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Her fingers snaked around his neck, his skin burning under her soft touch. The glint in her eye- he knew what she saw. Cullen's skin must be as red as her gown by how ignited it felt. He didn't know how to breathe- if he wanted to breathe. He feared one move would scare her, have her running from the fervent craving that bottled up inside him. He had seen her flee before, whenever they held a moment longer than what made sense between them.
Cullen's fingers itched to grasp her waist, to pull her closer to him and feel the curves and edges of her as they fit into his. He wanted to know her like the lines on her face that he traced everyday with his hazel eyes. Despite seeing her in the lone moments they shared, Cullen's curiosity could not be satiated until his lips devoured every inch of her skin. Even then, he knew it would take an eternity for him to truly feel content.
Not with her, not with what little she gave him. Contentment is a pleasure he had yet deserved.
Her hands traveled upward, her scarred digits playing with the back of his neck. His skin felt electrified, as if her fingers conjured the lightning she favored to tease his bare skin. A low moan escaped past his lips in response to her nails tracing wondrous shapes. Her eyes dilated, pleased to know how easily she molded him to her whims. Her face grew closer, the heat of her breath tickled his chin.
She was playing with him, seeing how far she could go before he crumpled onto his knees to worship her. Maybe she didn't know- he was very good at praying on his feet.
Her mouth parted just a bit, enough for her tongue to wet them. Cullen's throat dried in response, locked on the pink lips that smiled.
Finally, her fingers met his scalp and curled into his tresses. He suppressed another groan that threatened to be heard, leaving only a labored breath. Maker hear him, he might lose himself if this kept going.
Cullen felt a slight tug on his head and locked on to her gaze. He felt something burn inside him as all he saw in her eyes was one command.
'Kiss me'
Well, he was a dutiful soldier.
Cullen surged forward, his lips capturing hers hungrily. He has kissed plenty of people before but nothing felt like her. Nothing ever will.
He let out a soft groan as she tilted her head, giving him a chance to fall deeper. His lips responded to her, letting her taste him before he dared to indulge. Even as he felt his lungs beg for air, he could not pull away. He needed this, needed to feel her desire. This was the confirmation he wanted, that she too burned the same as he did.
But as his tongue went to part her lips, something about her grip on his curls changed. Her nails dug deep, stinging his scalp as it clawed through his skin.
Cullen tried to pull away but her hold on him remained relentless. He opened his eyes and suddenly, her faced warped. Her features melted into her skin, becoming a blank skin canvas. Cullen jerked away again, but her nails dug deep into his scalp. He opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a cascade of tiny white flowers- elderflower.
He brought his hand up, trying desperately to cover his gaping mouth but the flowers kept pouring out. His jaw would not move, locked in that silent scream.
The room changed- long gone the sunset touch walls of his office. Now was a sickly red dungeon, walls with vile fleshy mounds, pulsating with a loud squelching. Something echoed in the distance, too hard for Cullen to understand but somewhat familiar.
Long gone was the woman he knew. In her place was another, skin bruised purple underneath the revealing red gown that hung on to her skin by golden chains. Her horns protruded jaggedly from her forehead like a vicious crown. Cullen's blood froze as he recognized the being in front of him.
No, Maker- No!
He tried to push her away, but his hands moved too sluggish, making no contact as she pulled him closer. He could feel her fingers dig through his skull as she brought her face up to his.
Cullen tried to yell again but more flowers poured out, now stained with red.
'No he can't be here. Not again, no more. Someone anyone save-'
"Cullen! Wake up- Cullen!"
Cullen shot up from his bed, heaving. He was back in his bed, the dark room barely lit by the moonlight that pass through his ruined roof. His throat burned from screaming for so long. He brought a hand to his chest to realize it was slick with sweat. He felt a touch on his back and jerked away as his hand shot out to his pillow for the dagger he left underneath. He stopped himself when he saw familiar pink eyes that narrowed in concern.
Cullen let out a shakily laugh of relief. His muscles relaxed, letting himself slump forward as he brought a hand through his wet curls. Maker, how long-
"For about 5 minutes," Medea answered quietly. Cullen stared at her with wide eyes. She shook her head and smiled.
"It's always the first thing you ask." Cullen nodded, hand to his neck as he looked away. Medea reached for his night stand and presented him a glass of water, which he took thankfully. The cold helped soothe his burning throat as he drank. It had been a long while since he woke up so….violently.
The breath he let out sounded more like a shudder. He hated how shaken up he was. No matter how many times he woke to her presence, it never ceased the shame he felt.
He saw from his peripherals that she stared at him intently, probably waiting for his confessional- or that's how his dreams made it feel like with Medea. Not that he ever shared the details with anyone else. May times he woke up from a nightmare and many times he described to her what he saw.
However, something about this night felt wrong. The dream slipped through the cracks of his memory, leaving only bits and pieces for him to understand. They felt like fragments to a mirror, reflecting parts of him he feared revealed too much of him. Cullen wasn't sure if he wanted to look too keenly. He had too many scars for the reflection to be pretty- no matter how broken the mirror was.
He faced her, feeling his heart quicken under the her gaze. She sometimes reminded him of the cat from his childhood, one that liked to roam through his town at night. It's eyes glowed as brightly as hers at night, shiny and colorful. Usually, the cat ran away whenever he tried to reach for it, leaving the young boy that he was alone. Cullen wondered when Medea would do the same.
She moved to sit on the edge of his bed, not once breaking eye contact. She kept a distance from him, almost as if afraid to come closer. 'Maybe she was,' Cullen thought.
Medea had witness the worse of his nights many a time and never showed how she felt about it. But it still must be a terrifying thing to see, even for the Inquisitor who had seen it all. Still, for the Commander to allow a display of weakness to happen whenever she came over?
Actually, when did she come over tonight?
"Did I wake you?" Cullen rasped, his throat still parched. Medea grabbed the pitcher next to his bed and pour him another cup. He drank it greedily, still watching her warped form past the glass. She seemed a bit relaxed now that he's calmed down. His stomach twisted in guilt like he always did when she was around to witness his mess.
"No, I just arrived a few minutes ago. Figured I read something before I went to sleep." Medea looked down at Cullen's hand. He flexed it, curious as to what went through her head. She licked her lips and grabbed his cup to pour herself a glass as well. His eyes traced her neck as she tilted her head back to drink. Cullen looked away when she caught his eye behind the glass, feeling his cheek warm up. He watched her plenty of times, why did he feel embarrassed about it now?
He felt a soft familiar tapping on his hand, a pattern that only they shared. Cullen knew what Medea was asking, but he was unsure if he wanted it. Or rather, if he deserved it. Something festered inside him the past few weeks, a sickly feeling that crept up his spine leaving him teetering. It was difficult to look at Medea in the day time without his blood burning, surging red. At first he thought it was anger, maybe residual fear of who she was. But after days past and no change to how he viewed her, he began to wonder if it truly was hatred in the first place.
Because once he actually looked deeper inside, Cullen saw something- felt something he thought he abandoned so long ago. An ache that could not be eased unless he bridged the gap he feared he didn't have the means to build over.
"Cullen," her soft voice called, waiting for his answer. Maker, he really could not stand her.
He didn't look at Medea but nodded his consent. There was a shuffle before her skin graced his as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Even if he anticipated her touch, he couldn't help but take a sharp breath- not yet sure if he should allow himself such a comfort. Medea's breath tickled the crook his neck as she nuzzled into his shoulder. He let out a shudder and slowly let his arms wrap around her waist, careful not to touch the the string that held her red top. Despite how much his body may seem to swallow her whole, Cullen never felt smaller than in her arms. She always did that, make him vulnerable to her touch.
He felt her hands make circular motions on his back, the pad of her fingers skimming over his scars every so often. He noticed for sometime now how often she lingered on them- taking every opportunity to touch them when he allowed her to. Cullen could tell she was fascinated by them, her ears flickering in curiosity as her touch tickled his skin. Sometimes he shared their stories. Sometimes, she just guessed.
Cullen rested his warm cheek on her cool shoulder, looking away from her neck. He caught her humming an unfamiliar tune, making him smile just a bit. He leaned back onto the headboard, pulling her with him. He heard a snort which he responded with a chuckle of his own. Cullen squeezed her just a bit, a thank you.
They remained as such for a while, staying in that embrace before it became clear they had to pull away for the night.
They said nothing but shared a look that they had share many times. Cullen sometimes wished he could say more but that line wasn't ready to be crossed. He gave her hand a squeeze and let go as she shuffled to the couch across from his bed. He laid back down on his bed, this time facing her to watch as she tucked herself in.
Both of them stared at each other as they rested, still no words to be said. Despite how far she was, Cullen felt as if he could just reach out and caress her cheek, let his thumb trace the red vines etched on her face. Medea's eyes practically glowed as they also seemed to trace his features. Something in his chest clenched, leaving him feeling agonizing for-
Cullen didn't dare finish the thought. He refocused on her, wondering what she makes of him.
What did she see when she looked at him? He must be a book to her, his troubles laid bare for her to read. Medea knew him better than anyone yet she still followed the script on his skin with the diligence he couldn't help but adore.
Cullen watch as her finger tapped on the couch, his heart matching its soothing beat. The scars that branched around her hands illuminated under the moonlight, almost iridescent. Evidence of a lifetime's worth of struggle and survival.
May Andraste burn his soul, he wanted to hold those beautiful hands and never let go.