Work Text:
Sleep Well
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Cullen knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to find the Inquisitor asleep in his office, curled in on herself, somehow managing to arrange her long limbs to fit in that hideous green chair she’d put in his tower. He shook his head, but couldn’t erase the smile from his face as his gaze roamed over her gear, neatly piled at the base of the chair with no evidence that Beau had even visited her own quarters beforehand. She must have expected him to be there, he realized, and suddenly Cullen felt guilt creep its way up his spine for not being there to greet her when she and her party had returned.
He sighed, moving toward his desk to put away the reports he held, and stopped short when he noticed that his desk had been… organized. The papers that had been haphazardly scattered across the desk top when he left earlier that day were now in several neat piles, an inkwell that had been overturned was righted and the spilled ink had been cleaned. Cullen set down the reports in his hand and began shuffling through the piles of paper, noticing that things he intended to bring to Beau’s attention upon her return had notes and comments scribbled on them in her sharp script, and requisition orders already bore her signature. When Beau should have returned and rested, she had worked instead, though Cullen didn’t have it in him to be frustrated with her through the wave of affection that washed over him.
As quietly as possible, Cullen climbed out of his armor, being overly aware of every sound that he made so he didn’t wake her. He rolled his shoulders once he was down to his shirtsleeves before making his way to Beau and crouched to his haunches before her, brushing her hair from her forehead and placing a kiss there.
Her brow furrowed at the touch, Cullen felt her eyelashes flutter against his face as her eyes opened. “There you are,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.
Cullen leaned back as Beau slowly shifted herself to sit up, stretching her arms above her head. “Why didn’t you go to your quarters? Your own bed is surely more comfortable than this chair.”
Beau didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to blink tiredly at him, a sleep heavy smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “I wanted to see you,” Beau replied as she reached out to cup his cheek. “I… missed you.”
Maker, he had missed her as well. Cullen turned his head into her hand, puckering his lips against the lines of her palm. He was going to relish the day when there was not a constant threat on the horizon to take her from his presence.
“I missed you, too,” Cullen admitted, his voice muffled against her skin, “but you should get some sleep. You’re going to be no use to anyone complaining of aches from sleeping in this blasted chair.”
A chuckle slipped past her lips as she reclaimed her hand, leaning forward until her face was very close to his. “Is that an order, Commander?”
“As a matter of fact, it is,” he answered, and he felt his eyebrows press down, leveling her with a stern look that conveyed just how serious he was.
Rather than immediately acquiesce, Beau merely smiled at him leaning further toward him until he felt the pressure of her lips against his. Cullen didn’t respond right away, hoping that his lack of response would tell Beau that he was not in the mood for her games. No matter how badly he wanted to part his lips for her after weeks of being separated, drown himself in the taste of her mouth and the sweep of her tongue along the the seam of his mouth. But when she let loose a small moan and breathed his name against his lips, Cullen’s will to resist her shattered. He mentally cursed her as one knee hit the floor, driving him further between her parted knees and he felt her lips turn up into a mischievous smile as he finally opened himself to her affections.
Cullen was certain that he would never grow tired of kissing Beau, so confident in her movements as her fingers delved into the hair at the base of skull, the rake of her nails sending a pleasant shudder down his spine. The way she enthusiastically returned his ardor, gave in to him easily as he pulled her to him. Beau never said anything about how tightly Cullen sometimes held her, or how heavy handed he could become because he was reassuring himself of the solidity of her in his arms, that she was real and chose, time and again to be with him. And always, always, Beau’s lips curled into a smile against his lips as he kissed her, like it made her the happiest woman in the world to be loved by him.
To his annoyance, Beau was breathing easy when she pulled away from him while Cullen could feel his heart hammering almost painfully behind his ribs. She looked so satisfied with herself.
“Whatever you say, Commander,” she breathed, her fingertips lazily grazing along the stubble on his chin.
He felt himself glare at her. “You cheated,” Cullen informed her, hating that he sounded out of breath.
She laughed then, but it still couldn’t chase away the tiredness that clung to the corners of her eyes, or erase the discolored circles under them. Stretching again, Beau rose to her feet with Cullen following a moment later. As she moved past him he bent to gather up Beau’s gear with the intention of escorting her to her own quarters, but suddenly stopped cold when he heard the familiar creaking of the ladder rungs that lead up to the loft above his office. Cullen said nothing as he turned, watching Beau climb until she disappeared over the top of the ladder, wondering what exactly she was planning. He heard the whine of his bed as she sat down, then a moment later the thudding sound of a boot hitting the wood, followed a moment later by its mate.
Now his heart was beating rapidly for an entirely different reason. Cullen turned in a circle, unsure what to make of what was happening before he deposited the few pieces of Beau’s gear into the green chair. He stood at the bottom of the ladder for longer than he wanted to admit before he slowly scaled the ladder rungs, stopping when his head cleared the top of the ladder enough for him to see what Beau was doing.
Maker preserve me, he thought with a thick swallow as his eyes traveled up the now bare length of Beau’s legs. Beau was down to her smalls and her sleeveless undershirt, allowing Cullen a rather tantalizing eyeful of all the ways her muscles moved and shifted beneath her skin. He was certain that the Maker was going to strike him down any moment for the way he drank in the sight of her, the curve of her calves and thighs, the flat plane of her stomach, the modest swell of her chest and the slightly broader stretch of her shoulders.
Beau knew he was there, because she always did, which did not help Cullen feel any less like a lecher as he continued to watch her. How many times had he thought about this, himself? Of Beau entirely at ease in his loft, in his bed…
“Are you just going to cling to the ladder all night?” Beau asked him as she turned toward him, resting her weight on one hip.
Cullen shook himself, taking the last few rungs and hauling himself into the loft. “Wouldn’t you rather… uh, your bed?”
“If you’re worried that I’m going to ravish you in the night I can assure you I am entirely too tired for it tonight,” she replied, and if it were at all possible Cullen felt his face flush a deeper red. “Besides,” she continued, moving to his open trunk and lifting out one of his shirts, “I… don’t want to sleep alone.”
She seemed embarrassed to admit it because she turned her face away from him as she shrugged into his shirt. As expected, the shirt was much too large for her and it seemed to be trying its best to swallow her whole, erasing any hint of a feminine figure. The sleeves hung well past her fingertips, and the neck was wide enough that it sat askew on her shoulders… and Maker help him, Cullen never wanted Beau to wear anything else ever again.
Cullen moved toward her, reaching out to curl his arm around her middle and draw her against him. He could feel her trembling when he leaned down, pressing his lips where her neck curved into her shoulder, but he didn’t know if it was from the chill let in by the hole in the roof, or whether she was worried, even now, that he would turn her away. Still, Beau sighed contentedly at his warm breath on her neck and rested back against him.
Laying one last kiss on her shoulder, Cullen told her, “Go get warm,” and turned her toward the bed.
He waited until she was situated under the covers before dressing himself for bed as well. Cullen could feel Beau’s eyes on him from the bed, and there was a certain proud thrill that rushed through him knowing that she was watching him as closely as he had watched her.
Once dressed, Cullen moved toward the bed, rounding to the opposite side of where Beau laid and climbed in behind her. She didn’t turn to face him as he adjusted, sprawling out on his back with an arm tucked behind his pillow and instead seemed to creep just a little further away from him. When he turned his head to look at her, Cullen could see tension set in the scrunch of her shoulders and how rigidly she held herself. He wondered if she were regretting this already.
“Beau, come here,” Cullen beckoned, quietly.
He saw her shake her head in the darkness. “I’m fine over here –”
“Come here.”
She hesitated, then sighed before she rolled over to face him, but didn’t move any closer. After another moment, the bed shifted and jostled as Beau scooted herself nearer to him, then suddenly the warmth of her body was pressed against his side. He moved his arm, opening himself to her as Beau pillowed her head in the hollow of his shoulder and draped her leg over one of his. Cullen knew that she could hear how hard his heart was beating, but couldn’t find it in him to mind as he curled his arm around her and held Beau against him.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he demanded, his tone teasing.
Cullen felt her chuckle, her breath warm on his chest. “You love it,” Beau replied, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
And Cullen didn’t say anything in return because he did. He really did.