A/N: Hello again everyone! I realize that most everything I've posted has been complete fluff. I'd like to tell you that I've come back with something dynamic, with some serious fight sequences and drama and action and mystery...but it's absolutely more fluff. It's been a tough few months and I cope by writing short and sweet things that are hopefully entertaining for you! So, please enjoy. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, nor the characters.
Cullen never imagined that the mounds of papers on his desk might actually increase following the defeat of Corypheus. Josephine truly did marvelous work and handled the majority of it, but some things still required the Commander's personal attention and sign-off. This, however - he honestly hasn't the slightest clue what this paper details, and finds he has in fact read the opening paragraph three times over without realizing it. The ambassador's neat handwriting seems to blur as he blinks and squints at the page until he abandons the effort altogether.
A heavy sigh pushes past his lips. "This is going nowhere. Maker..." He runs his hands over his face and scratches idly at the stubble along his jaw before he stands and drags himself up the ladder to his bedroom. Just a few moments of rest, until he's functional.
"...llen? Cull- ah, there you are..."
The voice grows soft, like the touch on his shoulder that stirs him further into wakefulness as the mattress dips next to him. He hums and blinks his eyes slowly open. When he speaks, his voice comes out rough with sleep. "Llewelyn? What-" he bolts upright. "What time is it?"
"A few hours past midday."
"Past- Maker! I am so sorry, I only meant to rest for-"
"Cullen." The elf's green eyes glimmer with amusement as she reaches out to place a hand on his chest. "It's fine. Honestly."
"We were supposed to go riding," he sighs, covering her hand with his own.
"And you're exhausted. You need the sleep." Cullen raises a brow as she sets to work on the buckles of his armor. "So - Creators, Commander, why do you still wear this every day?"
He chuckles. "Why do you still insist upon calling me Commander?"
Llewelyn scowls, then leans forward and presses her lips to his. "So...we are going to spend the afternoon in, get some rest for once."
"You want to take a nap?"
"Why, Commander," she says with exaggerated surprise, "I thought you'd never ask."
"Are you mocking me, Scout Lavellan?"
His greaves clatter as they hit the floor. "I would never. Now help me with all these straps."
Together they make short work of the rest of his armor. Cullen tugs his shirts over his head and leans back with a heavy sigh, rubbing the knuckles of one hand along Llewelyn's back while she works at the laces of her boots. Warm light spills through the windows and highlights golden dust motes as they float lazily through the air. Two soft thumps as she drops her shoes, then his fingers uncurl to trace the curve of her spine as she reaches both arms overhead. "'M surprised you left those on for so long," he murmurs.
"Short patrol this morning." She wiggles her toes, still covered with thick woolen socks. "And we were going to ride. But barefoot is always better."
It takes no more invitation than a brief tug on the back of her tunic for Llewelyn to roll fully onto the bed. She props herself up on one elbow, staring at him, and a slow, soft smile curves one corner of her mouth. Cullen reaches up to tuck a bit of ink-dark hair behind her ear. It's longer now than when they met, enough that it falls in front of her eyes. His hand rests against her cheek, thumb brushing along the crimson lines of vallaslin tattooed there. "What is it?"
"Nothing. Everything," she amends, and adds quietly, "I love you."
The words are not new between them, but they still send the same flood of warmth through his chest as the first time she spoke them. "And I love you." His fingers trail to the sharp jawline, along one tapered ear, then comb through the short hair at the nape of her neck to draw her in for a slow, languid kiss. "I love you," he repeats.
She laughs a warm puff of breath against his cheek and presses their foreheads together briefly. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. Go to sleep."
"You're the one being distracting," Cullen protests, though his words lack heat. His honey colored eyes have already closed as the elf scoffs quietly and curls against his side. His fingers trace idle patterns along her back, gradually slowing to a stop altogether as sleep claims him.
No sound but their breathing breaks the quiet of the afternoon, save the steady beat of Cullen's heart beneath her ear.