Affairs of the Heart from Cullen's pov.
Sometimes Cullen wishes the Inquisitor wasn't such good friends with Dorian Pavus. They're so close, such good friends, and as such Dorian's become her mage of choice for whenever she heads out on missions. Every time they leave Cullen's heart clenches a little, and the weeks they spend away from Skyhold are always full of a low anxiety which he finds he can't ignore, even in the grips of withdrawal migraines. Those long weeks remind him painfully of everything he keeps to himself, and how every time they leave Skyhold, it might be the last time he ever sees them.
Cullen and Dorian aren't exactly close. They play chess together from time to time, and Cullen treasures those moments. They're light-hearted moments, even if Dorian's relentless flirting – the same flirting he throws about at every handsome man he lays eyes on – tugs at Cullen's heart-strings and leaves him feeling a little empty. It's embarrassing, being on the receiving end of Dorian's particular brand of intensity, but he likes to think he holds his own, when he can.
He supposes it's a little pathetic, the way he pines in silence. Cullen has never been much for romance or relationships. Watching Mia go through life ahead of him hadn't been the most inspiring, and after joining the Templars it hadn't been the time or the place. The middle of a potentially world-ending war, the threat of Corypheus looming overhead every day, probably isn't any better, but Cullen never asked for this. Never asked to meet the dashing Tevinter Altus, with his golden skin and sharp wit. Never asked to lose himself in that wit, to waste working hours with thoughts lingering on that skin.
Cullen is certain the Inquisitor knows. He's never said it, and neither has she, but she gives him these looks, whenever she comes by for status updates and instead catches him daydreaming. They're a little smug, the spiked tattoos around her eyes crinkling as she smiles at him, knowing but not saying. But knowing what? She's a strange person, he's known that from the start, not at all the noble he had expected when her name first reached his ears, but she is a dear friend nevertheless.
A dear friend with no sense of personal boundaries.
Cullen is shuffling the papers on his desk, preparing himself for another bittersweet chess game with his heart's desire, when the Inquisitor waltzes into his office. There's a wicked grin on her face, a scheming gleam in her eyes, and Cullen doesn't know what he's done to deserve this but a thrill of trepidation shoots down his spine at the sight of her. She rolls her eyes, as if she can sense the dread, and beckons him closer. Cullen comes with only a slight reluctance, because he will do whatever she asks of him until the Inquisition is no more, and long after that as well.
Evelyn hooks their arms together at the elbow when he reaches her side, and leans a little closer, up on her toes as that scheming look turns conspiratorial.
"I won't take too much of your time," she promises, but there are promises hidden under that promise and Cullen still can't read her and isn't at all sure what this is about. "I know you've got a game to get to."
Despite himself, Cullen blushes faintly at the acknowledgment. It's one thing knowing that she knows – and it's not as though he's been hiding the chess games, they're public knowledge – and another to have it whispered in his face, chiding and teasing, with unknown plans whirring away in her mind with every warm breath.
"I'll walk you to the garden," she continues, and Cullen doesn't have it in himself to refuse her, not as she tugs lightly on his arm, already turning towards the door. His feet move automatically, and he allows her to guide him.
"What did you wish to discuss?" Cullen asks, though he isn't sure he should be prompting her at all. If it's another game of Wicked Graces she's proposing, Cullen will have to put his foot down. He's not sure how much of that sort of embarrassment he can handle.
"I was thinking perhaps Templars and Mages," she says without preamble, truth and lie all mixed seamlessly into one. Cullen's heart skips a beat, and if it was anyone but her he would think it political, but Evelyn only talks around the issue to rile people up, and he knows precisely what she means.
"How so?" He prompts, pretending his voice doesn't tremble. She is a sturdy presence at his side, the keeper of oh-so-many secrets but he doesn't know if this is right, if he should be prying into whatever it is she knows.
"I know a Templar who is in love with a Mage," she gives him a pointed look, voice quiet to avoid attracting the attention of the people they walk past, "and I know a Mage who is hopelessly in love with a Templar."
She says no names and Cullen would love to think she means Dorian but can it be so?
"The two of them are rather stubborn and pathetic and it just tugs at my poor bleeding heart to see them pining so over one another, neither daring enough to take a chance, a leap of faith. So I said to myself, why don't you just give them a push? Just because I'm alone it doesn't mean they should deny themselves this chance. What are friends for, if not for facilitating romances?"
Anything else she says is drowned out by a certain buzzing in his ears. His face is aflame, Cullen can feel it, and Dorian's arrived before him, as he usually does, but there's something different about this all of a sudden. Evelyn laughs, and disentangles herself from him when they reach the table. She pats his elbow reassuringly, but Cullen barely notices.
His heart's beating a little too quick; all this new information floating around in his mind, and he doesn't know quite how to handle it all. Cullen takes everything in: Dorian's relaxed slouch that never manages to look anything other than regal, the way he's already made his first move, something Cullen used to call cheating that Dorian called Tevinter ingenuity.
But maybe he stares a little too long, not sure what to do with himself, because suddenly Dorian is there, on his feet, in front of him, with his arms folded and a small frown on his lips and it draws his moustache down just so in a way Cullen finds unduly intriguing…
He speaks, and Cullen forces himself to concentrate.
"If today is not a good day, Commander," Dorian begins, all his usual teasing and jibes toned down as much as Cullen supposes is possible for the mage to manage, "we can postpone this game to another time."
Cullen startles at this, gaze jumping immediately to Dorian's face. His tone is sincere, but reluctant, trying so hard to be respectful. But Cullen doesn't want Dorian to leave. Maybe they won't play chess today, if things go well, but under no circumstances does Cullen want to be left alone.
Dorian looks so damned concerned, worried for Cullen's wellbeing, and Cullen just… snaps. Suddenly this all feels real. There's a look in Dorian's eyes that tells Cullen, now that he's aware, now that he's looking for it, that the Inquisitor isn't just winding him up.
Dorian reaches hesitantly out towards him, ring-laden fingers coming to rest against his bicep. Cullen doesn't say a word, watching silently, letting Dorian do as he pleases. His concern doesn't appear to have ebbed any, though.
"Cullen, are you well?" There's a hesitance to Dorian now, even as his fingers curl themselves unbidden in the fabric of Cullen's sleeve. The way he holds himself has changed, a nervous tension that runs through him, belying his regular effortless confidence.
Cullen can't help himself. He smiles, bright and wide. The sound his name on Dorian's lips is something he will never tire of.
"You barely ever use my name," Cullen comments, partially teasing, mostly satisfied. Dorian nods slowly, a confused tilt to his head.
"The Inquisitor has been telling me some interesting things," he continues, still smiling, but warier now. Cullen has no doubt that Evelyn had acted out on her own, and she didn't have Dorian's permission to tell him anything, but he can't help but flaunt the knowledge anyway. He knows now. Dorian can't gloss over it.
Dorian's fingers clench in his shirt, frustrated, wary, and Cullen regrets speaking so frankly. He's not good at this. His words betray him in ways Dorian's never do. He's always felt that actions speak stronger than words. So that's what he does.
Cullen reaches out, with the arm Dorian isn't touching, and brushes his fingers along Dorian's face, gently tilting his chin up so the mage is looking in his eyes once again.
"I thought she was teasing me. You know how she is, better than anyone."
A little, confused frown follows Cullen's words. His smile turns soft, adoring. Even out of his depth, Dorian is a sight to behold. He can't help himself. Cullen runs his thumb along Dorian's cheekbone, tender and loving. Dorian lets out a breathy little sigh, and Cullen's heart swells with it.
Dorian's gazing up at him with wide eyes, bright with want and indecision, and Cullen knows, instinctually, that he needs to move first, that Dorian will never take that first step.
Cullen's fingers trail across Dorian's skin, before cupping the back of Dorian's neck. He steps closer, crowding Dorian against the table, and leans in.
Kissing Dorian is like drinking liquid sunshine. It warms Cullen from head to toe, and he can't get enough. He wants this heat forever.
His fingers tangle in Dorian's hair, and any other time he imagines a put-upon protest, but there are no complaints forthcoming at the moment.
Dorian's moustache tickles, and when he pulls away for air he's so ecstatically delirious that he wants to laugh, but he bites it back, terrified of ruining the moment. His cheeks are red, he's sure of it, his face warmer than he feels comfortable with, but then he takes in the picture Dorian makes, hair ruffled, eyes wide, tanned skin warm with a blush, and he feels inordinately pleased with himself for having put that look there.
He wants to speak, the words bubbling in his throat, begging to be let out, but he knows Dorian, knows him better than he usually likes to admit, and he knows that this isn't the time for words. Dorian's skittish at the best of times, and his declarations of affection can wait, wait until a private moment, when Dorian's had time to adjust. So instead, he rests a hand on Dorian's hip, and tries to let the pounding of his heart and the ragged edge to his breath speak for him.
He's going to have to have a talk with the Inquisitor about interfering in other people's lives, but he can't bring himself to be upset about her abusing her position as confidante, just this once.