The blanket of sleep was difficult to put aside the next day. Cullen approached the state of wakefulness slowly, at first only aware that he was not in his own bed since he was far too comfortable for that. A vague impression of delightful dreams lingered, and he shifted his hips as remnant images floated through his mind and made a smile come to his lips.

"Pleasant dreams, I take it?" a voice murmured from near at hand.

Cullen didn't open his eyes, but the smile grew wider. "Not as pleasant as the sound of your voice so very early in the morn," he said, not really thinking before saying the words. They merely felt… apt.

Warmth pressed up against him, from shoulder to toe, and Cullen made an appreciative sound as fingers traced his jawline. "Enchanting words, tesoro. It makes me wonder if you are truly awake yet." The fingers moved down his neck, then ventured farther, exploring the muscles they found on Cullen's chest.

"Mmmf, not particularly," Cullen said with a soft chuckle. "Certainly feels like a dream." He wanted to open his eyes, he honestly did, but that voice and that touch… Surely this was a dream. Best not to risk it by lifting his heavy eyelids. "Too good to be real," he mumbled.

He heard a low, throaty chuckle and felt lips press against his cheek, a hint of a tickle above them from a mustache. "You're quite beautiful when you sleep. The peace which comes over you is a wonder to witness. The lines of care on your forehead," two gentle fingers lightly stroked across his brow, "they disappear entirely."

Cullen was having difficulty really paying attention to the words, since the hand had returned to his torso and was now venturing ever downwards. "Mayhap `tis due to the company," he said, turning his face towards Dorian, though his eyes remained closed tight. When the hand reached top of his breeches and paused, he bit his lip and breathed in sharply through his nose.

"Mayhap," Dorian conceded. Cullen gasped as he felt a hard palm smooth over the ache of his morning need. "Or mayhap `tis due to whatever dreams created this. Would you be prepared to describe such delights to me?"

After a shuddering gasp and a reflexive push upwards of his hips, Cullen managed a breathy chuckle. "Does such as that truly require explanation?" Now his eyes opened, to find Dorian's face inches from his own. His hand reached up to caress the man's cheek, thumb chasing the rather ragged curl of his mustache. "`Twas you, surely you must know this. There can be no other."

The adoring smile which answered those words quite took Cullen's breath away. "The things you say," Dorian murmured, then leaned in to claim Cullen's lips for a kiss both tender and lingering, even as Dorian's fingers deftly plucked at the stays which held Cullen's codpiece in place and pulled it aside to be lost under the blanket.

As Dorian's hand wrapped around his length and squeezed lightly, Cullen moaned into the kiss and pushed upwards against that most delicious of grasps. After that first squeeze, though, Dorian simply explored, his fingers trailing a path up and down the firm shaft with an almost teasing touch that made Cullen squirm. When the kiss came to an end, Dorian's mouth moved away from Cullen's, his tongue darting out to momentarily tease the light scar on Cullen's upper lip. Then the lips and the tickling line of hair above them moved along Cullen's jawline towards his ear, where they paused for a moment.

Cullen was more than awake now, each delicate flick and scrape of a fingernail and hot breath on his skin causing a surge of pleasure. In desperate measure to counter his body's rising heat, he grasped the blanket and yanked it aside to provide a momentary relief. Meanwhile his other arm burrowed under Dorian's body and wrapped around the man, smoothing down his back and searching for the line between flesh and cloth… and finding none.

As his hand landed on a taut, toned, and very bare lower cheek, he felt the muscle flex under his palm as Dorian chuckled. "On occasion, I become quite heated during the night, particularly when the company is so very…" Dorian's hand wrapped around Cullen and slowly tugged upwards, his thumb swiping over the tip to obtain that extra bit of moisture to ease the same motion in reverse. "...delectable."

Cullen swallowed harshly. He rarely slept in such a state of undress, but he suddenly could not picture a thought more arousing than being like unto Dorian in the matter. "'Would it not be… uncouth were I not to join you in such an endeavor?" he asked, even as his hips moved in a desperate circle to counter Dorian's touch below.

"Oh, so very uncouth, tesoro. Why, I would be forced to take extreme measures were you not to consider the option," Dorian said.

Before Cullen could inquire after those intriguing measures, Dorian's teeth and lips closed around his earlobe, and a ragged gasp escaped Cullen's lips. It also provided just that extra bit of spark he needed to push back at Dorian, turning them over so that the man lay beneath him. For a moment, he admired the outline of his hand on the man's darker skin, but the moment passed swiftly as Cullen leaned down and seized Dorian's lips in a none-too-gentle kiss. Settling his leg between Dorian's and using it to maneuver one of them to the side, Cullen rolled his hips, pressing in so that their shafts rubbed firmly against each other. His morning ache acquired a new note of desperation as this time it was Dorian who moaned softly into the kiss and lifted hips to repeat the motion.

Cullen kept himself supported with one hand as his other worked feverishly at the stays for his breeches, hips still moving in that inexorable dance with Dorian's. Their lips sought and found each other most of the time, though naturally some straying was inevitable. The resulting livid marks would, by fortune's favor, be concealed by doublet and ruffled collar, and remain as delicious reminders of this morning's activities.

Yet the fervent kisses and ardent nibbling quickly became but a subdued note in the growing chorus of need and desire. When Cullen finally simply tore away his bothersome breeches, Dorian's hand moved to the space between their bodies, gathered some of the slickness he found there, and wrapped around both lengths with evident purpose. Cullen groaned, yet his hips did not stop their motion by even the smallest amount. Neither, thankfully, did Dorian's, and as their breaths grew shorter and their skin acquired a certain sheen, Cullen found his lips returning to meet Dorian's own as his hands buried themselves in the man's hair.

When he felt the the small death approach, he tore his lips away and pressed their foreheads together so he could feel the man's hot breath and see his face for as long as it was possible to keep his eyes open. "Dorian," he panted, attempting to convey with that one word the depth of his need and the urgency of his desire.

The Italian's breathing was ragged, and he just gave a short, quick nod. "Si, si," he gasped in return. Cullen suddenly arched his back and stifled a small cry as the man's grip shifted subtly, and what had been inevitable suddenly arrived with a tremendous wave of now. His hips dug in deeply, meeting a similar motion from Dorian, and together they shared a moment of breathless bliss.

When the strength of Cullen's elbow finally gave out and he half-fell to the side, Dorian chased him with a soft, husky laugh. The string of tender, tiny kisses which followed utterly destroyed Cullen, and for a time he lost himself in sensuous touches of fervent worship both given and received. Eventually, though, even that ceased, and they lay limp, each chasing after their respective breaths.

After a while, he reached blindly behind him and retrieved his breeches, pausing when he felt Dorian tense. "Is aught amiss?" he asked before using the poor, torn garments to clean up as much of the remnants of their passion as he could before throwing them to the floor. I pray Varric will be able to acquire some more for me, he sighed, though there was not a moment of regret in the thought.

When Dorian still hadn't answered, Cullen moved closer and gently pushed the man onto his back again, then curled up next to him with his head resting on Dorian's shoulder. As he drew the blanket up to cover both of them once more, he glanced up at Dorian and frowned slightly when he saw the man's expression. Suddenly concerned, he reached up and stroked Dorian's cheek. "Are you peaked?"

"I… Nay, I…" Dorian cleared his throat, then suddenly leaned in for a fierce kiss.

When their lips parted, Cullen smiled up at him. "You did worry me, with your visage of doom and dire."

"When you reached for your breeches, for a moment…" Dorian reached down and attempted to set Cullen's hair to rights, though he would soon find that to be impossible. "For a moment, I thought you meant to leave."

Cullen's eyebrows furrowed. "Mayhap to locate the privy, but no more. And not for a while. I am quite undone at this moment."

Dorian chuckled at that, and his fingers moved down to stroke Cullen's cheek. "`Tis only that… I am accustomed to waking alone, or being left once certain… vigor has been exercised. I was - am - uncertain as to whether you would be the same."

For a moment, Cullen worked through those words. "Am I to understand that this is not what you desire, then? For me to depart?"

He heard Dorian's breath catch in his throat, and then the man closed his eyes, the tension returning to him. "Nay," he confessed in hushed tones.

Cullen smiled and moved up enough that he could take Dorian's lips with a tenderness which he hoped conveyed his own will on the matter. When his pulse began to race and lower parts of his body reminded him that it was far too soon for these sorts of activities, he pressed his forehead to Dorian's and caressed that poor ragged curl of a mustache with a gentle touch. "Then I shall not. I swear to you, I would stay at your side as long as you would have it so."

Dorian shivered as his eyelids fluttered closed, and his arm rose to circle around Cullen's waist. "That may be quite a time, indeed. Years, perchance." He pulled Cullen closer, then, burying his head in the crook of the man's shoulder. "Mayhap longer."

"I foresee no hardship," Cullen said softly.

Dorian drew in a shuddering breath. "I do not fully understand," he confessed softly. "Ne'er before have I felt this fierce need for more."

"More than the pleasure of an hour or a night?" Cullen asked.

"Aye. In Italy, as I have previously spoke, the heart could not be involved. Pleasure was as pleasure did, and after that moment you went your separate ways for fear of the eyes of the Church and the law falling upon you, since they are much the same in my homeland. Indeed," Dorian said, tone turning bitter as he let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling, "my father would claim he but sought to save me from such a perilous fate with what he did. A wife would ensure my respectability, secure the future of the family, present me to the world as I was meant to be - the perfectly obedient and God-fearing son of the Duke of Mantua."

Cullen couldn't help it - he reached up and stroked Dorian's cheek, turning the man's face to look at him. "Thanks be to God he did not succeed."

Dorian's expressive face showed subtle anger and sorrow both. "Alexius once told me that he was a better man before he became Duke, my father, but to be ruler of Mantua is to dance the line between many opposing forces. And as I was told so often in my youth, to do so requires sacrifice. Mayhap even one's own son."

"What did he do?" Cullen asked. "Though I know for certain I will not like the answer."

"He sent me to a lovely little crumbling monastery with a paid-for priest and his hired mercenari for… cleansing. Purging. Whatever you want to call a man's attempt to exorcise demons which don't exist." Dorian's eyes widened slightly at the memory, and his pupils constricted, signs Cullen all too readily recognized as a memory of pain. "Father is a rich man, and some priests, even in Italy, are desperate for patronage."

Cullen closed his eyes and breathed deeply, instinctively wrapping his arm around Dorian. "How did you endure?" he asked softly.

Dorian snorted softly and again focused intently on the ceiling. "I absolutely refused to give my Father the satisfaction of victory," he declared. "And after biding my time, I was able to make my escape, and was taken in by a traveling thiaso. You can probably imagine that some there were sympathetic to my plight. That was… two years ago? Three?" His breath caught in his throat as he sighed. "It took a long time for Father to track me down. Mantua lives and dies by its alliances, though, and he needs that alliance with the Medici. Yet never could I go back and live that lie."

He paused, then looked down at Cullen. "You know precisely how it is," he murmured. "To live knowing that every action, every thought, is a falsity and a corruption of your own self. It is…" he paused, searching for the most apropos description.

"A poison. One that etches your very soul," Cullen agreed softly as his eyes closed for a moment. "And one not easily recovered from, either."

"Aye." Dorian's finger gently lifted Cullen's face, making Cullen look up at him and emerge from the darkness behind his eyelids. "One need not recover alone, however."

Cullen lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, seeking to lighten the mood. That, and taking the excuse of looking up to glance at Dorian's full lips and lick his own.

Dorian's lips curved into a half-smile. "Oh, you are trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he murmured, then lowered his lips to meet Cullen's.

Both men started when a knocking came from the door. "Food 'n' such!" called a woman's voice, followed by footsteps retreating down the hall."

"At least I don't feel quite as murderous about an interruption," Dorian noted, then pressed a kiss to Cullen's forehead. "Remain as you are, amore. I shall attend to everything."

As Dorian pulled himself from Cullen's embrace and went to the door, Cullen leaned his head on his hand and admired the view thus given with a smile, even as something nagged at him. "I thought I was tesoroh," he remarked as Dorian reached the door.

Dorian chuckled, glancing back at Cullen and winked at him. "That, too," he said, then edged the door open and looked down. "Ah. We have a most considerate host, it appears." Before Cullen could ask for details, he pulled the door open some more and bent over. Cullen found himself quite unable to speak for a few moments as Dorian retrieved whatever had been left outside their door and brought it inside. "It appears to be clothes as well as food beneath. And… aye, I do believe he included the most important thing of all." Setting the tray down on a small table, he retrieved a small object from it and turned to present it to Cullen with a smile of triumph. "A comb. Now if only we had some oil…"

The words dimmed Cullen's chuckle before it could truly begin. "My pack, would you please bring it to me?"

"You wish to watch me traipse across the room in all my glory once more, hmm?" Dorian asked with a laugh. "Very well, if you insist, I shall indulge you." He retrieved the pack and brought it back to the bed, depositing it next to the man still lying in it before leaning over to plant a soft kiss on his mouth. As he watched Cullen dig through the pack, he added, "And how, pray tell, did my nattering about a comb incite this search, hmm?"

"Not the comb. Oil," he noted, pulling out a small flask, setting it aside, and then reaching in to pull out more. "Boğa put several kinds in here. I know not if it be a true replacement for what you normally use, but I know there would be at least lamp oil and olive oil in here, amongst others. Mayhap you know of the nature of the others. He is a great believer in over-preparedness."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the flasks with a thoughtful expression on his face. Cullen glanced up from the pack in time to see the other man's tongue emerge from his mouth and lightly run along his parted lips, and the sight was enough to make him blush even before Dorian observed in a slightly breathy tone, "I can think of far better uses than mere hair control for at least one of these marvelous oils."

"I do not take your mean-" And then, all at once, he did, and the blush darkened even as a renewed ache awoke below. "God's blood, Dorian, that was a cruel thought to place in my head at this precise moment."

"Then I shall tease you anon rather than this moment," Dorian said with a chuckle. He did gather the little flasks and jars, though, taking them back across the room to deposit on the table next to the comb, then returned with a steaming bowl and spoon to hand to Cullen. "We should eat. It has been a long time since that hurried repast we enjoyed when first we arrived at Boğa's abode."

"Aye." Cullen sat up and took the food gratefully. It had been a while, and he ate with a considerable amount of enthusiasm. Still, if his glances towards those little containers of oil were any indication, he was also distracted. After eating, they agreed it was past time to meet with their host, so they dressed and performed their respective ablutions whilst speaking of nothing in particular.

Yet the thought of all those little flasks lingered.

Sated in more ways than one and with mustache returned to order, the two men finally emerged from their room in the early hours after the sun reached its peak. A convenient encounter with the maid informed them that the master of the house could be found in the upstairs window gallery. They found him there, ensconced in a chair, talking to a woman in the house across the street - there being about a foot between the window galleries of the two homes - and laughing as she explained with hopefully improbable gestures about an encounter she'd had in the tavern the night before. When she jabbed her forearm in the air and pulled her hand down along it in a clear sexual gesture, Dorian winced. "Rather… indelicate."

Cullen agreed, but Varric was laughing heartily and said to the woman as they approached, "Well, she must be happy."

"Oh, yeah, no doubt of that," the blond woman replied more than a bit smugly. "Wants to see me again, she does." She glanced back over her shoulder, then looked back to Varric. "Better get going, though. Don't want to get caught, do I?" With a wink, she glanced down into the street, then slipped out of the window and squeezed between the galleries before dangling above the cobbles. After a moment, she dropped, landed with expert ease, and took off running.

Varric chortled as he closed his windows. "Don't mind Sera," he told them. "A bit enthusiastic, but she's one of the best professional snitches in London, both in rumor and in baubles. She has a grudge against my erstwhile neighbor, and likes to leave suitably insulting but ribald notes in his study every week at this time. Serves the old bald-pate right." He gestured the two men to take a seat in the other chairs in the galleries. "You both appear to be in much better spirits than when last I saw you. The clothes are a neat fit, then?"

"Better than those which we arrived in," Dorian agreed. "I am not sure how we can ever repay you."

Holding up a hand, Varric shook his head. "I pay Boğa and his crew plenty of protection money for… various activities. Whatever I do for you comes out of those costs, so I assure you, I can afford to be generous." He grinned and put his hands behind his head as he sat back. "Not an offer everyone who comes to me can claim, I do assure you. You'll have more than just the clothes on your back when I send you on your way."

"And… where would that be, pray tell? You have us at rather a disadvantage at this point in time," Dorian pointed out.

"As you might have surmised, I'm not just some storyteller tucked away in a modest part of London," Varric said with a grin. Bringing his hands down to steeple in front of his face, he continued, "I have a lot of contacts, a lot of informants, and a lot of… let's call them 'business partners'. In other words, I know a lot of people who are very, very good at staying out of sight and out of mind of most of the world. Seems to me you could use something like that, at least for the short term."

"To… disappear?" Dorian clarified.

"From official notice, that is indeed the plan. That's not hard to do, in all truth, but doing it in such a way you can still live in style? That takes connections." Varric tapped his chest modestly. "Which, lucky you, come in the form of yours truly. And, since you're saving me a lot of money on a high-end expense, I'm willing to help you out of your little situation."

"What's the catch?" Cullen asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.

Varric shrugged slightly, settling his hands on the arms of his chair. "Stay disappeared for a while. I can't have you suddenly gaining prominence on a stage somewhere."

With a little noise of exasperation, Dorian rolled his eyes. "Then what do you propose we do to support ourselves above a menial existence, or, as you put it, 'live in style?' I refuse to live the life of a refugee. The thiaso, at least, provided for basic creature comforts, and more."

Waving his hand in a placating motion, Varric looked between the two of them as he exclaimed, "Hold your horses. I've already written your story." Turning to Cullen, he said, "You will become just another actor from the back country who tried and failed to gain the attention of the Queen's troupe. In desperation, you infiltrate Whitehall in a bid to attract official attention. You run into him," Varric said, pointing to Dorian, "as he is leaving Whitehall in a glorious rage after a falling out with his thiaso following a performance before the Queen. Events proceed as might be expected, and you both decide to try your luck as traveling itinerant actors, playing to the crowds. Rumors follow you of mysterious pasts, but nothing comes of it, and you become moderately successful along the coast of England for your acts."

"Events proceed as might be expected?" Cullen echoed dubiously.

Varric chuckled. "Relax, Curly. I don't go into too much detail. Enough to intrigue, not enough to indict, that's my rule."

"So if that's the story, what will we actually do?" Dorian asked curiously, knowing that although his thiaso wouldn't blame him for what happened with his father, neither would they accept him back into the fold. Actors lived a precarious existence as it was, and Dorian's heightened notoriety certainly was a burden they could not afford to bear.

"Something completely different," Varric said with a beatific smile. "You're going into business."

Dorian blinked, obviously not expecting that answer. "I beg your pardon?"

"Business, specifically, the printing business. I have an idea for certain types of books I want to produce, but so far none of the major printing houses will even touch them. So I'm going to have someone teach you how to use a printing press, and you're going to run a publishing house for my works."

"From acting to printing books,'" Dorian said, then suddenly laughed. "Oh, what would Father say? The son of the Duke of Mantua a mere merchant, peddling pathetic periodicals?"

"He would hate it, and because of that, you will quite enjoy it," Cullen said with a smile.

"In very deed." Smirking, Dorian turned to Varric. "An intriguing proposition. What sort of books, precisely, will we be responsible for peddling?"

Varric's lips spread into a wide grin. "Oh, the sort guaranteed to get a respectable Englishwoman's calling for the smelling salts after she's finished reading it for the third time. In private. If you understand my meaning."

After only a moment, Dorian's expression matched that of Varric. "I see." He reached up and smoothed his fingers along his perfectly curled mustache. "In other words, you want us to be the sweet death of-"

"-most of the literate people in England, yes." Varric raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully many times. Interested?"

"Beyond reason, yes. I'm quite sure neither your Queen's church nor my father's own would approve, and that simply... adds to the delight." Dorian chuckled, ignoring Cullen's fiery cheeks and furiously cleared throat. "When will all this be set into play?"

Varric glanced out the window, trying to gauge the position of the sun. "My colleague will arrive a few hours after dark, so you've got a while. The rest of your clothes and other items you will need should arrive in the meantime, but you have some time to expend." He shrugged and spread his hands. "Do with the time as you like. I've some business to attend to in the city, or I'd suggest a game of cards."

"Why do I feel as if I have somehow evaded a fate worse than death?" Dorian mused with a little grin.

"Probably because you have," Varric said with a chuckle as he stood. He proved to be even shorter than Cullen had estimated, but no less powerful for all that. "I shall return anon. If you need aught, simply let the girl know, and she'll get it for you. Gentlemen," he said with a final nod of his head before heading at a brisk pace to the stairs.

Cullen and Dorian rose as well, Cullen leading the way as they moved to descend as well. Their hands reached out, and both men smiled as they found the other waiting, wanting. Glancing at Dorian, Cullen said softly, "Have you any ideas on how to fill our time?"

"Oh, I might have an idea or two," Dorian murmured, then leaned over and whispered into Cullen's ear, "all of them involving oil."

Licking his lips, Cullen cleared his throat softly before glancing at Dorian out of the corner of his eyes. "Ah… the… thought did pass my mind. More than once, in point of fact."

"Then," Dorian said as his thumb smoothed over Cullen's palm, "let us go explore, shall we?"

Cullen was only too eager and willing to follow him.

Later - much later, in point of fact - when both men were covered in sweat and spend, with hair and mustache once more thoroughly mussed and dampened, Cullen again found himself snuggled close to Dorian, eyes half-closed as they enjoyed a series of long, slow kisses. Dorian's fingers enjoyed dancing over Cullen's arm and chest, whereas Cullen contented himself with toying with the hair leading down from the navel on Dorian's firm abdomen. Every once in a while, Dorian would pull back from a kiss and simply watch Cullen with an adoring smile on his face. One of those times, he murmured, "Your appearance is enough to set my heart aflutter, amore."

Cullen chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "Oh? Why, precisely?"

Fingers tracing along each part as he spoke, Dorian murmured, "Cheeks flushed with extended exertion, lips dry from panting yet red and moistened with kisses, skin coated with perspiration from our activities, and hair completely pulled from its queue and loose on your shoulders in damp curls… Mmm, I could get attached to this, very much so."

As Cullen started to respond, Dorian leaned down and kissed his parted lips, rendering Cullen speechless yet again. Finally Cullen managed to find a space to pull back long enough so he could reach up and cup Dorian's face. "And I will admit a certain liking to a thoroughly ravaged mustache above your lips," he said with a half-smile. "As a reminder of how it got to be that way."

Dorian's eyes twinkled. "Only for you," he said with that tender smile. "Only for you will I come undone to such a degree."

"Good," Cullen said, then softly laughed. "The events of these past few days remain a whirl in my mind still. To go from being a bumbling fool forgetting how to bow with proper attention but five nights past to…" His fingers smoothed down Dorian's chest to where it had previously been playing, and tugged on some of the hairs they found. "...this."

Inhaling sharply, Dorian's fingers sank into Cullen's hair and pulled him into a rough kiss. "Persist in that activity, and I shall have no choice but to raise the stake," he said, then tugged Cullen's lower lip between his teeth before devouring the man until both were left breathless.

"Alas, we are out of oil," Cullen mused.

"I can be very creative when it is a matter of necessity," Dorian assured him. "Though I do believe you will appreciate the final outcome. When you awaken."

Cullen pushed himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Dorian, then slowly grinned. And tugged.

And learned that Dorian could be very creative, if it were a matter of necessity.