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Someone was singing in Evelyn’s washroom.
She cracked an eye open from her position face down on the bed, the quilt pulled up under her nose, her arms tucked beneath the pillow. It was mostly quiet, except for the soft splashing of water and the gentle voice. She tilted her head to see the window; the barest hints of morning sun were beginning to peak over the horizon, the sky still mostly dark and the stars twinkling dimly. Her chambers were dark as well, the lamps still doused and the fire little more than embers in the hearth, save for the throw of candlelight underneath the door to the washroom. Cullen was absent from the bed next to her.
They’d not spent many a night together, yet, but all of them had ended the same so far: Cullen would sleep a few hours before rising in the earliest of dawn hours to dress and leave, not wanting to stir gossip by being seen coming from her quarters. Admittedly, Evelyn was not adverse to keeping their relationship private, either; in fact, she thought it was kind of fun, in a mischievous way, to be sneaking about Skyhold under the noses of her soldiers and friends, kissing her commander in dark corners, even if no one here would have dared look at her sideways. She’d tell them eventually, of course, and Dorian and Sera had already figured it out anyway, but for now, she liked having a part of her life that wasn’t being picked apart by everyone in Thedas with an opinion.
So, it was not the first time he’d been in her washroom at this hour. Previously, she’d shut her eyes and gone back to sleep when she’d woken to find him gone, wanting another couple hours before the world came calling again. He typically gave her a kiss on the way out, but it barely roused her. This morning, however, she was wide awake as soon as she registered the noise for what it was, because Cullen was singing.
She’d only ever heard him sing once, after Haven, and his voice had been obscured by so many others. He wasn’t singing loudly now, nor very clearly: it sounded like he was working his way through a tune he’d half-forgotten, humming or mumbling verses he didn’t know the words for. His voice was good, though, deep and rich, and he was hitting what notes he did know with accuracy. An image came to her of a young Cullen, before he'd joined the Templars, singing with tightly-contained enthusiasm as part of a Chantry choir. He likely would have taken it as seriously as he did his duties now, his small brow knit with concentration even while he smiled through the notes. Evelyn thought he might be singing one of the ballads Maryden had been performing in the Herald’s Rest, now, but she couldn’t be sure from this side of the door.
Mind made up, Evelyn dug herself out of the thick layer of bedsheets and scooped Cullen’s shirt off the floor on her way to the door, pulling it over her head but not bothering with the laces in the front. The hem hit her knees and the wide, open neckline draped off one shoulder as she pushed the door to the washroom, left cracked, open with her foot and leaned in the doorway. He was standing at the washbasin, his back to her, face close up to the mirror as he shaved. He hadn’t tamed his hair yet, and it sprung up in joyful little coils, burnished gold in the candlelight instead of their typical pale wheat. He had his trousers on, slung low on his hips, and Evelyn bit her lip as she watched his back and arm muscles flex.
She wasn’t sure she could say she had a type, given she’d only ever had the one partner, but if she did, Cullen was the epitome of it: strong and broad and tall, physically dangerous, but with something in the curve of his mouth or the twinkle of his eyes that hinted at a hidden softness. She liked the coil of the muscles in his arms, the wide breadth of his hands, the tree-trunk thickness of his thighs, and she especially liked how despite all those things, he could be gentle as a newborn halla with her. He spoke to her so sweetly, and held her hand like it was made of glass, and kissed her with the tenderness of someone truly devoted. The softness he reserved only for her made her own insides melt.
Of course, not all of him was sweet, and those parts excited her just as much, if not more.
He was still humming softly, mouthing the words as he brought the razor down into the basin to rinse. She could tell he had slept well, the dark circles under his eyes less severe and his hands steady. She’d heard him excuse multiple days of scruff before as being too busy to remember, but she knew in reality he preferred to be clean-shaven and only the shaking in his hands prevented him from keeping it that way. She liked to think this new level of calm was because of her; that she grounded him in the same way he grounded her.
He was mostly finished, using a rag to remove any of the soapy lather that might have been left behind on his chin and cheeks. Evelyn snuck quietly into the room, keeping at an angle over his right shoulder so he wouldn’t see her in the mirror.
“…Enchanter, come to me
Enchanter, come to see
Can you, can you come to see
As you once were blind
In the light now you can sing?
In our strength we can rely
And history will not repeat...”
She slipped her arms around his middle and pressed her nose into his spine, making him jump and then relax with a breathless chuckle. He placed one of his hands over both of hers where they were clasped, his body warm and firm against her. Evelyn was always cold, as if her body could never quite get up to a comfortable temperature, but Cullen radiated warmth better than any hearth or campfire. In this, they were a perfect match: the Anchor and her natural affinity for frost magic made her a natural balm to the fevers fueled by his lyrium withdrawal, and the fact that he seemed to run habitually warm regardless. She nuzzled closer.
“Good morning,” Evelyn said, smiling against his skin. “I didn’t know you could sing so well.” He finished putting his shaving kit away before turning in her arms, his own coming up around her shoulders even while he seemed hesitant to meet her eyes, his face tilted up to the ceiling.
“I-I don’t, really. It was just a silly tune stuck in my head.” His nose and the tips of his ears were pink. Evelyn pressed up onto her toes to get a closer look, her grin spreading wider.
“Hardly silly, Commander.” She kissed the edge of his jaw, freshly smooth, then his throat. “You have a lovely voice. Though I am a bit surprised by your choice of song.”
The flush spread down to his chest, but he canted his head to peer at her out of the corner of his eye. “Maryden was singing it last night at the tavern,” he admitted. “I suppose I hadn’t given the lyrics much thought.”
“A former Knight-Captain, singing of mage rebellion,” Evelyn teased, standing on the tops of his feet so she could nip at his ear. He grumbled a laugh, relenting finally and hoisting her up by the thighs so she could look at him eye-to-eye, her ankles crossing at the small of his back. “Whatever would the Chantry think?”
“I don’t imagine the Chantry has time to waste on such matters, at the moment.” A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, feeling the heat lingering in them, and thumbed over the scar on his lip. “Nor do I have time to waste worrying about their approval.”
“No,” Evelyn agreed. “You’re much too busy starting the Inquisition’s military choir.”
He groaned, burying his face in her neck while she laughed. She carded her hand through the hair at the back of his neck, feeling his nose press into where her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. She peeked a glance out the window; the soldiers wouldn’t be starting morning drills for an hour, yet, and any visiting nobles or diplomats wouldn’t rise until well after. With a cheeky grin against his ear, she started to push his trousers down with her feet.
“You know,” she breathed in his ear. “I happen to find your voice very appealing, Cullen. I wouldn’t be opposed to you singing more often.”
“I— well, I don’t— I mean it’s—um…”
“In fact,” she continued, wriggling until the apex of her thighs was pressed tight to his groin, where she could feel him beginning to stir. His hands tightened on her bare thighs. “I think you might consider a change of profession. I could employ you as the Inquisitor’s personal bard.”
He snorted a laugh, pulling away to shake his head at her as his embarrassment fled in favor of exasperation. “Oh really? Do my skills as Commander leave you so wanting, Inquisitor?”
“Your skills as Commander are unparalleled,” she said, nuzzling his cheek and kissing the corner of his lips. “But there is something very appealing about you being locked in my chambers, catering to my every whim, don’t you think?”
“That kind of bard?” He laughed incredulously, a wicked glint in his eye before swiftly hoisting her over his shoulder, causing her to squeak indignantly as he made for the door. “I ought to teach you a lesson for such cheek.”
“You would never,” Evelyn said, all breathless bravado, despite currently addressing his lower back. “Scolding a superior officer, Cullen? I don’t think you have it in you.”
“I’m happy to prove you wrong, love,” he said, voice full of dark promise as he deposited her on the mattress.
Love. Evelyn had plenty of nicknames, many of which she disliked, but she would never get tired of hearing that one. It made her feel cherished, like something special, not because of some stupid mark on her hand or a crown on her head but because he had chosen to devote himself to her so completely. It filled her with so much contented happiness she thought it must burst out of her skin, a radiating light that put everything it touched in rose-tinted hues.
She wanted him like this always: carefree, laughing, not burdened by the weight of all they’d suffered and all the suffering they would still see. She would grasp these moments they had, however fleeting, with both hands and hold them close to her chest, the most precious things in her possession.
She lay flat on her back, long, pale hair splayed out wild around her, and smirked recklessly up at him. “Is that a threat?”
“Hardly,” he huffed, big hands tracking up her thighs and taking his shirt with them, until he could pull it up and over her head. When his gaze met hers, it smoldered. “If it’s a threat, you’ll know.”
A pleasant shiver trickled down her spine. He dumped the shirt on the floor before his hands returned to her hips, holding firm as he tugged her down to the edge of the mattress, her legs dangling over the sides. She hooked a foot around his calf and yanked so that he buckled, catching his weight on either side of her head so he didn't crush her, bare torso pressed to hers.
She couldn’t help another cheeky grin. The surprise on his face melted into burning calculation. “It seems someone’s feeling particularly impish this morning.”
“You did promise to teach me a lesson,” she reminded, rocking her hips against his. He bit back a groan, pressing the hard length of himself, now fully erect, into her center through his breeches. She mewled a little before continuing breathlessly, “We have a few minutes yet, and your paperwork will wait. I am much more in need of your attention, at present.”
“Yes, you are,” he rumbled before pressing his mouth to hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. Every time she kissed him, it still felt like the first time: pulse racing, breath caught in her chest, a warm buzzing trickling down her spine and settling deep between her hips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling more of his weight down onto her as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. He smelled fresh and sharp, like the orange in his soap, his skin smooth and warm. She brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones, caressing the strong lines of his face before sliding her hands back into his hair, coils springing soft between her fingers as his tongue parted her lips, dipping inside her mouth. Her heart skipped in her chest and she ground her hips up into him again, making him push her more firmly into the blankets.
“Breeches,” she breathed in the space between kisses, her hands starting a path down to his hips, where his laces still hung loose. He pressed a knee up onto the mattress under her thigh so that he could gather her wrists in his hands, pressing them into the mattress above her head.
“No,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “If this is a lesson, you’re in no position to be demanding.”
Evelyn groaned in frustration. “I don’t think we have time for you to teach me patience, Cullen.”
He laughed, low and dark and deep in his chest. “Oh, suddenly not so eager to face your consequences?” He kissed the hinge of her jaw and then down her neck, gentle sucking with a flick of his tongue, and Evelyn sighed at the decadence of it. “You know once I’ve resolved myself to something, I’m rarely swayed.”
“An admirable trait,” Evelyn allowed, still determined to push her limits. “If annoying. We might be here until the next Age.”
He laughed again, releasing her wrists to kiss down the center of her chest, ignoring her breasts, much to her continued frustration. He took hold of her hips as he knelt on the floor between her legs, pressing a kiss to her sternum, then her bellybutton, then the soft curve of her lower stomach. Anticipation wound in Evelyn like a tight spring, wetting the space between her thighs and tightening her nipples. She would never turn down a quick tumble to start the morning, but Cullen, if he had his way, was always going to take his time; he seemed to take great pleasure in turning her into a panting, quivering wreck beneath him, slowly and methodically unraveling her sanity until all she knew was his name and the way he made her feel. She often found release twice, even three times for every one of his, and he could spend hours working her over, if he had it. She might wonder if it stemmed from his need for atonement, in some weird way, if he did not so clearly enjoy it as much as she did: even if he didn’t find release at all, he walked away from their encounters clearly more relaxed, more centered, and while she would never mistake him for being verbose, he wasn’t shy about voicing his approval in the heat of the moment.
“Keep your hands above your head,” he said, glancing up at her from between her thighs. The sun was beginning to truly rise behind him, filtering light in through the windows and brushing him in gold. “If you keep touching my hair, I’ll never be presentable in time.”
Evelyn breathed an affronted laugh and opened her mouth, a retort already bubbling up, but it was replaced with a loud moan as Cullen sealed his mouth to her cunt, sending an electric shock to her system. She was so wound already she did not need him to start gently, and he knew it: he sucked harshly at her clit before laving at her in broad, sweeping strokes, creating a dizzying pattern with his tongue that sent her climbing toward her peak immediately. She clapped a hand over her mouth, knowing that Skyhold was beginning to wake around them, and bucked her hips up into him. He groaned his approval against her and clamped an arm over her hips to keep her still, and she keened beneath her hand, loving the feeling of being held down, of feeling his strength in such a palpable way. She was slick and hot between her thighs, his tongue gliding through her folds and worrying at her clit in just the way he knew drove her crazy. She squirmed and wiggled, unable to help herself from trying to push away, to push closer, but he held firm against her, his arm made of iron, his head solid between her legs even as they kicked out occasionally.
Predictably, he took his time. It was slow and languid, indulgent, and Evelyn, who truly did lack significant patience, wound tighter and tighter, tears of frustration and overwhelm beginning to gather in the corners of her eyes. He was holding her just as the edge, never quite giving her enough to tip over into completion, and he was doing it on purpose, the absolute bastard. She had to tip her head back and shut them, brought too close to desperate by the look in his eyes, dark and heated as they watched her face. He devoted as much of his attention to this as he did all tasks: all of it, wholly, and it was the type of razor-sharp focus that won him victories in battle and bed alike. Wanting to touch him, to feel more of his skin against hers, she reached down with her free hand, and he laced their fingers together as she squeezed so hard her knuckles went white.
“So good for me, love,” he crooned against her. “You’re doing so well.”
He kept her on that edge for what felt like an eternity, pulling away to kiss her thighs or stomach when she came too close. He used his thumbs, preoccupied as his hands were, to brush soothing circles against her skin, murmuring how good she was, how beautiful, how sweet she tasted, showering her in praise even as she fought his hold and sweat broke out across her brow. He let her need stall to a simmer each time before starting again, narrowing her focus down until she knew nothing but sensation. She was not Evelyn- she was only need, sheer, desperate need, and she would do anything to finally climax and find relief. Finally, finally, she wailed beneath her hand as he latched onto her clit again, sucking hard and laving at it with his tongue while a full-body shudder wracked her frame. She tossed her head, thighs clamping around his ears. Gooseflesh broke out across her skin, and it took only a few more moments before her release crashed over her.
Her back bowed, fighting the weight of his arm as her eyes squeezed shut and her toes curled. He held firm as it hit her in great waves, her cunt clenching around empty air, and she shuddered again as he gentled, but didn't stop. He pressed brief, sucking kisses to her clit, dipped his tongue into her clenching entrance, and softly nipped at her folds while she drifted somewhere far away. It prolonging her release until she was trembling, limp, panting so hard she had to let her hand finally flop to the bed so she could take in enough air. She didn't think her legs would support her weight even if Corypheus descended on Skyhold that very moment. Cullen was still humming gently against her, each pass of his tongue making her twitch as he cleaned away the evidence of her release.
As reason began to filter back in, Evelyn’s ears honed in on the cadence of his humming, Cullen oblivious as he pressed his cheek into her thigh, finally relenting. He rested for a moment before smoothing his hands up her torso to cup her breasts, then swept them down her arms to lace their fingers, bringing her arms down to rest at her sides. With a final, sweet kiss to her sternum, he stood, pulling his trousers up and lacing them as he began to hunt for his boots, their front still tented obscenely.
Evelyn watched him from the bed, trying to catch her breath, a little shell-shocked. The sun had well and truly risen now, and she could hear the clash of swords and dull chatter from the courtyard down below. Cullen dressed with ruthless efficiency, dipping back into the washroom briefly to clean his mouth and address his hair before coming back into the bedchamber, humming all the while. When he emerged, he was the shining image of her Commander once more: sunlight in a halo around him, every piece of armor in place, his mantle slung across his broad shoulders, his eyes clear and a supremely smug grin gracing his handsome face.
He came over to where she lay splayed still and leaned over to kiss her once, quickly. “Have a good day, love,” he said. “See you this evening.”
He headed down the stairs, leaving her stunned, sweaty, naked as the day she was born and still drying between her thighs. As she followed his footsteps down the stairs, she heard the distinct sound of his voice, low but light:
“Enchanters
The time has come to be alive
In the Circle of Magi
Where we thrive with our brothers…”