Chapter Text
It was a splendid affair. Ornate crystal chandeliers were projecting prisms of warm light onto a colourful merry-go-round of dresses. The fickle play of bright and dim highlighted heavy jewellery around slim necks, accentuated regal uniforms and granted shelter to amorous couples.
Soft accents, shrill voices and lively chatter blended with the flamboyant tunes of an ensemble seated off-centre yet audible to the distinguished ears. Tender pianissimo notes, hardly a background noise, would give way to the clarinet’s playful melodies, both stark contrast and perfect harmony to the velveteen strings.
Cullen and Trevelyan had accomplished a retreat to the Winter Palace’s vestibule where they enjoyed a quiet drink atop a flight of stairs. Away from curious nobles, busy colleagues and the ever-present royal guard, they could share some time at last.
Trevelyan savoured the prickle of sparkling wine on her tongue. She had attended her audience with the Empress with just Leliana and Josephine, sparing Cullen the diplomatic games he was anything but fond of. They’d returned to the ballroom only to find the commander besieged by a flock of flirtatious dames, helplessly overwhelmed by their attentions. It had been a challenge to reach him through the sea of gowns (in her own, nonetheless!), and he’d been grateful for the rescue.
Now that the formalities were over, their plans consisted of finishing their drink and retreating to their room. Though, Trevelyan mused, the evening might not quite end there. Her mouth curved into a coy smile as she eyed her man up.
His charcoal finery with the silken green sash was a testament to their seamstress’s skill- and his impeccable build. Complemented by miniscule golden buttons and a matching collar, the two-piece fit him like a second, flattering skin. The fine material highlighted the outline of his shoulders, hugged his slim hips and sat just tightly enough around his pert bottom.
Trevelyan’s grin widened, and she took a step towards Cullen. Despite the mask he recognised her mischief, answering with his own smirk as he set his glass down on a side table. With her voluptuous skirt preventing close contact, he reached to hold her waist, leaning in for a kiss.
“Inquisitor Trevelyan! Commander Cullen!” Both spun around at the interruption, gawking at the figure ascending the stairs. Though a golden mask concealed half the man’s face, Trevelyan would have recognised the short quiff, the elegant nose and that voice anywhere.
“King Alistair,” she tried to sound surprised rather than enthusiastic. While aware he’d also be there, she’d have never expected to see their friend, assuming him tied up in meetings all evening.
“Your Majesty- Alistair,” Cullen said as the men shared a short but heartfelt hug, “what pleasant surprise.”
“Pleasant indeed,” the king grinned, taking Trevelyan’s hand and breathing a kiss onto it.
“What brings you up here?” she asked.
“Just thought I’d catch up ahead of my audience with the empress- which I couldn’t help but notice is scheduled after the Inquisition’s.” He shrugged in amusement. “Orlesians, eh? Always trying to make a point. Oh, and I’m sort of trying to avoid Eamon.” Alistair’s voice dropped a dramatic octave as he feigned grave seriousness. “Wishes to brief me. Diplomatically.”
Trevelyan’s amusement was a welcome distraction from the unintentional journey her eyes had embarked upon. The implication of His Majesty’s broad chest, strong thighs and hard stomach under his finery evoked thoughts of past indulgences which, though rather appetising, were no longer appropriate.
As if reading her thoughts, Cullen asked, “So will we have the honour of meeting the future queen soon?”
An exasperated sigh. “It’s a technicality. Because we’re not married yet, the rules of the Game,” disdain dripped from his words, “dictate she cannot yet accompany me to formal events. You should’ve seen her face when Eamon told her.”
“Speaking of Eamon…” Trevelyan interrupted, her eyes wandering.
Mild panic clouded the king’s features when he turned to see the middle-aged man approaching the stairs.
A moment’s silence ensued as the three exchanged clueless looks. Then Alistair’s eyes narrowed as if struck by an idea. He stepped towards them, mumbling an apology…
… only to get on his knees, lift Trevelyan’s dress and disappear under it.
A shriek escaped her as she nearly stumbled backwards, watching helplessly how her gown’s endless layers swallowed up King Theirin of Ferelden. If there were any personal guards with him, they were either generous at granting him privacy- or he’d simply escaped them.
When getting dressed earlier, Cullen had joked her skirts were wide enough to hide a man. Spot on, Commander, she mused as the royal advisor came closer
To her relief Cullen took the lead, stepping forward to greet the former Arl. “Advisor Eamon, how nice to see you again!” They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries while Trevelyan tried to ignore the figure getting comfortable under her crinoline’s roomy confines.
When it was her turn, she extended a shaky hand and forced herself to smile. “What brings you here?” she asked, eager to send him on his way.
“I was hoping to find His Majesty ahead of his appointment with Empress Celene. You haven’t seen him by any chance?”
“I-I…” the words caught in her throat as the –undoubtedly accidental- caress of a fingertip grazed her thigh. “I haven’t…”
Her eyes widened and she gasped when the brush of a single digit became the grasp of a hand sliding up her leg- not-so accidentally, she had to admit. A dumbfounded blink preceded realisation- she still owed an answer. Cullen jumped in before she could launch into another series of stammers.
“Unfortunately we haven’t met him at all tonight. We were rather hoping to, but he appears to be otherwise engaged.” A hint of sarcasm flecked his baritone.
Trevelyan flinched as a snicker tickled her, just before two large palms gave her buttocks a firm squeeze.
Faint recollection protruded through her increasing though unwitting excitement. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a precarious situation involving two certain ex-Templars.
Whilst trying not to let on her growing titillation, she turned towards Cullen, as if listening.
“Are you enjoying your evening?” her commander asked.
Whatever Eamon’s response, it was lost on her. His voice, the music, all sound blurred out for a tantalising instant when a puff of air stroked her thighs, followed by…
Oh, Maker-
…. the insistent poking of an outstretched tongue against her smalls. Had she been nervous before, there was no mistaking the bolt of arousal surging through her now. Her corsage seemed ever so much tighter and her skin felt feverishly hot as she grew slick with lust.
A second’s loss of contact had her hopeful of regaining her composure when another warm, firm press almost made her keel over. Though still covered, the delicate silk wasn’t in the way so much as it provided much-too exquisite friction. The moist muscle lapped at her again, and again, building a sinful rhythm while she was trying to follow the conversation its owner had escaped.
As the two men continued their chit-chat, Trevelyan’s nails dug into her palms and her teeth clenched. It took all her discipline not to moan, whimper or allow any of the other sounds building up in her throat to escape. Despite herself she was enjoying the sweet torture- which then stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The face disappeared, the hands left her and a burst of cool air hit her calves.
Disappointment threatened to claw at her chest –and loins- at the prospect of it being over already. When the skirts closed around her again she realised her tormentor had merely gone up for air. While stifling a smile, she studied the advisor’s face to see whether he’d noticed the rustle.
It seemed he hadn’t. Trevelyan cursed herself for enforcing eye contact when the man’s attention turned back to her. The same instant, of course, nimble fingers undid the silken laces of her smalls.
“So how is the Inquisition faring in times of peace, Lady Trevelyan?” An interested question, posed at the worst of times.
“Well…”
Without any warning, the wicked, talented tongue was back- right inside her; warm, slow and deep.
Trevelyan reeled, catching herself on Cullen’s shoulder, breathless from the abrupt intrusion. A new wave of mortification crashed over her as the visibly concerned advisor inquired after her wellbeing.
She managed a to keep a straight face, admitting to being a little tipsy. It might as well have been the truth as the blasted, blessed tongue was now thrusting into her, leaving her dizzy, drunk with desire.
Visions of their previous meetings flashed in front of her; lewd images of being brought to delirious ecstasy by her two not-so-innocent chantry boys. Still, a faint unease nagged at her- this wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be happening. Coherent thought was becoming a challenge, so she didn’t wallow in guilt for long.
Another pause. This time Trevelyan was as grateful for the gulp of air as the king himself. Again he manoeuvred stealthily though she noticed Cullen’s eyes wandering. Certain her lover knew what was going on, she wondered whether he was aroused. She bit back a groan.
And so much for her respite-familiar hands grasped her thighs, easing them further apart. Hot breath preceded the languid lick at her pearl that had her wanting to howl in delighted bliss. Instead she somehow stifled her desperate want into a hiss, clutching at her skirt as His Majesty began lapping at her.
Cullen snuck a brief glance sideways, still keeping the other man engaged.
Trevelyan’s hips were rocking into the frisky monarch’s face, her cheeks burning a bright red and her mouth hanging open. She might have even been drooling a little- not that she cared anymore.
A loss of contact ensued before a pair of full lips latched on to her, tugging at her tiny bulb as white-hot lust shot through her body. When he started sucking she clutched at Cullen’s jacket, dragging him near. Her ever-alert commander placed an arm on her lower back in a casual gesture, allowing her to lean in. She felt grounded, secure and braced for whatever the man under her skirt might unleash upon her next.
Until a thumb pressed into her wetness, drew out and travelled up her perineum to settle on the idle opening to her…
“Arse!” Surely she hadn’t just blurted that out?
The look of utter shock on her opposite’s face confirmed she had indeed just yelped a more common name for her backside at the king’s advisor. Cullen’s startled expression meant she had to get out of this one alone. The hum of Alistair’s chuckle against her, meanwhile, signalled he was finding all this terribly amusing.
“Arse- arsenal! The, ah, king’s whereabouts,” she stammered as his thumb pressed into her ever so slowly while the lips never stopped. “Have you tried the royal- armory!” Her voice rose a pitch when the digit pushed past a wreath of muscles, stretching her, making a thousand undiscovered nerve endings sing all at once. To make it worse (or more delightful), he was now moaning with her nubbin between his lips.
Her next words were but a throaty rasp. Goose bumps were blooming all over her skin, taut nipples straining against her bodice while her eyes watered with pleasure that wanted to be screamed out.
“I hear His Majesty is rather fond of Orlesian weaponry,” she all but purred, earning an amused snort against her nethers, “he might have gone to inspect the collection.”
Eamon’s eyes wandered between her and a baffled Cullen as he seemed to debate whether to be confused or offended at the blunt lie. Eventually he gave a curt nod.
“You’re right. I shall take my leave. Lady Trevelyan, Commander Cullen,” he spun on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.
Trevelyan knew she should have been ashamed at her own, uncalled-for rudeness. Instead, her relieved sigh came in perfect synch with Alistair’s.
She wanted to explain herself to Cullen. Tell him how much the notion of him knowing aroused her, made her crave more, so much more.
No such thing ever happened as the only sound she produced was a moan, low and wanton. The royal thumb, not in one inch, twisted inside her, almost painful but so delicious. Two fingers of his other hand slipped into her moist heat while his tongue was circling her nub now, daring her to go over the edge.
She took a moment to see Cullen, who had moved to stand in front of her- a dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. No explanations were needed here.
He put an arm around her, drawing her close so his lips brushed against her earlobe.
His groan, hoarse and laced with greed, made her pearl twitch. “So this whole time you were being pleasured, right under my eyes? What’s he doing now- licking at you? Or perhaps pumping his fingers into and out?” When she didn’t respond, understanding flashed in his eyes. “Both. I see.”
Trevelyan gasped as Cullen pushed her hand into his crotch where it was greeted by his ironclad, pulsing length. “Maker forgive me- I was so close to shoving that man out of the way so I could bend you over the rail. I wanted to lift those fancy skirts and take you, right before those aristocratic fools. While Alistair’s still having his way with you, of course.” His jaw clenched as if struggling to control himself. “I still want to.”
The heavenly tingle of an approving hum. Then quick, soft flicks alternated with long, deep sucks, and she felt on fire and full, so full. Cullen let her lean into his shoulder, allowing her to surrender to pure, uninhibited lust.
The scandal of their situation only strummed her arousal. Ferelden’s king, snubbed by Her Majesty the empress. Andraste’s Herald, being shown to new heights by said king, barely shielded from the eyes of the most important Thedosian royalty. The Inquisition’s commander, whispering glorious indecencies to his leader. She clutched at Cullen’s hair, his finery, anywhere, while grinding into Alistair’s far-too skilful mouth. Somewhere deep in her core a faint tingle turned into an insistent pull before it seized all of her, and she began to tremble, quiver, shake.
Cullen’s voice was rough, dripping with greed. “That’s right, love. Let go. I want to see our king’s pretty face all wet with your sweet juice.”
A strangled cry tore from her throat just as, in the distance, the strings broke into an exuberant forte. Her back arched as Cullen’s salacious growl and Alistair’s thorough ministrations sent her spiralling, at last. Pleasure poured from her as she came, and came, for the longest, most delectably torturous moment.
When climax loosened its grip both men caught her as her legs gave in. As reality crept back into her lust-hazed mind, Cullen was stroking her pinned tresses, planting kisses onto her forehead.
She lay in his arms for a bit, finding her breath and enjoying his warmth. Eventually Cullen had a quick look around. ”The air is clear.”
A final shuffle and His Majesty emerged from under her, his hair ruffled, cheeks flushed- and his lips swollen and glistening.
He produced something from a clutched fist –her knickers!- then brought the handful of silk to his mouth. Eyes closed, he patted himself dry, humming and smacking his lips as if savouring the last mouthful of a particularly delicious meal. Trevelyan swallowed, watching her smalls disappear into Alistair’s pocket as he cocked an eyebrow. “A souvenir, if you’ll allow.”
Though she wanted to lunge at both men, Trevelyan reluctantly broached the one issue casting a shadow over their reunion.
“What about your betrothed?” she asked, almost wishing not to hear the answer.
Though Alistair’s voice remained steady, a shadow of pain ghosted across his face. “Believe me- I wouldn’t be here if those things mattered…“ A sad whisper as he looked away, “… to her.”
Before either Trevelyan or Cullen could summon an appropriate reaction, Alistair smacked his forehead, dropping to his knees once more to reach beneath her skirts. “Can’t be leaving that,” he grinned as he stood up and put his mask back on.
He reached into his pockets to retrieve gloves she hadn’t even noticed him wearing then gave a brief bow.
“So- shall I see you in an hour then? My quarters?”
Without waiting for an answer, King Alistair turned around, leaving the two staring after him as he skipped down the stairs then blended into the crowd.
Confused surprise lingered as the two lovers glanced at one another. Then the corner of Cullen’s mouth curved as he picked up their drinks, and they shared a toast and a knowing smile.
The night was far from over.