Waiting for Lightning

Enaara and Cullen's attraction grew until it became hard to contain. Their hearts were synced emotionally, minds synced intellectually, and now they had a desperate need to be so physically. Sometimes, it was unbearable, being together and not being able to actually be together. Their kisses were so charged with desire that they, quite often, couldn't even kiss due to the pent up frustration that immediately possessed them.

"What were you thinking," Enaara asked one night after their kisses had become too heated and they'd had to part, flustered and embarrassed, "the first night I kissed you?"

He laughed, blushing even deeper.

"I remember thinking… I was glad I was wearing this armor…" he replied quietly. At first, she was confused and it showed on her face. "I… r-really wanted you," he hinted. Her amber eyes gazed innocently into his as though she still didn't understand. "I-I have always been attracted to you," he tried to explain. "Kissing you now, I… have a hard time not expressing myself fully; back then, I-I still wanted to… express myself…" He cleared his throat. "Physically, I mean. With my… whole body." Cullen put his forehead in his hand, shutting his eyes tight; he was irritated at how much trouble he had explaining it and how he continued to stumble over himself. "It isn't easy for a man to h-hide how he feels..."

Enaara started laughing softly and Cullen peeked up from under his palm. She was resisting the laughter so intently that her shoulders were silently shaking. His entire face turned bright red.

"Oh, I see," he stammered, vision slightly blurred from the intense rush of embarrassment. "I-I… I mean… Maker…"

Enaara leaned closer to him and kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth and brushing with his until he forgot his shame and pulled her into him in longing.

"It's not always that easy for us to hide it either," she whispered against his mouth. "But I'm glad you told me. I, too, want to express how I feel for you… with my whole body…"

This time he blushed for a different reason. And though they were filled to what they thought was the brim of restraint, they parted that night unsatisfied and more frustrated than before. Little did they know it would only get worse; finding time to relieve that energy was not easy. Cullen spent many days in the Chantry repenting for his sins.

And then one night, an opportunity presented itself. The Circle was quiet and relatively empty. The first score of mages were sent to the camp at Ostagar to support the King against a newly rumored darkspawn threat. Many templars accompanied them. That particular night, a retreat had been scheduled and another group of templars escorted the troupe. Those still remaining at the Tower who were not on night duty were already asleep in the templar quarters. The mages, likewise, were asleep or quietly studying.

An empty bedroom became their refuge if only for the night.

"Enaara," he whispered, nervously eyeing the bed pushed against the window.

Rain pounded the glass pane and the two small candles bounced patiently on opposite sides of the small room. He almost couldn't believe it would actually happen and he was overwhelmed with his nervousness. When he looked at her again, she had started reaching for the cords on her mage robes. He stared, arrested by what was happening. Her amber eyes flicked up to him, startling him further, and then she drew nearer.

"Take it off," she said quietly, bringing his hands to her stomach. His face was warped again, pulled tight like he was in pain. She'd learn to spot that expression as his tormented resistance. "Cullen," she encouraged quietly. "It's okay. Take it off…"

He relaxed enough to accept what was going to happen and took his gloves off, setting them quietly on a nearby dresser. Then, he gently tugged and pulled at her clothes, derobing her until only a thin layer of undergarments protected their chastity. Much to her surprise, he didn't hesitate again. He reached around her and untied both pieces, letting them drop to the floor. She was bare before him, and the cold room caused parts of her anatomy to respond attentively.

"You're…" he choked, finding speaking suddenly difficult, "beautiful…"

She smiled, let her hair down, and touched his chest. It was his turn. With more haste than he'd had when he'd undressed her, he took off his armor and stacked it by the dresser. By then, they were unable to contain themselves. Enaara helped him lift his tunic over his head and they kissed the moment he got free of it. They backed up and fell against the bed, his erection pressing into her stomach.

The fight to remove his pants came only when their kisses encouraged their passion so intensely that they realized his pants were still on. Once kicked onto the floor, the last restraint of his desire for her was removed and they pressed against each other, flesh-to-flesh, gasping and moaning. Part of them was still afraid they would be caught while the other part reveled in the long-awaited moment.

In spite of neither of them ever having done this, instinct guided them enough and Cullen found his hands grasping her breasts, taking handfuls and squeezing, massaging, stroking. He rubbed his thumbs and fingers across her nipples, pinched and tweaked them, and eventually tore his mouth away from hers long enough to nurse her breasts with his lips and tongue. He enjoyed every gasp and moan he pulled out of her and it encouraged him to tease her more.

But she was better at tantalizing him. She took his erection into her hand and he perked to every tiny touch. She stroked him, driving him crazy, and when her fingertips reached the head and drew tender circles, he thought he was going to go insane. She wasn't finished. The more he focused on kissing her—her mouth, her neck, her breasts—the tighter she held him, pumping up and down.

Neither detected the amateurish motions in either of their performances, the unsure metaphorical stumbling over one another as they sought to understand every feeling flowing through them. They were completely lost in all of the new sensations.

They folded together again, kissing and stroking and caressing one another. He felt his erection brush by her inner thighs and shuddered. Almost instinctively, his hips moved upward and he glided across those lips; they were hot and wet, slick with her desire for him. It excited him even more, something he hadn't even imagined was possible. He continued to move his hips back and forth over her, rubbing over her clitoris with every thrust. She gasped, hips responding by seeking him out, as though she needed to feel him against her, needed him to be inside of her. And the more they did this, the wetter she became until…

Cullen found his courage, made brave by her pleasured noises. Unable to contain himself any longer, he hooked his arms under her legs at the back of the knee to lift her up, and then pushed himself into her wet sex. She gasped, but this time it was in pain. An awkward cry followed by a guttural whimper immediately sobered his passion and he worriedly bent over her, stroking her brow with his thumbs and kissing her face.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid of me," he rambled. "I'm so sorry, a-are you all right?"

She nodded even though there were small tears in her eyes.

"It's okay," she whispered, trying to smile. He kissed her mouth.

"We can stop—"

"No," she insisted. "Please… Cullen, I want this. I want it to be with you. I…" But she didn't say the words. He didn't either, but they both felt it—the need to say 'I love you'. Somehow, saying it made it all the harder to live the lifestyle they were forced to endure.

With more tender and care this time, Cullen slid inside of her and gently began a steady pumping motion. It didn't take long to rile their passion again, and Enaara's virgin walls quickly accepted him. His motion soon became a powerful thrust, twisting their limits of agonizing pleasure. Then, something unforgettably remarkable happened. He felt her walls clenching around him and a gush of hot, wet ecstasy slick on his pelvis and thighs. Her cry was the final touch and he, too, lost control.

He pulled out just in time, terrified to expose their secret by a surprise pregnancy. Somehow, in the throes of love-making, he had retained enough consciousness to take measures. But he couldn't get out fast enough and accidentally spilled his seed onto her stomach and thighs. Once the shudder of ecstasy completely rattled through him and he realized what he'd done, he blushed profusely.

"I-I-I—" he stammered. "I-I'm so sorry." He climbed off of her and used the comforter to clean her off, apologizing repeatedly the whole time, then bundled it up and tossed it on the floor. He stood there a moment, wondering if she would even want to be with him anymore, but she reached over and tugged at his hand, encouraging him to get into bed with her.

"It was perfect," she said, believing everything that had transpired between them was just right. He touched her stomach, gently stroking her skin.

"How do you feel…?" he wondered, remembering her initial cry of pain.

"Amazing," she confessed, smiling awkwardly. He was, too. He held her tightly and she cuddled against him, closing her eyes. "Cullen…"

"Yes?"

"I've always wanted to fall asleep this way…"

He smiled softly but sadly. "I know," he said, stroking her arm. She'd told him many times they had been together, when he was holding her and the moon was firmly in the sky. "Me, too."

The mages beamed, glowing with excitement. Their cheeks were red, eyes glossy, and lips pale. The winter snow covered the shore, stretching up and over it like white dunes. The lake was frozen into one solid sheet of ice. The gleaming silver of the templars' armor made a fine perimeter around their play-area. It was one of the few days of the year that they were allowed to go out.

Enaara and Jowan ran out onto the lake with others, rubbing their mittens together and laughing as their boots slid along the ice.

"Careful!" the senior enchanters warned the group. "We don't need any broken bones."

When they reached the coast, they tossed themselves into the snow, wallowing in the cold flakes. Lydia called to them from across the lake, having trouble crossing the ice. They laughed and waved her over.

"Come on!" Enaara exclaimed.

"You can do it!" Jowan said sarcastically. "And if not, well, tough luck!"

Enaara smacked his arm playfully. Lydia, stewing over such a rude comment, stomped over; she only slipped once, nearly falling on her ass. Finally, she made it across and the trio built a snowmage with some difficulty.

Three full hours in the snow did not deter the mages allowed to play. En epic snowball fight ensued and even a few templars got wrangled into the battle. Enaara was sure Cullen had gotten her once or twice in the read, although she couldn't be sure due to their helmets covering all but their eyes. And when the time came to go in, they groaned sadly but the welcome the warm reprieve.

Hot cocoa was in every mage's hand and every hearth blazed brightly with people all gathered round. Lively and pleasant chatter filled the halls and libraries and dormitories. Enaara and her friends had found a quiet corner to claim right next to a small fireplace. Enaara sat with her feet curled up in the sitting chair and Jowan relaxed into his next to hers. Lydia was cross-legged on the fur rug before the hearth. They laughed and, for the first time in awhile, there were no arguments.

"Can you imagine?" Jowan asked in relevance to the topic of magic not being a mistake as opposed to the other creations of the Maker; his face was bright from the hot drink warming his insides. "Spirits—demons, even, being the Maker's children? And then mortals? How do you mess that up twice?"

"Right?" Lydia asked. For once, she wasn't considering anything questioning the Maker as sacrilegious. "You create spirits to be as you are and to have control over everything and somehow they lack the creative drive to do so?"

"And then you make humans with the drive and not the ability… and we still mess up," Enaara added. Jowan nodded, lazily slumped so far down in his chair that he could barely move his head. "Isn't it scary, though? I mean… spirits are made in His image…"

Lydia giggled. "Before they were corrupted, yes. I bet they weren't so scary then."

"It's a substance thing," Jowan interjected seriously, as though they didn't know. "In His image, as in spiritual."

Lydia and Enaara exchanged glances.

"No, ridiculous…" Lydia mumbled into her mug as she took a sip of hot cocoa. Jowan suddenly pushed himself up about two inches.

"You know what I don't understand? What kind of a god gets angry at His own mistake and proceeds to expel the spirits from paradise? I mean, He was the one who lacked foresight, right? Foresight, talent… who knows. But that just doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"Not really," Lydia admitted, and Enaara pinned back her brows in surprise. How uncharacteristic of her to go this far in her agreement. "It could be the Chantry isn't telling the truth. Think about it: either you believe the Maker is a benevolent and wise god, or you believe the Chantry's spin. One seems a tad bit more mortal than the other, as far as gods go."

"Then that calls into question the existence of the Maker Himself." Jowan said.

"Not really," Lydia replied calmly. "I think the Maker exists and revealed Himself to us. I think the Chantry sometimes has an agenda."

They all shrugged, not really able to disagree.

"So our ambition is divinity," Jowan said with a smirk.

"And corrupted."

"You can blame the spirits for that," Enaara interjected. "They coveted life and corrupted themselves first."

"Another thing that isn't fair. We get blamed for what happened to the spirits. Isn't that what whats-his-face said?" Jowan sat up. "I know you know the name, Lydia… he was…" he started snapping, "that senior enchanter from Ostwick. Baler, Baner, Bader—Bader! He said something like the Maker despaired because we'd used His creative spark to create sin. When all we did was fulfill the function He gave us. It was His spirits that became corrupted and, in turn, corrupted us."

"That's a fair point," Enaara said. Lydia shrugged.

"Yeah, it doesn't make any sense," she agreed. Jowan and Enaara looked at each other.

"I need to go back and look at that again," he mumbled. "Now I'm curious… Senior Enchanter Bader from Ostwick… Ly, when was that?"

"Blessed. Eight… twelve, I believe."

"Blessed 8:12. I'll look it up."

Someone called to Lydia from across the room and she hopped up, announced she'd be right back, and went to speak with her other friends. Jowan and Enaara sat in silence for a few moments when a few Chantry initiates following Sister Clare passed through the chamber. Jowan smiles goofily and reached out, nudging her knee.

"Look," he said, pointing out a young initiate with ginger hair. "Her name is Lily."

"What about her?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"I'm in love with her."

"What?" She spewed the liquid back into the mug and coughed. Jowan chuckled.

"We've been secretly seeing each other for months now. I told you I met a girl." She smiled up at her. "That's who you've been covering for."

Enaara was dumbfounded. He was in love with a woman sworn to the Maker? How was it possible that she and her best friend would both wind up loving someone in service to the Chantry? How had he even gotten a initiate to be with him? Their charity brought civility to mages, but romance? Then again… how had she managed to woo a templar—mage hunter and executioner?

"Then I'll tell you my secret as well…" she said quietly. Jowan pushed up in his seat more, leaning closer.

"Secrets? You have a secret?" He was amazed she'd managed to keep something from him.

"I met someone, too," she confessed. He tugged her robe.

"Tell me!" he urged excitedly.

"A templar…" she said and his jaw dropped. "Cullen."

"I knew it…"

"You did not!"

"I knew he liked you. I didn't know it was mutual." He edged closer to her. "Well… I mean… has there been any progress?"

"We've been together officially all winter."

"A templar and a mage… that's incredible…"

"And a mage and Chantry initiate isn't?"

Jowan smirked. "Well, I'm not worried she'll run me through with a sword at any given moment."

"Neither am I!" Enaara rolled her eyes and laid her head on Jowan's shoulder. "A secret for a secret." She held out her hand. "To the grave."

"To the grave," he agreed, and clasped her hand. Magic sparks shocked their palms momentarily, sealing their swear.