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Author readings were, as far as events went, not the worst thing that Dorian had to endure in the after hours. The rest of the days were filled with workshops and kid’s story time, sometimes people coming in to check out actual books, but more often than not there was some sort of thing going on in the Library. Author readings were at least interesting. Author readings mean the got to stay late, drink fairly decent wine, and listen to mostly decent fare. A lot of them that were books were local-ish fiction writers and the occasional someone on a book tour. Some of them were nice, some of them were arseholes, but that was the nature of the beast.
The tables had been set up, drinks put on ice, and chairs assembled. Dorian had never heard of guy that was coming tonight: Cullen Rutherford, who was reading excerpts from his fictional work Noble Tenets . Dorian hadn’t read it, but apparently it was doing decently well on the bestseller lists. He was more the nonfiction and theory type, but every now and then there was something that caught his interest. He wasn’t completely immune to the draw of something to lose himself in that wasn’t directly linked to his own research and work at the University, after all. There were copies there already, ones to sign and that people could buy after the reading, and Dorian had thumbed through it a bit.
The riots in Kirkwall some years ago were often the talk in political circles, things that went round and round in debates and Maker only knew the Divine had done her level best to try to make everyone happy. It had made people all over Thedas feel unsettled, like they worried their home might be next for a group of protesters to sack, and even though it had been a while the threat seemed to simmer under the surface still.. This Noble Tenets was a thriller set around the same time, told from the perspective of a Templar stationed in Kirkwall at the time. It was written well enough, though political thrillers weren’t usually what Dorian picked up when he was in the mood to lose himself.
Then again, how an author presented their work could do wonders.
“I think I might be a bit early,” came a voice from the foyer, and Dorian looked up to see a man hanging up his coat on one of the hooks.
He looked like one of the usual type to come to these: t-shirt tucked into jeans and a flannel shirt shrugged on over it. The man was pale and freckled a little across his nose with golden hair spilling into ringlets over his ears. A slightly shy smile twitched the edges of his mouth, lips that were bisected with a scar on one side, upward into a look that was somehow equal parts endearing and also like he was somehow familiar. That had to mean he’d been there before. Dorian didn’t pay too much attention to people that came and went too often, after all.
Dorian smiled as he closed over the book and set it back on top of the pile on one of the tables, “Just means you get the best seat in the house,” he offered, then raked a hand through his shoulder length black hair that fell across one shoulder. In a fit of rebellion not long ago he’d shaved part of it, asked for an undercut, but let the rest grow. By now he looked the perfect image of a Magister-in-training, though he was still angling to avoid the seat that was his by right from either parent.
A Pavus and a Thalrassian had always sat in the Magisterium, and he was a mix of both. Except there he was in Orlais instead. Imagine that.
The other man smiled again, one that was less shy, and he tucked his hands behind his back as he stood. Dorian had known enough Templars in his life, both by choice and not at all by choice, to recognize their parade rest. That would explain the interest . Of course a Templar, though maybe ex if the way he was dressed was anything to go by, would be interested in some thriller from one’s point of view. It would also explain the need to be early.
He jutted his chin out a bit toward the pile of books, “Have you read it?” the man asked.
A quick look down at the pile, and Dorian let out a soft chuckle, “Ah, no. Not yet. Maybe waiting to see how it sounds first.”
“Like having some read to you, then?” was the reply, and with it was a soft laugh. The man’s accent was Fereldan, soft and rough, that rubbed Dorian in all the right ways. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night, and there was a part of Dorian that would have liked to curl up with ti in front of a nice fire.
“I wouldn’t say no,” he answered, “something rather intimate about that kind of thing, isn’t there?”
The man chuckled again, and Dorian could have swore he felt the rumble more than heard it. He couldn’t take his eyes off that handsome face, however, and grey eyes trailed a gaze across a scruffy jawline and those freckles that probably came as a result of too much sun at some point in the man’s life. He was like an angel out of a Chantry window, really, and Dorian’s heart actually fluttered.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Dorian could feel his cheeks warm just a bit as he was regarded by honey brown eyes that looked entirely too friendly. It was unusual for him to get like that around a man, really, but that easy smile was doing things to his insides. Maybe they’d have to chat a little bit more later-
“There you are,” prompted another voice, this one more sure and strong and heavily accented, “I figured you would get here early.”
Both men turned to see a tall, rather strong looking woman with closely cropped dark hair coming up the steps. She, like the other man, was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but unlike him she wasn’t rocking the flannel over the top. Her face was just the slightest bit harsh, and Dorian blinked once as he watched her come to a stop in front of the. He had to wonder: girlfriend (sadly), or friend (hopefully), or classmate?
“You know me,” the other man answered with a grin and gestured to the newcomer, “Cassandra Pentaghast, my agent,” he introduced, “and this is...uh...I don’t think we got that far.”
“Dorian Pavus. Adjunct professor and library volunteer,” he answered and reached out a hand to shake Cassandra’s first before he turned to the handsome man, “and you would be?”
One blond eyebrow cocked, and a pale hand pointed to the little sign that Dorian had set up not an hour ago: “Cullen Rutherford. Your book reader for tonight.”
Grey eyes widened a bit, and suddenly things made a lot more sense. Fuck. Normally Dorian was a lot more on the ball than that. He blinked twice before letting out a soft chuckle and held his hand back out, “I...should have guessed,” he went on, “makes the being so early make more sense. Uh, did you two want something to drink while we wait, or did you need to set anything else up?”
“I think we’ve got what we need,” Cullen replied, and in that moment Dorian could have sworn he felt Cullen’s hand squeeze his just a bit tighter before he let go. Though that could have been his imagination.
----
The turnout was more than Dorian had anticipated. Usually there were the groups of students that used events like this as extra credit tickets and the like, some genuinely interested people, and then the lot that came for the free drinks and snacks. These, though, apparently the draw of this book pulled in a lot more of the actual University aged patrons. They even seemed to be interested in the book itself, and had chattered excitedly as things got started.
Still, even as people came in and out and milled around, Dorian couldn’t help but turn his head so that he could find Cullen. He was smiling, always, and talking with the excited patrons or talking in hushed tones with Cassandra, but there was something about him that made Dorian’s eyes draw to him like a magnet. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow Dorian knew where he was in the room at all times, and that definitely went beyond his responsibilities of just making sure no one burned the place down. Of course Dorian tried to tamp it down, tried to ignore the other man at the corner of his gaze and how he always seemed to be hovering just close enough but still too far away.
It was maddening.
Then there was the reading. Cullen stood up on the little dais they they used for events like this, or when professors would bring classes in, and as he read from the selected chapter the man paced like a tiger in a cage. It wasn’t that he seemed uncomfortable or anything, quite the opposite actually, but the man couldn’t seem to keep still. He walked back and forth, fiddled with the marker that had been in the book to find the page easily, clenched and unclenched his hand in a fist. He was a bit like a lion on the prowl with that mop of golden hair, actually, and from where Dorian watched from his seat near the wall he couldn’t help but track every movement.
“Neat lines and orderly rows were the only comforting thing in those hours. It seemed like things were always in flux, and while the foundation of Kirkwall itself seemed to shake in uncertainty of its future, those lines and rows always held firm. It allowed for some semblance of anonymity, despite the stamp of the Order on the soldiers’ chests, while also giving a sense of community where there otherwise wouldn’t be any. Rhys craved that, since every call for orders seemed to be filled with more violence than the last, and he could only hope that if he clung onto those lines and rows with his brothers and sisters in arms that maybe whatever terrible thing they were asked to do next wouldn’t be so terrible.”
The way he read was different than how Dorian had seen others read. They’d had fiction authors in before, of course they did, but when they told those stories it was often colored with more...what was the word? Fantasy, maybe. This, the way Cullen read with his voice almost wavering in places, made it feel real. And it struck Dorian hard in the chest. He couldn’t look away, and couldn’t help but lean forward to listen harder.
“The sound of explosions rocked all of Kirkwall, somehow. The blast wasn’t large, but it resonated in the hearts of the people the entire city-state over. A bomb. A bomb in the Chantry in the name of the people, a rather spectacular form of rebellion against Meredith and her occupation, but it stood for so much more. They all felt it, felt it blow open parts of their hearts that may have even been closed off previously, and it brought a city to its knees without even destroying a building.
He wondered, they all wondered at the same time, only one thing: Could it possibly be worth it?”
A hush had fallen over the crowd so that no one even murmured or seemed to breathe. Cullen’s voice was soft, almost as though he were in the middle of prayer, and yet Dorian could hear him perfectly. There was a weight to his words, one that didn’t speak of fiction, and suddenly everything made sense. Not only a Templar, but one who had been there. One who had seen it and felt those things.
Maker help him.
--
Drinks had gone around, food was pilfered, and people milled around as though it were a party. Perhaps it was. It was a celebration of a novel, one that was well written and apparently very well researched...in that it wasn’t at all. Dorian could still feel Cullen in the room, still knew where he was out of the corner of his eyes at any given moment, and every so often he’d cast a glance over and see those brown eyes looking in his direction. He’d noticed a few times during that reading that Cullen looked toward him, but he’d brushed it off in that way that people looked out into a crowd. Surely…
Surely he’s not looking at me.
Except he was.
There was a gaggle of girls around him, which didn’t surprise Dorian in the least. They asked for autographs, gushed about the piece he’d read in that way that sounded more like ‘I like the way you read’ more than ‘I like the words on the page,’ but Dorian couldn’t begrudge them that. Both were accurate, after all. The man could have read the phone book and still sounded like warm honey was dripping over the words. That was a rare feat, actually, and had the book had any other story it would have perhaps been sexy.
Perhaps in the parts that weren’t audibly and visibly full of pain, it very well might still have been sexy. Except Dorian couldn’t get that emotion-filled lilt out of his head: Could it possibly be worth it? He’d be replaying that in his head all night, probably, and it drove him to a bit of distraction to the tune of just...staring. At Cullen.
“Hi.”
Dorian blinked twice, shook his head, and looked up into those warm brown eyes. Cullen. Standing right in front of him. He’d sidestepped another patron, someone who probably wanted to talk to him about his work, to come talk to him . Maybe it was because he was staring. Maybe it was because they seemed to be sharing looks all night. Maybe...maybe, he didn’t know.
“Hi,” Dorian managed after a moment.
A hand extended then, and the face that had looked so serious before was smiling now, “Cullen Rutherford.”
Dorian chuckled, “Yes, I remember,” he replied as he took that large, warm hand in his own to shake.
“Just wanted to make sure,” the other man teased, and there was that ghost of a squeeze to his hand before it was let go. He hadn’t imagined it before.
Softly, he cleared his throat, and Dorian smiled, “I doubt I’ll be forgetting anytime soon, after that.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was...powerful.”
Cullen nodded and a few stray curls fell across his forehead. They framed his face like a halo of light under the fluorescent lamps, of which only half were on as to set a more casual ambiance, and Dorian so wanted to run his fingers through that hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. They were both smiling shy kinds of smiles: the ones that were full of possibility but perhaps not sure of where to go or what to say next.
“So, I think I’ll be buying a copy and taking it home tonight,” Dorian began, and gestured to the table of copies still left. There weren’t many, so he’d probably have to get one quickly.
A beat passed, and Cullen lifted the copy he’d been reading from, “Have this one,” he offered, then looked around for a moment before he gestured to the pen that was sticking out from one of Dorian’s pants pockets, “but only if I can borrow that first.”
One elegantly sculpted eyebrow cocked, and Dorian pulled the pen out so he could pass it into Cullen’s fingers. The other man took it, opened the front cover and wrote something inside before he smiled, closed the covered, and held out both the pen and the book to Dorian. His copy. Cullen had given him his copy. Dorian took it, and moved to open the cover before that same large, warm hand that he’d shaken before reached out to keep him from opening it enough to look.
“Open it after,” Cullen told him, “it’s a surprise.”
“Is it?” Dorian asked, and he couldn’t quite help how flirty his tone got for it. Though the mischievous smirk Cullen wore matched it perfectly. They were flirting. He knew they were.
“It is,” the other man answered with a nod, and another few loose curls swayed alongside his strong, yet scruffy, jaw.
So he didn’t open it. Not until Cullen and Cassandra had left and the main area was cleaned up for the following morning. It wasn’t terribly late, thank the Maker, and Dorian would have been lying if he’d said that he hadn’t rushed the clean up just so he could see what this mysterious surprise was. Normally he didn’t go for that kind of thing, not really, but something in Cullen’s voice and that smile made him stick to it. Maybe it was stupid, or maybe it was some kind of joke, but…
Finally, everything was done, and as he picked up his bag and keys Dorian grabbed his copy of Noble Tenets and flicked open the cover. Inside it, where he expected maybe some generic ‘thank you’ like some authors did in their personalized autographs, there was something else and Cullen’s name signed under it in neat, readable script:
Herald’s Rest, After - Cullen Rutherford
A bar. Rather, a pub. Dorian knew it. Sometimes he and the others would drink there after classes or on the weekends. It was comfortable with fireplaces, generous pours, and a beer and wine list that even he couldn’t make fun of. It was where you went to relax, and actually relax, when you weren’t wound up so tight with stress that you couldn’t come down off it. He’d been a few times, even when he wasn’t in the right mood for it.
He caught a taxi and contemplated what might be waiting when he got there. An after party, maybe? Some do on Cassandra’s dime for those that they didn’t deem too obnoxious to invite out? Maybe a...another meet and greet? Dorian couldn’t say. He’d never been invited out by an author after a reading before. That said, there was some little part of him hoping that maybe this wouldn’t be some party. A little part of him envisioned he and Cullen sharing a pint in front of a fire and talking late into the night. A little part of him wanted Cullen all to himself.
It wasn’t terribly crowded, which was a bit of a blessing, and Dorian’s gaze landed on Cullen with a familiarity that shouldn’t have been there for only having known him for half a night. For one and a half conversations. Still, Dorian could pick him out immediately, and Cullen’s gaze lifted the moment the bell on the door sounded and their eyes met again. They met like they had been doing all night. They met, and Dorian felt something warm spread through him.
They both took steps forward to close the distance between them. Cullen was holding a pint, Dorian was holding the book, and when they came to a stop in front of each other there was a quick and slightly awkward juggle of things as Cullen extended a hand between them.
“Cullen Rutherford,” he stated, grinning all the while.
Dorian rolled his eyes for that, though a grin of his own was spreading across his lips, “Maker, are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Nope.”
“Some people might call that rude, you know,” Dorian teased.
One of Cullen’s eyebrows arched, and he shifted his weight just a little as he seemed to study Dorian’s face for a long moment, “Some might say the fact that you’ve been staring at me a bit rude too, you know.”
Shit. He’d noticed.
“I...it wasn’t on purpose-” Dorian began before Cullen waved a hand to get him to stop, and he took that half step closer into Dorian’s space.
“I couldn’t stop looking either,” Cullen interrupted, and tipped his chin down so warm lips that tasted like Fereldan Ale brushed over Dorian’s, “I thought here might be better than the library, anyway.”
“Is this going to end up in your next book?” Dorian asked before he kissed Cullen again, only this time it was deeper and longer.
They kissed for a long moment, and the hand not holding the pint moved to rest at Dorian’s lower back, and he could have sworn he hadn’t felt anything so perfect in a long time. So what if they were in the middle of a bar and kissing like old lovers who’d been parted by the day instead of near strangers? Dorian certainly didn’t mind it all, and it seemed like Cullen didn’t either.
He could feel Cullen smile against his lips, “Maybe I’ll write a romance novel next,” was the soft reply before another kiss, “but I’ve sort of made my name by having things inspired by true events.”
“Well, I hope you at least change my name.”