Cullen was still breathing heavily, chest rising and falling as his heart pounded rapidly against his ribs. He could taste Dorian's blood on his lips, and the mage himself was now curled up into him much the reverse from that dream during the ritual. In this case, however, they were both naked and entirely spent, decorated in bruises, bite marks, and scratches. Cullen almost chuckled at the sight they must make.

This had not been Cullen's intention that night in the slightest. He had thought of perhaps more kissing, maybe even fondling — just a bit of tender affection to loosen Dorian's tongue with the side benefit of slaking a little of his own unwanted need. He had not meant to lose himself entirely to the dark desires that had prodded him for months as the mage kept digging deeper under his skin.

But then he'd stumbled into the scene and witnessed the demon wearing his body to take pleasure from the mage. He had watched for a time, determined to simply enjoy the fantasy for a bit as the opportunity presented itself — Dorian had when their situations had been reversed, after all.

Instead of gaining a mere heated memory for lonely nights, Cullen had been surprised by the primal jealousy that flared at the sight. Cullen should have been the one pinning the mage, tasting his magic, reducing him to that moaning mess squirming in his grip. The demon had no right to take what was Cullen's. The strength of the need that had flooded his body was alarming, and once the desire demon had left, well, the lust did not have the decency to go with it.

He had not realized giving in to such desires would not frighten Dorian away. Or, more accurately, maybe he had always feared that it wouldn't. Dorian had never run like other mages did when faced with Cullen's wrath, never flinched away from his threats or given him space after Cullen tore away his connection to the Fade.

Dorian certainly appeared to be more than content with the current situation, his body eagerly sapping Cullen's warmth with how intertwined he insisted on being. The Magister was a cuddler, apparently. Even in this debauched state he was insultingly beautiful, his mussed hair no less pretty than when it was carefully sculpted, red-bitten lips only more gorgeous for the hint of blood, with even his sweat adding a lovely shine rather than appearing like an unfortunate side effect of their exertions.

That all could potentially have something to do with the fact that this was not strictly real, though. The Fade could be altering it so one, or both, was in a far better state than they would be had this happened in reality.

Cullen forcibly dismissed the idea of this being repeated when they were awake before his body could start reacting to such hopes. He could not let this ridiculous attraction distract him. Indulging like this was merely moving a piece on the chessboard. That was all.

Of course, this move had not been planned and he had no idea how to use it to his advantage. He really needed to get a hold of himself. He had to figure out Dorian's plans, to uncover what was really going on behind those handsome eyes. This was not the time to be distracted by some passionate affair.

Not that it would really be all that new. He was used to the game they played from before the ritual, that of hard kisses stolen in shadows and flirtatious duels over chess. It would be the first time for this sort of thing, though. Would Dorian expect to join him in his tower again, like he had during some of Cullen's worst withdrawals? Only instead of a practical arrangement, and in lieu of constant complaints about the cold, would they make their own heat?

Would Dorian try to keep quiet, knowing they could be overheard? Should Cullen make him quiet? Or would the two receive interested stares in the morning from those on night-watch and unsubtle teases from the Inquisitor concerning how he was right about the two of them all along? And what about all the inevitable marks? Healing potions and salves would at least dim them, and there was probably magic that could easily wipe them away should they choose. While the fact they were in the Fade likely gave them both a bit of breathing room, a safety net, Cullen could not help but wonder how far the mage would let him go in the real world, with his real body at stake.

That was a dangerous notion, particularly given that Cullen was fairly certain Dorian would be more than willing to let him push like this. It turned out the desire demon had been all too correct: Cullen wanted a mage who would fight back. One who would not cower when the lion bares his teeth.

Not that he had ever considered it in such a carnal sense, but Dorian had always been this way, hadn't he? When the Commander sneered, the Magister would smile. If he lashed out, Dorian would push back. The way Dorian always observed him with those beautiful eyes, mischievous and intimate, like he could see straight into Cullen…and instead of fleeing from what he found, deciding that what he saw was something to be desired.

Cullen's mouth suddenly felt quite dry. Dorian wanted him. Not just this, not his body, but all of him — perhaps that should have been comforting, but as the thought solidified Cullen had to suppress a fearful shudder. He should not have chosen to play this game with the Magister from the start, much less allow it to go so far. He had no idea how to handle it.

But he was in too deep now, and he wanted….

Maker's fucking arse, maybe he wanted the damnable mage, too.

He had hardly realized his mind had entirely diverted away from anything halfway useful when Dorian suddenly spoke.

"Must we?"

Cullen glanced down at the mage with surprise. Dorian looked up at him fondly, his mustache askew as he smiled. It would have been adorable if not for the trickle of blood trailing down his chin from his split lip.

"Must we…what?" Cullen prompted when the mage did not bother clarifying.

Dorian played with some of the hair on Cullen's chest, directly over his heart. "I can feel you thinking. I don't want to think."

Obviously that was a lie and the mage would know that Cullen recognized it as such. Dorian could have remained silent and basked a while longer in postcoital bliss if he so desired. It was not as if he could truly feel Cullen's mind wandering.

And if he could, Dorian must have entirely misconstrued what Cullen had been thinking about because he had wandered very much in the wrong direction. Or at least, the wrong direction for a man who had freed the mage from that collar because he'd had a plan.

"I'm not certain we have that luxury," Cullen said, determined to at least accomplish something tonight and that something was not going to be a heartfelt confession. The truth of the matter, aside from the overwhelming and terrifying warmth growing in his chest, was that he could not trust Dorian. The fact that did not seem so important anymore was a consideration Cullen also did his best to dismiss. "We'll wake up eventually, and I'm not certain what to tell the Inquisitor about you."

"You could try reminding him of my help with locating Corypheus' former camp?" Dorian suggested, distractingly circling one of Cullen's nipples.

Cullen averted his eyes to his own hand, startled to realize he had been stroking Dorian's hair. How long had he been doing that? He should stop at once.

And yet, his hand continued the motion entirely of its own accord.

"Ah. You didn't tell him," Dorian guessed, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"And explain…." Cullen motioned to the Fade's construction of Dorian's bedroom. "No. I did not." Realizing that Dorian could just as easily reveal it next time he spoke with Maxwell, Cullen swiftly added, "I would prefer this to be…private. Our little secret, as it were." Fuck, he was grinning at the idea, wasn't he?

Dorian made a noise that was disturbingly close to a giggle. "Quite," he agreed quietly, somehow pressing closer to Cullen as he resumed running his fingers over Cullen's chest. "I suppose you could confess your darkest secret."

Cullen's heart briefly leapt into his throat; but no, there was no way Dorian meant any of the things Cullen would consider such a secret. There was no way the mage could possibly know. "And what exactly would that be?" Cullen arched an eyebrow as Dorian glanced up at him with those gorgeous eyes twinkling with evident amusement.

"Your overwhelming attraction to a certain Tevinter Magister," Dorian purred, his hand slipping lower down Cullen's body. "Given your known stance on magic, surely such a confession would be a strong argument for innocence," he continued while very not innocently groping at Cullen.

Pretending the touch was having no effect despite evidence to the contrary, Cullen shook his head with a small smile. "I couldn't pull that off. To be honest, I don't find Erimond at all attractive."

Dorian gave Cullen a little slap without bothering to move his hand away from where it had been fondling him. "Ass!"

Cullen smirked, partly to cover his grimace at the sting. "Yes, I'm well acquainted with your best quality."

With an affronted sputter, Dorian moved to sit up. It left Cullen's side and chest feeling uncomfortably cold. "My ass is certainly legendary, but it is far from my best quality."

"Legendary?" Cullen repeated, unable to keep from laughing at the boast, but he abruptly silenced when Dorian swung a leg over him to straddle him.

Dorian leaned closer, the brush of his breath teasing against Cullen's mouth. "I would be happy to provide further proof," he whispered, grinding down on Cullen's crotch. "You seem up for it," he added with a lecherous grin as Cullen's breath stuttered and his body reacted predictably to the stimulation.

"We really…probably really….should talk," Cullen said, his eyes dropping to the bite mark at the crook of Dorian's neck. He'd have to leave one in real life, a little higher so Dorian could not easily hide it under a collar. Perhaps if he ordered him not to heal it, Dorian wouldn't — or maybe it would be better to say nothing, let the mage show it off in the hopes of embarrassing Cullen. And Cullen would blush and snarl about it, but inwardly enjoy the mark of possession greatly.

No, focus, there was a plan, he was supposed to have a plan.

"Is there any truth to what Erimond told us?"

Dorian frowned, settling down with a pout but not bothering to move off of Cullen's lap. "As I told Max, no. I didn't come up with this plan; I hate this plan, in fact."

"Of course you do," Cullen said, letting his hands fall to rest on Dorian's waist. The mage momentarily tensed at the touch. "Since it led to you being a prisoner."

"That…." Dorian paused and chewed his lip. "That was not part of any plan I was aware of," he said finally.

"And what were you meant to do once you arrived?" Cullen ran his hands up Dorian's sides, delighting in the involuntary shiver that rolled through the man astride him.

Dorian hesitated before answering, but considering the way his eyes fluttered shut it might have been more due to distraction than playing for time. "Infiltration. Send reports, await further orders, and so on. Though I suspect Livius might have been privy to more."

Cullen's eyes narrowed suspiciously, though he quickly returned his expression to a more lecherous look by the time Dorian opened his eyes. "I assume you didn't correct Erimond concerning the misunderstanding about the nature of our relationship? He really thinks I'm nothing but your thrall rather than your…." Cullen hesitated, feeling suddenly flushed as he searched for the right word. "Partner?" he finished tentatively, taking Dorian's hand and pressing a lingering kiss to his fingers. He distantly wondered if Dorian's hands were really this soft and how he had never noticed that before.

Dorian's eyebrow arched rather dramatically, though judging by the way his eyes widened he had not been anticipating that sign of affection. "My dear Commander. Are you proposing to me?" Dorian jested; it was an obvious parry, implying that Dorian was of a similar mind as Cullen — he could not quite trust him either, even now.

Cullen gave him a small slap across the face — not nearly so hard as the one that had initially split his lip — and Dorian chuckled, taking the tease as it was meant. Cullen carefully moved to sit up straighter, leaning forward to narrow the gap between them. "You wound me, Magister Pavus. I may not have your wicked tongue —." Cullen's breath hitched as Dorian suggestively ran said tongue between his lips. "— but I assure you, any such proposal will not require clarification."

Dorian froze. It was only for an instant, barely a blink, but his entire body went rigid with shock and Cullen knew exactly what he was thinking. It had been a deliberate choice of words — wicked tongue or no, Cullen knew just how to play this vexing mage. He chose not to address it, leaning forward to kiss the bite on Dorian's neck and steal a taste of that marvelous blood.

The mage tilted his head slightly, giving Cullen easier access should he decide to rip open the wound anew. "It may be a small problem once Livius notices that you don't appear to be succumbing to red lyrium." Cullen pulled back with alarm, searching Dorian's face for any hint of a lie. Dorian shrugged. "Thought that drink with your ex would be a secret, did you?"

"He's not my ex," Cullen growled irritably. "But no, I suppose you're right," he admitted, looking in the general direction of the window. He had not thought of that, but surely at least some in Corypheus' camp would have known what Raleigh did to him. They probably expected him to be turning, a thought he had not considered when joining Maxwell and Leliana in the dungeons.

Soft fingers trailed soothingly along Cullen's brow. "Don't worry. I'm an excellent liar." Cullen opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) just as Dorian pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. "Once we make a convincing argument for me to be released, I can offer some miraculous magic to cure the ailment the Inquisition has been desperately trying to hide. And I can use it as an excuse to slip my fingers deep inside you," he added with a lecherous grin.

Cullen's brow furrowed, more than a little confused by the intended meaning behind the innuendo. Dorian chuckled lightly.

"They think I had you in thrall, and the red lyrium disrupted it. But whatever the Inquisition has been doing to prevent their Commander from becoming a lyrium abomination weakened it, and when you submit to me completely —" Dorian took Cullen firmly by the chin, tilting his head up and barely brushing their lips together. "I ever so graciously offer my services to find a cure. Of course, the cure only works because we were already bonded, yes? So it can't be replicated with others." Dorian smiled, obviously pleased with himself. "And then our enemies will think that you are entirely mine."

That was not a bad fiction, Cullen supposed. It might work, especially as it was somewhat the truth.

But in lieu of voicing any agreement, Cullen instead whispered, "Am I not?"

Dorian's widened eyes sparkled with all sorts of thoughts Cullen wished he could read before the mage moved in to kiss him. The hand that had been grasping his chin slipped into his hair, grasping his curls and holding Cullen captive in that kiss. Dorian's lips tasted divine, of magic and blood and Cullen did not hesitate to open his mouth further when prompted. Quite the contrary, he wrapped his arms around Dorian's back and held him closer in turn.

When Dorian finally broke away, tugging Cullen's head back an inch by the hair to do so, he was quite flushed with eyes dark with lust. That was a good look on him. "If you want to be," Dorian finally replied, his hips rolling just enough to remind Cullen of the fact they were both still naked, in bed, and clearly ready for a repeated performance if they wished.

And Cullen most certainly wished. They had months of lost time to make up for, after all, both too proud and stubborn to be the first to give into the inevitable and….

Stop it, Cullen chided himself. He was not some hormonal teenager who just discovered pleasures of the flesh, nor was he a romantic idiot who thought all their problems would suddenly go away because there were some sort of warm feelings involved.

Not that there were warm feelings. Not on his end. Not of that sort, anyway.

Maker's breath. He couldn't even lie convincingly to himself anymore.

There was a plan, he had questions, important questions that needed answering but that he was having incredible difficulty remembering over the sensation of Dorian's lips and tongue moving along his ear and the very slight hip motions rubbing them together.

"Stop," Cullen managed to gasp, pushing Dorian a touch away and holding him firmly to keep him from those distracting movements. Dorian let Cullen trap him where he was, silently eyeing him with concern. "Thank you," Cullen breathed appreciatively when he realized how easily the mage had relented when asked. "Sorry, I — it's not that I don't want you," he said, hating how bloody true that was. "I have some…questions."

"Fond of interrogations, aren't you?" Dorian teased.

"I am the Commander of the Inquisition," Cullen reminded him pointedly. "And yes, as much as…Erimond said some things and I'm…." He looked away, knowing that this showing of weakness would likely improve the chances of Dorian actually giving him some answers.

Dorian sighed heavily, slouching a little. "I suppose I should have known this was coming," he muttered. "All right, hit me."

Well, there was no way he could be expected to leave that. Cullen jabbed Dorian with a sharp punch in the gut, and Dorian doubled over with a groan. "Cullen!" he protested breathlessly, though he was grinning when he looked up. "Kaffas, you better treat my actual body with a modicum of respect. I have a reputation."

Cullen leered, again eyeing that bite on Dorian's neck. Oh yes, he was definitely going to leave a prominent mark when he got the chance.

Putting a hand over the wound, Dorian shifted a little nervously. Evidently he noticed Cullen's focus and was probably wondering if Cullen was thinking exactly what he was thinking. "As we're doing interrogations — did you get this much enjoyment out of hurting Samson, or do you only get rough when it's a mage in your bed?" Dorian asked brazenly.

"Your bed," Cullen reminded him, wincing as he continued, "We weren't —." Cullen hesitated, searching Dorian's expression as the oddest thought occurred to him. "Wait…are you jealous?"

"Questioning your sanity, more like," Dorian grumbled.

"With all the bodies left in your wake!" Cullen said with a sharp laugh. "Considering you've been through half the Inquisition's barracks, I hardly think you're one to judge."

Dorian scoffed, "It's not that many. And I'm not a Chantry boy, I'm well able to enjoy diversions without involving anything messy." Cullen arched an eyebrow, his gaze dropping pointedly to the mess on Dorian's chest and abdomen. "Feelings. I meant feelings," Dorian clarified somewhat sheepishly.

A part of Cullen really wanted to prod about that, to tease how he was obviously nothing but the latest diversion. It would force the issue, maybe even get Dorian to admit in so many words how deeply he truly felt for Cullen — but the generally silent gentleman inside him severely chastised him for that idea. He was not entirely certain why, but he had the feeling that was a nerve best left untouched. Like it was something that could really hurt Dorian, and please don't.

Dorian himself had flippantly dismissed his sexual escapades before, waved them off like they were meaningless and it was only for the immediate pleasure. The tease should be easy, the demand that he lay his heart bear to prove that this was different was entirely warranted — wasn't it? Yet Cullen chose not to push and kissed him instead, gently this time. He did not want Dorian to hurt, not truly, not like that.

How come Cullen was so certain that would hurt him this time?

Cullen gasped as he realized, his heart leaping into his throat as he abruptly broke away from the kiss. The blood magic. Of course. They were bonded; urges might slip, Dorian had said. It wasn't some restraint on Cullen's part asking not to poke at that, it was a desperate compulsion from Dorian begging him not to tread there — and without considering it, Cullen had already chosen to obey.

But now that he recognized it…he did not change his mind. He chose, and it wasn't forced.

Dorian looked intensely worried, his brow furrowed and his jaw tense beneath Cullen's fingers. The desire to press the issue was still strong, but Cullen decided that instead of trying to break Dorian, he'd let himself bend a little instead.

"It was years ago," Cullen began, grimacing a little at the memories of Kirkwall. "We were friends — well, closer than, I suppose, but it wasn't…it wasn't like us." He chuckled half-heartedly. "Kirkwall was a shit hole. Sometimes it felt like every day was kill or be killed." He looked away, surprised at the shame creeping into his heart. He'd never really regretted the extreme measures he once believed necessary, but the doubts that lingered felt suddenly stronger. "It was comfort where we could find it, that's all. And even if it were more, any friendly feelings were burned away when Raleigh poured lyrium down my throat."

Dorian looked hesitantly up at him through his lashes for an agonizingly long moment. "So if Raleigh turned up in Skyhold and declared undying devotion, your response would be…?"

Cullen huffed. "I expect it would be something along the lines of fuck off."

Dorian chuckled quietly. "I shouldn't have brought it up," Dorian murmured, his fingers trailing delicately over Cullen's abdomen. "I've heard about that place, and…well, I can understand why someone would be uneasy with blood magic after that."

Kirkwall was not the reason Cullen loathed blood magic, but he was not about to bring up Kinloch Hold of his own volition.

"Would it help…stupid question," Dorian hissed with a shake of his head, his fingers still idly brushing over Cullen's skin.

"Would…what help?" Cullen prompted curiously.

Dorian sighed, and when he looked up Cullen was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. "Nothing," Dorian said with a small grin that was decidedly in contrast to the tears the man was trying to blink away. Dorian was clearly not in the mood anymore, but he rolled his hips suggestively anyway. "Shall we? I expect it's almost morning."

Cullen leaned forward to kiss him again without fully considering the idea. He was not against it, far from it, though something tugged at his mind like he had forgotten something important.

Dorian's tongue was busy gliding over Cullen's front teeth when he remembered the question that he very much needed to ask. He suspected Dorian would lie about it, but it was just too…well, it was a bit of a massive thing if Erimond had not been lying. If this, the two of them, was really going to be a thing, Cullen felt he had a right to know.

"I did have one more question," Cullen said as he pulled back. Dorian growled with annoyance, pointedly grinding against him in protest. "Your father."

A muscle jumped in Dorian's throat. "You are certainly determined to kill the mood," he replied coldly, as if he had not recently brought up Raleigh and the related memories.

"It's just…it's a serious accusation," Cullen said, half-wishing he had not been so determined to try and learn the truth of it. "It isn't like I particularly care if you killed him," he added. "Perhaps I should, but I didn't know him, and my hands are hardly clean. I only…I need to know."

Dorian crossed his arms protectively over his chest, glowering at Cullen as he said, "I told Max the truth about that, too."

If Cullen did not know Dorian so well, he might have taken him at his word and left it there. After all, he could tell Dorian was being truthful just now. "You said you didn't murder him for his seat," Cullen noted. "I don't doubt that. Anyone solely after power would not have risked it all to join a religious organization down south." He left it there, watching carefully for any tell.

Dorian refused to look at him. "Well, I don't see what it matters. Now if you're quite finished ruining any chance of having another go at my legendary —."

"Dorian," Cullen interrupted, cupping the man's cheek. "I'm not asking as the Commander of the Inquisition's forces," he said seriously, and he meant it. "I'm asking as your…." He smiled softly, working up the courage before saying, "I'm asking as your amatus."

Dorian froze, hardly even breathing. Then he suddenly moved off Cullen and entirely off the bed. Cullen was too startled to say anything at first, watching bewilderedly as Dorian grabbed his silk trousers. One moment they were tattered and torn — the next they were on his body like nothing had happened. "Come on, then," Dorian said with a nod to the door.

"Come on…what?" Cullen said anxiously.

Dorian smirked, biting down a chuckle. "I would say me, but you've clearly got other things on your mind." He motioned to the door again. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." The door opened when he next waved his hand, the hallway ominously dark. "Your worst memory in exchange for mine. It's only fair."

Cullen's mind took a short while to catch up, but when it did, he immediately shook his head. Never mind that he didn't want Dorian to see that, Cullen didn't want to. Kinloch had haunted him for over a decade and he suspected it always would — and showing that to Dorian would not simply be revealing some weakness.

Sharing the memories of Kinloch would be making it real once more, and that was something Cullen was uncertain he would survive — not without lyrium, at least. "No," Cullen said firmly.

Dorian laughed bitterly. "Oh? You want to pry into my past so badly, but I can't do the same?"

"Not when it comes to — not that," Cullen stuttered, swallowing down the fear that Dorian's thoughtless prodding had released. "Never."

Dorian rolled his eyes, hands on his hips like some impatient housewife. "Surely you've learned that you cannot scare me away?" he said, flashing a challenging grin. "I can handle whatever you can throw at me."

Cullen slipped off the bed, kneeling to search for wherever his own trousers had been kicked as a pretense to keep from looking at Dorian.

With a snap of Dorian's fingers, Cullen's trousers appeared in the mage's hand. "Come on now," Dorian teased. "Let's get on with it."

Cullen grit his teeth, quickly striding over and snatching the clothing from Dorian. "No," he said again.

Dorian opened his mouth, the clear intent to further prod glittering in his eyes — before suddenly he sobered, frowning worriedly. "I — I'm sorry," he apologized, blinking rapidly as he averted his gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't push."

Cullen wondered if Dorian was feeling the pain and fear through their bond, like he had felt Dorian's emotions earlier. Cullen absentmindedly rubbed the silk between his fingers, uncertain how to proceed.

Dorian shut the door and stepped forward, taking the trousers from Cullen's hand and tossing them aside before gently kissing him. Cullen could not quite respond in kind. "It's why I hate blood magic, too," Dorian whispered before turning away.

The words took their sweet time to travel to his brain. "What?" Cullen breathed, wondering if he could possibly have heard correctly. The Magister was a blood mage, surely he had not just said —.

"My worst memory is the reason I hate blood magic," Dorian confessed. "That's what it is for you, too, is it not?"

"You hate blood magic?"

Dorian chuckled anxiously. "Have I given the opposite impression? I'm an enigma, I know." Though he kept his face turned away, Cullen caught the small scowl of disgust that crossed Dorian's face.

Cullen was about to ask why he would ever use such magic if he so abhorred it when his conversation with Alexius came to mind.

Whatever drove him to it…it must have been the last resort.

That was the memory Dorian had offered, but only in exchange for tearing Cullen down, too. Maybe Dorian knew that would force Cullen to simply accept it and move on.

"I did," Dorian muttered. "I — I killed him," he abruptly clarified. "He was…he had —."

Cullen put a finger to Dorian's lips to silence him. The Commander in him protested, but in truth, Cullen knew all he needed to know. "I am sorry, Dorian." His breath was a little shaky as he steadied himself. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Dorian searched him in silence before wiping some of the blood from his chin and pointedly holding up his hand as though to show Cullen some of what he'd done, his mustache twitching as he almost smiled. "Liar," he accused, his voice thick despite the obvious tease.

Cullen smirked, taking the hand and kissing the bloodied palm, quickly swiping it clean with his tongue. Dorian exhaled tremulously, but Cullen was glad to see the sparkle return to Dorian's eyes. "Come back to bed?" he offered quietly.

Dorian sighed, smiling sadly. "I don't know if I —."

"We don't have to. Just…let me hold you?"

He could hardly believe what he was asking, but was more amazed to realize that was exactly what he wanted to do. Dorian looked almost as surprised, but also did not reject the idea.

It wasn't long before the two returned to their previous position on the bed, with Cullen no longer fighting the urge to run his fingers through Dorian's hair. He had almost fallen asleep like that when Dorian murmured, "Are you really?" Cullen blinked stupidly, wondering if he had actually fallen asleep and missed a conversation, but then Dorian clarified, "My amatus?"

Cullen's heart skipped a beat. If he'd been more awake, he'd probably consider his answer quite carefully, but as it was he simply answered honestly. "I suppose I am."