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Trumped

Summary:

Ryiah chases after Cullen for a bit of mischief. Right after the Wicked Grace game.

Notes:

This is slightly nsfw, you have been warned.

Work Text:

Ryiah snickered the entire way. Her footsteps hushed as she stalked the halls for her quarry. Although, he wasn’t very difficult to find. Cullen hadn’t exactly been quiet when he’d fled from the Wicked Grace game. Slowing, she caught sight of him, his bare backside facing her, hiding from his own men. The tips of her ears felt a bit hot as she stood back, simply admiring him. It certainly was a fantastic view.

Cullen shifted nervously, peeking around the corner, and she reminded herself why she’d come.

“On dhea'lam, Commander.” He jumped back, pressing himself against the wall, face wonderfully crimson. His eyes widened with recognition and his hands moved swiftly to cover his nether regions. She did nothing to hide her amusement, careful to keep her own hands hidden behind her back.

“It’s not funny Ryiah,” he hissed.

“I beg to differ, arasha. I’m certainly enjoying this.”

He avoided meeting her eyes and shuffled anxiously. “W-we can speak of this tomorrow. I’d like to keep a bit of my dignity.”

“Of course, but, if I had my way, we’d play more often.” He glared at her, until it was clear where her eyes were wandering. Then he focused on anything except her. “I didn’t think anyone could be worse than me at shem games, but I was wonderfully surprised,” he scoffed and she chuckled, “As much as I want to appreciate the view, I actually found you to help a bit.” She revealed the simple bed-clothe she’d swiped earlier.

He snatched it from her fingers, wrapping it around his waist rather hastily. Despite most of his legs still bare, he seemed infinitely more confident now. “You couldn’t have brought me actually clothes?”

Ryiah gave him a wicked smirk. “It was a humiliating loss, but you did agree to the terms.”

“You said you’d come to help.” The words curt and filled with discontent.

“No,” she corrected, “I said it would help, I’m doing this for me.”

He threw her an inquisitive look before peeking quickly around the corner. “How could this possibly help you?.”

“This way I don’t have to fight off anyone. I cannot guarantee that there would not be bloodshed, but I’ll battle them all if I have to.” His face was still crimson as he ran a hand nervously through his hair, fidgeting as her eyes wandered down once more. “And certainly there will be many contenders.”

As he continued to avoid meeting her eyes, Ryiah inched closer. She placed a hand bravely on his bare chest; enjoying how he leaped beneath her touch. His skin warm despite the frigid night. Fingers ghosted over taut muscles and tickled blond hairs before moving to cup his face. “Ryiah.” It was a plea but it seemed not even he knew what for.

She rose to the tips of her toes, placing a gently kiss to her distraught lover’s lips. A moan, so light she almost didn’t catch it, escaped him as his hand rose to the back of her head. Fingers tangled in her hair as Cullen pulled her closer. She couldn’t help but smirk against his lips as he gave in and pushed her against the wall he’d hidden behind.

His tongue brushed against her lips, asking for entrance. Instead of giving him permission, she pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked on it gently. His groan reverberated through her entire being. She was pushed back roughly, a knee forcing her legs apart. Ryiah keened softly as he rubbed against the inside of her thighs and providing a pleasant friction. His desire hot against her.

Her hair was wonderfully tousled and his skin sported indents from her nails.

The slight murmur of talking and the clanking of metal interrupted the intimacy. The patrol had moved closer in their distraction. Cullen pulled back with a start, arguably more embarrassed than when she’d first found him. He watched the grin take over her face and he understood, he was being detained.

“Andraste’s knickers!” Cullen hissed in agitation, pulling her in for a bruising kiss before preparing to run. Before he could, Ryiah had slipped her fingers under the hem of the clothe, yanking harshly as he took off. Expletives were thrown back at her as he yelped in surprise, once again trying to cover himself.

When the soldiers rounded the corner, they found the Inquisitor on her knees. Crying. Ryiah could not see their incredulous gawking as she howled with laughter, clutching her chest as the naked arse of their commander disappeared in the distance.


Elvhen translation curtsey of Project Elvhen (I wished I’d come up with it, it’s brilliant).

On dhea’lam: good evening
arasha: my happiness (endearment)

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