#cullywully

- King of Swords -

“Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

(Slightly NSFW)

He was praying, or at least attempting to. The words left his lips as they always did, recited from what often felt the very bones of his soul, and he knelt before the altar, head bowed, pious and proper.

But proper was the last thing he felt. In the drone of his mutters, his mind strolled quickly away from him, from holy prophets to worshipping of a very different kind…

She had been wearing a new dress, some design of Josephine’s no doubt. It swept dangerously low across her ample bosom, curling sinfully around her waist and pouring to the floor, a knee high slit allowing a glimpse of slender legs. She danced around the chapel, graceful and elegant, keeping the attention of the gathered Chantry clerics and nobles. Her pink lips curled in a smile, the gentle bounce of her breast and light tinkling laugh unmissable.

And he wanted to grab her, lecture her on how entirely inappropriate it was, the sin of bare flesh in the chapel, to…punish her… With little trouble, he could see the dress slipping from her as he bared her skin, bent across the expanse of his office desk, his lips marking his neck as his own, surprised little gasps leaving her as his hand spanked her milky white skin.

Maker’s arse, he was supposed to be devout, not…devouring her in his mind. She was Andraste’s chosen, after all, her Herald. Perhaps more holy than the Divine herself. The Inquisitor, savior of all Thedas, and he, a simple tool of the Maker’s will, faithful and loyal. Standing guard by the Light as she crushed maleficar and curled all from the Chantry clerics to the Empress herself around her little finger, whilst the Prophet’s name hung around her neck.

Although, he had a distinct memory of her curled around him that morning whispering filth, that he supposed would bring colour to the cheeks of even a desire demon, into his ear with perfect lips as her fingernails dragged along his back, and he buried himself between her legs with ever increasing fervour, the sounds of their lovemaking echoing throughout the room.

For the love of Blessed Andraste. His mouth seemed to dry, chewing at the very corner of his mouth as he stumbled over the last of his benedictions, and his breeches were uncomfortably tight.

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.

But there was nothing wicked about her, no corruption to be found amongst the soft embrace of her breasts, no sin in losing himself to her each night amongst the bedsheets. Oh, how the Chantry sisters would blush if they knew - a Templar and the Prophet’s Herald, a mage of all people, in the most intimate of embraces.

He clasped his hands tighter, desperately uttering the remaining verses of the Canticles of Transfigurations, praying to his Maker to…well, at this point, rapture would be preferable. Truth be told, he wasn’t so sure he wanted the Maker to know his heart right at that moment.

He uttered the last few lines, before rising from his guard, aware of the eyes on his back. He made his excuses to the waiting guard, rushed, short, snipped, demanding that he had an urgent matter to discuss with Her Worship and was not to be discussed. They looked as bewildered as he felt, but made no protestation as he breezed past them, storming the stone floor.

She was leant over her desk studying some missive, the contents of which he cared little for as he stalked towards her. Her eyes lifted, meeting his gaze, questions, queries rising in them as each footstep brought him close to her. Like a calling, a drumming in his ears he could no longer ignore.

“Cullen? Is everything-!”

Her words were smothered by his lips, one hand curling at the nape of her neck, the other clasping one firm buttock, his straining cock pressing urgently against her leg through the soft leather of his breeches as he pushed her against the bookcase, testosterone leaving him in waves that seemed to be near tangible. She mewled against him, hand curling amongst the golden curls on his head, his sudden frenzy bringing a smug, content grin to her face, tongue flicking at her lips.

“Do you like the dress? I had Josephine alter it especially for you.”

A low growl was her reply, his fingers working quickly to loosen the ribbon laced across her back that held it in place, his desperation to unclothe her only widening the smirk plastered across her face. “You are a temptress…you knew…”