The door shuts with the heavy metallic thud of old hardware and wood sliding into place. It’s just her and Cullen in the war room now. The pretenses that she held for Leliana and Josephine’s sake drop, though she is certain she fooled neither of them. A weighted sigh falls from her lips and she leans on the massive, ancient wooden slab.
Strong arms encircle her waist and pull her back to a solid chest. She lets herself go, molds to him, lets him bear everything. He’s softer, has foregone heavy metal armor for a leather jerkin now that he’s not training new recruits. She likes the change. His stubble-rough chin grazes her ear and she lets her head fall to the side with an entirely different sigh as his lips press against her neck.
“Are you alright, Ren?” he asks softly.
“Just stress.” She turns and meets his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. The anchor burns through her arm, through her lie, but she doesn’t want to concern him. He can’t make it stop.
He knows she’s evading, she can see it in his honey-brown eyes as he takes her face in. She’s kept it to herself that the anchor’s been troubling her lately. Only one person had ever been able to help with that, and he’d vanished months ago. She pushes him from her mind.
“Perhaps you need a distraction.” He kisses the inner shell of her ear and she shivers.
“Have something in mind, do you?”
“I might.” Absent the heavy gauntlets, his fingers are deft at undoing the laces on her doeskin trousers.
She laughs and reaches up to run her fingers through his blonde hair. “Right here, in the war room?”
His cheeks color, but he’s undeterred. He pushes her trousers and small clothes down, exposing her to the cool draft no one’s managed to eliminate. “We’ve no further business until the morrow.”
“Then by all means, Commander,” she murmurs and kisses him again, chaste no more. She catches his lower lip between her teeth as he withdraws for breath and smirks. She lets go. “Distract me.”
His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and a quiet growl escapes him. “As my Inquisitor commands.”
He spins her in his arms and lifts her effortlessly onto the war table where it’s uncovered by maps. The smooth wood is chill against her ass. He slides her pants the rest of the way down, discards them across another part of the table, leaving her lower half clad only in the leather foot wrappings she wore around Skyhold. He kneels before her, gazes up at her with adoration and a silent query. She nods and he spreads her wide at the edge of the table.
He kisses a slow trail up from her knee to her core. Her hands grasp the soft leather at his shoulders to keep her balance. She shudders as his tongue parts her folds. His hands snake around her hips, grabbing her ass and canting her hips to give him a better angle.
She releases a stuttering gasp as he devours her. His tongue laves the length of her slit, teasing her clit before dropping down and dipping inside her. Her hands slide up and knot in his hair as her hip buck involuntarily, trying to get him deeper. He pushes back against her, lets her take what friction she can get, but doesn’t relinquish control completely.
“Cullen, please,” she whimpers as his tongue circles her clit. Teasing. His grip tightens on her hips, stills her movements. She retaliates by wrapping her legs around him, pulling him in against her. She calls his name again, a begging note entwined pitches her voice higher.
He chuckles, acquiesces, takes her between his lips. He sucks and licks until she cries out her release, fingers digging into his scalp, toes curling into his back,
She falls back, limp, and it’s only his quick hands grabbing hers that keep her from cracking her head on the wood. He eases her down gently, reverently, as she comes back to herself with breathy sighs.
A moment later, he crawls up onto the table over her. An echo of their first night together, when they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other, and he’d taken her across his desk. His hand slides beneath her, shifts her further back on the table as he straddles her, breaches already down to his knees.
She feels him hot, hard, heavy against her hips and arches up to meet him as his hand pillows behind her head and he captures her lips. His tongue slips into her mouth and she tastes the tang of herself on him. Her arms wrap around his broad back, pull him closer, fingers pressing into leather. She wishes they’d had the forethought to take off their shirts so she could feel his skin, trace his scars. So that he could trace hers.
He moans low in his throat as she grinds against him. He pulls back from the kiss, breathless. A moment later, he aligns and sinks his length inside her.
“More,” she rasps, stretching around his girth. His forehead presses to hers as he thrusts slowly, sinking deeper and deeper until he’s hilted in her cunt.
“Andraste preserve me,” he exhales, rapturous.
He thrusts in earnest as she clings to him, pinned between his solid bulk and the solid table. She feels herself rising with him, heat spreading inside her with every press of his hips to hers. If not for the leather, her nails would dig crescents into his back. She buries her face into the cleft of his shoulder as her breath hitches.
He holds her closer, calls her name like a prayer. His other hand slips between them, circling her already-sensitive clit. It doesn’t take much to tip her over the edge again. She sobs and shudders and clenches around him as he finds his own release in her with a ragged groan, his rhythm stuttering as he rides them both out.
They stay there, still, breathing hard and revelling in the feeling of each other. Her hands fall limp beside her. She sends one of the figures tumbling across the map. Cullen reaches, but rather than right it, he twines his fingers in hers. He gently works his other hand out from under her head and pushes himself up onto his elbows, taking some of his weight off her. She curls her head up, kisses his nose, and falls back to the table laughing.
“What’s so funny?” He isn’t offended, just curious. He eases himself off and out of her with a small grunt of effort and his feet hit the floor once more.
“Your hair.” Her answer is broken with mirth and she rolls onto her side, holding her belly.
“My hair?” He runs a hand lightly over the top of it and frowns when he finds the haphazard spikes. He checks his reflection in the window and the baffled look on his face when he turns back to her sets her off again.
Between her hands and his sweat, his perfectly styled and waxed hair is beyond redemption. He tries to smooth it down, but there is no salvaging it. It sits in ragged waves cut by his fingers, some tufts just untameable and hanging down over his eyes. He sighs, but his lips turn in a sideways smile.
“No hiding that when we emerge.”
She climbs off the table, fishes the handkerchief out of her jacket pocket, and wipes herself down. “Not at all,” she agrees with a grin.
He mimicks her with his own and cleans the slight mess they’d made on the table. They redon their clothes and she cracks the window open to air out the room. His hand slides into hers as he pushes the door open and they venture into the finally-masoned hall to Josephine’s office.
“Think we can sneak by?” he asks quietly.
“Only if she’s not in there.” They both know she will be in there. Josephine is the busiest of them all now that diplomacy reigns.
“We won’t hear the end of this for a while.”
“I don’t mind.” And she truly doesn’t. Josephine and Leliana tease, but never cruelly.
“Are you busy this evening?”
“Yes, I thought I might take a quiet dinner and a bath in my quarters with my lover.” She gives him a wink. “Maybe spend some more time thanking him for his helpful distraction today.”
He flushes, pleased, and opens the door to the office. “I think we can have Josephine arrange that."