Dorian did not even try to sleep. It was not as though it would do much good — the collar would keep him from properly entering the Fade. He was not even certain what he would tell Cullen now if he could. His previous plans had been upended, and entirely heartfelt honesty was off the table — but he had to come up with something. Even if he was kept in this damned collar, surely he and Cullen would eventually talk. The Commander had been present throughout Maxwell and Leliana's questioning, but had not spoken a word, his eyes burning into Dorian even as he tried not to look back.

It might have been naive, but Dorian had hoped Cullen would…well, maybe not come to his aid, but at least offer some sort of support.

Perhaps Cullen wondered if Dorian truly was working for Corypheus. He had claimed that he did not trust him, though that did not seem to be a deal-breaker. Or maybe he did not know how to react to the story about Dorian murdering his father for his position — which, to be fair, was only half a lie. The most likely scenario was that Cullen did not want to risk his own position in the Inquisition by supporting Dorian, at least not immediately, no matter his feelings.

Cullen had not said it in so many words, but he had shown that he shared Dorian's affections.

Hadn't he?

Separated from the unfamiliar dreamscape and now awake and caged with little to do but think, Dorian had started down the dark path of doubt. It was entirely possible that Cullen was using Dorian's affections against him, just as Dorian had initially assumed before that kiss had stolen away all logical thought. Were their roles reversed, Dorian would certainly use such a gift to his advantage.

Dorian truly had made a mess for himself.

The door to the dungeons slowly creaked open before shutting quite softly. There were only two prisoners — himself and Erimond — so obviously whoever it was would be coming for one of them. Erimond was being held in the cells further back behind another door, so the two could not communicate or overhear the other's interrogations.

Dorian did not move, listening carefully as he tried to determine whose footsteps he heard slowly making their way down the stone steps. It didn't sound like a guard — he could not hear the telltale clang of armor. Leliana could move silently when she wanted, so the fact that Dorian could hear footfalls at all meant it probably was not her. Perhaps the Inquisitor come to ask further questions, or maybe even to release him?

He was therefore entirely caught off guard when Cullen came into view.

"Cullen," Dorian whispered with disbelief as he got to his feet.

The Commander was wearing casual clothing that Dorian had no idea the man even owned. No armor, no sword at his side, instead dressed in a simple black tunic and leather pants that clung very nicely to the curves of his ass and calves. Cullen nervously cast a glance toward the entrance of the dungeons, obviously concerned that he had been followed, before he moved closer to the cell door.

Cullen wrapped his fingers around one of the bars before he turned to look at Dorian, his eyes glowing warmly in the torchlight as he smiled softly. "Dorian," he finally replied. Cullen swallowed, his gaze darting away apprehensively. "When you said you were coming home, you could have mentioned you were just outside," he said, his smile growing with grim amusement.

"I know," Dorian admitted, biting back the desire to elaborate. He could not let his heart get in the way, especially not now that Erimond had pulled this role reversal on him. "I didn't expect…." Dorian coyly dropped his gaze just as Cullen looked back up at him. "I was surprised," he said vaguely, hoping that Cullen's reply would give him a clue to just where he truly stood with the man.

Cullen did not make him wait as he immediately breathed, "That I want you?"

Dorian's heart skipped a beat and his cheeks threatened to flush, so he forced himself to take a calming breath before raising his eyes. Cullen's pupils were wide, and though Dorian intellectually knew that this was due to the dungeons being so poorly lit he could not help but hope that it was all for him.

"Yes," Dorian finally managed.

Cullen turned away again, a faint flush rising up his neck. Usually his neck was not nearly so exposed due to his mantle, and Dorian wondered if that choice of attire was on purpose. It would hardly do for the Commander to have such an obvious giveaway.

Which heavily implied that the lack of such a barrier was on purpose as well. To what end, Dorian could not help but speculate. It could be because Cullen decided there was no reason to hide anymore, not from Dorian — but alternatively, it could be a ploy. Surely Cullen knew that Dorian, who took his own appearance as seriously as Cullen took his troops' training, would notice such a blatant choice.

"For a man who has been trying to seduce me since we first met, you seem awfully surprised that your charms worked," Cullen said, eyes glinting playfully as he cast a sidelong glance at Dorian.

Pretending that his heart wasn't beating so fast it felt like a hummingbird was trapped in his ribcage, Dorian replied, "My dear Commander, you made your position perfectly clear after that nasty business with the ritual." Dorian watched carefully as he brought up the blood magic he knew Cullen still hated; the magic he would never be able to trust, especially now that Dorian had literally burrowed under his skin. Cullen's brow furrowed slightly, his smile fading as he kept his gaze averted. Dorian pressed a little harder, "No blood magic — you can see where I might have gotten confused."

Cullen took a shaky breath, his tongue darting between his lips. "I…I hate that…." He shook his head and tried again. "Can you promise that you will never use…that you'll never turn your blood magic on me? Like…like you did during the ritual?"

Dorian's mouth went dry. He could lie. It would be so easy to lie, to assure this man that he would never force him to do something against his will, that using blood magic had solely been to save his life and it would never go further.

But Cullen knew him too well for that. He already knew the answer.

"No."

Cullen closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on the bars between them. Dorian found his hand reaching to wrap around them before he noticed he had moved at all. Cullen inhaled softly at the touch, staring at Dorian's hand like it was a snake prepared to strike.

Dorian gently stroked his thumb over one of the tensed fingers. "What I can promise is that I will never push as hard as I did in the ritual. Urges might slip, but…you've proven it's both ways, remember?" Dorian smiled kindly as Cullen tore his eyes away from Dorian's fingers. "If you don't like something, say so. If you do not want to do something — blood magic or no — don't." Dorian swallowed, and Cullen's eyes dropped to follow the movement. "I would never want you to be someone you're not."

The endearment had been dangerously close, already forming on his tongue before he gulped it back down. He had given Cullen far too much power already and he needed some of that power back.

Dorian did his best not to look, but Cullen's heart was thrumming so hard he could see the pulse in his neck. If not for the way Cullen shivered under Dorian's touch, Dorian might have assumed the man was on the verge of lashing out.

"I suppose that's all I can ask of you," Cullen finally said, his voice quiet. "I wouldn't want you to be someone else, either," he added so softly Dorian barely caught the words. Cullen shifted a little closer to the bars, his other hand slipping through to cup Dorian's cheek.

The instinct to retreat flared up Dorian's spine. He knew that closeness with Cullen, love or no, was dangerous.

But Cullen simply touched him without any hint of violence, gently stroking his cheek before a finger moved to trace his mouth. It took a worrying amount of effort to keep from kissing that finger.

Despite how affectionate Cullen appeared to be, Dorian was feeling far more anxious than he had at the start of this conversation. Something felt…off.

And maybe Cullen realized that as he pulled away, carefully sliding his fingers out from beneath Dorian's hand. He cleared his throat as he pulled a small package from his pocket. The scent of honey struck Dorian's nose at once. "I know it's probably not as good as in Tevinter, but I had the kitchens try to make some of these pastries," he said as he held it out to Dorian. "Alexius mentioned that you liked them."

Dorian stared at the package, concentrating on keeping his breathing even. This was all part of the game, it had to be. Cullen was not openly affectionate, ever, and giving him a gift made it all even less likely.

Dorian was being played.

He took the package, using the time spent opening it as an excuse to keep his eyes down, hiding the pain he was sure must have reached his face. It hurt more than he had thought, this realization that Cullen must be stringing him along for whatever his own reasons were.

The honey and nut pastry was indeed something from home.

Would Cullen have gone to Alexius to find out what he liked? Then come visit him here without armor and instead with friendly words and tender touches like a lover?

Never.

Stupid child.

He had been letting his heart get in the way of reason again, as he had for too long already.

"Thank you, Commander," Dorian managed, sniffing it carefully but detecting no trace of magebane or any other poison. Not that he had expected to find anything untoward about it; if Cullen was using him, he would not kill him so obviously. He took a small bite, fully enjoying the flavor even though the texture was a little off.

"I wanted to give you some comfort," Cullen said bluntly. "I know this cell is far from your luxurious bedroom back in Qarinus." Dorian's gaze snapped back up to Cullen, who was grinning with apparent delight. "I would not reject the opportunity to visit," he added, his grin bordering on lecherous. "Sleep well, Dorian," Cullen purred as he slowly backed away from the cell.

The way Cullen's voice lowered when he spoke his name was like a physical caress that sent a shiver up Dorian's spine. Dorian did not have the chance to regain his voice before Cullen had disappeared up the dungeon steps.

But Cullen had to know that they couldn't meet, not while this blasted collar was dampening Dorian's magic. Was this tease just part of the game? Probably.

It was a game…right?

Dorian had no idea what to believe anymore.

He sat back down on the terrible bench that he was somehow meant to sleep on, determined to figure out just what Cullen might be playing at while enjoying the gifted pastry.

It was entirely possible that Cullen did return his feelings, but was separating himself just enough to use them as part of whatever plans he had. Dorian was trying to, so why not Cullen? It was entirely possible to mix business with pleasure, after all. Dangerous, certainly, but Dorian was not one to shy away from that.

That I want you?

Dorian shivered at the mere memory of the words, Cullen's sensual tone echoing in his mind.

Dorian's blood began to run hot, his mind very quickly getting distracted by all the things he wanted from Cullen. He was unsure where to even begin, his fantasies sharply shifting from one flight of fancy to the next. He wanted to know what it would be like to bury inside him, but he also wanted to be dominated as Cullen took; he wanted sweet nothings in his ear as much as he longed for harsh grunts and cries; he wanted to know what his name sounded like through those beautifully scarred lips when nothing but the two of them and pleasure remained.

He wanted to know if curling up together in a warm bed could be as wonderful as it had been during the ritual, or if it would be even better. No lyrium withdrawals, no wars to win, just the two of them.

All things considered, Dorian wanted everything.

"Kaffas!"

Dorian swore as his teeth bit down on something hard and unrelenting. Cursing the harder nuts down South, he tried to dig out the offender.

Instead, he pulled a thin bit of metal from the pastry.

He glared at it furiously, wondering what sort of joke Cullen or the kitchen staff thought they were pulling — he could have broken a tooth and where would he be with such an imperfect smile?

But then Dorian held the metal up to the meager torchlight and examined it closer, and understanding struck him harder than Cullen's gauntleted fist could.

He felt along his collar, searching for the latch. It took a few tries, and he accidentally pricked his neck hard enough to draw blood in the process, but soon the pressure released and the collar fell into his lap.

Dorian shut his eyes, breathing deeply of a world that smelled so different as his mana rushed through him, the Fade almost visible for how strongly he felt it after its painful absence. The blood that trickled down his throat burned, and Dorian used it to create a beautiful ball of flame. He took childish joy from playing with the warm fire, shifting the colors, forming shapes, wrapping it about his arm.

Dorian's cell was not like those further back like Erimond's — those were protected by runes to keep magic suppressed just like the collar. Dorian, on the other hand, could get out.

But he was trying to prove he was not an enemy, and a jailbreak would certainly contradict that. It hardly mattered, though. He could be more than comfortable here now, feeling like he actually belonged in his skin, and with the Fade to escape to in his dreams.

I would not reject the opportunity to visit.

"My dear Cullen," Dorian muttered, grinning as he started working to make the collar nothing more than a harmless strip of leather. "You constantly astonish me." He carefully replaced it about his neck and gently fastened it. His grin grew at the slight pressure over his throat. He had not noticed it before when he had instead been wholly focused on the separation from his magic. The fact said pressure reminded him of Cullen should have bothered him more than it did.

After conjuring a delicate barrier over it, Dorian laid back on the somewhat improved bench and smiled as he closed his eyes.

"Don't you dare stop."

Sheer exhaustion made it shockingly easy for Dorian to fall asleep. He was in his bedroom in no time at all. He stretched in the warm sunlight as he stared out the window. The sky was tinged green, but otherwise bright like a day back home. He was again in his comfortable sleeping trousers despite the fact it was obviously day.

That was somewhat unusual. It was nearly always night when he dreamed here. He noticed that the curtains appeared to have altered slightly, too. Where the silver serpents still adorned the edges, the corners now had golden lions weaved into the fabric.

Dorian gulped, uncertain what this could mean. Was Cullen influencing the Fade so much it lingered even after he had awoken? Or was Dorian shifting his own perception due to the Commander's influence?

Neither was a particularly comforting option.

"I missed you."

Dorian spun on his heel toward the voice with surprise. He had expected Cullen to take longer to arrive — and he certainly did not anticipate him casually lounging on the bed wearing nothing at all.

Tearing his eyes away from more intimate bits, he forced himself to look at Cullen's eyes. They were dark, swimming in black with the smallest hint of violet.

It wasn't Cullen.

"Not you again," Dorian muttered irritably. "Out now, if you please."

The desire demon pouted, leaning on an elbow and bending a knee in order to lay in a provocative manner that showed off just about everything. "If you want another form, I'm more than willing to oblige," it purred. "I merely thought this Commander would best please you."

Dorian realized his eyes had been drifting and swallowed the urge to admit that the demon was entirely correct. "The real Commander would please me. I'm afraid you'd never be more than an inadequate substitute."

The demon's mouth twisted briefly into a snarl, the expression shockingly similar to glares he'd received from the real Cullen all too frequently in the past. "You're right," the demon acknowledged a moment later, shifting off the bed. A pair of leather pants and very familiar mantle appeared on its body, though it kept its chest bare. "You want the Commander."

Dorian was caught unprepared when the demon used some sort of flash of force magic to push him up against the nearest wall. Although it did not have the abilities of a templar, the demon had managed a surprisingly similar sensation as Dorian's body trembled with sudden weakness and his head spun.

He had yet to recover when the demon grabbed him, pinning his wrists with Cullen's familiar strength and threatening to snap the bones under his fingers. "This is what you desire," the demon hissed in his ear before teeth sank into the side of his neck. When Dorian tried to fight back, a thigh shoved between his legs and pressed just a little too hard to be there simply for desired friction.

He'd never known a desire demon to so thoroughly and accurately throw itself into the role. The Commander — the demon — shifted to hold both Dorian's wrists in one hand, his other wrapping around Dorian's throat as he devoured his mouth.

Every sense was on high alert, adrenaline and panic and need rushing hot through his veins. The demon might have been right, this is what Dorian wanted, as embarrassing as he found it. Cullen's grip tightened, threatening to cut off his air entirely even as Dorian desperately struggled to escape, or to get more very much needed friction, or to…anything. He had little blood left that wasn't rushing southward and he could not focus on anything but how much he wanted Cullen to fuck him through the wall.

Which one of them was moaning? Dorian wasn't sure he was currently capable, not with the fingers pressing viciously into his throat, but he certainly wanted to — he'd never been so swiftly overwhelmed with need before, never been so willing to let someone take everything from him.

"Am I interrupting?"

Cullen's low and rough voice broke through Dorian's heady lust just enough for him to remember that the demon currently devouring him wasn't Cullen.

How long had he managed to forget that? That was…fuck, he had not slipped quite like that since he was a teenager. The grip on his throat slackened, though still maintained just enough pressure to keep him lightheaded and pinned to the wall.

"I was starting to wonder how far you'd let me go," the demon said in Cullen's voice, similarly rough with desire and slightly short on breath. "He can take us both, that I assure you," the demon added smugly.

Cullen's chuckle bordered on deadly. "Another time, perhaps." If Dorian could breathe or think properly, he probably would have scoffed with an indignant protest, but as it was the idea sounded precariously delightful. "If you would, I have need of him. Alone," Cullen added pointedly.

Dorian blinked stars from his eyes as the demon released him, pressing his hands against the wall at his back to keep him steady on his feet.

The demon hummed. "For now." Forcing deep, slow breaths, Dorian finally managed to focus on the two Cullens before him. The demon was still dressed in the leather and mantle, while the real Cullen was in those lovely silk trousers Dorian found so appealing on him. The demon apparently agreed as it groped at Cullen's crotch. "But only because I like you."

The real Cullen snorted disbelievingly, his face growing very red as the demon obviously took pleasure in fondling him so intently. "Now, please," Cullen prompted somewhat breathlessly, nodding toward the door.

The demon began morphing into what Dorian assumed was closest to its natural form just before it left the room straight through the door rather than taking the time to open it.

Dorian was still panting for air, trembling against the wall that he dared not step away from lest his knees fail him. "Enjoying the show, were you?" he asked, his voice tight.

Cullen did not answer right away, instead staring at him with eyes blown black as they eagerly drank Dorian in. His tongue drifted between his lips, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths of his own. He was fairly flushed as well — face, neck, chest and all — and Dorian was certainly not imagining the impressive size of the bulge straining those silk trousers.

The ardor in Cullen's gaze was nothing like anything Dorian had ever had focused on himself before; it was as if Cullen wanted to do nothing short of devour him. It suddenly occurred to Dorian that he might have been safer with the demon.

"As if you didn't," Cullen finally replied, his voice so thick with need it sent a fresh wave of desire that threatened to break through any possible defense.

But Dorian was not so easily cowed. He was about to shoot back that he had not realized it was really Cullen the demon was violating that time, but Cullen strode over to him so fast and with such hunger in his gaze that Dorian's voice got caught somewhere deep in his throat. Cullen kept just one short stride away, his fingers clenching and unclenching like he was uncertain what to do next.

Or like he was fighting to not do something next.

Dorian could see the moment his control snapped and it was like taking a bolt of lightning to the chest. Those beautiful honey-whiskey eyes flashed and sharpened with predatory focus and a vein jumped in his throat as Cullen released a sharp exhale.

"My turn," Cullen growled before pinning Dorian to that same wall. Dorian hardly managed a gasp before his mouth was sealed, a tongue slipping inside to taste him. Cullen did not bother playing coy as he ground against him, the silk trousers somehow feeling rough as Cullen did devour him. It was much as the demon had, yet still more savage, more greedy, more overwhelming.

The demon had not replicated Cullen's affinity for drawing blood, either — Cullen nipped sharply at Dorian's lower lip, eagerly lapping at the spilled blood just like that first time in the Winter Palace. This time, however, when Dorian tried to turn away, Cullen actually let him. Cullen's face was red, not nearly so much so as his lips were with Dorian's blood, as he flinched worriedly.

"I — sorry, I —." He didn't look sorry, exactly, but Dorian was under the distinct impression that eating Dorian alive had not been in his plans that evening.

"It's not that," Dorian said quickly. It was not that at all — and that was a problem Dorian would prefer not to acknowledge. "It's just…I thought we needed to talk."

Cullen appeared more than a little astonished and honestly, Dorian was surprised at himself too. Cullen's grip eased, but he did not let Dorian go as he looked away, chewing on his own lip before licking away the blood that remained there.

If Dorian did not know any better, he would have thought that Cullen had the same reservations as Dorian. That fear that the other was lying, that this game would end with one of them breaking — that very legitimate concern they would come to regret this.

Eyes swimming in black locked onto him once more. "We can talk after."

Dorian swallowed, covering his nerves with a sultry smile. "After…?" Cullen could not mean what it sounded like to Dorian's heavily impaired mind. It was difficult to think with all his blood running hotter than fire, when he was still lightheaded, and when he wanted nothing more than for Cullen to continue as the demon had clearly intended.

Dorian did have some tiny bit of him that remembered all the times Cullen had threatened him — including the intimate ones. Considering that he still had a scar from the incident with the red lyrium dagger, this could be deadly.

But since when had that bothered him when it came to this maddening templar? He was always in danger with the Commander.

Cullen kissed him again, gently this time. It was similar to the kiss by the lake, and it was painful how easily it chased away Dorian's concerns. "After," Cullen whispered against his lips, meeting Dorian's eyes with such sincere warmth and passion that Dorian's heart ached.

Dorian leaned into the kiss anyway, not bothering to struggle against the weakened grip that held his wrists. He smiled softly when Cullen pulled back just enough to gaze at him, a question clearly reflected in his eyes.

It was probably the worst mistake Dorian could make, and quite possibly the last — but he found he could not bring himself to care.

"As you wish, amatus."