#cullensamson

First

The first time Samson kisses him, he’s not sure it counts. It’s nothing more than a brush of dry lips against his own, but Samson stands close, after, his eyes dark with want. He knows he should do something, but he’s frozen in place, his heart hammering. He waits too long and so the moment passes him by.

Samson sighs, pushing away from him, putting space between them, his hand toying with his hair.

Time seems to stand still but then Samson laughs, plays it off as a joke. A prank. Cullen nods along, cheeks flushed as he chides Samson. Stamping down on the feelings bubbling inside him. 

Still, he wonders what would have happened if he’d pulled Samson close, kissed him back like he had wanted.

    Second

They fight, harsh words thrown at each other, cutting deep, but there is something hidden behind them. He tries to puzzle it out, his fingers soft as they reach for Samson. His questions dying on his lips as Samson kisses him; hard, his lips quirking against his own.

He runs his hand through Samson’s hair, tugging at the ends to pull him down, closer, a desperation thrumming through him. He breaks away, resting his forehead against Samson’s, their breath mingling in the small space between them. He wants to say something, fill the silence, ask why and if this will be forgotten too, but Samson smiles at him, guarded and small, and his words dry up. 

Samson leans back in, pressing his lips against Cullen’s, light and tentative. It’s softer, but still an undercurrent of something more pulsing through it. A need for this, for more. Hands against skin, mouths finding hidden places. 

He likes to think of that as their first kiss, but he knows it doesn’t work that way. 

They fall together, skin and heat. Samson above him, smiling, loose, and happy. Though there is an edge to it, something he can’t place. He tries to kiss it away. Wants to remember the sweetness, the soft press of Samson against him. 

The morning comes, and he wakes alone, Samson having gone in the night, from his bed, from the order.

    Third

When he hears from Samson, years later, it’s like they’ve never known each other. Reunited after so many years, but still so far apart. He hesitates, asks Hawke what to do, not sure anymore how to deal with Samson. Wonders if this distance will last, if the broken splinters of what they were, could have been, can be put back together. 

He agrees to Samson being reinstated, pushes Meredith as far as he dares to get her to agree. All the while Samson stands silent, waiting. They are to share quarters again, she says, Cullen will be responsible for Samson, held accountable for his actions. They both agree with sharp nods. 

The room seems smaller, too little space for everything that has passed between them. Samson smiles cruelly. Sharp words meant to wound. But Cullen is not so innocent any more and sees through the lies. Begs Samson to stop hiding, to tell him what he means, to stop this charade.

Samson stands, strokes Cullen face with his hand. Leans close, his intent clear. 

And when Samson finally kisses him, it’s bitter, and angry. Hungry for things lost. Both so different and finding it hard to reconcile who they are now with the person they’d known before. He pulls away, hands hard against Samson’s chest. Watching as a smirk plays across Samson’s face, determined this will be the last time, knowing it won’t be.

    Fourth

They clash against each other, but fall together as lovers. Cullen wants too much. Everything is falling apart around him but this, but them. Samson laughs at him, grinning wide. Tells him he's soft. 

But still things crumble, the templars begin using red lyrium, Hawke disappears, and he is left floating, feeling lost, of no use, waiting for a purpose. 

An offer by Cassandra, to join her reforming Inquisition, gives him hope. Lets him believe he may have a new purpose, but he hesitates, worries he is not good enough, that he would compromise the intentions of the order.

Cassandra tells him to have faith, that he can do more good as part of something new, and so he agrees. 

When he tells Samson, he isn't sure how the other man will react, but Samson kisses him softly, not at all like any of the others. It’s filled with all the goodbyes Cullen doesn’t wish to say. He has to tear himself away. To stand back, put distance between them. He chokes his words down. This is no longer his place, he can no longer stay here. Trapped in a life he no longer believes in, stifled under the pressure he places upon himself. He wants to ask Samson to come, but knows he’d decline. Knows, as much as this is not his place, the Inquisition is not Samson’s. 

Neither say anything as he leaves, both expecting it to be the last they see of the other. Cullen hoping it wont.

    Fifth

When Haven is destroyed Cullen can't believe Samson was involved. His heart breaks at the sight, an anger filling him where once love was. He wants so much for it to be a lie. 

He chases Samson down, takes apart all the things Samson has built. A hope clings to him once they find Madox, but hope is not enough. Better to be wrong about him, he thinks, than have false hope. 

They capture Samson, broken and defeated, a shadow of his former self. And when The Inquisitor judges him, he hands him over to Cullen. Tells him to find out what he can, unaware of the pain coursing through Cullen at the words. 

He asks questions but Samson never answers. The silence is too much and Cullen screams inside. He prods at things expecting a reaction, but still Samson says nothing. 

Weeks pass by, each visit shorter than the last, but still he returns, a belief that Samson, too, deserves a second chance as he once had bringing him back. The anger turning to sadness, a want for the intimacy, the love, he thought they could have had. It’s a twisted thing he knows. He starts to fill the silence with things he’d meant to say, words filled with desperation and fear. He tells of the time he spent doubting, believing that this was something he could never have, that they'd never be more, that they would never last. That the life they'd been living was right. 

And Samson turns to him then, eyes hollow. His words slow. He talks of little things, things they already know, but Cullen hangs on every word. 

He frees Samson, because he needs him, because he believes even he deserves more than this.

Samson smiles, but it is not a happy thing.

Cullen holds him, tries to steer him to his new quarters, but Samson stops, forcing Cullen to turn, to question why, but Samson's face is too close, and everything rushes before him. The want and need running together until nothing else matters.

Samson presses closer, kissing Cullen with dry, cracked, lips, like that first kiss that never was.

    Sixth

They fall together, their kisses full of the promises they should have said and kept. Hesitant and unknowing, a brush of lips and nothing more. Cullen mapping each new scar he sees. His heart hammering in his chest, like it’s the first time. Samson smiling into it, a laugh in his breath. Fingertips lightly pressing against skin. 

Everything is new, and nothing feels as it did. Different but better. They still crash against each other, both have days, weeks, when things are dark. But they are fewer and far between. Not fixed but accepting that they weren’t broken to begin with. That they have time now, to get things wrong, to fumble and figure out how to be together, and how to be true to themselves.

    +1

Samson stays with the Inquisition, to try and find his redemption among those he fought against. He knows it will not be easy, that it will never be enough for them. He accepts the truth of it, but still he tries. He follows his orders, takes as much as he is given. 

The Inquisitor orders his men to leave Samson be, but that kindness is too much for most to accept. Instead their eyes follow Samson, never leaving him. No one trusts him, no one wants him here. But he holds his head high. Snears in their direction. Not above scare tactics if that is what it takes. But it gets harder and harder. A song in the back of his mind. He preservers however, refuses to give them the satisfaction of being right once more about him. 

He stands, looking out at the mountains. He knows he's been given a second, third, chance. His last. He knows not to waste it.