Work Text:
The early afternoon sun casts a golden sheen upon countless flakes of dust covering various boxes and pieces of long-untouched furniture. As busy as Skyhold is at this time of day, as little of its bustle permeates into the quiet room.
Trevelyan sits leaning forward, her hands braced on the old bed’s tired-looking sheets. They’d come up to the abandoned loft to get something (What in the Maker’s name was it again?). She’d felt Cullen’s eyes from below, scouting under her floral skirt as she ascended the creaky ladder.
Now she’s here writhing on his mouth, his face. Succumbing to his noisy indulgence in what he never tires of making clear is his favourite treat. He’s licking and dipping, tasting and smelling, drowning himself in her juice and scent.
Though Cullen treats her to this every other day, this position is new. They’ve been on the bed, the armchair, the kitchen table, on all fours- but she’s never sat on him until now. Once he’d followed her up he all but cornered her, his smirk leaving little doubt as to what he wanted for his afternoon snack.
She’d been hesitant to plant her bum right on him, had only done so upon his insistence. Her reluctance was short-lived, however, and right now she couldn’t care any less.
Not when assertive hands are keeping a firm hold on her buttocks, spreading her open. Not when a hot puff of breath, voice and hunger precedes every jab of his tongue. And certainly not when said tongue is fucking her so delightfully.
Trevelyan’s teeth worry her bottom lip as she gives in to curiosity, turning around for a peek. Cullen is absorbed in his task, his brow pinched in rapture, nose almost disappearing between her cheeks. Even with half his face concealed (by her!), the sticky gloss on his cheekbones is unmistakable, the sight drawing a gaspfrom her.
Smugness gleams in Cullen’s eyes as they find hers. His grip on her rear tightens, and his tongue thrusts harder, deeper, punctuated by the low grunts of a starved beast.
Trevelyan nearly topples over from the force of his onslaught. Goose bumps prickle all over her arms and thighs, and stiff nipples stretch towards the ceiling.
Once again she’s glad to have kept her sex free of hair- they’re skin to skin as if he were kissing her mouth. Maker, she even feels his scar with each lick.
She lets herself sink forward until she’s facing the inviting bulge threatening to pop the seams of his breeches. Unable to resist, she leans in, reaching for the laces.
Cullen’s growl, menacing and dangerous, evokes a yelp as he pulls her back into place. That clever tongue, however, doesn’t return to where it was. Fast thrusts become measured laps at her swollen bulb, languid indulgenceas he savours his dearest delicacy.
The supple muscle’s rubs, the wet slurps and his delighted mhs and ahs sooneradicate any remaining control from her body. Trevelyan grasps his thighs for purchase and begins rocking into him, greedy and shameless.
As she sways back and forth, her moans thin out into whimpers, her breath coming in short, harsh pants. There’s never a second’s respite from the licks, the suckles, from how much this man wants her. From the heat now coiling deep in her womb, clouding her senses, rising higher, and higher, and she wants to come, has to come, and-
“Commander?”
… and her peak freezes along with her blood as both stop in their tracks, not daring to exhale. The only sound in Trevelyan’s conscious is her heart, hammering so high, so loud she’s afraid the messenger –Jim?- may hear it.
She is, in fact, so concentrated in her shock that she misses something- a treacherous tickle sneaking up her nose, unnoticed until its escape.
“A-choo!” Her body jerks forward, whirling up some of the blasted dust that caused this most untimely mishap.
Trevelyan isn’t sure whether her utter mortification stems from the sneeze itself of from the hasty footfalls it triggers, followed by the door crashing shut.
A pause ensues, as confused as it is short-lived. Its end is marked by a chuckle and the return of those talented lips, that offensively handsome face she’ll never again look at without picturing herself on it.
This time his tongue’s movements are all different- some long strokes, a few thin lines, then a punctuated flick.
He’s spelling her n a m e.
The realisation has her hissing, clawing at his sides, and she starts properly riding him then. Long tresses fly and heavy breasts bounce as she fucks Cullen’s face. His motions are becoming erratic, as are hers, and though her body is screaming for release she never wants this to end.
Suddenly his hands appear before her and make quick work of his trousers. An astonished swear rolls off her lips as his prick bouncesout of its confines, thick and proud. She watches, heaving, he starts palming himself, quick hard rubs around the purple head, his breathing picking up all while he continues his feast on her.
The coil is back, the flush, the scream lingering at the bottom of her throat. Climax begins spilling from her when the wide glans contracts, Cullen groans and she sees, smells, feels him come- thick, tangy and warm. She’s gone then, clutching, twitching, howling. Her quim, his mouth, their friction all melt into a mess of warmwetsoft.
When tremors become quivers and her pulse slows she sinks down, dizzy and sated. Fine golden hairs almost tickle out another sneeze as her cheek rests on his thigh and they inhale each other’s musk.
Quiet, lazy moments pass. Moments during which lengthening breaths and tired caresses form a conversation all of their own. Time eventually catches up with them as it always does. Trevelyan drags her reluctant limbs off Cullen, shuffles to turn and lie half on top of him for another few minutes.
Cullen’s eyes are shut as he strokes the spot above her nose that elicits happy little hums from her. Idle contemplation brings on a grin against his skin, and he squints at her. Somehow Trevelyan manages to keep a straight face as she returns his look, finding just the right tone.
“Commander?”
A second’s confusion evaporates into a laugh, bellowing, heartfelt and side-splitting. A laugh that infects her and which they share, with each other and half of Skyhold, until bellies ache and throats turn sore.
Inquisitor and Commander arrive late for their meeting and are greeted by a round of knowing smiles.
Over the next few days Trevelyan counts five different alcoves that she hides in to avoid Jim.