Dragon Age One Shots

Ribbons, Cullen/Inquisitor

A flutter of red satin skirted across my vision. I turned, watching three girls scamper after a man festooned in a mass of curling ribbons. Most were red, but I noticed a few yellow knotted around his wrists and thighs. The Orlesians were in bright form, nearly all skipping and cavorting regardless of their age. While the masks remained tightly knotted to their faces, the clothing was not. Skirts were hiked high, straps pulled low, shirts fully abandoned. I hadn't seen so many flailing body parts since Sera threw that hive of hornets into the bathhouse.

Spring's revitalizing sun beamed down across the trampled meadow. Tents of the finest silks encircled the grounds. They barely shuddered in the gentle winds, their banners for the tempting offers inside fluttering to catch excited eyes. Everyone was in a jolly mood to celebrate the holiday.

Everyone except for one gruff lion.

I turned from watching Dorian accept his tenth red ribbon, and Varric shaking off another's advances with his stein, to watch the lone storm cloud stomp through the festivities. While everyone else was in thin shifts, frilled skirts, and — for some — just their underthings, he kept every stitch of armor on. Even the fur, which had to be the cause of the fever rising across his forehead.

Rising from my chair, I snaked a hand out to catch the man before he made yet another round of 'ruining everyone's fun.' Amber eyes that'd languidly scoured the scampering denizens snapped to me. When I smiled and curled a wave, Cullen's pursed lips finally relaxed.

"You look as if you're preparing for war," I said, my eyes drifting down to the sword naturally upon his hip.

The Rutherford sigh I'd heard mimicked across the barracks erupted from his lips. "This is foolish."

"Of course it is," I said extending my hand to the mass of adults chasing each other like nymphs and satyrs. "It's love."

Cullen snorted, his sneer cocked as he too scrutinized the scampering. "That is not love. It's people who proclaim themselves to be the epitome of civilized running around like animals for a few days until they sober up."

A laugh broke through my lips which I failed to stifle. My poor, disconcerted general spun upon me, his eyes narrowing as if I turned traitor. Ignoring the cries for more wine, women, and music, I slid so my hip knocked into Cullen's. Enveloping my arm over top of his, I staggered up on my tiptoes. The thick bear fur tickled through the thin fabric of my dress, nearly causing me to giggle in his ear.

But I soldiered on, swallowing the laugh, and whispered instead, "Last I checked, behaving like a rutting animal in heat is love."

"That is lust, not..." Cullen began, as if he was a die-hard romantic who had to defend the concept to the death. His rant fizzled as he turned his scruffy cheek and those amber flame eyes stared into mine. No doubt he realized my breasts were astride his bicep, my loins pressing to the side of his hip, and my lips a breath away. A hand circled my waist, pinning me to him.

"Not what?" I asked, struggling to maintain my balance on the near tips of my toes. Maker's sake, why was he so tall?

"Not...not, um..." Amber eyes darted from mine to my lips, then further to the warm chasm in my bodice. His tongue rolled over his lips, when he dry swallowed and the professional mask slammed down. "Not a productive use of our time."

"Come now, Commander," I leaned into his title even as I felt his fingers thrumming the top of my ass. "Everyone needs a break. Besides, we were invited."

"By feckless Orlesians who manage to turn the simplest of matters into a convoluted mess," he grumbled, showing his teeth. I glanced down his body to find that he bore no ribbons. Not even a small yellow one knotted to his wrist. Either he was very fast at escaping, or any who approached he glared to death.