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Cullen is aware that Dorian has a taste for the kind of finery befitting of his lordship status and no amount of fancy titles will grant Cullen the refinement Dorian has.
It's easy to dismiss Dorian's refinement as bratty snobbery but the man is an aristocrat and if Cullen has learned anything from Josephine it is that the mask is never the truth. So Dorian whines about the cold, but strides around with bared skin like none of it actually bothers him. He bemoans the differences in their cultures and sniffs disdainfully at all things Fereldan but asks Cullen the most thought provoking and respectful questions.
"Why do you do that?" Cullen had asked once, over chess as had become their pattern.
"Do what, my dear? Exude charm and charisma? I'm afraid it's a curse." Dorian's so habitual about throwing traps and twisted turns into conversation that Cullen had never been able to have a conversation with the man at first. It's a knack he picked up, learning his enemy so to speak, though Dorian had quickly moved from suspected traitor to friend and lover with little effort.
Cullen suspected it had something to do with who Dorian was under all those masks and layers. He'd like to think he knows that Dorian fairly well; can see him in the soft looks and sweet kisses they share, can feel him in the grasp Dorian's fingers always clutch at his clothes with. Cullen is used to peeling away the layers and he's fascinated with the puzzle.
Dorian is anything but simple under the layers.
Cullen had made a joke of it before, that Dorian had re-educated his tastes since he arrived, but the truth in that was plain to see in almost every aspect of Cullen's life.
Dorian made him take breaks from work, they had regular walks around the battlements and debated topics or exchanged stories, Dorian ensured Cullen repaired the hole in his roof- even the tarp they had knocked into place was an improvement for the moment-, made sure Cullen got blankets and pillows and books, not taking too much because Cullen won't take too many resources, but enough. A compromise of sorts.
Dorian gives him permission to enjoy things. Even food; honey with his tea, a cake when the craving comes, a milkshake if he must and he's accepting of the fact Dorian won't kiss him for a little while after.
And spices.
Cullen doesn't have them with his food a lot, not like the Inquisition has a surplus to waste regularly and Cullen prefers to have whatever the recruits are having in a show of solidarity- "How achingly noble." Dorian scoffs- but Dorian is, as ever, a man of finer tastes. Cullen knows the mage doesn't get any preferential treatment in regards to requisitions and such but there's one thing Cullen very much associates with Dorian; cinnamon.
It's not a common spice this far south, far too cold and wet for the spice to be grown here. It speaks of wealth and exotic tastes, Cullen never having tasted it as a child and only rarely having come across it when he was stationed in Kirkwall- the brief times the trading ships would dock and quickly depart after the scale of poverty in the city was realised. The only money to be made was from the Hightown nobles and Cullen can't say he had much dealings with them outside of escorting their mage children to the Circle. He does remember the scent of it, however. Rare and fragrant as it was, the scent of it lingered and he knew it by name long before he ever tasted it.
The first time he ever tastes it, his mouth is pressed open against Dorian's neck. They are pulling ineffectually at each other's clothing, not yet daring enough to remove it- too much at stake to rush this, too much of something they won't name to break this- and Cullen is curled over Dorian like a bear. He is not that big and Dorian not that small, indeed they stand similar in height- "I am definitely taller, Commander you are an observant man, you cannot have missed this."- but Cullen has wanted this too much and Dorian's been hesitant to push forward for more. Now they're touching and kissing and Cullen can scarce pause for breath, any moment not pressed against Dorian feels wasted.
He kisses, mouth open, and tastes musk and tang of spice on his tongue when he dares to trace his lips. Cullen hums intrigued and kisses him again, feeling Dorian's grip move tighter around his shoulders as Cullen's tongue presses brazenly against Dorian's neck. Cullen moans this time, the strange taste stronger now, and so new on his tongue. Everything about Dorian is always new. Cullen won't ever get enough.
"What is that?" Cullen asks, voice low and husky into Dorian's ear. The mage, utterly preoccupied with the man sucking on his neck, humming a questioning noise as his fingers tugged at Cullen's hair to get him to continue. Refinement, Cullen was fast learning, never ruled out debauchery and Dorian wore his dishevelment like a badge of honour. "That taste.. you taste like... I don't know..." He kisses again and hums approvingly as his kiss turns into a soft suck, an obscene smack as they part before Cullen is moving to an untasted stripe of skin.
Dorian is arched into Cullen's body like a preening cat, pleased with the attention and eager for more, but so luxuriating in his demand that it borders on arrogant knowledge that Cullen wouldn't be anywhere else than right here pushing him against a bookcase in the library. "Mhmm..." Comes the slow response as Dorian fights responding over indulging in the kisses. "Oh that? Must be my soap." He's so disinterested in speech and discussion at this point Cullen's almost curious what it would take to render him incoherent. He'll have to find out later.
"No soap tastes like this." Cullen scoffs, the hand he has on Dorian's hip snaking up to cup the other side of Dorian's face and guiding his head back further.
Dorian's fingernails scrape Cullen's scalp as they dig into the grip on his hair, Cullen's mouth moving lower to trace the hollow of his throat and feel Dorian's gasps with each bob of his throat. "Maybe not... not here." Dorian huffs, leg shifting restlessly like it wants to hook around Cullen's and knock them both to the floor. "Back home it's, ah! Pretty common. Teeth, really?"
Cullen smirks and drags his teeth over Dorian's skin again. "I don't know what you're complaing about, I didn't bite."
"Something tells me it isn't far off."
"Something might be right." Cullen quips before pressing his teeth in just enough for Dorian to feel the sharp press and then he eases off again, just a tease because it's the pattern they have, before he's kissing his way up Dorian's throat. "What is your soap scented with?"
Dorian makes a frustrated noise before letting his head fall back against the bookcase. "Really, Commander?! You're marking my neck like a damned mabari and you want to know what soap I use?!" He takes a breath and Cullen, flushed at being teased, bites him again. Harder. "Kaffas!" It comes out as a whine at the end and Cullen presses his tongue over the offended skin. "Maker take you, it's cinnamon, why did you bite me?!"
Cullen pushes his fingers up from the base of Dorian's neck, through the back of his hair and holding gently to the longer hair nearer the top. "Why did you like it?" Cinnamon, he thinks, wondering at the strange flavour that teases at his tongue. Warm, if a taste can be such, sharp and, if Cullen gathers enough on his tongue it, almost burns, tingly on his lips and mouth as he sucks at Dorian's skin. "I will have to ensure Josephine is always able to secure your fancy soaps."
"You have fine taste and I am glad you approve." He tugs hard on Cullen's hair when the commander worries his teeth at already abused skin. "Brute." Dorian hisses. Cullen winces at the pull and even the scarlet flush that has stained his face since they began can't hide the smirk he gives in return. He's endearingly shy but his shyness doesn't seem to do much more than cause his furvor to build in his stillness. Dorian's pretty sure his back will be bruised where the Commander shoved him into it in eagerness. "You should put that mouth to other uses than simply gnawing on my neck like I am a chew toy." The challenging, heated look makes Cullen's breath stutter and his hands tremble as they tighten on where they grasp Dorian.
"Maker's breath..." He shudders.
"THAT is more than enough of that!" A book slamming on a desk and an irate call makes Cullen leap out of his skin, Solas' voice drifting up from the rotunda floor below. "Commander, Dorian, I believe you have matters to attend to elsewhere, not carrying on like children above my head!"
Cullen staggers back a step and looks about one stiff breeze from keeling over in embarrassed mortification. Dorian's gaze flicks him over and rights him off as 'not salvageable' before he strides three steps to the balcony edge. "You cock-blocking, stuffy, cruel wretch!" It dissolves into Tevene after that, Fereldan lacking any of the colourful swears Dorian adores, but the threats are definitely in Trade. Cullen is vaguely able to pick out the threat of dropping books on Solas' head, followed by the response that Dorian's flashy offensive movements lack the tact to succeed in such a threat as Solas has plenty of time to side step, and then Dorian retorting he'll tell Lavellan Solas has been horrible and she'll make Solas sorry.
Cullen stops listening as he turns and flees, neither Dorian or Solas even turning to see as he escapes all the way to his office and all but collapses against the closed door. Their sudden interruption had chased away all arousal Cullen had felt but when he licks his lips he can still taste cinnamon, tingling against his tongue and making him shudder.
The next day, Cullen goes to bid Dorian farewell before the Inquisitor sets off on another trip and it takes all his willpower not to turn around and leave when he sees Solas and Dorian bickering already. He isn't at all surprised when he sees Dorian wearing his collar folded down low either; the large bruising bite mark Cullen had worried into his skin a mark of pride Dorian displays smugly to everyone.
"You look like you were mauled by a bear." Solas rolls his eyes at Dorian's preening, Cassandra grunting in agreement where she is strapping her sword to her side. She nods to Cullen in greeting.
"A lion, actually." Dorian throws Solas a wink and is far too pleased at the disgusted noise Solas and Cassandra make as he frames the mark on his neck with his fingers.
"You are... hurt? But you liked it." Cole appears at Dorian's side and Cullen isn't sure the spirit wasn't always there, or isn't in fact there at all. Cole near by hurts his head. "Liked it, pushed back and pinned- trapped but held with hands rough with work and gentle with what I hope, what I want, need him to-"
"Cole. Stop that." Dorian scolds like he's only mildly irritated, eyes darting over to Cullen as the Commander steps closer and he's grasping for words when Cole holds out his hand to Cullen.
Dorian and Cullen look at the sickly pale palm and fall instantly still. In Cole's hand, preciously curled tight, was a curved stick of... "Cinnamon." Dorian breathes, the scent already tickling Cullen's nose.
Cullen looks from Dorian to Cole and can't think of a single think he wants to say.
"For when the hurt comes and he isn't here to chase it away." Cole offers.
Cullen's reaching for the stick, cheeks flushed red and choking on air, before Dorian can rush over this somehow. He can see the man's masks flayed apart and the rushing panic of vulnerability making Dorian rash and nervous but this is... "Thank you." Cullen says, forgetting who is thanking as he looks down at the spice in his palm and knowing it has something to do with Cole.
"Nosey little spirit." Dorian scowls, glaring at the spice in Cullen's hand. "Where did he even find that?!"
"In your pocket." Dorian makes an offended sound as Cole appears near Solas. "You wanted to give it, but the fear kept you back. Too much? Too soon? Always too fast, father said, always too greedy. Can't scare him away, no, I need-"
"Cole. I will burn your hat to cinders."
Cole clutches at the brim of his hat. "I like my hat!" He complains.
Cullen touches Dorian's shoulder, saving the spirit from further ire as Dorian tenses but turns to face him. Cullen's fingers close around the stick of spice. "I appreciate this." He says, stepping too close and Dorian lets him even as he is still so ruffled by having the spirit interfere. Cullen's free hand traces one gloved finger over Dorian's neck, where the bruise makes the mage's breath hitch. "I will... miss you." Cullen admits, voice low as Dorian leans toward him just a little.
"Of course you will." Dorian scoffs like it should be obvious, breath tickling Cullen's mouth and he can almost taste cinnamon again when Solas makes an unflattering noise of disgust at their display of once again forgetting they are not alone.
Cullen and Dorian both turn and glare this time, Cassandra rolling her eyes at all of them before sagging in relief when Lavellan hurries across the courtyard to them.
The bickering is still going when Lavellan leads them out, ignoring both mages entirely as she smiles brightly at Cullen and they depart. Cullen's fingers are tight around the cinnamon stick in his palm and he's happy he has something, something so decadently rare and 'Dorian' to ease their time apart. It does help, Cullen finds as the days pass. He presses the stick to his palms and holds them to his mouth and he can feel Dorian closer, he feels the hurt calm just enough to breathe easier.