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Forehead pressed against the cold stone floor of the chapel, this wasn’t how Commander Rutherford had expected to end the day, but relapses didn’t exactly follow a schedule. They came and went. There was always a lingering memory of the taste, of how good it felt to be under the drug’s effect. Of course, that wasn’t really what made his craving pulse. There were worse moments, when his mind and body seemed to break from the sheer need.
This was one of those nights.
On nights like these, he was transported back to that day, that week of torture, in the Circle.
It started quietly, a whisper here, another there. Voices of the dead, of friends and torturers. Easy enough to ignore at first, but the breeze always came before the storm, and soon the whispers turned to screams. Cries for help mixed with howls of horror, accusations. Yet the worst part was always the same.
There was a reason Cullen had been spared that night in the Circle, when so many other Templars perished. A youthful love, an affection entirely innocent. A feeling he never knew was even returned, but it didn’t matter, because it had been twisted. The face of the Hero of Ferelden now stirred only pain and shame within him, because it was her face the Blood Mages had used to make him suffer. A thousand times he heard her laugh at his feelings, a thousand times they killed her in unimaginably cruel ways, and a thousand more they did things to her he couldn’t even recall without feeling the urge to vomit.
It wasn’t really her, he tried to reassure himself. She was fine. Married, apparently. He hadn’t had the courage to ask Warden Alistair about her, hadn’t even asked Leliana, who was his friend. Her image had become synonymous with pain, and the screams he heard at the peak of his craving were usually hers.
— Andraste, forgive me — he whispered, lifting his eyes to the marble statue before him. The beautiful bride of the Maker. — I can barely hear my own thoughts. There’s no prayer ready on my lips, only pleas… Make it stop!
His senses betrayed him. He wasn’t even sure how his feet had blindly carried him to the chapel to pray, because he saw and heard everything he’d lived through in the Circle. If he looked down, he was wearing his heavy Templar armor. His friends were screaming as they were slaughtered. She… she was screaming. And there was nothing he could do to change the past.
— “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade.” — Cullen remembered the words like a candle lit in the darkness. — “For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker’s Light.”
He whispered that fragment of the Chant against the feet of the statue, his disturbed mind clinging to those two lines alone.
He might have stayed there for ten minutes or an hour, his perception was so distorted he couldn’t tell, but it worked.
— Merciful Maker — he whispered, voice raw, lifting his face from the cold stone. He still felt terrible, but at least he could hear his own voice.
— Grant me one more day to atone for my sins. I can still be redeemed. I still have breath… — Ironically, his breathing was ragged, and only now did he realize he was weeping, the trail of his tears cold against his skin. He wiped them away. — If madness is to take me, let it not be today. Just one more day.
He pushed himself back, settling into a proper kneel. His eyes were fixed on the statue, on Andraste’s gentle face. Cullen took a deep breath.
— Help me, Lady, — he asked. There was no sign he’d been heard, except for the hallucinations slowly fading, along with the pounding in his chest.
He rose to his feet, not rushing. He clapped his gloved hands against his trousers to dust them off. Took another breath. Still miserable, but miserable was better than… well, than how he’d been moments ago.
He cleared his throat and left the chapel, closing the door quietly behind him.
He walked across the damp cobblestones of the garden, already rehearsing what he’d say to Lady Cassandra when he woke her that night. There would be no more delays this time. He was slipping. Going mad. He needed to be removed from command.
Rain fell hard, but Cullen didn’t care. The water purified. It washed away his tears, the sweat that had dried on his skin after the fever broke. As he rounded the staircase to climb the last flight, he came face to face with a familiar figure.
The Inquisitor, returning from the tavern, looked slightly drunk. She was trying to light something, some kind of smoke, beneath the downpour using her magic. The moment their eyes met, he immediately turned on his heel and walked back the way he came, quickening his pace.
She followed.
— Cullen, wait!
He thought about running, but that might’ve been a bit too childish. He turned to face her. She was blinking hard, trying to get the water out of her long lashes. Her soaked black hair clung to her face, just like the clothes clung to her body. Her shoulders were bare, as was a generous part of her chest.
— You’re going to catch a cold. — he said curtly.
— You didn’t answer me — she accused, clearly still upset with him from the past few days.
— Didn’t answer what, exactly? — he played dumb, starting to feel the cold set in.
— Oh, please! — The Inquisitor lost her patience. — We kissed. You kissed me.
— A moment of weakness. Forget it, please — Cullen said, turning on his heel to leave that ridiculous situation, but she grabbed him by the elbow.
— You’ll stay and turn me down properly, if that’s really what you mean. — Her tone was sharp as he faced her again, leaning in.
When she looked at him like that, head tilted up, wet hair plastered to her face, her pointed ears even more visible, she looked almost like she might actually bite him.
— I’m turning you down — he insisted after a moment of silence.
But this woman didn’t know when to quit.
Maybe it was because she could see the truth behind those honey-colored eyes of his, he was never good at hiding.
She smiled, ironic, at last.
— Why have you been so dishonest with me since the day we met? Dishonest with yourself?! — her eyes widened, dragging a fight out of him at the worst possible moment. — Lying to yourself won’t make you a saint.
— I don’t want to be a saint! — he shouted, though his voice barely rose above the roar of the rain crashing down over Skyhold.
He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but she was already laughing in his face, without a trace of humor.
— Then what do you want, Cullen?
— I want you to leave me alone! — he barked in her face, his heart thundering with… rage? — Stop trying to make me sin!
The elf rolled her eyes hard, letting out a sound of pure disgust. She turned to leave, but this time, he grabbed her arm.
His glove brushed against wet skin.
Never hard enough to hurt. Never tight enough to wound.
— It was just a kiss! — the Inquisitor shouted, her voice swallowed by a thunderclap.
She sounded like she was playing a game, and he was so fucking frustrated with how he kept falling for every trap, every toss of her hair, every glance from the corner of her eye, every flirtation she threw out loud enough for anyone to hear.
— It’s not about the kiss! — he snapped back instantly, voice sharp and firm. — Why do you do this to me?! Why do you keep… asking me personal things and using them against me? Making suggestive comments about me to others like I don’t notice? You think I’m clueless because I was raised in the Chantry, but I’m not an idiot! I’m a man, I know exactly what you’re saying. — It all spilled out at once. He let go of her arm and ran a hand over his face, breath ragged. — It’s not about the kiss. The kiss was just the consequence.
She looked at him—almost in disbelief. Rain streamed down her beautiful face, making it hard for her to even see him clearly. Lavellan was panting now too, each breath coming faster. They were opposites, antonyms, too different to be standing this close. He saw the exact moment her mind twisted his words, misunderstood his meaning.
Because they never managed to talk for ten minutes without it turning into a fight over absolutely nothing.
— You’re angry because I showed interest in you?! — She sounded stunned. Offended. As if he’d slapped her, or whatever insulted a Dalish more than a slap. — Because I’m just a fucking knife-ear?!
His eyes widened immediately.
She had taken it there.
She was shouting — probably cursing him in Elvish — while he shook his head, denying it.
— Fucking liar!
— It’s not that. You know it’s not that — he said, water pouring down over his face, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. His soaked clothes were sticking to him uncomfortably, but none of that mattered now. He wasn’t going to walk away, not leave the Inquisitor thinking he reacted badly to the kiss because she was an elf.
— Then it must be because I’m a mage, right?! A fucking maleficar!
She was a maleficar. That’s what the Order taught him. That’s what he had believed for decades. But it hurt when she said it like that, he feared those words.
If she didn’t say it, if he didn’t say it, then it wasn’t true.
And no one would come to take her to a Circle.
Shit. He should’ve taken that guard post in Honnleath.
This was escalating way too fast, and only getting worse.
— Maker’s Breath, no. No! Not for that, Elora. Not that. — He denied it with disgust, taking her gently by the shoulders. It was confusing. He felt too much guilt. — Don’t say that again. And don’t call yourself that. I’ll kill anyone who calls you that. — When she stopped cursing in Elvish and looked at him, he went on — I’m a sinner, broken. I’m reaping what I sowed, paying it in life. I’m a damned addict, Elora. No one should have to deal with me, let alone stay with me. — He spoke voraciously. — Understand that. And stop trying to tempt me!
The Inquisitor stared at him, angry; both of them were boiling with emotion. Not even the rain could wash away their conflicting feelings. She made him feel so guilty. What the hell was he thinking when he joined the Templars at 8? He wished he could take back everything he’d said, everything he’d endured. But he couldn’t.
What was the Maker doing to him? A test or a punishment? Punishment for what, exactly? He already had so many sins as baggage it seemed impossible to pay for them all in a single life.
Elora Lavellan had a special way of making him atone. She was a whirlwind of feeling, pure fire consuming him. They were too different — she made him trip over his own feet and throw out everything he’d learned as a Templar about focus, reason, and even about mages themselves.
— No, it’s not just that. If it were only that, I’d tell you who I choose to be with is my own decision. — She thumped her chest. — You don’t say it, but you think it. I’m not just the sin, I am the sinner.
— You’re not the sinner. You’re the Herald of Andraste, and I won’t be the one to corrupt you. — He spoke too quickly, admitting one of his fears. — I have no idea why She put you in my path to tempt me like this, but I won’t fail. I will not fall. I don’t know if it’s a trial for me or for you, but I will not fail. And I won’t let you fail… I can’t let you fail, not for my sake.
He spoke with every ounce of conviction he had, his heart pounding against his ribs, fierce and raw. He truly believed that damnable thing, he’d seen her do the impossible and survive every time.
She laughed. Laughed. She glared at him maliciously as she placed her hands on her hips and approached him in that malicious way. Her brown eyes taunted him, as if challenging him to some kind of duel he couldn't win. His body betrayed his mind as she pressed her wet body against his; both were cold.
Creator, he wanted to be devoured. Chewed. Spit out.
— It wasn't your god who abandoned your race that put me here, Commander. — She spoke with a hint of contempt for his religion. Was she possessed? Maybe she was, but he could do nothing but gasp and stare at her in panic.
— "And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart," — he heard his own voice whisper softly.
— I stood in your way, Cullen Rutherford. — She stood on tiptoe to say it to his face. Little by little, he turned his face and closed his eyes to avoid that sight. Not even the cold rainwater was appeasing his desire, and suddenly, he was acutely aware of how lonely he'd been for the past few years.
— "Her touch was like fire that didn't burn. And…" — He sighed, trembling, as she grabbed his face and abruptly made him look at her. Cullen felt like the virgin idiot he'd been a decade ago.
— "And by Her touch…" — Elora smiled wickedly, teasing him. It was addictive to breathe the warm air that came from her lungs.
— "And by Her touch…" — He breathed, trying to gather his strength. — "By Her touch I was made pure again."
He moaned at the end of the chant, because Elora ran her hands down his body and, in the dirtiest way he could imagine, cupped his betraying bulge with the palm of her hand. His body responded immediately; no amount of cold could dampen his fervent state.
There was no voice in his head.
There was no pain, no hallucination.
Or maybe she was a hallucination, and he had gone completely mad.
— Stop making me sin, I beg you. — His voice sounded weak, even to himself. There was no conviction, only desire.
— Cullen… — Her whisper sounded needy, and it caught his attention. She knew exactly what she was doing when she whispered into his mouth. Suddenly, she wasn't a savage on the hunt; she was a needy woman.
He was used to being the White Knight of maidens. He was usually made a fool of by it, which is why he always ended up having encounters and conversations he didn't want to have simply because he couldn't help but be the soldier who stoops to pick up a girl's dropped handkerchief. She manipulated him, and he fell like a fish in a net.
— Lora… — he whispered back, feeling her lips superficially cool against his. He took his coat from his shoulders and placed it over hers, wanting to keep her from getting caught in the rain any longer, and to keep the wind from punishing her so much.
His control was hanging by a thread. A very tense thread. His body screamed. They were close enough to feel her nipples hard through the thin fabric of the outfit she'd chosen that night.
She didn't look down her nose at him with sly eyes. She looked down at him, her brows drawn together, imploring.
And with one sentence, she made him throw everything up for her once again.
— I need you.
He didn't even think. He pulled her against him, against his body, devouring her. They kissed hard, their tongues fighting as he tightened his grip on her waist, arching her back, and she held the back of his neck, clinging to him as if she truly needed him, as if her words were more than something calculated to break him.
She tasted of smoke, alcohol, and sin. And he drank it like salvation.
Cullen guided her backward until they were out of the rain. Her body bumped gently against a pillar, and soon their fire no longer needed to fight the chill of the rain. They were burning. Elora, between kisses, began to unbutton his pants, but he absolutely stopped her. His open-mouthed kisses trailed down her jaw and neck, a trail of hot saliva sucking on the cold, wet skin.
The Inquisitor moaned, and he shivered when she gripped the hair at the nape of his neck. He brushed her dark strands out of the way to trail kisses down her cleavage. His caramel eyes rose as he licked too close to a nipple, sucking on her breast. Andraste was a saint and interceded for everyone in Thedas, even forgiving her husband for the betrayal that got her tortured and killed, and he couldn't even say "no" to that woman, even though he knew they were wrong. He was a weak sinner, and worse, he was making Elora sin too.
The Inquisitor groaned, parting her swollen lips and closing her eyes, her face flushed and wet.
Cullen dropped to his knees in front of her, peeling off his waterproof leather gloves, hungry.
Well, he would have to answer in his final judgment about having had physical intimacy before marriage anyway. This was just another recurrence of his sin, already committed many times before.
Warm hands crept up her icy thighs, slowly, under the soaked fabric of her skirt. He kissed her mound over her clothing, kissed her waist, held her tight, and kissed the side of her body.
— I want to worship you.
Elora trembled, her breathing heavy. He pulled down her panties as he stared at her, and she simply let him. He slid the fabric down her bare legs, removing them and putting them in his pocket so they wouldn't touch the floor.
His heart pounded. His fingers marked her skin, making her slam back against the pillar as he lifted one of her thighs and placed it over his shoulder. Like a groom at the altar, he placed his face beneath the bride's veil, brushing his lips against her skin. He nuzzled her pubic hair, kissed her pussy, and felt the scent of lust grow. Needy fingers gripped his damp blond hair, and he didn't delay any longer. He kissed her like the hungry man he was, his tongue searching for her button and dragging it there. Her pussy was warm and tasted good, and it was wet with him.
Cullen wasn't experienced, and that was true, but he was a good soldier, and that meant being good at listening to commands. So when she guided him, he simply obeyed without question. The Inquisitor whispered hints and his name between moans, her fingers squeezing him hard, almost hurting him, but he didn't care if he was hurt as long as she was satisfied with his adoration.
For the first time in his life, his knees touched the ground and something answered, someone.
— Gods... Cullen, this... Please, please, don't stop. Please! — She begged, moaning. He didn't care that she was loud; the rain muffled the sound of all her sins.
His jaw burned from devouring her cunt, but he'd suffered worse pains for less noble causes, so he didn't care. He continued his work, holding her waist steady, even as the Inquisitor rubbed her pussy against his face, panting, calling his name like a prayer.
He slid his tongue into the slit, tasting the sweet juices of Elora's orgasm. She spoke slurredly, something in breathless Elvish.
He didn't speak elvish, but he understood her intonation and her gaze.
He carefully lowered her leg back to the ground. When he stood, still staring into her eyes, she began to slide down the wall, one hand on his waist. She wanted to reciprocate, but he didn't want retribution. He wanted redemption.
He grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck, perhaps tighter than he should have. She hissed in pain and pleasure, but was silenced when he pulled her and crashed her mouth against his. They kissed in an intense rhythm, wanting her to taste herself..
With one hand, he held her hair. With the other, he unzipped his own pants.
— Do you want more? — he asked for confirmation, his voice a breathy whisper against her mouth. Cullen didn't want to go too far, he wanted to make sure she was agreeing with every step.
Maker, he adored her.
He cupped her face, running his thumb over her swollen lips, and stared into the hooded brown eyes in her flushed face. His stomach filled with butterflies.
Was this how the Creator felt when he saw Andraste's face?
— Fuck me — Elora demanded, sucking on his thumb in a very... seductive way.
— Excuse me? — He was disconcerted by her words.
— Fuck me, Cullen. I need your cock. Now. — It was an order; he knew her intonation when she was impatient.
Her hand went after the prize inside his warm underwear. She grabbed his cock and immediately pumped his erection, jerking him off. Cullen closed his eyes, a low sound escaping his throat as he surrendered to the moment, to the touch that wasn’t his own. Every nerve seemed to wake, his breath catching in uneven waves, until thought itself blurred into something wordless, dangerously sweet.
He rested his forehead against the Inquisitor's, simply enjoying that gentle touch for a few minutes. Her thumb subtly spread his pre-cum over the head of his cock, stroking it so knowingly, he saw stars.
— That's enough — he said, pushing her hand away. Not letting her complain, he bent down and dug his fingers into her ass, gently slapping his palm against the skin before grabbing her and lifting her, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders.
— Fuck!
He smiled, eyes glinting with mischief.
— Should I… or not?
She stared at him, eyes burning.
— Did I tell you to stop?
— No, ma'am.
— Then don't stop.
That was enough. Her thighs were freezing, and this was certainly neither the place nor the time for sex, but Cullen didn't even think about it. He was a carriage without reins, the long-suppressed impulse now set ablaze. For a moment, the world was nothing but heat and breath.
He pressed her against the pillar, making sure his coat was well covered against any drafts or possible eyes. With one arm, he held her. With the other, he took his cock and, very slowly, brushed it against Elora's entrance, making her moan. She was wet enough.
— Look at me — Cullen whispered, wishing she would at least look him in the eye when he entered her for the first time.
And she obeyed, heavens, she obeyed. Brown pupils so dilated they seemed to grow even wider when her eyes narrowed along with the long, low moan as she was penetrated.
Foreheads pressed together, hearts racing. He smiled at her, even though he was panting, and she smiled back, moaning.
He held her in his lap with both arms, and his waist began a slow thrust. His cock slid in easily, she was wet, and her walls clenched around him like a fist. He pushed down his guilt. He would marry the Inquisitor to assuage his sins if she accepted a man with so many flaws and regrets. He would apologize for another sin on his account when it was over. But only when it was over.
His mouth sought hers for a kiss, but found her jaw and neck. Then he sucked on her skin, tasting the salt of sweat and the sweet scent of her damp hair. He made her moan more. He couldn't resist when she pushed her waist against him, increasing the pace of penetration.
The Inquisitor dug her nails into his back, drawing a grunt of desire and pain from Cullen. He held her with one arm and placed her other hand on the wall, arching his spine slightly so the up-and-down movement became a back-and-forth, using gravity to increase the friction. This made Elora grip him tighter, afraid of falling. Their pace quickened, both of them panting until the wet sound of their sex became louder than the sound of the rain in the Commander's ears. She tensed in his lap, her waist chasing his cock, her walls milking him until she elicited a moan he could no longer contain.
— Cullen, I…
— Don't say it.
— Cullen…
He increased his pace, the wet sounds driving him wild. Cullen bit his lower lip and chanted in her mind to last longer, to not finish yet. It was difficult, especially when she moaned loudly and called his name, her pussy squeezing him with that rhythm. He thrust slowly, letting her come while he enjoyed the sensation.
He had to hold her with both arms when the Inquisitor lost her strength. Her legs gave out, eventually falling from his waist. He kissed her cheek, and she laughed breathlessly, hugging him.
— Would you stop? — Cullen murmured, his lips brushing her neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. — I’ll take you to your room.
His cock throbbed between them in protest. She smiled against his neck and let his coat slide from her shoulders. Then she turned to the pillar, her movements deliberate, charged with unspoken meaning.
Like a man hypnotized by the demon of lust, he immediately lifted her skirt and pressed his cock, glistening with the fluids of Elora's orgasm, to her entrance. His hand pressed against her spine, his other hand cupping the base of her abdomen. He used his knee to spread her legs a little wider.
As he guided her, the echoes of the Chantry’s sermons rose unbidden in his mind — the sisters’ voices reminding him that to love one’s wife was to do so with honor. He met her gaze, a silent prayer still lingering on his lips. He should only lie with his wife to procreate, they had said. Yet here he was, torn between faith and the fragile, human warmth before him.
Holy shit. Elora moaned loudly. He grabbed her by the hair, close to her scalp.
Being inside her felt like home.
— Maker…
— Don’t call Him now — Elora breathed, the words breaking into a moan. — Don’t blaspheme.
He gasped, not thinking, just increased his pace, now having more freedom of movement. In this position, he went deeper, entering so completely that his heavy balls hit the sensitive skin of her cunt. He held her firmly, right hand on her abdomen and left hand in her hair. He fucked her hard while sucking on her neck, leaving marks.
— I blaspheme Him just for being with you, for thinking about you. — He gasped the words against her neck, without slowing his pace. — You make me sin just by existing. I can't resist. — He licked her skin, making his way to her earlobe. — I fantasize about you on my desk, on your throne, in the war room. When I’m alone, it’s you I see. In my thoughts, in every quiet moment. There’s no prayer that can drive you away.
Elora gritted her teeth and howled with pleasure, his thrusts making her body vibrate and shake. Her breasts bounced, and he ran his hand down her abdomen to her breast for a squeeze, then to her throat until he cupped her cheek, holding it tightly, forcing her to look at him. They were wet, but not just from rain, but from sweat as well.
His honey-colored eyes regarded her with dark desire.
— I am your most faithful devotee, your most loyal servant. — he continued, his voice rough with confession. — You are the only thing on my mind when I’m sane, my first thought when I wake and my last before I sleep, pure or not. — He drew her closer, his intensity almost unbearable, and she had to cling to the pillar to steady herself.. His cock throbbed, and he held on to prolong the contact. — I’ve betrayed everything I believe in, blasphemed twice just to be with you. I can’t resist anymore, Lora. I can’t help how I feel for you.
Elora bit her fist, turning her face away and closing her eyes to withstand the tremors of pleasure. Cullen groaned, feeling how much he was being appreciated.
He squeezed her tightly.
— Lora…
— Fuck!
— Lora, I’m coming.
She grunted, pushing her ass against his erection, making him moan more. Cullen probably should have known better and made the adult decision not to do what he was thinking, but she hadn't asked, and he'd fantasized so many times that it seemed like a crime not to do it now.
He grabbed her by the waist, pulling his torso away from hers, and his penetration became vigorous. They both made sinful sounds, the friction of their wet skin like music.She leaned against the pillar, tension coiling through her, and he came closer, his presence pressing against her like a protective shield. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the rhythm of their shared breath, the heat between them defying the cold. Every nerve felt alight.
— Lora… — He whispered his prayer as the penetration became slow but deep. His balls tightened, she hissed, and he came with a roar.
Elora moaned, trembling, turning her face to look at him with longing eyes over her shoulder. He admired her, his waist still thrusting, giving her everything he had, every last drop. When she came again, whimpering, already exhausted, he held her tightly, groaning from the overstimulation. He rested his forehead against her temple, both of them panting contentedly.
Her cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes half-lidded, and strands of brown hair fell softly across her face. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
In that moment, he felt more accepted than ever before, as if her smile, intimate, personal, and meant solely for him, had reached straight into his heart.
He brushed a kiss across her cheek, holding her close at the waist, letting her body lean against his. Elora closed her eyes, a quiet, almost purring sound slipping from her lips.
— Vhenan… — she murmured, soft and delicate.
Fingers threading through her hair, he lingered, reluctant to pull away, and pressed a tender kiss to her jaw. The meaning of her word escaped him, but not its weight.
— I adore you — he whispered, letting the words carry all he felt.
Her words were a string of Elven sounds that made no sense to him, but they were soft, whispered, and her eyes closed as he leaned close to her.
It didn’t matter.
For decades he had prayed and never received an answer. It was better to hear even an incomprehensible response to his devotion than nothing at all.
He made her laugh with a playful kiss, leaning close in a way that made her arch back slightly, and they shared a moment of lighthearted intimacy, both smiling and breathless. His cock, now soft, dripped with his orgasms. Now, with his body satisfied, it suddenly felt awful to be cold and wet. He quickly zipped up his pants.
Elora braced herself against the pillar as he stepped back, her legs slightly unsteady. Cullen quickly reached for her again, a mixture of worry and pride washing over him. Guilty and content.
— Are you okay?
— Better than okay — she murmured, her voice soft. He held her close, letting the warmth of the moment reassure them both, but his eyes fixed on the thick liquid dripping between her thighs.
First came the carnal feeling, the pride of having marked her. Then, an avalanche of guilt. What the hell had he done to the Herald of Andraste?! He grabbed the first thing he could think of, the cloth in his right pocket, and immediately wiped it clean as if drying that stain would erase his sin.
The sound of her low chuckle drew his gaze, and once again he found himself crouched before the Inquisitor, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder for support.
— Are you afraid the Maker will strike us with lightning? — she teased, reading the religious guilt churning in his stomach. The sisters always said that lovers outside of marriage would be punished with lightning.
Well, he had never been struck in all those years. But he’d never wronged a Herald before, so who knew?
It was raining heavily, and the walk to the inner part of Skyhold had been long.
The Commander smiled, sheepish and guilty.
— Maybe…
He offered her back her panties, but when he realized he'd just wiped his semen off with the fabric, he put them back in his pocket, turning pale.
Elora accepted that she’d lost her underwear, for whatever reason.
Cullen grabbed his coat from the floor before standing, wrapping her tightly once again.
— I need to take you to your room — he said, not wanting her to linger in the cold and secretly hoping a bath would wash away the evidence of his touch.
— We can go by… — she started, stepping toward the chapel, connected to the main hall.
He stopped her, firm. The statue of Andraste was right there, just beyond that door.
— Absolutely not. Not now. Maybe after much fasting and prayer.
Not while I still carry the scent of sin and a pair of damned panties in my pocket, he thought, half-amused, half-guilty.
Elora shook her head, laughing softly.
— You’re ridiculous — she said, her eyes sparkling. — Come on, let’s get out of the cold before you start confessing to every statue in this place.