Dragon Age One Shots

Relief, Cullen/OC

She looked miserable, like a delicate mountain flower wilting under the oppressive heat of the sun. Poor Lyliane sat perched upon a hillside, her back near a tree that was casting barely any shadow over her enflamed skin. Digging a hand into the nape of his neck, Cullen began to climb to her. The summer was proving relentless, he himself having to forgo the armor while they traveled a large cavalcade through the northern provinces of Orlais.

It felt strange at time to only be in a solitary linen tunic -- and Maker knew Sera couldn't cease with the jabs at what chest hair of his prodded through the laces. But he couldn't deny the breeze that'd waft through the tissue thin shirt. A shame he couldn't impart the same to Lyliane who remained in her Inquisition robes.

As he rose higher with her hair aflame like a sunflower in the field, her striking green eyes focused from the ether upon him. "I hate this weather," she growled, Cullen having to smother a snicker at her words. It seemed rather obvious to any and all, most of the underlings keeping far afield from an angry Inquisitor.

Lyliane tipped her head back to the unending sun and spat out a series of Dalish curses, her fist folded tight while waving at it. Chuckling, Cullen admitted, "I'm afraid I don't know what any of those mean."

Her swearing froze and sheepish eyes turned to him, "It's probably not wise of me to teach you those words."

"Contrary to my appearance, I'm not as innocent as I look."

"Oh," a bright blush burned over Lyliane's cheeks, her soft hand cupping to hide away her cheek, but her eyes honed to a razor's edge as she stared at him. "Um," she shifted in the tall grass, her tongue falling silent as the words must have escaped her.

That tendency of hers was relaxing at times, the two of them finding comfort in sharing the same space while free to focus on their own tasks. Though, a few of the soldiers shared quite a laugh when they caught the Inquisition perched on his lap -- both heads down in work.

Not wanting her to suffer, Cullen spoke first, "I know you hate this heat, so I thought I might bring you something to help against it."

"Oh?" her face perked up, Lyliane tipping her head higher to him.

From behind Cullen's back he presented a bowl with a solitary spoon sticking out of a mass of creamy pink mounds. Lyliane's eyes puckered, her mouth falling flat. "What is it?" she jabbed a finger towards the bowl, but didn't draw too close.

"Ice cream. A concoction from Orlais. I haven't had it often, but it's..." he nudged the spoon a bit, letting it clatter against the clay bowl in thought, "it's tasty. I think you'll like it."

"Looks like cherry oatmeal," she muttered, remaining in place.

"Strawberry, actually. The only flavor they had, um," Cullen placed the bowl in her hands, but Lyliane still seemed dubious of the entire ordeal.

"It's cold to touch," she remarked, her palms soothing up the sides of the bowl.

Unceremoniously tumbling to his backside, Cullen dug the spoon around in the melting treat, scooping up in as much ice cream as he could. With one hand cupped under it, he guided the spoon towards her mouth. Still, those uncertain eyes watched him, a copper eyebrow cocked.

"Trust me," he whispered and Lyliane opened her mouth. Slipping just the tip of the spoon in, he waited as she drew her tongue around it, lapping up her first taste of ice cream. Those summer green eyes flared open wide, her hand lashing out to grab his and pull more of the ice cream into her mouth.

Once the spoon was licked clean, she gasped, "That's delightful. Creamy, but cold, and...fruity. Refreshing. What did you say it was?"

Lyliane snatched the spoon from his fingers and began to shovel more into her mouth. The heat was completely forgotten, a smile twinkling in her eyes which made him grin as well. "Ice cream," Cullen repeated. "Oh, but you should go slower or..."

"Ah!" she cried, the spoon clattering into the bowl. Her fingers pinched into the bridge of her nose, Lyliane hissing in pain. "What is this...pain? Here! And! And everywhere in my skull!"

"A brain freeze. I can help," he insisted while drawing closer to her. Lyliane's pained eyelids opened, her hand falling from pinching her nose just as Cullen cupped his lips around hers. His hand rustled through her hair, cuddling the back of her head tighter as he poured forth all the heat from his mouth into hers.

Soft as rose petals, her bottom lip nipped against the scruff of his soul patch as Lyliane flirted her tongue with his. With one last peck upon her sweet lips, Cullen's amber eyes opened. "Better?"

A smile rose slowly, Lyliane nodding her head, "Much. But what caused the pain?"

"If you eat the ice cream too fast, it'll do that. Like you got kicked in the head by an apostate," he pointed to his own wrinkled forehead.

Lyliane drew her fingers over the worry lines, shifting them upwards while her lips slightly parted, "Or an ice spell backfiring off your fingers."

"That I know less about," Cullen confessed, his eyes drifting to the partially soupy bowl of ice cream.

Like in a dream, Lyliane's eyes trailed his and she gulped, "Oh, you should have some as well."

"No," he shook his head, "it's for you. A special batch, they used strawberries to try and match your hair..." Cullen worried the tips of his fingers at the roots of her fiery mane and parted through the locks, "But it can't compare."

Smiling serenely, she waited until he reached the tips of her hair, before picking up the spoon. "I insist. It is tasty, but I'm not sure I can eat all before it turns into a puddle."

"All right," he admitted, his mouth opening.

She swirled the spoon over the top of the ice cream, getting a good glob and holding it out for Cullen. He less than gracefully leaned for it, his tongue catching some, but a good plop landed on the top of his chest and began to smear downwards.

"Oh dear," Lyliane gasped adorably, both of them watching the strawberry streak drip against his tanned chest. He was about to insist it wasn't a problem, he'd wash up later, when she dove forward. Tugging down the tunic's laces, her hot tongue lapped up the strawberry cream.

Playfully, she began to suck against the sticky skin, causing Cullen's toes to curl in his boots. "Sweet Maker," he groaned, Lyliane bold enough to place a hand upon his inner thigh for balance. She started to drift lower, her nose brushing against his chest hair, as she dove for the remaining ice cream melting upon his skin.

"Woo!" a soldier hooted from his post along the border of the campsite. Cullen whipped his head over, trying to muster the best glare he had in his arsenal, when Lyliane's cool hand cupped his cheek.

"Commander," she whispered, "I do believe we have a tent we can take advantage of."

Smiling, he helped her rise to her feet. "Yes, we do." Cullen took her small hand in his, but she turned back to hoist up the bowl that was nearly soup. He stared down at it, wondering what was the point of keeping it, when mischievous green eyes caught in his and a shiver of excitement ran up his spine.

Hand in hand, the two of them and the bowl slipped down the hill for his very private tent. Laying her head upon his shoulder, Lyliane whispered in his ear, "I quite love ice cream."