A/N: I don't usually write in present tense, and this is my first foray into DAI fiction, but hey, there's a first time for everything.
Affairs of the Heart:
Dorian knows he's in deep when he catches Evelyn's wistful gaze on him one too many times. She was his best friend, a hopeless romantic, and was evidently ignoring her own non-existent love life by trying to ride the waves of his own, equally non-existent one. Dorian's not fool enough to not realise why she's staring. He's become alarmingly easy to read, it would seem.
His problem, and the reason for all the staring and sighs he pretends he can't hear, is one Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford. He'd had to force the commander's full name from the Inquisitor with promises of decent alcohol and scandalous tales from his past, but it had been worth it. The commander's name is a secret he holds close to his chest, that he pulls out during long, uncomfortable nights. He thinks of his name, and tries to imagine the Lion of Skyhold as a child, with dirty knees and rosy cheeks.
Dorian knows he's out of his depth. Being in Ferelden has given him an unexpected sense of freedom, but the darkness of his past is still there, lurking in the background, waiting to strike. This hopeless pining, doe-eyes and chess games and quiet moments in passing, they're all things he's never done before. He doesn't do this. But Cullen is different, and because for once he hadn't been expecting it, the commander slipped right past his defences and into his wary heart.
He flirts, from time to time, because flirting is in his blood. Flirting, seduction, harmless for the most part and easy to take back, that stuff runs through his veins, keeps him going. As natural as breathing. And Cullen responds beautifully, really, he does. Sometimes he fumbles with whatever he's holding, sometimes he stumbles over his words, and sometimes he flushes the most becoming shades of red. Sometimes he even flirts back, stilted, awkward, and more lewd than Dorian ever would have expected.
But Dorian isn't a fool. Well, perhaps a little. He'd have to be a fool, to fall so helplessly for someone he could never have.
Evelyn has voiced her own thoughts on the matter. She's an optimist through and through, and Dorian appreciates the thought, but he doesn't believe anything she tells him. He likes to think he's gotten fairly good at reading men, and Cullen just doesn't vibe; Dorian's convinced there's no way he could ever feel that way about him.
It's over chess one afternoon that things change.
Dorian arrives first, and takes the opportunity to pick his colour and even take his first move. It used to throw Cullen off balance, but Dorian's fairly certain he's used to it by now.
Cullen comes slowly, with the Inquisitor at his shoulder, whispering in low tones. Dorian fancies he sees one of those delightful blushes on Cullen's pale face, but hasn't a clue what Evelyn might have said to put it there. She stays with him all the way to their little chess table, before leaving with a wink to Dorian and a hand patting the commander's elbow.
For the first time Cullen hesitates to sit down. He seems uncomfortable, unsettled. At least, that's what Dorian thinks he sees. He's not as good at interpreting Cullen's actions as he pretends to be. Still, it's not overly positive.
Dorian stands too, a fluid motion from seated to upright, and moves halfway around the table. He doesn't reach out to Cullen, because he doesn't want to chance being brushed away. Instead, he leans his hip against the table and folds his arms, concern on his face.
"If today is not a good day, Commander," Dorian begins, trying to be gracious and understanding and not sarcastic and biting for once in his life, "we can postpone this game to another time."
Cullen startles, as though he's just realised Dorian's there. Normally Dorian might have been offended, but this is Cullen, and his heart beats a little faster in sympathy. He tries not to let it show.
A strange look spreads across Cullen's face, one Dorian's never seen on the commander before. On any other person it might have been contemplative, with perhaps a little bit of… lust? But Dorian brushes it off as wishful thinking.
He does reach out this time, slowly, to ensure Cullen sees what he's doing. Dorian doesn't want to startle him any further. Cullen lets him, silent and watching. Dorian takes strength from that, and brushes his fingers against Cullen's bicep, below his furred armour that he refuses to ever take off.
"Cullen, are you well?"
The commander smiles then, and Dorian is baffled as to what caused it, but the tips of his fingers curl into Cullen's sleeve almost against his will, and neither of them do anything about it.
"You barely ever use my name," Cullen comments lightly, that smile still on his lips, that strange look in his eyes. Dorian accepts this with a nod, because it's true – Cullen's name rarely leaves his lips, but it rampages around his head at all times of the day and night. He fears if he uses it too often he might slip up, and say something he doesn't mean to.
"The Inquisitor has been telling me some interesting things," he continues, and Dorian's heart skips a beat. She wouldn't. Dorian wants to believe that Evelyn wouldn't betray his trust and lay him out to ruin, but in the end, she does what she wants, for good or ill. Dorian's fingers clench, in fabric and at his side. He doesn't know what to say.
Fingers brush the side of his face. Dorian hadn't even noticed he's averted his gaze until Cullen gently forces his chin up. The look in Cullen's eyes is a little different now, a warmth behind that other feeling. Dorian wants to melt, being looked at like that. It wrenches his heart. Cullen wouldn't be this cruel, he tells himself, wouldn't look at him like this if he was about to tear him down. Believing that is another matter entirely.
"I thought she was teasing me. You know how she is, better than anyone."
Dorian frowns a little, a wrinkle between his brows, because he can't tell where this conversation is going anymore. He could guess, if he wanted to take a page out of Evelyn's book of optimism, but keeping expectations low is how he's gotten through life thus far, and he's not going to ruin it now.
Cullen's thumb rubs across his cheekbone, and Dorian can't help the little sigh that escapes him. The motion is so tender, and it does nothing for his self-control. All he wants to do is kiss that suddenly smug smile off Cullen's face, but they're hanging in a strange equilibrium right now and Dorian doesn't want to risk misreading anything, or taking the wrong step.
Thankfully, Cullen takes control. The thumb leaves his face and Dorian barely has a chance to bemoan its absence before there's a hand at the back of his head. Cullen gives him a moment, perhaps to see if Dorian will push him away, but Dorian does nothing of the sort, and Cullen surges forward.
Dorian's not in control, and it surprises him, but he revels in it, allowing Cullen to dominate. His pulse is a rapid flutter beneath his skin, heart beating frantically. He buries his fingers in the fur of Cullen's armour.
When they part, Cullen is flushed again, an enticing mix of embarrassed and satisfied, but Dorian knows he looks no better. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, and his hair is no doubt a ruffled mess now, but he can't bring himself to mind.
Cullen doesn't say a word, and Dorian is eternally grateful for it. He isn't sure what he'd do if words were brought into it, if emotions were given voice. It's too soon, and he's too fragile, and this, this is pretty close to perfect as it is.
Dorian supposes he owes Evelyn more than a few bottles of wine now.