Warning for slight NSFW content.
Spoiler
If one was to ask his opinion on the matter, Cullen would tell them that he thought she spent too many nights alone hunched over the large wooden table with the tip of a finger making its way from one end of the map to another. He would tell them that over time he had seen the barley-there lines of her youth etch deeper and deeper across her brow. He would tell them that he wished her spared of a burden that he could never save her from. He would tell them that he increasingly thought the day would come when he would never again see her smiling face hidden beneath his sheets as the morning sun threatened to bring them back to reality.
What he wouldn’t tell them was of the nights he spent worshipping every bare inch of her body. Of how her toes would curl and the muscles of her calf would stiffen when he ran the nail of his thumb over the arch of her foot. How she couldn’t help but elicit a sigh when he grazed his teeth along the curve of her bottom. Of how he loved her best and letting her go would be the hardest thing he could ever bring himself to do.
He had tried, for what it was worth. Had discouraged himself against forming too much of an attachment where she was concerned but she was skilled in worming her way into all of their lives, his especially.
He would admit that he was surprised when the day had come and he finally realized he cared for her much more than he had ever intended to. She had known the whole time of course, and Cullen had felt like a complete fool for denying himself of her for so long.
Too many days he had spent tracking the stare of the grey warden as it followed her around the room. Too many frowns had passed across his features as that same stare lingered on certain parts of her anatomy without her knowledge. In the end that stare had prompted him to look more carefully and he would find himself taking in the length of her legs, the round firmness of her buttocks and swell of her hips. The heave of her breasts when they trained together and the flame of her hair in the sun.
He became entranced by the dimples in her cheeks that only appeared when she smiled, the graceful movements of her hands as she plaited small braids in her hair and the hint of sunburn that reddened her pale skin more often than not. He had hit his peak and had succumbed to it all and in one hesitant, awkward night of sweetness, had claimed her just as much as she had claimed him.
It was the memories of their first night together that had prompted him into seeking her out. He yearned for her touch as he briskly walked through the now dimly lit halls, the remaining torches flickering in the mountain wind that always forced its way through the smallest cracks of the holds structure.
He knew where to find her, knew her nightly ritual as if it were his own and there she was, hand rubbing over the back of her neck and fingers kneading into the knots of muscle with her head dipped forward as she gazed down at the map.
The rustling of his tunic notified her of his presence and she lifted her head to look over her shoulder, a small smile curving her lips when she saw it was him. Her eyes were glassy from lack of sleep, her hair twisted into a sloppy knot at the nape of her neck and the tips of her fingers stained with ink. She was beautiful. Cullen reached for her, his hand cupping her face as his thumb rubbed over her cheekbone.
“You know that it isn’t necessary for you to be in here all hours of the night,” he remarked, his hand pulling away from her now that he had noticed the rough pad of his thumb had irritated her skin.
She made a poor attempt of wrapping her small hand around his wrist to keep him close, her chewed nails standing out in contrast to the slender elegance of her fingers. It was a habit of hers—gnawing at her nails when she was at her most anxious. The cuffs of her tunic were frayed from where she had meticulously picked at the stitching and her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment beneath his steady gaze.
Of what she had to be embarrassed about, Cullen wasn’t too sure. He knew her, after all. Knew what made her smile and what made her scared. He knew what infuriated her and he knew exactly what she wanted as she stared up at him, begging him with large brown eyes ringed in dark circles.
“Laurel,” he murmured warningly, only to be hushed by her soft voice as cool hands slipped beneath his tunic, her fingers tucking into his belt and tugging him closer until her breasts were pressed against his abdomen.
She voiced her plea this time, fingers already pulling the strip of leather through his belt buckle before he could even respond. It took only a few quick tugs and she had the belt held loosely in her hand, offering it up to him with expectance clear on her face. He was to take it, so he did.
The dynamics had changed as their relationship had progressed — as the Inquisition had progressed. She was poised and confident, strong in body and spirit. Laurel rallied men and woman around her like a beacon of hope shining bright before them.
She gave orders and made decisions with the wisdom one would think she ought not to possess. She killed with a deadly precision that instilled fear in those who would oppose her. She laughed and joked with commoners and had a patient ear for the nobles. She showed empathy and respect where it was deserved yet held an unforgivable blade over those who lacked all humanity.
It wasn’t until they were alone that she would express any of her fears and he would see her frame straining beneath the weight of leadership.
Cullen become more attentive, his confidence in his ability to please her growing with each passing night they spent tangled within each other’s limbs. He would thrust harder and she would cling to him more fiercely. He would hold her pinned against a wall with his body and she would moan louder. He would restrain her hands with his own and she would find her release far quicker than he had ever known her to.
Then there was the night when she had looped her arms around one of the posts of her bed and had asked him with a shy tilt of her head to fasten his belt around her wrists. He had hesitated at first, his words stuttering from his mouth like they had when he was a boy and the most brilliant shade of pink had bloomed over the apples of her cheeks. She attempted to curl away from him but he was quicker, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her to rest against his front.
He had asked her why, needing to understand an act that was so completely foreign to him. Her words were minimal, expressing herself as best she could with her own limited comprehension of her desires. She wanted to feel free from it all, to have someone else — to have him take control, even if it was only for a short time, even if it was only while they were alone. His hands had shaken as he bound her wrists together, a nervous tingle settling in the pit of his stomach as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, eyes hazed and lips parted in anticipation.
She wore the same look on her face now as she stood passively before him. Her submissive demeanour was all pretence, he knew that, but he still took the belt from her, letting it slide slowly through her grasp while he stepped forward and she backed up until the table put a stop to her retreat. Cullen planted his hands down firmly on either side of her, the varnished wood smooth beneath his palms as he lent into her, his lips brushing along the line of her jaw and up to her ear.
“Don’t you think this is a most inappropriate place to be doing….such activities?” he asked. He felt the rise of her cheek against his own as she smiled and the tremble of her body when she whispered, “please.” Cullen sighed; Laurel knew that he would not say no.
He pulled back from her, belt left on the table for now as he begun to flick the clasps of her tunic open with a swiftness of man well versed in such fastenings.
If one was to ask his opinion on the matter, Cullen would tell them that he thought she spent too many nights alone hunched over the large wooden table with the tip of a finger making its way from one end of the map to another. He would tell them that over time he had seen the barley-there lines of her youth etch deeper and deeper across her brow. He would tell them that he wished her spared of a burden that he could never save her from. He would tell them that he increasingly thought the day would come when he would never again see her smiling face hidden beneath his sheets as the morning sun threatened to bring them back to reality.
What he wouldn’t tell them was of the nights he spent worshipping every bare inch of her body. Of how her toes would curl and the muscles of her calf would stiffen when he ran the nail of his thumb over the arch of her foot. How she couldn’t help but elicit a sigh when he grazed his teeth along the curve of her bottom. Of how he loved her best and letting her go would be the hardest thing he could ever bring himself to do.
He had tried, for what it was worth. Had discouraged himself against forming too much of an attachment where she was concerned but she was skilled in worming her way into all of their lives, his especially.
He would admit that he was surprised when the day had come and he finally realized he cared for her much more than he had ever intended to. She had known the whole time of course, and Cullen had felt like a complete fool for denying himself of her for so long.
Too many days he had spent tracking the stare of the grey warden as it followed her around the room. Too many frowns had passed across his features as that same stare lingered on certain parts of her anatomy without her knowledge. In the end that stare had prompted him to look more carefully and he would find himself taking in the length of her legs, the round firmness of her buttocks and swell of her hips. The heave of her breasts when they trained together and the flame of her hair in the sun.
He became entranced by the dimples in her cheeks that only appeared when she smiled, the graceful movements of her hands as she plaited small braids in her hair and the hint of sunburn that reddened her pale skin more often than not. He had hit his peak and had succumbed to it all and in one hesitant, awkward night of sweetness, had claimed her just as much as she had claimed him.
It was the memories of their first night together that had prompted him into seeking her out. He yearned for her touch as he briskly walked through the now dimly lit halls, the remaining torches flickering in the mountain wind that always forced its way through the smallest cracks of the holds structure.
He knew where to find her, knew her nightly ritual as if it were his own and there she was, hand rubbing over the back of her neck and fingers kneading into the knots of muscle with her head dipped forward as she gazed down at the map.
The rustling of his tunic notified her of his presence and she lifted her head to look over her shoulder, a small smile curving her lips when she saw it was him. Her eyes were glassy from lack of sleep, her hair twisted into a sloppy knot at the nape of her neck and the tips of her fingers stained with ink. She was beautiful. Cullen reached for her, his hand cupping her face as his thumb rubbed over her cheekbone.
“You know that it isn’t necessary for you to be in here all hours of the night,” he remarked, his hand pulling away from her now that he had noticed the rough pad of his thumb had irritated her skin.
She made a poor attempt of wrapping her small hand around his wrist to keep him close, her chewed nails standing out in contrast to the slender elegance of her fingers. It was a habit of hers—gnawing at her nails when she was at her most anxious. The cuffs of her tunic were frayed from where she had meticulously picked at the stitching and her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment beneath his steady gaze.
Of what she had to be embarrassed about, Cullen wasn’t too sure. He knew her, after all. Knew what made her smile and what made her scared. He knew what infuriated her and he knew exactly what she wanted as she stared up at him, begging him with large brown eyes ringed in dark circles.
“Laurel,” he murmured warningly, only to be hushed by her soft voice as cool hands slipped beneath his tunic, her fingers tucking into his belt and tugging him closer until her breasts were pressed against his abdomen.
She voiced her plea this time, fingers already pulling the strip of leather through his belt buckle before he could even respond. It took only a few quick tugs and she had the belt held loosely in her hand, offering it up to him with expectance clear on her face. He was to take it, so he did.
The dynamics had changed as their relationship had progressed — as the Inquisition had progressed. She was poised and confident, strong in body and spirit. Laurel rallied men and woman around her like a beacon of hope shining bright before them.
She gave orders and made decisions with the wisdom one would think she ought not to possess. She killed with a deadly precision that instilled fear in those who would oppose her. She laughed and joked with commoners and had a patient ear for the nobles. She showed empathy and respect where it was deserved yet held an unforgivable blade over those who lacked all humanity.
It wasn’t until they were alone that she would express any of her fears and he would see her frame straining beneath the weight of leadership.
Cullen become more attentive, his confidence in his ability to please her growing with each passing night they spent tangled within each other’s limbs. He would thrust harder and she would cling to him more fiercely. He would hold her pinned against a wall with his body and she would moan louder. He would restrain her hands with his own and she would find her release far quicker than he had ever known her to.
Then there was the night when she had looped her arms around one of the posts of her bed and had asked him with a shy tilt of her head to fasten his belt around her wrists. He had hesitated at first, his words stuttering from his mouth like they had when he was a boy and the most brilliant shade of pink had bloomed over the apples of her cheeks. She attempted to curl away from him but he was quicker, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her to rest against his front.
He had asked her why, needing to understand an act that was so completely foreign to him. Her words were minimal, expressing herself as best she could with her own limited comprehension of her desires. She wanted to feel free from it all, to have someone else — to have him take control, even if it was only for a short time, even if it was only while they were alone. His hands had shaken as he bound her wrists together, a nervous tingle settling in the pit of his stomach as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, eyes hazed and lips parted in anticipation.
She wore the same look on her face now as she stood passively before him. Her submissive demeanour was all pretence, he knew that, but he still took the belt from her, letting it slide slowly through her grasp while he stepped forward and she backed up until the table put a stop to her retreat. Cullen planted his hands down firmly on either side of her, the varnished wood smooth beneath his palms as he lent into her, his lips brushing along the line of her jaw and up to her ear.
“Don’t you think this is a most inappropriate place to be doing….such activities?” he asked. He felt the rise of her cheek against his own as she smiled and the tremble of her body when she whispered, “please.” Cullen sighed; Laurel knew that he would not say no.
He pulled back from her, belt left on the table for now as he begun to flick the clasps of her tunic open with a swiftness of man well versed in such fastenings.
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I think the skirts actually made access even harder? You had the hip plate, then the outer trail, then the robes, then the boots, then the straps, then the leathers... oy. Cullen's current outfit seems much easier to get out of; for all the mysterious twists of that robe of his, the pants are very easily accessible.
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