#cerberry

There were no voicemails, so he felt no obligation to answer the (obviously drunk) man back. But just as he was plugging his phone back into the charger, it rang again.

“Dorian, stop.”

“YOU stop,” came the slurred voice on the other end. “You stop…being so…muscly.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” Now he was shouting. “You and your…arms. And eyes. And face. That gorgeous face. How about I use my face to touch your face? May I kiss your scar?”

Cullen felt himself blush. Dorian was his friend - nothing more - no matter how many nights he imagined, well, more. He ignored the random (foolish) fluttering in his stomach as he growled into the phone.

“Dorian, you need to stop drinking and go to bed. You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“Oh and that voice. Yes, please tell me how bad I am. I’ll make certain I go to bed if you keep talking dirty.”

“I’m hanging up now…”

“Wait!” Dorian’s voice sounded remarkably more sober. Cullen remained silent, waiting for whatever gem was sure to come out of Dorian next.

“You’rereallyhotandIthinkweshouldfuck. Bye!”

The call ended, leaving Cullen stunned, staring blankly at the now-silent device in his hand.

The next morning saw Dorian wake – entirely too early – to loud pounding on his apartment door. He trudged over, wondering how in the world the thumping could exactly match the painful throbbing in his skull. He cracked the door open slightly, peering around the edge.

“What…”

Cullen stepped past Dorian into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him as he grabbed the other man and crashing their lips together. Dorian struggled to keep his balance as he clung to Cullen’s neck, eagerly returning the hungry kiss.

They finally pulled apart, panting, a mischievous glint in Cullen’s eyes as he looked him over, sternly.

“About how much you adore me I assume?” Dorian teased, sparing the Commander a glance as he put a stack of herbology tomes in their proper place.  “I hear that so often.”

The next thing he knew, a leather-gloved hand was circling around his wrist, and he twisted his head to look at the other man. But it was Cullen’s fierce glare rather than any physical strength that pushed Dorian into the privacy of his nook, until he was pinned against the window with the force of the Commander’s eyes.

“Perhaps you would hear it more,” Cullen growled, low, so only Dorian could hear. “If I didn’t have to fear you spitting it back at me, with some flippant remark.”

Dorian took pride in keeping his emotions from showing on his face, a countenance more carefully crafted than any mask in Orlais. But he knew the shock and pain were written there plainly now, with no time to recover, or think of some equally cutting retort. “Cullen—”

“Don’t,” Cullen gritted out, and then took a few labored breaths. “I love you, Dorian,” he said, scathingly. “And you… make a mockery of my feelings.”

And then he just… walked away, leaving Dorian there shaken, with nothing but the lingering heat of Cullen’s hand around his wrist. He clutched it to his pounding chest with his other hand, feeling numbingly empty and shiveringly cold.

With every throb of his pulse, Cullen got further away. He had to do something. The fingers of the hand that weren’t clasped around his wrist, trapping in the memory of where Cullen had been, came up to worry at his upper lip. An old habit from childhood, but then he felt like a child, scolded and helpless and lost. He had to do something, and he had to do it fast.

So Dorian did the only thing he knew to do, the only thing ever did when it came to his feelings.

He ran.

Cullen was hunched over his desk when Dorian caught up to him, the warrior only looking over his shoulder long enough to see who it was. Dorian let the door slam behind him and strode halfway into the room before fear rooted him in place.

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded to the Commander’s back. “I’m so, so sorry. Cullen.” It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t ever going to be enough so he fell to his knees with a harsh crack of metal, which finally got the other man’s attention.

“You don’t understand,” he tried, hands flat on the cold, stone floor.  “I’m just so… so fucked up.”

No response, and certainly no argument, Dorian woefully noted. “I know that I should, but I don’t trust this. I want so… desperately for it to be real, but I keep waiting for the ground to just open up beneath my feet, and toss me into oblivion for being so foolish as to hope.”

A small choked sound came from the Commander’s throat. “So what is ‘this’, then?” he demanded, no venom in his voice now, but bitter hurt. “A lie? Some sort of deception on my part—”

“No.”

“Because I know a thing or two about being fucked up,” Cullen warned. “And I know a thing or two about not being able to trust what’s real.”

Dorian hung his head low, knowing all too well to what the other man referred. “No. That’s not what I’m saying,” he said, his voice small and weak even in his own ears.

“Then what?” Cullen pressed. “What is ‘this’, if it isn’t real?”

“I —” Looking up at his lover’s face, words failed him so Dorian sighed and tried again. Cullen needed this to be real, just as badly as he did. “Look. I’m not telling you how I feel because I believe this to be a defensible position. Alright?” he explained, throwing his hands out towards the floor he was kneeling on. “I’m just… asking you to accept that this is difficult for me. I am trying! But I just have all these…” Dorian gestured, wild and helpless, in the direction of his chest. “Feelings… in this chasm where my heart is supposed to be, apparently. And feelings don’t always make sense.”

That earned him a humorless chuckle at least, and Cullen made his way forward, reaching down to pull Dorian up to his feet. He managed a half-smile, scar stretching slightly with the effort, but it faded fast. “Thank you for making my argument for me,” he replied quietly.

Dorian quirked up an eyebrow, too shaken to follow his line of thought. “What?”

“Love doesn’t make sense either,” Cullen shrugged, gazing into Dorian’s eyes so intensely that it made him close his eyes. Then that gloved hand was on his cheek, asking him to open them again with a gentle brush of thumb. “I don’t love you because it makes sense. I love you because I do. You just need to stop thinking about it as if there’s some sort of theory involved. As if there’s some equation, that if you look at too closely, you’ll figure out that you don’t fit.”

Dorian nodded his surrender into Cullen’s palm, pressing further into it as if he could hide from the words.

“And I’ll try my best to accept your feelings,” Cullen went on. “If you can accept mine.”

He managed to meet Cullen’s eyes for all of a moment before dropping his gaze. “Oh, alright,” Dorian sighed, on the verge of saying something sharp and sarcastic and dismissive before the Commander cut him off with a look.

Cullen shook his head, mouth curled in a sort incredulous affection, as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Dorian’s brow. “No more.”

He nodded again, swallowing it down and willing himself to believe Cullen loved him, to hope that he would never stop.