thebakerstboyskeeper:

Day 8: 

Stumbling Around In the Morning, Getting Around Each Other While Rushing to Get Ready for the Day – prompt by @kagetsukai

Okay so this isn’t quite “in the morning,” but sort of. And I know it’s late. Family and weddings and stuff getting in the way, as usual.

The knock is light, as if the person doesn’t really want to be interrupting their rest. That means it isn’t any of their friends. They’d pound until they were answered or burst in. Cullen isn’t disturbed – she hadn’t even been sure she was hearing something real when it roused her from sleep – and so she slips from the bed, knife in hand.

It could be someone trying to keep up appearances on their way to sneak in and slit their throats.

She quickly dons Cullen’s tunic, padding to the top of the stairs and listening. The knock comes again. It’s almost timid, but definitely insistent. She glances back at her lover’s sleeping face then around the room illuminated by dying firelight, making sure the windows are secure. He’d most likely wake up if someone broke in, but she’s not taking any chances.

Seeing her traps are still in place and everything is locked, she flits down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. She pauses at the door, listening again. There’s a deep breath, and then a voice calling out, “Inquisitor! Please!”

She still braces herself as she swings the door open. The messenger glances at her face and down to the blade in her hand, swallowing. A flash of guilt cuts through her and she tucks it under her sleeve where he can’t see it.

“The scouts found Samson’s base. Sister Nightingale is requesting your presence in the War Room. And,” his eyes shift behind her and then back to her face, eyes widening, “uh, if the, um, commander is here. His too.”

She barely represses a smile. At least her reputation seems to be intact in some circles if this poor man is afraid to suggest Cullen might be sleeping in her quarters.

“Thank you. We’ll be right there.”

He salutes as she closes the door and hurries back up the stairs, chuckling quietly to herself. Would she have stabbed him for suggesting such? Perhaps a long time ago. But that person wouldn’t be with Cullen, so it doesn’t seem to matter either way.

“Cullen,” she says as she adds wood to the fire so they can see, “they found Samson. Leliana wants us in the War Room.”

He’s alert and climbing out of bed quickly. His eyes find her as she hurries toward him, scooping up their boots along the way. He pulls on his smalls.

“They’ve found his lair,” he breathes. “Finally. We’ll have to move quickly.”

“Which is why we’re getting dressed in the middle of the night,” she laughs, tossing his tunic into his face.

He’s almost giddy as he tugs it over his head, eyes darkening slightly as she rounds the foot of the bed completely naked to grab her smalls and binding. His gaze doesn’t leave her, even as he fastens his own trousers and sets hers on the bed.

“Stop staring at me like that. We have things to do,” she scolds.

They move around each other, tugging on clothing, Sidni ducking under Cullen’s arm to grab her own tunic and passing him his gambeson. She’s fastening her cuirass when he steps up behind her and helps her slide her arms into her coat. He kisses the top of her head as he moves away.

Belt and knives locked around her waist and thighs, she climbs onto the bed so she can reach, securing the straps on his plates that she knows force his arms into uncomfortable positions. It leaves him free to finish with his gloves and boots.

She slides into her own boots before following him down the stairs. He’s still settling his surcoat on his shoulders while she holds onto his sword. They pause outside the door for him to belt it around his waist. She stretches onto her toes and he meets her halfway. His scruff scrapes against her skin as they pull apart.

She pauses as he starts toward the War Room.

“How can we do that so quickly and not the other way?” she asks.

The smile on his face when he turns back heats her cheeks. “I think we’re usually too distracted.”

Day 8: 

Stumbling Around In the Morning, Getting Around Each Other While Rushing to Get Ready for the Day – prompt by @kagetsukai

Okay so this isn’t quite “in the morning,” but sort of. And I know it’s late. Family and weddings and stuff getting in the way, as usual.

The knock is light, as if the person doesn’t really want to be interrupting their rest. That means it isn’t any of their friends. They’d pound until they were answered or burst in. Cullen isn’t disturbed – she hadn’t even been sure she was hearing something real when it roused her from sleep – and so she slips from the bed, knife in hand.

It could be someone trying to keep up appearances on their way to sneak in and slit their throats.

She quickly dons Cullen’s tunic, padding to the top of the stairs and listening. The knock comes again. It’s almost timid, but definitely insistent. She glances back at her lover’s sleeping face then around the room illuminated by dying firelight, making sure the windows are secure. He’d most likely wake up if someone broke in, but she’s not taking any chances.

Seeing her traps are still in place and everything is locked, she flits down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. She pauses at the door, listening again. There’s a deep breath, and then a voice calling out, “Inquisitor! Please!”

She still braces herself as she swings the door open. The messenger glances at her face and down to the blade in her hand, swallowing. A flash of guilt cuts through her and she tucks it under her sleeve where he can’t see it.

“The scouts found Samson’s base. Sister Nightingale is requesting your presence in the War Room. And,” his eyes shift behind her and then back to her face, eyes widening, “uh, if the, um, commander is here. His too.”

She barely represses a smile. At least her reputation seems to be intact in some circles if this poor man is afraid to suggest Cullen might be sleeping in her quarters.

“Thank you. We’ll be right there.”

He salutes as she closes the door and hurries back up the stairs, chuckling quietly to herself. Would she have stabbed him for suggesting such? Perhaps a long time ago. But that person wouldn’t be with Cullen, so it doesn’t seem to matter either way.

“Cullen,” she says as she adds wood to the fire so they can see, “they found Samson. Leliana wants us in the War Room.”

He’s alert and climbing out of bed quickly. His eyes find her as she hurries toward him, scooping up their boots along the way. He pulls on his smalls.

“They’ve found his lair,” he breathes. “Finally. We’ll have to move quickly.”

“Which is why we’re getting dressed in the middle of the night,” she laughs, tossing his tunic into his face.

He’s almost giddy as he tugs it over his head, eyes darkening slightly as she rounds the foot of the bed completely naked to grab her smalls and binding. His gaze doesn’t leave her, even as he fastens his own trousers and sets hers on the bed.

“Stop staring at me like that. We have things to do,” she scolds.

They move around each other, tugging on clothing, Sidni ducking under Cullen’s arm to grab her own tunic and passing him his gambeson. She’s fastening her cuirass when he steps up behind her and helps her slide her arms into her coat. He kisses the top of her head as he moves away.

Belt and knives locked around her waist and thighs, she climbs onto the bed so she can reach, securing the straps on his plates that she knows force his arms into uncomfortable positions. It leaves him free to finish with his gloves and boots.

She slides into her own boots before following him down the stairs. He’s still settling his surcoat on his shoulders while she holds onto his sword. They pause outside the door for him to belt it around his waist. She stretches onto her toes and he meets her halfway. His scruff scrapes against her skin as they pull apart.

She pauses as he starts toward the War Room.

“How can we do that so quickly and not the other way?” she asks.

The smile on his face when he turns back heats her cheeks. “I think we’re usually too distracted.”

For one word prompt: clean

She pauses as she sheds the last of her clothes. Even just weeks ago, she would have never believed she’d be doing this.

But here she is, climbing into the beautiful tub. With Cullen sitting behind her. His arms gathering her close, fingers tracing her scars. And she’s mostly content to let him do so. There’s no lingering need to run, only a vague wonder if he truly does find them beautiful at the back of her head.

They revel in the silence as they soak. He drags the soapy cloth across her skin, no amorous intention behind his movements. Even that is something new for her, but she finds there is a different intimacy in this. One she wants more of as she shifts to return the favor.