Hangover (Varric/Cullen)
Written for Dragon Age January 2021 challenge, day one: hangover.
A small ficlet, happens in the morning after the Skyhold’s Wicked Grace game night.
Waking up cursing his life choices with a headache strong enough to turn his stomach was not as unusual as Cullen would wish. The stale smell of ale was a change though. He pressed his face into the pillow and tried to stay very still and quiet, hoping against hope to avoid the ache in his bones and the bright, sharp sunlight falling straight on him through the hole in the rooftop. The world seemed to be constantly moving around him and for a brief moment, he thought he was on a ship, on his way out of Kirkwall, before the consciousness fully set in and even without opening his eyes properly he knew he was in Skyhold.
He only realized the hand lazily petting his hair was not part of the illusion when it paused.
“You okay there, Curly?”
“I hate you,” he muffled coldly into the pillow.
Varric only chuckled, his voice barely any more hoarse than usual. Bastard.
“I don’t see how I’m to blame here, to be honest,” he continued amused even as his hand started moving through Cullen’s curls again.
He absentmindedly kept weaving the curls on and off his fingers, from time to time stretching his palm and providing the pained skull with a mix of scratch and massage. Cullen stubbornly stiffened the muscles in his neck to not lean into the touch and only let out a slow, careful breath into the pillow.
"You won't convince me to go out with you again," he replied as if there was no hand in his hair, as if they weren't in his bed, trapped between tangled up sheets and covers, as if he wasn't still naked and slowly melting under Varric's slow touch. Safe and taken care of.
He shuddered as Varric's hand slid down to his neck, nails grazing his skin and making shiver travel down his spine.
"Now, now, I've been a perfect gentleman and a man of my word. No one forced you to drink, no one made fun of you for joining the game, no one even really pushed you to keep playing. I know I usually tell you to stop trying to shoulder all the blame but..."
"This is miserable. I won't be able to look Josephine in the eye."
"If it makes you feel better, she wasn't looking in your eyes last time she saw you either."
This required moving his head just enough to glare blearily at Varric. The warmth on his cheeks blamed on the scratchiness of the blankets he pressed his face against. It didn't help.
He made a fool out of himself just as he managed to trick himself into believing people respected him here, believed in his commander status enough to follow him, to listen.
But of course, it was not enough, he let himself be lured with promises of belonging and friendships and everything he never really had but earned for in a weird, awkward way. Pushed it too far, as always. He hid his face back into the pillow.
"Hey, hey, now. I'm only teasing. We've all had fun."
"I'm certain," mumbled Cullen.
The hand in his hair tugged.
"Quit that, you're ruining all my fun from teasing you. Everything will be fine, you will be teased mercilessly, your friends will still like you, your soldiers would still follow you and you will be asked to play cards again."
"Can I decline in advance?"
"Only, If you feel like playing hard to get."
Cullen groaned into the pillow and Varric chuckled, focusing back on the book he was reading while keeping watch on a more affected Cullen. The sun suggested it was way past dawn but there was no one running through his office yet and Varric wouldn’t let him miss anything important. Cullen relaxed slowly. There was no rush.
