It had been quite the feast indeed. Trevelyan leaned back into the luxuriously comfortable chair with a satisfied sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the pleasant fullness in her stomach.
Feeling the light caress of a hand of hers, she looked up to find Cullen's amber gaze beaming at her with happy adoration. The warmth of the lively hall and perhaps the fine ale had given his cheeks the faintest rosy glow; a perfect complement to his wide, brilliant smile, which she couldn't help but return. "What is it?"
"At the risk of repeating myself- may I say that you look absolutely ravishing tonight?" The velvety flow of his voice, for once unstrained and relaxed, evoked a giddily warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. He reached behind her ear to grab a lock of hair that had escaped her elaborate up-do. Rolling it around his finger before tucking it back, he paused to softly cup her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch with a hum and smiled a little kiss into his palm, glancing at him from underneath her ebony-tinted lashes.
"Might I say, Commander, you're looking rather dashing yourself. You'll have to indulge me and wear finery more often."
She revelled in this open, playful flirting with him, away from war tables and negotiations. No matter how long they'd been lovers or how many times he had already told her- she could never get enough of those thoroughly sincere admirations of his. And she knew she was a sight to behold tonight in her shoulder-free, emerald-green dress with the golden embroidery. Slim, short sleeves highlighted her toned arms while the neckline sat low enough to just hint at the swell of her bosom. The absence of a hooped skirt and any elaborate accessories not only gave the gown a naturally graceful flow but also meant she could move around and sit down as she wished without any little aches or pinches. She preferred her formal outfits this way- a fusion of comfortable practicality and feminine elegance.
This wasn't, after all, one of those stuffy Orlesian dance affairs but a true Fereldan feast: hearty, local specialties, free-flowing ale and mead and light-hearted entertainment. Some fifty select guests had been invited for the Summerday banquet at Denerim Palace where they sat around a giant, time-honoured table under heavy chandeliers at the centre of the majestic hall. The only games played here would happen after dinner, and they usually involved cards, dice or both, depending on the amount of drink consumed. The light tunes of a band of bards were echoing through the room, bouncing off the high ceiling and mixing pleasantly with the excited chatter.
The sprightly melody of King Alistair's voice on her right roused her from her musings. Seated at the head end, their host seemed to greatly enjoy playing the jester. Just now he was sharing an anecdote that involved Teagan Guerrin, a playful Mabari puppy and some exquisite Antivan brandy, much to people's entertainment- and his (sort-of) uncle's utter embarrassment. Sinking into his chair on the king's right, the Arl's face was fast taking on his hair's shade of red, and his explanatory stammering was drowned out by the near-hysterical laughs of his brother Eamon and his nephew Connor. Only Eamon's wife Isolde didn't appear terribly amused as she was still trying to concentrate on her main course, struggling to finish the ample portion of immaculately succulent spit-roast ram. Trevelyan noticed the routine grace with which King Alistair was ignoring the less-than-friendly looks Isolde was shooting him while he was spinning his tale.
It was, of course, quite the honour to be seated right next to the king himself and opposite his closest remaining family, with the rest of the Inquisition dining further down the table among other Fereldan nobles. Cullen had managed to explain away any doubts or suspicions from the others with his uniquely self-depreciating charm, claiming the Inquisitor's outstanding achievements as the reason with Cullen himself being but her humble companion.
The knowledge of why they were really sitting right next to the host- what they were actually here for- filled Trevelyan with gleeful, impish excitement. While the defeat of Corypheus had been quite the achievement, she and Cullen were here to engage in adventures of a rather different sort.
She reached for her drink in a vain attempt to focus on something other than the salaciously vivid memories now flooding her mind. Her commander, the king and her up in her Skyhold quarters; bare skin bathed in candlelight; bodies frantically rubbing against one another; mouths meeting, tongues colliding. Heat began to trickle low in her belly, and she shifted in her seat.
And they were going to do it again. Tonight. Here at Ferelden's royal palace.
Goosebumps tickled their way all over her arms at the mere prospect, and she found herself wishing the evening were over already. There was yet going to be the pudding, then games and more drinking before one could acceptably retire to their room.
She put down her tankard with a sigh, and in a moment of boldness decided to sneak a quick glance at the king. He was still talking animatedly, gesticulating with his hands, those hands that had given her the most enticingly sensuous foot massage. She was so absorbed in her thoughts now that she could barely hear him, his full lips captivating all of her cognition instead. Maker, the thought of what those lips had done between her legs…
Careful not to be caught staring, she turned towards Cullen, her eyes now flickering with barely-contained lust.
Roaming up his body, her gaze first settled on his strong thighs- his lap that she'd sat in making mad, feverish love under King Alistair's very eyes. His arms, well-defined even under the uniform, were next to come under her scrutiny. She drew in a sharp breath, recalling how Cullen had wrapped them around Alistair, pulling the other man into a close, intimate embrace, nothing but their smallclothes between them…
At that point, a little whimper might quite possibly have escaped her lips.
Cullen looked at her, cautiously quizzical. "Is everything all right, my love?" he asked, aware of prying ears around them.
Trevelyan's lips curved into a shrewd little grin as an idea began to form in her head. Glancing towards her right once more, she quickly estimated the distance between herself and the men on either side of her before she responded.
"Oh, it's nothing really", she said, loud enough for the people opposite them to hear, "I was just recalling the details of a particularly interesting sparring session involving you and our king."
This piqued the former Arlessa's interest, causing her to finally abandon her plate. "Commander, you're not withholding any interesting stories from us, are you? Please, do share", Isolde drawled, her Orlesian instincts obviously sensing a juicy scandal.
With the eyes of the entire Guerrin family suddenly on him, Cullen hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before deciding there was no way out of the situation. With Trevelyan now smiling widely at him, he began giving his account of the unusually warm Cloudreach afternoon at Skyhold fortress. His eloquent descriptions set the scene perfectly whilst avoiding the fact that he and King Alistair had decided to spar without their shirts on.
Taking a sip of her beer, Trevelyan chuckled into her mug, remembering just how flustered she had gotten at the sight of their naked chests, meticulously toned and deliciously sweaty (in public, nonetheless!)- precisely as the two teasing ex-Templars had intended, of course. She had stormed off, having been embarrassed in the middle of the busy courtyard. While her anger had long subsided, she wasn't going to waste an opportunity to get her own back.
Slowly letting her left hand drop below the table, she waited for a moment to see if anyone noticed the movement. She then reached towards Cullen, allowing the tips of her fingers to lightly graze his upper thigh.
There was a split second's hesitance, but he carried on unfazed, speaking calmly and keeping eye contact with his small audience.
With the faintest hint of sadistic joy she allowed her hand to be drawn in by the heat of his crotch, hovering for a moment before coming to rest right on the centre of his groin.
"… so this is where the wooden practice swords are really- useful…!" Cullen's head shot around at the contact, and all he was able to do was stare at her, shocked silent.
"Is everything all right, my dear?" she asked sweetly, batting her lashes. "Would you like another drink, perhaps?"
"I, ah- thank you, I'm fine," he responded eventually, a hint of powerless confusion still reflected in his look. Turning back towards his listeners, he hurried to continue, aware of the eyebrows now raised at him.
Waiting for Cullen to settle back into his story, she let her hand hover over his crotch for a moment, pretending to be listening with intrigued concentration.
When she decided he'd had long enough to cool down, she made her next move.
"… in fact, it appeared we had attracted quite the audi- oh!" All around them heads now turned as the commander of the Inquisition's mighty forces sobbed out a surprised moan when Trevelyan's fingers closed around him, then squeezed lightly.
At the wave of Arl Kendell's hand next to him, a servant rushed to the table, placing a cup of water in front of a visibly mortified Cullen.
Eamon swiftly decided to take mercy on the poor man, turning towards Alistair, who had been watching silently until now. "So, what role does Your Majesty think the Inquisition will play in Ferelden over the coming years?"
The king's quick wits were the commander's saving grace as he promptly took the cue. Pulling an articulately knowledgeable answer out of his sleeve, his naturally engaging voice diverted all attention from the little scene immediately.
Visibly relieved, Cullen slumped back into his chair, closing his eyes. When he had managed to catch his breath, he turned to Trevelyan, confronting her in a hushed yet agitated whisper.
"What were you doing just the- ah!" Another press against his now-stiffening length produced a small yelp, thankfully quiet enough not to cause any more unwanted attention.
Taking another swig, she grinned at him over the rim of her tankard. "Relax", she whispered reassuringly, the mischievous glint still in her eyes.
He smiled back a little reluctantly, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I am, and I do", she responded, running her index finger down his fabric-covered shaft.
"Most certainly", she mumbled to herself as she focused on her next target, her left hand still on Cullen.
She moved forward her seat while continuing to caress her unresisting commander, who seemed to have decided to either relent to her stubbornness or enjoy her ministrations. Slipping off her right shoe, she stretched out her leg under the table, carefully inching forward until her toes touched upon the king's left ankle.
Alistair's head turned her way at once, though slowly, not betraying the surprise that was evident only in his eyes- along with the realisation of what had happened with Cullen. Slowly running her big toe up his leg, she flashed the king one of her brightest smiles just before he looked away, never skipping a beat.
On her left, she could now feel Cullen's thighs quivering as she continued to stroke him through his trousers, relishing the feel of the throbbing hardness against her palm.
She could feel her stomach muscles working as she shifted her pelvis forward just a little more while sitting as upright as possible. Her right foot had slipped up Alistair's leg, past his knee and was slowly but surely approaching his crotch.
When her toes finally reached their destination, she gasped to find him already half-hard. This time the king's gaze lingered just long enough for her to acknowledge, and rise to his challenge.
Never ceasing her efforts on Cullen, who was now rocking slowly against her palm, she rubbed her toes gently over Alistair's growing erection before pushing down ever so lightly.
"Excuse me", he half-coughed, reaching for his mug for a quick sip. Just you wait, Trevelyan thought as she squeezed again, harder this time.
It was all she could do not to start giggling like a little girl when the king spluttered his drink halfway across the table, eliciting a shriek from Isolde as tiny droplets of beer sprayed all over her dress. Guards and servants immediately surrounded them, ready to help, but were politely dismissed.
"It's all right. Yes. Just fine", Alistair assured, shooting a lightly irate glance to his left. "Now, where were we?"
Trevelyan couldn't help a quiet snicker. She realized she was enjoying this far too much- having two of the most powerful men in Thedas at her mercy, one biting down on his lip while bucking into her hand, the other spitting cold beverages all over the place. Who'd have known revenge could be so sweet?
She was going to start rubbing the ball of her foot against that deliciously inviting hardness. She was going to keep working her left hand and not stop until she'd feel the warm soak of release. She was going to tantalise Alistair, elicit a desperate moan from those pouty lips in front of everyone while bringing Cullen to blissful completion, right there at the table.
But she never got to do any of these things.
For in that very instant the harrowing sound of an ear-splitting explosion broke through the air, and the room erupted in a shrill chorus of terrified screams.
Boom! Cliffhanger.
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