#cullydia

His voice was gentler with her than with others. Did Leliana and Josephine know that? Did the whole Inquisition know they were lovers now? He trusted her. He—

           He caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes, anticipating a kiss, anticipating all of him. “We can’t kiss here,” he muttered.

           “Cullen.”

           “Don’t pout.”

           She exaggerated her pout. “A small one.”

           He took her hand. He kissed her palm. He kissed her wrist. He kissed every finger. “There,” he said, offering another, final kiss for good measure. “For you.”

           “I should love to be had. Especially by you.”

           He grinned. “I could acquiesce.”

           “What’s stopping you?”

           His voice was low. “That I should also like to be had.”

           Maker he looked so beautiful in the morning light. His beard was darker than usual. He neglected shaving solely because she told him she loved the scratch against her mouth. It prickled her fingers as she caressed his jaw and touched his cheek. Their skins were different shades, her hand tiny on his cheek. This wasn’t usually him, to lay on the grass in the garden unarmored where someone could surely find him And this wasn’t usually her, to so brazenly want. No, she couldn’t be so bold as to hoist herself on him, have him as he desired…

           He wanted to be had. Just like her. He dreamed the same dreams she did. He laid on the grass with her.

           She laid flush against him, hoisting herself on him like she always imagined. He laughed, not caring anymore that someone could see. Didn’t they kiss on the battlements where all could see? Wasn’t her love for him written on her face for months and months before this? They should let a woman be in love. They should let a man be in love. They should let him kiss, and cherish, and be hers before anyone else’s.

           His lips were pliant against hers as they kissed, and then warm against her cheek after she parted from him, savoring. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he whispered between kisses. “Nothing matters. Only you.”

           “You don’t mean that.” She knew him too well.

           She kissed him before he could answer. She meant it to be quick and sweet but his lips parted and she could not bear to part.

           “I wish only you mattered,” he said. “In my head, at night, you are the only thing that does.”

           He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face, letting his fingers run through the loose strands. They wouldn’t alone for long now. Skyhold’s pilgrims came in the early morn to pray to Andraste in the chapel. Cullen was one of their occasional pilgrims. Lydia hadn’t seen him pray to Andraste since they kissed.

           “Cullen…”

           “I know. I shouldn’t think such things.”

           And yet he smiled deviously, knowingly. “I should be very cross with you if I wasn’t in your head. Especially at night.”

           “Oh. Well. I can’t have that.”

           She laid her head against his beating heart. They laid in the garden far longer than she would have ever thought he would allow. But his head, sometimes cruel to him, made her the only thing that mattered sometimes. By the way his heart beat underneath her ear, she knew what all mattered to him there in the garden, and perhaps a little bit more than that.

           “You are the only thing that matters almost always,” she said. “And I am sorry. Because I care. I care—and I know you do too, but I can’t stop only thinking about you.”

           “Please don’t be sorry.”

           “Cullen. I couldn’t even muster it. I couldn’t dare.”