A fluffy, slightly smutty one-shot I wrote for my friend GarnetSaren. From Cullen’s POV.

Once everyone is gone, I race out of the tavern, damn game of wicked grace and damn Antivan Ambassador. She probably cheated.

I am red-faced as I continue running my dash of shame to my room. This is what I get for agreeing to a game of wicked grace started by Varric. I end up running through Skyhold without even a bucket for my bits because I lost my clothes.

I head quickly across the last battlement. Everyone, well, almost every except for Sera, had the decency to leave before I did, at least. Especially the InquisitorInquisitor, thank the Maker for small favors.

I get to my room and quickly let myself inside, shutting and locking the door. I grab another tunic and some linen trousers and slip them on before heading over to the water basin to cool my warm face.

Then I head over to my desk and grab my bottle of brandy and a glass from the drawer. As I pour the amber liquid into the glass, there is a knock at the door. “Makers breathe. It’s probably Sera and Dorian coming by to tease me about this,” I mutter to myself.

I open the door expecting to see Sera giggling and Dorian smiling lecherously. I start realizing that the InquisitorInquisitor is at the door.

“I thought you might want these back,” she states, smiling innocently, holding my clothes.

“Thank you,” I say appreciatively, “Would you like to come in? I can pour you a brandy if you want one.”

” I would be delighted,” she says tiredly, “I didn’t finish mine earlier, and I was too busy putting Sera’s drunken arse in her bed.”

I step back to allow her to enter and then shut the door. “She was on the floor still when I left …” I say, blushing, “you went back?”

“Yes, as soon as I knew you were …clear of the area,” She states, corners of her mouth twitching slightly, “and then I went and cajoled your belongings from Josephine.”

“I do appreciate that. It is my favorite tunic,” I say, gesturing to the sitting area. “So what nefarious thing did you have to do to get my clothes back?” I ask half-jokingly.

“I just had to promise a dozen Orlesian Chocolates and two dozen petit fours,” she banters back as she takes a seat pulling off her shoes and curling her feet up under her.

Grabbing a clean glass from the drawer, I pour another brandy and walk over to sit in the chair next to her, putting both glasses on the table.

“My thanks,” she says gratefully, picking up the glass and taking a sip.” Are you okay? I wouldn’t think that you have much of that sort of thing in the templars.”

“We don’t,” I agree, “I am a bit embarrassed, but I will survive.”

“Do templars take some oath or something? I’ve never met a married Templar,” She asks.

“Oh, so we are to start a new game, 20 questions?” I joke brazenly.

“If you like,” she snickers. “I can think of worse ways to spend time.”

“Well…” I clear my throat, “some do to show their commitment to the order, and it is a life of frugality and low pay, so most don’t, but a few get married and have families. The chantry must approve, of course.”

“Have you ever taken such vows?” She asks teasingly.

“I think it is my turn to ask a question,” I state lightly.

“Have you ever licked a lamppost in the dead of winter?” I deadpan.
She looks surprised at my question, chuckles, and then says, “Why no, I haven’t ever licked a lamppost in the dead of winter… It sounds painful.” She thoughtfully takes another sip from the glass. “I think it is my turn to ask now, Commander,” she drawls teasingly.

Oh, Maker, I love the way she says that.

“Did you take vows of celibacy as a Templar?” she asks.

Andraste’s ass, I think she blushed. “N-No…” I stammer, “I never took any vows…Have you?”

“Of course not, I’m a mage, not dead,” she jokes as she turns a little pinker and takes another sip of the liquor. “So I think that it is my turn to ask a question,” she states, grinning wickedly. I realize I inadvertently lost my chance to think about a question by my response.

She is looking earnest, debating the question she wants to ask. She drains her drink almost as though the alcohol gives her a boost of confidence, but she is the Inquisitor. What could she be insecure about?

“Is there anyone waiting for you back in Kirkwall?” She asked suddenly.

There is no one waiting for me back in Kirkwall,” I say honestly. I am genuinely curious now. I have to admit to having a bit of a crush on the Inquisitor. But to be honest, it’s been somewhat awkward around her, and I haven’t had to chance to act on it. It’s my turn to ask a question. I think for a moment and smirk at the wicked things I could ask. Before deciding to query, “why do you ask?”

She does blush this time. “Cullen, I care for you, and I…uh…” She sighs and looks away, embarrassed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately forgetting about the game. Although it is delightful to see her vulnerable and unsure of herself for once, I don’t want to give her cause to back away.

“You left the templars,” She says, giving me a sideways glance and turning a bit rosier ever as she methodically speaks, “But do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?”

“I could,” I say before thinking about my words, “I mean, I do… think of you and what I might say in this situation.” I turn my head, afraid to look at her. That sounded so dumb. How will she react?

“What’s stopping you?” She asks gently. I look over at her, and the blush has receded. The usual confidence I see within her is back.

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. I didn’t think it was possible,” I admit as my face gets a bit warmer.

“And yet I’m still here,” she says, rising from the chair to walk over to me. She sits lightly in my lap, facing me.

“So you are,” my voice drops to almost a whisper, “it seems too much to ask.”

I guess she feels nothing else needs to be said as she traces the scar that grazes my lip before kissing me. The kiss is chaste and sweet, as if she’s testing the waters. I deepen the kiss, and she agrees with this as it draws a light moan from her. She tastes like the brandy she’s been sipping.

The entire mood has changed from sweet to hungry as She reaches under my tunic, mapping out the planes of my chest, making me groan against her lips.

Not wanting to be outdone, my hands travel to the buttons of her tunic, lightly brushing her breasts. She arches into me, seeking more, but I move my hands to buttons, partially cursing them for being so many and enjoying the delicious feeling of anticipation.

She shrugs out of the tunic, and it falls to the floor, forgotten. I let my hands travel, exploring, memorizing, and noting her reactions. Before long, we reluctantly pull apart for some much-needed air.

“That was…” she starts to say before thinking.

I nod in agreement, unable to wipe the smile from my face. “Perhaps we should take this elsewhere…” I ask, gesturing to the ladder that leads to the loft. Maker, I hope I am reading her right.

She nods, rising off my lap. As she stands, she gives me a wicked smirk as she takes a moment to caress my obvious arousal.

I grab the bottle of brandy as she walks over the ladder and starts to climb up. Makers breathe. Her ass is just perfect. I watch, mesmerized for a moment. She gets to the top of the ladder and looks down at me with another wicked smirk. “Commander, are you going to join
me or do I need to finish this myself,” She drawls, beckoning me.
I waste no time getting up that ladder.