The Inquisitor leaned against a corner of the Commander's office. Dusk was falling on Skyhold outside, and the dying light hid her in shadows.

"You've been staring at me," she said.

Cullen looked up from his desk, where he'd been when Evelyn had entered the room. He hadn't expected her at this hour, and the surface was covered with ink-stained parchments.

"I can barely see you," he pointed out.

"Don't play the fool," she said. "You know what I mean. You've been staring at me. Constantly. Dinner yesterday, the War Room today."

He put down his quill. "You're lovely to look at," he said.

"Not enough reason to explain why the Commander of the Inquisition is staring at me like a lovesick puppy dog." Evelyn knew she was prodding him, but really, it had been a bit much. He'd stared at her so long over the War Table earlier that she'd had to excuse herself early to hide her blush.

He rose, came around the front of the desk and leaned back against it. "It's more than enough reason," he murmured.

"Is this some kind of Templar thing?" Evelyn said. "Staring at the mages all day? Hard to break the habit?"

His face tightened. "If it were a Templar thing," he said, "you'd know."

Evelyn suppressed the shiver that went down her spine. Cullen rarely talked about his Templar training, and it was even more rare for him to use it as a threat. Though she supposed she had provoked him.

It occurred to her that she might want to provoke him even more.

"You're not on lyrium anymore," she said. "There's nothing you could do to me… Templar." Her eyes danced, daring him to take the bait.

"You might be surprised by what I could do to you… mage," he said.

Evelyn caught the edge of her lip with her teeth. "Promises, promises," she said.

There was a moment during which her words hung in the air; then with a blur of motion, he was upon her, his weight pressing her to the wall.

"Evelyn," he whispered into her ear, "this is a dangerous game. Are you… are you sure you want to play?"

"Are you?" she said. "Do you want to treat me like a Templar treats a mage, Commander?" His pupils dilated; emboldened, she went on, "like a Templar treats a filthy mage?"

He ground his hips into hers. "Yes," he hissed.

"Then do it, if you're man enough," she taunted.

"Lyrium," Cullen said, "takes quite some time to wear off."

A cry escaped Evelyn's throat; she felt the mana seeping away from her, bit by bit, leaving her weak-kneed and trembling.

"And Templar training is quite thorough," he finished.

"Cullen," she gasped.

"Last chance," he murmured. "If you still want to change your mind."

She felt dizzy and weak, helpless in his hands. She shook her head mutely. "I don't," she whispered. "Treat me like a filthy mage, Templar."

His breathing was shallow and his color was high.

"Lady Trevelyan," he said. "On your knees before me."

Evelyn's weakened state made it easy for her to obey. She fell to her knees on the stone floor, Cullen towering over her, his arousal already evident through his breeches.

Feeling the loss of her mana, she tried summoning a small fire spell, much as one would probe a sore tooth to make sure it still ached. His magic responded instantly, suppressing and stifling her own like a cold fist around her heart. She gasped and fell forward, bracing herself against his thighs.

"I can keep this up all day," he said, sounding amused. "Go ahead, try it again."

"You'd like that, I suppose," Evelyn said, the impact of her jibe diminished by her trembling voice.

"Yes, actually," he said. "If you want to know a dirty little Templar secret...silencing you feels really good."

With one hand, he pulled open the laces of his breeches, releasing his cock. He was hard and stiff already, a drop of fluid glistening at the tip.

"Use your mouth, mage," he said.

Evelyn knew how to use her hands for stimulation; she wrapped her fingers around the base of Cullen's cock, only to have him pull sharply at her hair, forcing her to look up.

"Your mouth," he said. "Not your hands. I know what mages use their hands for. None of your tricks. Hands behind your back and if you use them on me again, I'll smite you."

She laced her hands together behind her back, feeling a surge of defiance at having been made to. "You can't take my magic forever," she said.

"I can take it long enough to have my pleasure," he said, "and that's enough. I told you to use your mouth on my cock, not on prattle." He sent another pulse of magic, and the small pool of mana she'd accumulated drained again. It weakened her more each time, and oh, it was maddening.

"All day, Trevelyan," he said. "Now do as I said."

Shooting him a baleful glare, she leaned forward, hands still clasped behind her, and ran her tongue along the length of his cock. He hissed in pleasure. "Good," he said. "More."

She gave him what he asked for, laving her tongue against his flesh, circling it over the tip, hoping that he'd become so distracted that he forgot about keeping her drained. He rested his hands on her head, occasionally pushing a lock of her hair back when it fell down. "Maker, yes," he murmured.

She hadn't even taken him into her mouth yet, only teased him with her tongue, but he was thick and full from her efforts. She felt her mana refilling, agonizingly slowly, seeping back into her with a quiet, pleasant heat. Cullen seemed not to notice, focused on her attentions. His fingers gradually wound through her hair, flexing and releasing in time with her movements.

At last her mana refilled to the point that she thought perhaps she could cast a small spell — she wouldn't, she didn't intend to at all, it just felt so good to have her mana back—

"Cullen, please!" The cry was torn from her as he drained her again, laughing this time. His hand never left her head.

"Did you think I'd forget?" he said. Then, in a voice she'd only ever heard him use with his soldiers, "Your tone is overly familiar, mage."

At first she didn't understand, but then realization struck her, spreading a warm heat through her middle.

"…Ser Cullen," she said.

"Good girl," the Commander told her. "To work now."

He seemed content for a while to lean back against his desk and play with her hair, groaning occasionally in pleasure while she licked and stroked him with her tongue. Sometimes she let the tip of his cock slip between her lips, which always elicited a rough gasp, and sometimes she slid her tongue back and forth across the tip while she sucked. Eventually his breathing quickened and roughened, and his fingers tightened in her hair.

"More," he said. "More of your mouth."

She opened wider and let her lips slide down his cock, taking as much of him as she could.

"Maker," he said. She darted a glance upward at his face, and saw that his head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. She swirled her tongue around the head and sucked at it. He groaned, long and low.

"Take your hands from behind your back," he said, "and touch yourself."

Evelyn jerked in surprise; she'd have taken her mouth from him if he hadn't been holding her head so firmly. She had never pleasured herself in front of anyone, and she hesitated for several seconds, her cheeks flushing red at the thought.

She felt more than heard a low hum come from his body. "Have I mentioned," he murmured, "how exquisite this feels?"

She realized what he meant — oh no, no no no, he can't, he can't — a split second before she felt her mana draining again. She let out a sob of protest, but he was relentless. He was slow about it this time. She could feel her magic trickling away bit by bit. The message was clear: Do as I say and I'll stop.

Reluctantly, haltingly, she slipped a trembling hand into her trousers; her fingers soon found the right spot, and she gasped. With a low chuckle, he relented, allowing her a small reservoir of mana, and her gasp turned into a moan. She could feel her magic pooling like a dull heat in her belly, and oh Maker she was so wet and ready and touching herself felt so good she could almost forget what she was doing…

"Keep sucking," he said. "Don't stop." His words had a needful, desperate edge, and in his excitement, he arched his hips forward, thrusting into her a little. She'd have pulled back, but he held her head tightly, thrusting a little more, and then more, until he was driving his cock all the way into her mouth, ramming against the back of her throat with each thrust. Her eyes watered from the contact, making her cheeks wet with tears. She had barely enough breath to even whimper in protest.

"Good," he gasped. "Good girl." He stiffened, and his entire abdomen tightened. She knew he was on the very precipice, and she darted her tongue at the tip of his cock, slipping it into the sensitive slit.

He made a strangled sound unrecognizable in his or any language, and he released not just his orgasm but his hold over her mana, while he came and came into her mouth and all of her mana flooded back into her at once, sweeping her over the edge of her own precipice. She made a keening cry and he was shouting her name and then, for a moment, all she could see was stars.

Evelyn felt strong hands pulling her upward, and then Cullen gathered her into an embrace, her head pressed against his shoulder and his body tight against hers. "Was it too much?" he whispered urgently, his lips pressed against her hair. "Did I—"

Not quite recovered fully, she murmured, "I love you, Cullen," into his neck, and he squeezed her so tightly she distantly thought she might actually break.

"I've never—" he began, then tried again, "That was—"

She lifted her head from his shoulder, with tear-streaked cheeks and hair half-unbound and unfocused eyes. "Shall we try it again soon… Ser?" she asked him.

For a moment, he said nothing. She could feel him trembling.

"Evelyn," he said. "You may belong to the Inquisition. Or to Thedas. Maker's breath, you may even belong to Andraste. But first above all… you are mine. "

"Always," she agreed. "My strong Templar."

"My defiant, beautiful mage."