Chapter Text
A capricious breeze sent colorful leaves and the smoke of burned fields swirling across the practice yard, heralding cooler weather. Commander Rutherford rounded the corner of the building and noticed a knot of men standing under the trees shielded from the wind. The Commander paused just out of sight and watched for a moment before continuing his final round of the castle. The knot of men loosened until he noticed Dorian Pavus. The Altus Mage from Tevinter entertaining a group of soldiers? Brow furrowed, the Commander watched Dorian raise his hands, preparing to demonstrate the spell. They waited eagerly while the mage wove his fingers and stepped forward to launch the spell intended for the stack of hay piled a few yards away.
It was a simple bit of magic. One he’d performed many times in his life and perfected fighting with the Inquisition. The soldiers asked him for some entertainment this chilly evening to soothe their frozen hearts. Dorian was happy to oblige them. They worked hard, and he never minded being the center of attention. He also noticed one or two of the young men stared at his body and then shied away. Dorian suppressed a flirtatious smile. There was always time for that later. This wasn’t Tevinter and openly flirting with any of the Inquisition soldiers might lead to misunderstandings. Still, the lieutenant staring at him so frankly might be what he needed. Dorian released the magic igniting the hay and sending a bloom of smoke in the colors red, blue, and green into the air. They clapped delightedly.
The mage accepted a cup of ale from a soldier and drew them toward the fire. "Now, let me tell you about the time the Inquisitor and I took on a dozen demons by ourselves."
"Pompous ass." Commander Rutherford spat before turning away. He'd had enough of watching that Altus Mage strut his arrogant strapping self all over the camp. The same arrogance that deluded him into thinking he entertained the troops by telling outlandish stories that were blatant lies. A few years in the military would have ironed that bravado right out of him. Taught him to wear a uniform instead of those ridiculous, shiny leather things, which did more to show off his brawny arms than protect him. Any archer worth his salt could see the glint of that shiny metal across a battlefield. Was he that arrogant? The mage was a target, nothing more. Only an egotistical fool refused to wear armor in the field. No one could predict where an arrow might land or an errant sword slash. Not that the man would ever get that close to a fight. Wouldn't want to mess up that hair or ruffle his mustache. What about the constant presence of fire on the battlefield? The whole world was burning, and he strutted around half-naked as if nothing would dare mar the smooth skin stretched taut over firm muscles.
The next thirty minutes completed his routine inspection. The Fall evening did nothing to cool the growing frustration at the arrogant man clinging to his every thought. Why did he care? He didn't care, and that was that. After a quick salute to the tower guard, the Commander headed to his quarters for a much-needed drink and a few hours of sleep. The door to his quarters banged open as he entered, reaching for the bottle with one hand and closing the door with the other.
"Pompous ass," he muttered, enjoying its sound more and more. He yanked off this leather cloak and sent it spinning to a nearby chair.
"True, but I'm told it's a lovely pompous ass. And now, my dear sir, about those feathers. You strut around the camp like a rooster in a hen house. Not enough hens to make it worth the bother. Unless, of course, it's not the hens. Yes?"
Cullen whirled in the darkened room toward the unexpected sound. There is just enough light from the small fireplace to watch the mage push himself off the wall and stroll toward Cullen. The light-colored eyes reflected the flames of the fire and candlelight. Cullen failed to look away from those eyes that could pin him where he stood. The mage had the power to weaken him, but he would not stand for it or this invasion of his quarters.
"Your speculations are meaningless and your behavior frivolous." He managed to say in a mouth suddenly dry.
"Flirting, Commander?"
"Maker, save me from civilians," Cullen slammed his hand against the mantle.
"I care nothing for rank, so don't expect all the little niceties."
"It's called respect." Cullen snapped and took a step away from the promise of Dorian's warmth, the sheen of sweat still clinging to his brow and the windblown hair.
"Where I come from—for all its faults—respect is earned."
"That's rich coming from you." Cullen poured himself a brandy and downed it in one gulp. "The spoiled Tevinter mage."
"Am I making you nervous, Commander?"
"Get out of my quarters." Damn this man and his arrogance.
The mage stopped Cullen from pouring more amber liquid by placing his hand over the cup.
"No need for drunkenness," he said with a voice so rich with innuendo. Cullen leaned into its promise. Rarely serious, Dorian's voice seemed always filled with cheeky humor or cynicism. Life was dangerous, his world held nothing but duty, and death often hovered over his shoulder. The tension of the responsibility he carried on his neck and shoulders like a yoke began to loosen its grip. The Commander couldn't afford those emotions; they interfered with his role as a soldier. This frivolous behavior belonged to the young, the fresh-faced youth who still believed their dreams might come true. How often noticed how Dorian's sarcastic comments lightened the moment, pulled them from exhaustion, or invited courage just when needed.
"Just here to talk. Unless you want—"
"—want what?" He shot back. Why must he be tormented like this? Didn't he pray, keep an orderly life, live by the tenants of his Templar training? Exhaustion pulled at him weakening his resolve. "Talk about fashion?"
"If you wish." Dorian placed one finger on Cullen's right shoulder. "The feathers hide your broad shoulders and the firm line of your jaw. While black is divine on me, it does nothing for your golden brow." Dorian smiled that charming crooked smile and dragged a finger down Cullen's jawline. "And in battle, the cape hinders your field of vision."
"What does that matter? I'm not allowed to fight."
"Of course not. You're too important. Your leadership abilities, experience, and all that." Dorian lowered his voice, his fingertips smoothing his mustache. He cast a sideways glance at Cullen. "And, I would see you kept safe."
Cullen shoved the man away and determinedly walked the five steps to the other side of his quarters. Slamming the poker against the smoldering wood, he stoked up the fire and said over his shoulder, "I don't need to be kept safe, and I don't know why you're here. That lieutenant can't take his eyes off you. Go talk to him and take that bottle with you."
"I heard the lieutenant is looking for a daddy," the mage responded, laughing. "And I'm no one's daddy. Curious, however. What makes you think I'm here for seduction."
"I don't." Cullen shrugged off the leather cuirass and belt. His chest heaved under the linen shirt as if he'd just come from a fight. The light color suited his complexion and brown eyes. With a long sigh, Cullen tried again, "I'd like to get some sleep. Why are you still here?"
"Because there's a question you want to ask me."
"What question?" Cullen's voice grated across the small space. He toed off his boots and kicked them into the corner. "Never mind. Will you please leave?"
You've been a soldier your whole life. Yes?"
"Silence, I beg you."
But Dorian wouldn't listen. He couldn't. Not anymore. Death had sought him out today and come too close. The stink of it clutched at him. The demons surrounded him, their hot breath burning his skin. Their fetid breath reminded him of his mortality and all the things left undone in his nearly wasted life—words he needed to say forced themselves out over Cullen's objections.
"You are no longer a Templar, yet you remain cloistered. Denying yourself pleasures of any kind." Dorian moved to stand directly behind the agitated man. "Cullen, all things are possible with me, although you don't trust me now. Perhaps in time, I might earn your trust, and you'll see that the spoiled Tevinter mage is merely a man, just like you, who often must hold himself apart. Who feels, just as you do, the oppressive weight of expectation is sometimes too much of a burden."
Cullen pounded his fist on the mantlepiece. "I'm a soldier. My duty. My responsibility. Do you even know what that's like, Dorian? Their very lives are my responsibility. I have to make sure there's enough food, lodging, and weapons. We must be battle-ready if the Inquisitor calls on us."
"A man in your position is always on duty. Yes? Never a moment—"
—"Yes, yes, yes! Is that what you want to hear?" Cullen turned so suddenly he had to grab Dorian to keep from knocking him over. So close that when Dorian spoke again, Cullen felt the warm siren call of the mage's breath on his cheek. Bathed in muted colors of red and orange, the firelight wrapped them in its warm glow as the room closed around the two men. Their bodies leaned toward each other in anticipation.
"Ask." Please ask. I beg you.
"What? Ask for a moment? An hour? No duty? No responsibility? Not possible."
"Bend your head just a little, and you will find the answer to your question."
Cullen shook his head and deliberately stepped away from temptation. "You're a mage."
"Bloody Templars," Dorian shot back. "You hide behind religious bigotry to cover what you want? Do you imagine I need to ask for what I want, Commander? Perhaps that lieutenant might prove serviceable for the night. " Dorian shrugged himself away from the blond giant who intruded into his dreams, surprised at how much Cullen's comment hurt. "I expected more from you, Commander." Dorian turned at the door, "Sleep well if you can."
"No!"
Before he could open the door, the mage found himself flipped around and pinned to oak planks.
"Now, that's a little more like it." Dorian relaxed against the door and grinned.
"Be silent."
"Then silence me, sir. I should like to see you try."
The reflective eyes, the color of a calm sea, pulled him in. The overpowering scent of leather and sweat poured off the mage igniting Cullen's long-buried need. A silent moan pushed past his lips when Cullen trapped the man's head in his hands.
"Why do you torment me?" Cullen pushed his body into Dorian's, flattening himself against the mage. Dorian spread his legs allowing Cullen to press closer, and he took advantage of the invitation. Cullen wasn't gentle with the fear of sin battling against his attraction to this man when he pushed the mage's head back and covered his mouth with his hungry lips. Flames of desire licked at Cullen's flesh, melting the guilt and kindling the need for more. Heated blood raced through him in preparation. But he never allowed these needs to be fulfilled. Never. Long years of denial and withdrawal from Lyrium left him dizzy and confused. Blinking his eyes to clear his thoughts, the only thing he could see was Dorian's mouth, and he hungered for it.
"I can't...please." Cullen lifted Dorian away from the door and wrapped him in his arms. Dorian stayed still and pliant in the warrior's arms, returning the kiss equal to Cullen's actions. Finally, his chest heaving and hands fisted into the mage's leather clothes, Cullen broke away and dropped his head to the mage's shoulder,
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean... please go."
"Lovely man, do not despair," Dorian whispered against Cullen's cheek. "I've been a port in the storm before. I would be yours. If you'll let me."
Cullen dug his fingers into Dorian's biceps and, in a tone of voice that failed to match the strength of his grip, "I cannot."
Dorian slipped his hands over Cullen's lower back and felt him give in when he bumped the mage's hip. Wrapping his palm around Cullen's cheek, he murmured. "Let me give you that moment."
Seduction in Tevinter meant sharing a goblet of wine or a meaningful glance across the room. No complications; find a quiet place for the necessary time and enjoy the moment. Had he ever actually seduced a man, been inspired to quiet a restless spirit, and taken care not to spook the object of his desire? The answer was no because most men and women, to be honest, threw themselves at him. This was different. This was a growing need for him to offer succor and soothe a worried brow. How very odd. And what would he do with this golden-eyed blond afterward? Would his generosity earn him a grateful puppy dog? Yes, he'd experienced that too. But the Inquisition, archdemons, and all that rot made the stakes too high for that kind of distraction.
But the man was distraction itself. All-powerful muscles, golden sunlight, and commanding presence. He could wield a sword like a man born to it, lead and encourage men. The haunted exhausted eyes pulled Dorian in and made him step close enough to look inside. What he found surprised him because it was also a quick mind, and innocence fascinated him. Cullen could beat him at chess only added to Dorian's fascination. Cullen shifted against him, pulling him from his thoughts.
A hand covered his eyes everywhere, but a voice spoke softly to Dorian, "Please go. I don't want your pity."
Pity? No, Dorian realized with a thump of his heart. "I offer no pity, Commander."
"What do you offer?" The Commander demanded his heartbeat, a terrifying staccato threatening to burst his ribs.
"A moment ago, your kiss was filled with anger and frustration. How long has it been since anyone kissed you with passion?"
"Passion?" Cullen huffed a laugh of derision. "Templar training… the Lyrium… What it does to us. You don't understand."
Dorian tipped the man's chin up, "And, you worry what they would do to you if they found out your dirty little secret." Cullen sagged against him. Of course, that was it. Dorian stayed still. Now was not the time if he wanted to pull Cullen against him. Patience. "We are not so different, you and I." The mage ventured, rubbing his cheek against the scruff of Cullen's cheek. "Both of us trapped in a lifestyle not completely of our own making. Yes?"
"Mage, you see too much."
"Your secret is quite safe with me. Perhaps we shall both unlock a few secrets tonight."
Cullen stiffened and braced his arms against the door frame.
"Perhaps," Dorian chuckled softly, "a small one or two?"
Cullen lifted his eyes, and Dorian took that as a definite maybe and pressed his lips to Cullen's.
"N-no, it's just weakness…." Cullen said in a tortured voice.
"Your body burns, the hands twisted into my shirt do not feel weak. Indeed, exactly like they might tear me apart. But you cannot hurt me. You don't trust me because I am a mage, yet you won't allow me to move away from this door. Your body betrays the restrictions and fears your mind places on itself."
Dorian pulled the laces of his shirt open and placed Cullen's hands on his bared neck. "I have no arguments left," Dorian said, looking directly into the golden eyes. "Don't make me leave. If you don't do this for us, do it for yourself. I am yours to command."