her. She pushes up onto the desk in preparation. He smirks at her and bends down, his hand on her jaw, to kiss her—brief, but far from chaste. She scoots back on the desk when he pulls his lips from hers, and he follows without hesitation. His gaze is full of unadulterated, intoxicating want.

One leg slots between hers, the other brackets the outside, as he leans over her. She can't help herself from grabbing his face in both hands and pulling him down to kiss him fervently. The way they haven't kissed since before Adamant, before the terrible things she saw in the Fade. He returns her passion with the eagerness she so adores.

He braces his forearms on either side of her head, effectively caging her in, and—Oh, gods… his hips bear down on hers, his thigh rubbing against her cunt, and she moans without restraint. Cullen inhales sharply at the sound. She puts one foot flat on the table to leverage as she grinds down on him. Her hands slide down from his face to hold the collar of his shirt, his mantle tickling her cheeks.

He rolls his hips again. She exhales unsteadily and teases his scar with her tongue. He grunts into her mouth and shifts his weight onto one arm before gliding his hand all the way from her knee to her shoulder. She drops her hands from him to start on the buttons of her blouse, aching to have his hand on her skin, but he gently bats them away.

"I've got it," she protests as he takes over the task himself.

"Let me," he says, ducking his head to kiss behind her ear. She gasps softly. He fingers the inner edge of her shirt. "Please?" His lips trail down her neck to her collarbone, and she groans in pleasure. He smiles into her skin as he continues unbuttoning, his kisses following the line of exposed skin.

When he reaches the end, he pushes the soft fabric off her shoulders, gently drags it down her arms, pulls it out from under her, and discards it in his chair. The whole thing sends goosebumps spreading all over her body. His eyes rove over her bare skin before finding hers. She reaches behind her to unclasp her breastband, and his focus snaps to the movement. She's been shirtless in front of him at least twice during more impassioned bouts of kissing. But never… fully.

She casts the breastband aside with her blouse and flashes a coy smile. He slides a hand up her torso to cup her breast as he lowers his mouth to hers. He tries to end the kiss after a few short moments, but she holds him where he is a little while longer. His callused fingers tease her nipple almost absently while their lips move against each other.

When she releases him, he repeats his path of kisses down her neck and chest until he reaches the breast he isn't slowly kneading in his hand. There, he lingers, working her nipple to a peak with his tongue and teeth. She cradles the back of his head and tries not to push her chest up into him.

She fails. To her dismay, he releases her breast. At least he doesn't pull away completely. No, no, his lips turn instead to her sternum, the curve of her ribs—accompanying some kisses with light scrapes of his teeth that make her hand tighten in his hair and her cunt scream for more stimulation.

He kisses her abdomen, and Cordelia's breath hitches. His fingertips are light as a feather over her ribcage. She shivers. He returns to her breast and sucks her nipple back into his mouth.

"Sathan, dava ‘ma edhas," she moans, arching her back. Cullen lifts his head.

"What does that mean?" Um, ah, it means I want your tongue on my cunt instead of my tits, she thinks. She isn't embarrassed about having to explain herself… she's just… well, frankly, she's flustered by the way he's been touching her. And she hadn't considered that he wouldn't understand the elven phrase. She had barely even considered saying it before it came out of her mouth.

"I—it's a request," she says with a wince. He raises a brow.

"What kind of request?"

"For you to go down on me," she says and watches Cullen's face turn bright red. "The direct translation is 'Please, lick my cunt', but…"

"Maker, I've never—I don't—" He looks away, but she sits up and cradles his face in her hands, desperate to reassure him.

"I know, vhen'an." She knows his sexual experiences are few, but that's not a problem. She's expressed that in the past. "You don't have to. It just sort of—came out."

He shakes his head firmly. "It's not that I don't want to. Not at all—I've—" He tries to look away again, but she holds him still. "I've thought about it more often than I should admit. I suppose I'm a little flustered you said it so plainly. I would've asked… eventually…" His gaze flicks down shyly, then returns to hers.

She smiles and brushes her thumbs over his cheeks, her heart swelling in her chest. His amber eyes are so warm in the candlelight, his expression so sweet. "I love you," she blurts, unable to hold it in any longer. She takes a breath. "You know that, right?"

He looks at her like she just said the most profound thing in the history of the world. "I love you, too." They both beam. And then they're kissing again, and Cordelia fumbles with the clasps of her trousers, scooting to the edge of the desk and kicking off her dainty silk slippers.

He mumbles a quiet prayer as she shimmies out of her pants. She kicks them aside and perches on the desk again, her hands braced behind her. For a long moment, Cullen just admires her, mouth slightly ajar. She starts to lazily remove her rings and set them down beside her. The movement draws his attention.

She tilts her head to the side with a little smile. "Something on your mind?" she asks once her fingers are bare. His gaze lifts to meet hers.

"Everything." He strips off his vest and shirt and drops to his knees before her. His eyes flick over her in assessment of the situation. Always so analytical. Though he usually doesn't look so hungry when assessing things. She giggles and swings her legs back and forth. He catches her calves and glares up at her with what could almost be called a pout on his lips.

She lifts her legs out of his grasp and hooks them over his shoulders, forcing him closer. His blunt nails run up the outside of her thighs. He exhales a jagged breath that caresses her wet center. She tries not to squirm. It's not supposed to be teasing, she thinks; he's just nervous.

He spares her a quick glance before he licks an experimental stripe through her slit. She gasps. His hands take hold of her thighs, and he tries another lick. She whines and tilts her hips to urge him on.

Each testing touch brings her higher and higher. His brows are furrowed in concentration. She sinks her fingers into his hair, and he looks up through his lashes at her. She shudders. Gods, the look in his eyes. Like between her legs is the only place he wants to be, like he's just had a wish come true. Perhaps he has. He did say he'd thought about it.

"You're sure you've never—oh!—done this—before?" She swears he smirks as he hums affirmatively into her center. Her toes curl.

She's very much in danger of becoming obsessed with this, but she's nearly positive it's just him. That this is just what he does to her, what he makes her feel. It's like nothing else. Yet she craves more, greedy for his touch, his love.

He sucks her clit between his lips, and she jolts forward. The sudden movement must concern him because his gaze darts to hers.

"That's good, very—mmmm—very good," she babbles to assure him. His cheeks flush prettily. Evidently emboldened, he sucks harder.

She moans his name and tugs on his hair. His answer is a rumbling groan that vibrates through her body. She mewls and clenches her thighs around his head. His grip tightens, but he doesn't attempt to move her legs away. He alternates between sucking and circling her bud and parting her folds. She can't grind properly in this position—her abs aren't strong enough. She settles for pressing on the back of his head to get him closer.

"Need you to—need—ah, Cullen!" Her head drops back as he sucks hard on her clit. She mumbles a series of yes's interspersed with elven curses and his name until she falls apart on his tongue. He moans softly and strokes her folds with care through her climax.

She sighs, one last shiver running through her, and brings her head forward to peer down at him. She pushes his curls off his forehead to draw his attention. It works; he pulls back from her cunt with shining, slightly swollen lips and desire darkened eyes. Does he know how intoxicating he is? She lets her legs fall from his shoulders and tugs him to his feet.

He meets her lips readily. His mouth tastes like her, and she doesn't care one bit. He rests his hands on her waist and kisses her like they have all the time in the world. Which they don't. But they do have all night.

Still, Cordelia gets impatient. Her hands wander down his chest to the waistband of his breeches, then farther to palm his stiff cock through the fabric. He hisses. Sensitive. She's barely touched him, and he's already so wound up. Terrible boost to her ego, really. He doesn't stop her when she starts to loosen the ties.

He bends down to remove his boots first, interrupting her hurried unlacing. She pouts as she waits for him to straighten so she can finish taking off his pants. He huffs and shakes his head at her when he finally does so.

"Why the long face, da'ise?" She scrunches up her nose, her cheeks heating at the elven endearment. He knows exactly how easily he can soften her with a single word. She ignores the question and returns to her task. She can feel his gaze burning into her as she undoes the ties and slips her hands into the waistband of his breeches and smalls to push them down. He helps her once they get past where she can reach and kicks them away.

"There, that's… better…" she says, trailing off as she takes in his size. A thrill runs through her. She's known that Cullen is big for a long time, but she's never gotten a good look. Not like this. If Kiara could see her now…

She allows herself one brief stroke of his length, which makes his muscles tremble, then leans back on her hands.

"You're going to have to start with your fingers," she says reluctantly. She might be needy, but she's not stupid.

"I can do that." He rubs the crease between her hip and thigh with his thumb. She smiles at him, her heart thumping harder with the love she feels.

"I know you can, ma'vheraan." He smiles softly, blushing, and braces one hand on the table. His nose nudges hers, his amber eyes boring into hers.

He maintains eye contact with her as he pushes a single finger inside her. He pumps it slowly in and out. She shifts her weight to one hand and trails the other up his arm, to his shoulder. He adds a second finger, and she squeezes the muscle under her hand.

His fingers are so much thicker than her own. The rough calluses on them scrape deliciously along her inner walls. He crooks them slightly toward himself. The sound she makes gets caught in her throat. He's still studying her face, clearly marking every reaction she has.

When he adds another finger and brushes his thumb across her clit, she mewls and shifts her hips to urge him to continue. She doesn't even care that he smirks at her. Actually, she finds it painfully attractive. He continues, teasing her bud with the next few passes until she can't take it anymore.

"That's enough," she says, pulling his hand away and reaching for his hard length. She needs him now. He chokes and looks down at her small hand wrapped around him. At her gentle tug, he presses closer. His arms bracket her in. The head of his cock nudges her entrance.

He hesitates, so she nods reassuringly and pecks his lips. The first inch draws a low groan from Cullen that makes her walls pulse. She releases his cock, and her hand crawls up his chest. His heart beats rapidly under her palm.

Cordelia cries out as his hips meet hers, clutching the back of his head, his cock fully inside her at last. Her breath comes in shallow pants. He touches her cheek, his eyes so full of tenderness. Tears spring up suddenly and spill over her cheeks. Mythal'enaste. This is real.

Her love frowns in concern. She shakes her head, squeezing his shoulder. "It's all right. Nothing is wrong. I'm just—I love you so much." He brushes away her tears and kisses her deeply. She wraps her legs around him to keep him from going anywhere, not that he would, but one can never be too careful.

"I love you," he murmurs as he pulls out almost completely, then thrusts back in, nearly as slow as the first time. They both moan. Fenedhis, it feels so good to have him so close, so connected.

"Has anyone ever—ah—told you that your cock fits and fills them so well that—mmm—they feel like they're going to combust?" Cullen's eyes widen, and his blush extends to his round ears. His hips stutter, but he recovers his slow pace quickly.

"Maker's breath…"

She strokes his hair. "Have you been told that?"

"No, I—I can't say that I have." She grins.

"Until now." She digs her heels into the backs of his thighs, coaxing him even deeper. He invokes the Maker again, and she watches his arm muscles flex. "How does it make you feel?" His jaw drops like he can't believe she just asked him that. She waits. He swallows.

"Forgive me, but I'm a bit too preoccupied for—for words… at the moment."

"Is that so?" His hips snap forward, and she gasps in surprise and delight. He does it again and again until he's set a swift, steady pace. Every time her eyes start to close, she forces them open, not wanting to miss a single second of what he looks like while he fucks her for the first time.

When her arm buckles under pressure, she leans back and holds herself up by her forearm instead. At least, she does for a few moments before Cullen drapes her arm around his neck. She watches him keenly as he bends over, slides one arm under her, and grips her backside with his other hand. The change in angle makes her head spin.

He kisses her, and she takes advantage of his nearness to slide her hands all over his back. The muscles shift under her touch with each roll of his hips. Such strength, but he holds her so tenderly. She breaks their kiss to gaze into his eyes. He gasps softly, eyes widening as they meet hers.

"What?"

His brows furrow in confusion. "What, what?"

"You gasped," she clarifies over the repetitive sound of skin meeting skin.

"Oh… your—your eyes are glowing very bright," he breathes. "They're… Maker, they're beautiful. You're beautiful." She feels her cheeks heat despite herself. She knows he thinks that of her—he's said it many times—but it never fails to make her heart flip.

She, for once, doesn't feel the need to respond with words. She just smiles, and her lover looks very proud of himself. He should be.

As she digs her fingers into the knotted muscles of his neck, he lets out a long groan, eyelids fluttering. She leaves one hand there and moves the other down to pull on his bottom lip with her thumb. His breath hitches.

"One day, I'll work out all these knots," she murmurs with a secret smile, "and you'll be soft as putty underneath me… except, perhaps, for your cock."

As if overwhelmed, he ducks his head and drops kisses to her throat. She hums and releases his neck to cradle the back of his head again.

"I don't have to talk so much if you don't like it," she says into his ear. Goosebumps erupt under the hand on his shoulder.

"Please, don't." Her heart twinges a bit in disappointment. He tongues the lobe of her ear, then makes a slightly distressed sound. "Stop, I mean. Don't stop. You can—ah— talk whenever you want." She would have chuckled if he wasn't breathing unsteadily into her ear.

He scrapes his teeth down the length of her ear, and she nearly shatters right then and there. Her thighs clench around his waist. Her back arches. He hisses, then repeats the caress. She clings onto his back and his hair and grinds against him.

"Cullen, Cullen, Cullen, Vhen'an." The endearment comes out as a moan. She's so close. So fucking close. "Right there, vhen'an," she gasps. "Yes, stay right there and just—" he grinds down against her, barely losing any depth with his thrusts, his pelvis stimulating her clit— "yes, just like that." His breath is hot on her neck, his grip is tight on her ass. And, gods, she's sure the whole of Skyhold can hear her when she lets go with a cry.

"Cordelia," he moans as she writhes under him. The hand on her back tenses. She rakes her fingers through his hair.

"In'em, in'em, in'em, 'ma arlise, sathan," she chants through her climax, feeling his length twitch as he picks the pace back up. She grabs his jaw, her fingers pressed into his cheeks. "Cullen…" She meets his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. His rhythm falters. "Come inside me. I want you to—" He makes a strangled sound, and his hot release spills into her. She bites her bottom lip, watching his face. His mouth is hanging open, eyebrows furrowed, eyes screwed shut.

He bucks into her a few more times before stalling completely and burying his face in the crook of her neck. She lets her eyes fall closed and her legs drop from his waist, but she keeps her arms around him. The man she loves so completely, the one she never wants to move on from, the one who just had sex with her for the first time on his desk. She huffs a small, disbelieving laugh to herself and combs her fingers through his hair as she enjoys the quiet before her body inevitably craves more.

Chapter Text

Cullen pulls his arm out from under Cordelia and pushes up on both hands. She frowns, her arms still draped around his neck.

"Where are you going?"

He tilts his head. "I'm not going anywhere." She eyes him suspiciously, and he can't help but laugh. "I swear to Holy Andraste that I am not going anywhere." She takes his face in her hands with a smile.

"Good." She pulls him back down. He goes willingly into the kiss.

His softening cock slips out of her as she slips her tongue into his mouth, and they both groan. Then Cordelia starts giggling.

He arches a brow. "What?"

"We just had sex on your desk," she whispers. He blinks down at her.

"…Yes." There must be more to it than that. She brushes her thumbs under his eyes.

"You're never going to look at it the same again." She has this smug look on her face, like this was her plan all along, even though he was the one who laid her down on the desk in the first place. He finds it unbearably adorable and terribly attractive.

He hums and rubs one of her earlobes between his thumb and forefinger. She twitches. "Not a bad way to look at it…" She eyes him dubiously, stroking his jaw.

"You won't get hard every time you sit down to work?" He hadn't considered that. He looks to his chair, with clothes piled on it, and back to her.

"Maker's breath, I hope not," he says, louder than necessary. She smiles knowingly.

"So you might." He doesn't deign to respond to such a ludicrous statement. "Well, that's all right." She moves her hands down to squeeze his shoulders. "I'll just have to make sure to stop by a few times a day to… help…"

"You—" He clears his throat. "You do not have to do that." The thought of her waltzing in and, what, dropping to her knees in front of his desk chair and—and—Sweet Maker.

"See, now you're thinking about it. About me helping."

He splutters on air and straightens. "I most certainly am not." She giggles again, and he crosses his arms. "I am not." He blushes; he can feel it spreading over his face, giving him away.

She sits up and runs her hands over his chest with a grin. "There's nothing wrong with desiring me, vhen'an. Even if it takes over your life now."

"I have an army to command," he protests. "Your army, Inquisitor." Cordelia scowls and pokes him.

"Nuh-uh, do not "Inquisitor" me when you had your cock inside me two seconds ago." He tilts his head to the side and rests his hands on her waist.

"Or what, Inquisitor?" A spark flares in her eyes at the challenge. It makes his blood heat. But she doesn't seem to have an answer. Or a good one, anyway, because instead of replying, she hops off his desk and starts for the ladder to his loft.

He catches up to her in two long strides, scoops her up, and slings her over his shoulder. She squeals, then bursts into more of those endearing giggles as he starts to climb. She doesn't wiggle around, which is good, because if she did, she'd run the risk of being dropped. That would certainly put a damper on their evening.

When they reach the top, he sets her down, and she immediately waves her hand to light the assortment of candles throughout the loft, lighting the space with a warm glow it hardly ever has. Most of the time he climbs up here, strips down, washes up, and collapses into bed, all without ever lighting a candle or lamp. It's almost cosy with all the candles ablaze. Almost. (He still prefers her chambers, not that he's admitted that yet.)

Cordelia doesn't seem to mind as she looks around. He crosses to the bed and turns down the covers.

"You make your bed every morning?"

He nods. "It's routine." She hums thoughtfully and approaches the bed. He climbs in, only to be pounced on a moment later, causing him to flop on his back. Cordelia grins down at him. "Where did all this energy come from?" Her smile softens.

"I'm just very, very, very happy," she says. She leans over him, and her hair falls like a curtain around him. The candlelight peeks through the tiny gaps in her curls. The scent of her soap wafts over him—lavender, he remembers. Her ringlets tickle his face. He can't help himself—he twirls one around his finger. Soft, just like the rest of her. So soft. Her smile grows at the small gesture.

Emboldened by her reaction, he sinks both hands into her hair. She sighs in… in pleasure? Relaxation? Her hands slide up the sheets, lowering her body slightly. His gaze drops to her lips—naturally plush but extra pink and slightly swollen from kissing. He meets her gaze—her eyes still glow brighter than normal, reminding him how completely she's enjoying herself… how much she enjoys being with him. He slides one hand from her hair to trace the line of the scar that cuts across her left cheek. He sometimes wants to squeeze her cheeks, so round and sweet.

He is, without a doubt, the luckiest man alive… This lovely, brave, strong, inquisitive—he suddenly understands the cleverness of Varric's nickname—woman… loves him. And wants a future with him.

He tilts her head down to press his lips to hers. For a while, he just enjoys the feeling of her mouth moving with his, of her naked chest grazing his with each breath she takes. This is real. She loves him. And she's in his bed. Naked.

She tries to pull back, already shifting like she has a destination in mind, but he holds her in place, both hands still in her hair. He releases her lips, only to kiss all over her face. Her scar, her vallaslin, her nose, forehead, cheeks, eyes. She giggles again and pecks his lips before shimmying out of his grasp.

Cordelia drags her hands slowly down his torso. She flicks her tongue over both of his nipples, and he jolts. He swears he hears her snicker as she moves farther down. Her thumbs circle his hip bones. She nips at his stomach, and the muscles of his abdomen tense up.

He wets his lips, forcing his breathing to remain even. "What—uh—what are you doing?"

"Exploring," she says. "Open your legs for me?" Maker… he's stiffening again already. He does as she asks and plants his feet flat on the bed.

"My—uh—exploring my…?" He trails off as she settles between his legs and skims her nails along the insides of his thighs.

"Exploring your body. Yes, Cullen, that's what I'm doing," she says, drinking him in with her eyes. She gently wraps her hand around his half-hard cock, and he swallows a gasp. "This is of particular interest. It's not like Silvhen's—" Her teenage boyfriend, but Cullen is too distracted to even consider being bothered by the mention of him— "I'm curious."

He huffs a breathy laugh. "You always are." She beams, and his heart flip flops. He loves her so much. He would do… anything to see that smile.

She drops her attention to his cock, watching her hand as her fingers dance over his length. The featherlight touches cause him to tense up to avoid bucking his hips. If she notices it, she doesn't comment, but there is little doubt she has catalogued the reaction in her mind. She's clever that way.

She gently pulls back his skin and teases the tip with her pinky. He bites down on a knuckle with a groan he tries to stifle. She looks up and clicks her tongue.

"None of that," she says, pulling his hand away from his mouth. "How am I supposed to know what you like if I can't hear you?" He furrows his brow. She tilts her head, slowly, like she's just thought of something. "Here, if you show and tell me how you like to be touched, you can muffle your pretty sounds all you want."

He stares at her with parted lips as he blushes furiously. She waits for him to compose himself, which is relative, really… he can't possibly be composed when the woman he loves is kneeling between his legs and just suggested he show her how best to pleasure him.

"Not—tonight. I cannot tonight, darling," he manages to get out. It's not that he doesn't want to "show and tell", merely that he's already too far gone to properly instruct her. He needs to prepare in advance for something like that.

"That's all right, vherain," she says, "Ha’mi’in. Relax. Don't be embarrassed. All your little noises and twitches do is…mmm… entice me." Between her tone and the look in her eye, he knows exactly what she means by "entice", and it makes him clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. She's clearly very invested in this exploration; it would be rude to interrupt.

She kisses his knee and stretches out on her stomach before she returns to her task with her cheek pressed to the inside of his thigh. She wraps a hand around his length again, but the other… the other cups one of his balls and begins to massage it. He groans.

He cries out when she twists her hand. He moans low and long when she strokes him languidly from base to tip and back again. He trembles when she turns her head and bites his sensitive skin. He feels dizzy with pleasure from her "exploration".

Her hands leave his cock. Instead, one tickles his abdomen and the other caresses the outside of his thigh. His back arches without his permission. His breath catches in his throat. Her blue eyes flare, a smile curving her lips.

"Oh, you're so reactive, my love," she says. "You'd never think you came inside me only minutes ago." He can't do anything but whine as she thumbs the ridge just below the head of his cock. The other hand remains on his leg. "I know, I know… I'm teasing you, but you're being so patient."

He wants to tell her that he trusts her, that he'll take whatever she wants to give, but he can't form the words. She seems to understand, nevertheless, based on the way her grin softens.

She shifts, reaching between her legs, and when she brings her hand back to encircle his cock, her fingers are damp. Is that—is—Maker, it must be. It's truly a testament to his restraint that he doesn't spend himself all over her hand and his stomach at that realization.

She keeps working him like the arousal on her fingers had no effect on him, like it was merely a practical choice. He covers his eyes and loosens his tongue while trying to keep the rest of himself together. He hopes she's happy with his noises, that they're making her feel as hot as he is right now.

"May I use my mouth?" He didn't notice her moving so that her lips hover over the head of his cock. But now her hot breath fans over the sensitive skin. He gapes at her, trying to process her request. The idea is appealing, but… she tenderly kisses the tip, and he quickly makes up his mind based on the way his body screams in response. He wants to be inside her again, which will not happen if she gets her mouth on him.

"Not tonight," he says for the second time this evening. Then, he reaches down and hauls her up. She thinks quickly despite their lust-addled state and adjusts so she's straddling his crotch. She looks down at his cock under her.

"You want me to ride you instead?" she asks, looking up at him again. He grabs hold of her hips with a firm nod. She smiles and takes his cock in hand to line him up. He holds his breath, his eyes glued to the sight, as she sinks down slowly onto him.

"Sweet Maker," he barks. She's even tighter than she was the first time, but she doesn't seem to be bothered by it. No, she… she moans lewdly, her face twisted in pleasure. Despite the tightness, he finds this entrance smoother than the first, her walls slick and warm and inviting.

When she's fully seated herself, she pauses. Her breathing is heavy and unsteady. Her cheeks and chest have flushed. Her hands rest on his chest; he squeezes her hips gently.

She opens her eyes and smiles at him. "I've thought about this, you know. Us. In this very position." She starts to rock her hips before he can fully process what she just said. He suddenly feels a lot less guilty about all those nights he spent unable to get her out of his head.

There's too much to look at—her face, her lips, her eyes, her breasts, her hands now covering his where they grip her hips, his cock appearing and disappearing between her magnificent thighs. He wants to watch them all, to memorise each movement, but, Maker, he's finding it very hard to think outside of her cunt.

She's doing most of the work for him, her thick thighs rippling as she lifts herself up and plunges back down at an impressive pace. Her breasts bounce a little with her movement, and he distantly regrets not paying them more attention earlier. Another time.

"You look so good like this," she says, releasing his hands to stroke his chest. He tries not to writhe under her attention. Every bit of her skin that touches him is hot, her eyes like blue flame.

"Like what?"

"Sweaty, flushed…" She smiles like she knows exactly what effect she has on him. She runs her fingers through her hair and flicks some of it over her shoulders. Cullen isn't sure how every single thing this woman does is attractive to him. "You feel good, too, so deep—"

He bucks into her, unable to hold back his body. She swears and leans over him. That's… good, he thinks. Though her movements falter… should he… yes, of course he should. He thrusts up into her again at the same time he pulls her hips down against his.

"Oh…" Cordelia's voice is small, but quickly grows in volume as he continues the motion. She grinds against him, staring into his eyes. "Oh, Cullen. Yes, yes, good, mmm, elvar’el!" Her eyes squeeze shut.

"I—I don't know what that—"

She presses her lips to his ear, tangles her fingers in his hair. "Harder, vhen'an." She clenches her thighs and cunt around him as if to emphasize her statement. He grabs her ass, and her walls squeeze him again, but this time he doesn't think it's intentional.

Her chest rubs against his as they chase that blissful peak together. He's barely holding back his release. She drops her forehead to his shoulder, mumbling words he can't discern between moans and mewls, and snakes a hand between their bodies.

He feels her fingers move, and he cradles the back of her head to pull her up into a sloppy kiss. She whimpers, tugging on his hair. He groans her name and drives into her. Her breath gets shallower and shallower until she convulses and lets out a long moan. Her cunt pulses, and he finally gives in to the wave of pleasure, letting it wash over him.

She breathes a whole string of curses as their bodies begin to slow their rocking and jerking. Cullen might have laughed if he wasn't hazy with euphoria. She's not afraid of swearing, but she's not one to rattle them off. He isn't even sure what some of them mean, hasn't heard them before.

Her body slumps against his. Despite how hot and sweaty they both are, he wouldn't have it any other way. "I've got you, darling," he murmurs, absently petting her hair. She hums in a way he hopes is content. He can't quite tell; she's buried her face in his neck.

He's not sure how long they lay there, only that by the time he tries to move, Cordelia's skin has cooled to it's normal temperature, which is still warm, but not so much like she's going to burst into magical flames. She protests the moment his muscles tense in preparation to move.

"I'll not have us go to bed sticky, Cor," he says. She finally lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest. She looks exhausted, but relaxed.

"Mmm, take me with you." She plays with his hair and plants a kiss on his chin.

"What, to the wash basin?" She hums affirmatively.

"Need to… stay close," she says through a yawn. His heart swells with fondness.

"Of course."

He sits up, and his softened cock slips out of her. Cordelia, despite how tired she is, bursts into giggles. Again. He chuckles along with her as he rises from the bed with her in his arms. She wraps her arms and legs around him, rests her head on his shoulder.

She stays right there while he retrieves a pair of cloths and dampens them in the pool of water. He carries her and the rags right back to bed. He sets her down in a seated position, but she flops back like she's made of spaghetti. He laughs under his breath. She wiggles her legs, and he gets to work cleaning her up. She watches him through droopy eyes.

When he's finished with her, he swaps cloths and reaches down to do himself.

"Nngh, pspspsps," Cordelia… says as she sits up, shaking her head and holding out her hand. He stares down at her in bewilderment. She looks up at him expectantly, making a "give me" motion with her hand. "Rea'jul." She looks pointedly at the rag. Oh. Of course.

He passes it to her, and she sets about meticulously wiping him clean. She's very particular about some things, but he supposes he's the same way.

She folds the cloth and passes it back to him when she's done. Not wanting to leave her side, he tosses them over to the hamper. She shimmies to the side farther away from him, only half under the covers. With a soft smile, he crawls in next to her. He doesn't pull her to him—they get sweaty in the night if they try to cuddle—but he does reach out his hand.

She smiles back at him but puts out the candles with a gesture before she takes his hand. The slight tingle of magic warms his skin for the briefest of moments. The warmth of her hand, however, is steady. He can still see her eyes in the darkness, lovely swirling blue. Her face is a little less clear, but he tucks her hair out of the way all the same.

"How do you say 'I love you' in elven?" he whispers. She squeezes his hand.

"Ar lath ma," she replies, just as quiet.

"Ar lath ma," he repeats. He's gotten better at pronunciation and usually gets it right on the first try these days. Nothing quite so important, though. She nods, her eyes shining like she might cry.

"That's right." She leans forward and presses her lips to his. She murmurs the phrase into their tender kiss. He holds her hand tighter as he feels a tear drip onto his nose. She pulls back, expression open, vulnerable.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. He brushes his knuckles across her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut, and she sighs.

"I know…" She yawns again and burrows into the bed. "Goodnight, 'ma arlise."

"Goodnight, vhen'an." The corners of her mouth twitch, her hand giving his one last squeeze before she drifts off. He watches her until he physically cannot keep his eyes open, at which time he follows her into sleep.

Chapter Text

Cordelia wakes peacefully. She didn't have any nightmares, which she's grateful for. It makes her hopeful that the damage done to her relationship with the Fade can be healed. A slight breeze caresses her skin, and she peers in the direction it came from. There's a hole! In the roof! She didn't notice it last night when it was dark and they were otherwise occupied. But in the morning light, it is quite obvious.

Frowning, she turns to look at Cullen, who is still fast asleep, to her surprise. She reaches out a hand and brushes her knuckles down the outside of his arm. His curls are a complete mess, but she's sure hers are the same. She's quite fond of his bedhead. She's woken up next to him for weeks now, in their journey back to Skyhold, but this is different.

What they shared last night… June'enaste, she's sure she can never go back. There was already little doubt in her mind that Cullen would be the last person she ever fell in love with. Now, her heart is so full with the confirmation of their mutual love and implications of… a future. She will do anything for that limitless future.

She rolls over and shifts closer. She strokes his face, brushing hair off of his forehead. He looks peaceful as she watches him sleep for a time.

His breath suddenly stutters. She frowns and touches her hand to his chest, which now rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm.

"Cullen?" She keeps her voice soft and calm, not wanting to startle him. He twitches. His hands twist in the sheets below him. He shakes his head back and forth with his face contorted in anguish. Concern builds inside her, her stomach tied in knots. Is this how he feels when she has a nightmare? Is this how she looks to him, like she's fighting some imaginary evil?

"No, leave me. Leave me—" With a gasp and a jolt, her love wakes and looks around frantically before his gaze settles on her. He instantly relaxes, sighing heavily. She waits. Her chest loosens as his breathing calms. She traces little shapes on his chest with the tip of her finger. "I didn't mean to worry you." His voice is rough from sleep, which would've likely been titillating if not for what just occurred. He lifts a hand to cup her cheek and thumbs the corner of her downturned lips.

"You can let me worry about you a little," she says, touching his hand, then cradling his face in return. He huffs a laugh.

"All right." He looks up at her with such adoration, such tenderness. She presses her forehead to his and nuzzles his nose. "You are… I have never felt anything like this."

"Neither have I," she murmurs, rubbing his cheekbone. He hums and tilts his head just to kiss her. She smiles. She can't help it. Her hand slides into his hair as she leans into him. His mouth opens for her, drawing her in. He splays his hand on her back.

"Mmm, before we do anything, I have questions," he says as he pulls away.

She quirks a brow. "Questions?"

"I don't want to… I—"

"Take your time," she says, biting back a smile at his endearing awkwardness.

"I'd like to know as much of the elven… sex talk as I can. I don't want to make you stop and explain yourself when I'm, ah… you know."

She giggles. "Riiiiiiiight… let's see… important words… pala means sex, or to have sex. "Pala em" would mean "fuck me"." Already a blush blooms on his cheeks. She runs her fingers through his hair, her breasts squished against the side of his torso.

"Got it." His gaze drops to her lips. She licks them slowly.

"Haurasha is honey, and it's slang for the slick of arousal." She swears she watches his pupils dialate at that. "If I call you "'ma'haurasha", it means you're making me wet."

"Maker…" He shifts around like he's uncomfortable, though the look on his face is anything but.

"You understand that one, 'ma'haurasha?" As she speaks, she hikes her leg up over him so her cunt grazes his side.

"I, um, yes. I understand, darling," he stammers.

"Good." She circles his pectoral with a single finger. "Edhas is cunt, edhis is cock. If you wanted me to suck yours, you could say "ava 'ma edhis"." His hand tenses on her lower back, but he remains silent apart from his shaky breathing. "Shall we graduate to some more advanced phrases?" She scrapes a nail across his nipple.

"Yes," he moans, pulling her closer. She chuckles.

""Isalan dera na aron tuelan" means "I lust to touch you like a Creator"," she says as she moves to straddle his abdomen. His breath hitches. His eyes rake over her appreciatively in the morning light.

"You've said that one before," he notes. She nods with a small smirk. He mouths the phrase to himself as he slides his hands up and down her thighs.

"I think you'll find I've said a few of these before." He grunts in acknowledgement.

""Dera em" is touch me." She runs her hands over his chest. ""Dhava em" is kiss me…" She leans down and kisses the curve of his pectoral lightly. "Mmm, gava is the word for bite." She bites down on the same spot she kissed. He groans. Encouraged, she sinks her teeth in a little deeper and sucks on the skin. She can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

When she pulls back, she finds a pretty little mark right where she wanted it. "You could substitute any body part for em if there was someplace specific," she says as she rubs the forming bruise with her thumb. "Like if I wanted you to touch my tits, I could say "Dera 'ma duinelan"… Or…" She meets his gaze, which has grown dark with desire. "Dera 'ma edhas."

Cullen's hand immediately reaches between their bodies and his fingers caress her folds. She sighs, her eyelids fluttering. She knew he was paying attention, but, fenedhis, he picked that up quick.

"Tell me another," he rasps, his gaze fixed to her face.

""Silal or ma tu ara’len’palan" means—ha—thinking of you makes me masturbate," she explains, remembering the few times she's told him that… and the times she's touched herself to thoughts of him.

His hand pauses on her cunt. "You've—you've said that in public!"

She snickers. "There's only one person I know that would understand it, and I don't think he was in earshot." She fucking hopes not. "Plus it's not like I shouted it across the battlements anyway." His expression is a mix of amusement, exasperation, and a little bit of embarrassment.

"You're a menace," he mutters, teasing her entrance with his fingertips.

"Mmhmm." She nods and blinks slowly at him.

Like he had with his tongue and lips the night before, he explores her cunt with his digits. Gently prodding, teasing, circling.

"I'm sure you have more to teach me," he says. She knows he's attempting to be suave. And honestly, it's working, but she's sure it's only because she's so lost on him. His voice is far too breathy right now—though pitched lower for effect—to be considered suave by normal standards.

She wonders how long it will take for him to snap and desperately try to fuck her. Or if she'll have to give him some kind of permission or order. He was happy to let her lead, let her guide him, last night, but… She really isn't sure. It's still so new.

"Ah, yes, plenty." She takes a moment to think of what to tell him next. "Oh! "Rosa’da’din" is both orgasm and to orgasm… we can go over conjugation—later." Her body rocks forward as he presses down on her bud. He angles his head to graze his lips against her breasts. Then he pushes her back with the hand still on her thigh.

She circles her hips around on his hand. He hisses and squeezes the soft flesh of her leg. Her walls clench around nothing, desperate for his, well, anything inside her, and she feels another spark of heat pool in her core. He strokes down from her clit and groans, the fresh wetness coating his fingers.

Cullen rolls them over and slithers down her body. "We can finish our lesson later," he says in a rush. "I want to taste you now." She starts to laugh, but the sound quickly dies in her throat as he peppers kisses to her inner thighs, then delves into her with his tongue and lips like he's been doing it his whole life.

"Mythal'enaste!" She throws her head back.

A gentle scrape of his fresh stubble. His hands sliding up to cradle her ribcage, cup her breasts, cover her abdomen, their rough calluses catching on her soft skin. Oh, how long she's wanted him to touch her like this. With nothing between them. With little restraint.

His hands slide under her thighs. He glances up at her before pushing on them, tilting her pelvis up. She cocks her head curiously. He dips his tongue inside of her, and she squeals. Her feet flex. She reaches behind her head to grab onto the pillow.

He looks up, and the look in his eyes… She whimpers. He's quite pleased with himself, which he should be. His enthusiasm is heady. He pushes his tongue in a few times before swapping it for a pair of fingers. Her back arches, and he moans into her.

The leg he's no longer holding falls to the wayside, giving her a slightly better view. She squeezes her breast and the pillow, hard, when he wraps his lips around her bud. Her chest rises and falls in heaving motions. He curls his fingers and sucks her clit. He's playing her like an instrument he's known all his life. She swears, shutting her eyes tight.

Cullen hums into her like he's enjoying a delicious meal. This man… she tips over the edge and shoves her face in her pillow to muffle her frankly obscene moan. She lets him hear the rest, softer sounds that escape her as she pants. He keeps working her until her body slows its twitching. Slows, but doesn't stop. It responds to each caress of his lips and hands—on her thighs, her hips, her stomach.

He climbs back up her body and hovers over her. She tugs him down enough for their foreheads to touch.

"Isalan… isalan…" He's so clever, deducing what different words mean based on the phrases she says them in. His voice is strained. Whatever he desires, he craves it terribly.

"What, my love? What do you need?" She can't stop running her hands through his hair, down his face, around his neck, over and over. Her lips brush his as she speaks.

He shakes his head, unable to give voice to whatever it is, though she can guess. His cock slips through her soaked folds. She looks down between them and sees he's holding himself at the base.

"Cullen," she breathes, a slight whine to her voice. It has the intended effect; he lines himself up and pushes in. She smiles and kisses him deeply.

It's the third time they've been joined like this now, and she doesn't think she will ever tire of it. In fact, she might just crave it more now that she knows what it's like. He fits so well. She tells him so and receives a groan in response. Gods, the things she would do to hear that sound… to hear him whine.

She grabs hold of her own thigh and lifts it to her chest. His lips leave hers as he looks down with wide eyes at what she's doing. Without having to be asked, he replaces her hand with his own, keeping her leg in place. On his next thrust, he gasps, evidently surprised at how the angle has shifted, how her cunt draws him even deeper.

"Good?" She strokes his face, the scar above his lip.

He nods emphatically. "So good, Cor. Maker…" His forehead drops against hers. She mewls and flicks her tongue out to tease his lips. With a little growl, he captures her mouth and drives into her harder, faster. She smiles as they kiss somewhat clumsily, their teeth bumping a few times.

She tugs a little on his hair. He moans and dips his head. He presses the lightest kiss to the healing cut on her arm. Another to the slice on her neck. Her breath catches in her throat.

"Ar lath ma," he murmurs against the vallaslin on her neck, just above the wound. She shudders in response to those words on his lips. He said them last night, but… well, it's different when he's on top of her, deep inside her. And when he's kissing the places a demon wearing his face cut her.

"I love you," she says, running her fingers through his soft curls. He looks up at her, love and desire in equal parts burning in his gaze. She hopes hers reflect the same.

He shifts so her leg is hooked around his arm as his other one snakes between them. His fingers circle her clit with precision. Fast learner, she thinks absently. Outwardly, every breath is accompanied by a light moan or cry or whimper, growing louder each time his hips meet hers.

"Don't stop," she says and clutches at his back. He shakes his head as if to say "I won't."

After that, it isn't long before she screams his name to the damaged ceiling, to the sky beyond. It must be too much for him, because he comes inside her with a high-pitched, surprised noise the second the sound leaves her throat. He trembles above her. She arches into him, holding on for dear life as pleasure courses through them both.

She tries to whisper his name, that she loves him, over and over, but all that comes out are panting breaths. He's much the same. Even once they stop jerking into each other, their bodies still spasm, his arms still shake, their hearts still pound in their chests.

They both hiss when he slides out of her, unable to hold himself over her any longer. It's remedied by him laying himself half on top of her, his lips brushing her cheek.

"Well, that'll certainly wake the barracks," Cullen mumbles. She snorts initially and trails her fingers across his back with the laziness of post-coital bliss. Then she thinks about it a little more. She is loud. And there's a gaping hole in her love's roof. A giggle bubbles out of her.

Cullen huffs a laugh and nuzzles her cheek with his nose. The giggle floodgates open. She squirms under him, her chest shaking with her amusement.

"Maker's breath, woman," he says through his own laughter as he props himself up on one elbow.

She takes this change in position as her chance to strike. She pushes him onto his back with a light shove on his shoulders. Then she crawls on top of him and cups his face in both hands. "They're going to torture you with this, vhen'an," she says playfully, still laughing. She imagines jokes about whether his armour comes off and about how they don't think he got any work done last night.

He grips her wrist, tugs her down so their lips are a breath apart, and says, "Only because they know they get sent to the Western Approach if they say a single crass or objectifying word about you." He pets her hair with his free hand. Her eyes flare.

"Oh, my strong, protective Commander," she says, breathless. He hums and rolls them over before sliding his hand up from her wrist to interlace their fingers.

"They'll be lucky to get off with a harsh set of drills for mentioning it at all," he grumbles, that stubborn crease appearing between his brows. "I'd rather this particular aspect of our relationship remain private, but…" He trails off, and a small smile graces his lips. "I very much enjoy you screaming my name." She giggles again.

He squeezes her hand and lowers his mouth to hers. She sighs in contentment, melting into the mattress as they kiss languidly. She could get used to this.

Their haven is abruptly breached by a sharp knock on a door below. They both turn to the sound.

"Commander! I've your armour repaired and polished, ser!"

Cullen looks down at her, gaze soft and sentimental, then scowls toward the ladder. "Leave it! Outside the door!" She remembers their clothing strewn around his desk and blesses whatever deity gifted him the reminder.

"If you say, ser!" They listen intently to the sound of the runner setting down the equipment, then the quiet departing footsteps.

"I do not want to leave this bed," her love says. His gaze drags over her and lands once more on her face, full of yearning.

"Cullen Rutherford wishes to relax?" she teases. He grumbles. She pushes his curls off his forehead. "I'm sure we could assign your duties to someone else for the day."

He sighs and reluctantly shakes his head. "Another time, perhaps. A day we can plan ahead for." Planning ahead, a future. She refuses to let this war take that from them. Despite his rejection of her suggestion, he doesn't move away.

"I'd like that." She sits up, which forces him to do so as well. She touches his face, thumbs his cheekbone. "I know I just keep saying it, but I love you, Cullen. Truly, deeply, I love you, and, gods, it's really wonderful you feel the same."

"You can say it as much as you like," he whispers. "I'll never tire of it." She hums and kisses him sweetly. They linger in that embrace, just a little, before they rise to start the day.