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and all this time
[He doesn't know exactly when he expects Dorian, all he knows is that it will be soon. This day or the next or the day after that, probably. The uncertainty of it might have driven him mad at one point, but nowadays, Cullen is more measured. He takes things in a certain stride - chores still have to be done tomorrow, the animals still need to be fed, he still needs to cook dinner.
So, he prepares in a way: he cleans his modest home, does most of the irritable chores in the days before Dorian's arrival, and makes sure that his nicer clothes are set out. But for the most part, he simply goes along with his life until Dorian arrives.
The farm isn't an overly impressive tract of land. The Divine had asked if he'd wanted more, and as the retiring general of the Inquisition, he could have taken her up on the offer, but he'd declined - it was important to him to bed down in Ferelden, near Honnleath, where his siblings could reach him in less than a day if they set their minds to travel. The resulting land is tucked into the side of a hill, large enough to fit two small homes and a barn, as well as a small pasture to set the animals afield in. The road to reach it isn't paved, and the dirt often gives way to holes and mud, but it's relatively accessible.
There's no one staying in the guest house now. At times, there'd be two or three others around to help him - or to sweat out the lyrium, as the case may be - and they'd usually stay in the separate building, unless the chills and paranoia were so dire that Cullen would keep them in his spare room instead. Usually, they stayed for a few months, helping with the work, talking through their experiences, being neighborly, until they'd excised enough of their demons that they could move on.
Now, there's no one, and the peace isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it does mean that more work has to be done on the farm by himself. And so, Cullen is up at the crack of dawn, unlatching the chicken coop to let them out and collect the eggs, sweep out the hay, replace it with fresh bedding, turn the goats to pasture and do the same with the barn.
Today, he's wearing his normal work clothes: a pair of shabby brown trousers and a tight sleeveless top, to allow him more flexibility as he works. His mabari follows him from task to task, occasionally herding the animals when they might need it - or for the fun of it.
He'll be moving steadily and with purpose throughout the day, working in relative silence, save for a few murmured words of praise toward the dog.]
So, he prepares in a way: he cleans his modest home, does most of the irritable chores in the days before Dorian's arrival, and makes sure that his nicer clothes are set out. But for the most part, he simply goes along with his life until Dorian arrives.
The farm isn't an overly impressive tract of land. The Divine had asked if he'd wanted more, and as the retiring general of the Inquisition, he could have taken her up on the offer, but he'd declined - it was important to him to bed down in Ferelden, near Honnleath, where his siblings could reach him in less than a day if they set their minds to travel. The resulting land is tucked into the side of a hill, large enough to fit two small homes and a barn, as well as a small pasture to set the animals afield in. The road to reach it isn't paved, and the dirt often gives way to holes and mud, but it's relatively accessible.
There's no one staying in the guest house now. At times, there'd be two or three others around to help him - or to sweat out the lyrium, as the case may be - and they'd usually stay in the separate building, unless the chills and paranoia were so dire that Cullen would keep them in his spare room instead. Usually, they stayed for a few months, helping with the work, talking through their experiences, being neighborly, until they'd excised enough of their demons that they could move on.
Now, there's no one, and the peace isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it does mean that more work has to be done on the farm by himself. And so, Cullen is up at the crack of dawn, unlatching the chicken coop to let them out and collect the eggs, sweep out the hay, replace it with fresh bedding, turn the goats to pasture and do the same with the barn.
Today, he's wearing his normal work clothes: a pair of shabby brown trousers and a tight sleeveless top, to allow him more flexibility as he works. His mabari follows him from task to task, occasionally herding the animals when they might need it - or for the fun of it.
He'll be moving steadily and with purpose throughout the day, working in relative silence, save for a few murmured words of praise toward the dog.]
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Needless to say, Cullen’s outreach was welcome for more than the pleasant surprise of it all.
It’s a reckless thing to be abandoning his post even on a temporary basis but Dorian failed to keep thoughts of Cullen clear from his mind after their conversation. It felt like more of a plea to consider the offer than a suggestion, or maybe Dorian had been so wrapped up in his work that he’d forgotten how desperately he missed the man too, distracting his mind from entertaining a dream that probably could never come to pass. Dorian must stay in Tevinter. Cullen is making a life for himself in Ferelden. There is no going back.
And yet… despite all this… about a week later, Dorian finds himself traveling south. Not something he ever thought he’d do again.
He has enough sense to warn Cullen before he leaves, and the travels will take a couple days as it is. Part of him is anxious to leave things in Tevinter when it feels like progress is finally turning a corner, but he has allies who will keep up the good fight, and Maevaris all but showed him the door herself when he said he was thinking of visiting an old friend. Hint taken.
When his boots touch soil just outside Cullen’s property, Dorian feels the weight of the trip finally ease off his shoulders. The rented carriage rolls off after he drops a couple coins into a palm, leaving Dorian to make the remaining trek up to the farm on foot. He’s dressed in traveling robes akin to his time in the Inquisition, sticking out like a sore thumb with his shiny buckles and celadon silk. Despite his feelings about the south, the scene before him is idyllic compared to Minrathous, and even Dorian can appreciate rolling hills and a bright, open sky.
He eventually spots a figure in the distance - the only human-shaped one at least - with a mabari trailing behind. Even from this distance, the sight of him catches his breath in his lungs and Dorian needs a moment to marvel in the rush of old feelings that hit him like a bronto to the chest. Oh. Perhaps he was not as prepared for this reunion as he thought.
Boots sticking to the mud, he makes his way toward the barn with just himself and a pack slung over his back, nerves fluttering in his chest like some schoolboy with a crush. Horrible, really. He shouldn’t be so charmed already, and yet-]
You know, this is precisely what I thought this place would look like. [He speaks once close enough, without announcement, a smile lifting his features as he looks at Cullen as he is now, without the weight of war against his back.] It suits you, my friend.
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Or would he? He doesn't know. Dorian always made a show of being more civilized than the rest of them in Skyhold, but Cullen knew it was mostly an act in good humor, to keep everyone smiling at the gentle ribbing.
Regardless, he's hesitated too much and the moment is over, replaced instead by Dorian approaching him. Cullen looks up toward him as he speaks, afraid for a moment that he'd see... judgement, maybe? Regret at coming here, to this backwater town in this backwater country? But instead, all he sees in Dorian's expression is - an impeccable fondness that makes his heart surge in his chest and flood him with a warmth he hasn't felt since...
Well, since the last time they were together, really.]
...thank you.
[The dog gives an eager little whuff, used to strangers by now, though Dorian smells less like the sourness of old lyrium and more like something sharper, sweeter. She immediately moves in closer for a less polite sniff and Cullen reaches his hand down to tug her back, smiling sheepishly up at him.]
- sorry. Poppy likes new people. She won't bite.
[He's not sure if he really anticipated this when sending Dorian all those words about his fantasies - introducing him to his dog, hoping that he wouldn't be repulsed by the wear and tear of the farm. It's plain that Dorian is dressing down a bit in traveling clothes, but even like this, he's stunning. Cullen wouldn't go so far as to say that he looks like he doesn't belong here, but... he looks like he's special, almost too special for a place like this.
Nevertheless, he offers a good spirited smile and the dog gets the hint, backing off from them to go investigate a nearby fence post. With her out of the way, Cullen can stand up to his full height and really look at the man in front of him.
Maker, but he's just as breathtaking as Cullen remembers.]
...let's get you inside. I'll show you where you can set your things.
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And yet... and yet, seeing him up close like this again has stirred so much more than the desire for a cross-country fling.]
Poppy. What a sweet name. [A little smirk curls over his lips at the memory of what Cullen's goats were named too. Dorian may not be much of an animal person (beyond cats - they're so clean and independent), but he still smiles at Poppy's enthusiasm, and the way she listens to Cullen so loyally.
When his eyes find Cullen's again it's after a sweeping gesture over the man's body, as if taking him in again for the first time. There's no judgment to be found beyond interest. Cullen looks... good. Sweaty and dirty, naturally, but good. Healthy. Happy. That must be it - the happiness. Dorian can't help but feel happy for him, even just witnessing the way he behaves with his dog.]
You'll be happy to know I was practical about my packing. [He sounds so proud about it as he turns to gesture to the one pack hanging heavily off his shoulder.] Besides, I had a feeling I wouldn't need too many clothes during my visit.
[Another little smile, suggestive around the edges, but then Dorian gestures toward the rest of the farm.] Lead the way, country man.
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The casual muscle of an armored templar hasn't gone away, but the mass has shifted in places, indicative of his transition to farmhand rather than a warrior.
It's not all sunshine, of course - it never is in Thedas. But it's enough for him to have carved out an existence that fulfills him, makes him happy. It's enough for him to reflect on his life and not feel immeasurable guilt or anger at himself, to just... let some things go. It's easier to let go out here in the countryside. He hopes Dorian finds that to be true as well.]
You? Practical?
[But he doesn't miss that hint of suggestion, the curve in Dorian's utterly kissable mouth. Cullen wants to taste that smile for himself, but he holds himself back, not wanting to be quite so rude. It doesn't stop him from touching a hand to the small of Dorian's back as he passes him on the way toward the house, a familiar, comforting touch. His fingers feel seared by the warmth of him.
Cullen leads him into the small farmhouse he lives in, propping the door open so that Poppy can follow the two of them inside. The home consists of two floors and a staircase near the front door, but the frame of it is small enough that only a small sitting room, kitchen, and pantry can squeeze into the first floor, with the second holding his bedroom and spare room. There's a lot of natural wood, a bit of creaking - not nearly the kind of stone fortress of Skyhold.
It's neat, though whether that's because he's cleaned up or because he simply doesn't own many possessions remains to be seen. Poppy moves to curl up on the dog bed in the sitting room, which hosts a book case and a well-worn chair, and Cullen leads Dorian upstairs.
He pauses in the narrow hall, turning back toward the other man, his shoulders brushing against the wall.
He wants him. He'd thought that the desire might not be as sharp now as it was years ago, but if anything, it feels even more tangible, now that the other distractions of his life are behind him.]
The spare room is there, [he gestures to an open door.] But my bedroom is at the end of the hall. Whichever you're most comfortable in.
[It's an open invitation, allowing Dorian to set the pace of this reunion however he likes.]
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He has so many questions, so much he wants to know about this new life Cullen has cultivated for himself, because what little he knows is already impressive. Knowing what he was like before, it’s as if he’s looking at a brand new man before him, and yet… he can tell it’s still the same brave, loyal, kind person he’d befriended years ago. They were friends before lovers after all, and Dorian enjoyed getting to know the man behind the title and troubles bit by bit. What is he like now?
The hall is tight and brings them closer together, enough for Dorian to notice the sweat lingering against Cullen’s brow, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his body, the bits of grime against his skin where he’d been working the fields. It shouldn’t be so attractive but it is, and Dorian would be lying to himself if he claimed otherwise. Paired with the kind, bright eyes, he knows he’s doomed already.
The choice presented is an easy one.]
I traveled days from the north with the thought of nothing but coming to see you in mind. Through the mud and the rain and across the bloody sea… [As he speaks, Dorian reaches a hand to touch Cullen’s wrist delicately, testing, before fingers curve inward and stroke up along the softer skin of his inner arm, all the way to his elbow. Dorian takes a step closer at once, eyes meeting his head-on.] There isn’t a single part of me that wishes to squander a moment here by staying away.
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Just the touch feels more arousing than anything Cullen's seen or done in the entire time its been since they've said goodbye. He feels like his entire world begins and ends with the stroke of Dorian's fingers and the warmth of his gaze, molten, pinning him in place.
Cullen is... still in the wake of it, careful as he catalogues his desires, turning his need and desperation over in his mind. He's always been careful when it comes to what he wants, with a controlled heat that he's internalized since his time training as a new templar recruit. It's a careful repression, cultivated after years in the order and enough mistakes to know that acting rashly often leads to his own downfall.
But it's Dorian, not some demon. It's Dorian, standing before him with his shoes still caked with dust from the road, touching him, missing him... and a dam breaks, and Cullen steps forward.
His hands lift to Dorian's face, cradling his well-sculpted cheeks in his fingers as he pushes in closer, invading the other man's personal space in one swift movement. More than that - he pushes him back, urgent, overflowing with that longing he'd managed to keep a lid on since the first moment he laid eyes on Dorian again. He pushes until Dorian's shoulders hit the opposite wall, and then he finally kisses him.
It's a senseless rush, and he'd been self conscious about the dirt, the sweat, everything else, he'd been planning on washing up before he even touched Dorian because Dorian deserves the best - but none of that matters now when he can finally kiss him, feel the warmth of his body, taste him again.]
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Kissing Cullen again feels like an exhale he'd been holding onto for years, the reaction immediate as he literally sighs out and melts into the kiss. He drops his pack heavily onto the floor with a loud thump so hands can grip onto Cullen's shirt, can slide up his chest and around to his back, feeling his body with shameless want. He should care that there's dirt and sweat that will cling to his robes but he doesn't - all he can think about is getting robes out of the way so he can feel more skin.
Lips part welcomingly and he tugs Cullen's body closer to his own, arching into him with the need to feel more of him again. If there's any doubt that Dorian doesn't mind the state of him, it's hopefully gone now. The desperation is thrilling, and all he wants is to get reacquainted with this man he's missed.
His hands eventually find the hem of Cullen's shirt to slip beneath and seek out the heat of his body directly, palms dragging up his back. A satisfied hum muffles into his mouth as fingers dig greedily into muscle and the familiar shape of him - familiar yet new in some places, but entirely appreciated.]
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Cullen breaks the kiss only to breathe: one, two short inhalations through his nose, watching Dorian's dark eyes, before he dives back in again in a flurry of heat. He knows that they can't stay here in the hall forever, that he could just pick up Dorian and carry him off to bed, but the thought of not kissing him for those few handfuls of seconds would be too much to bear.
One of his hands slides along the side of Dorian's head, thumbing over his ear, bracing the back of his neck in a firm grip as he parts his lips and tastes the inside of Dorian's mouth, turning the kiss as messy as it is desperate.
Finally, he has to take a more grounding breath and he pulls back, keeping his hand at Dorian's neck while he tries to remember how to breathe.]
Maker, I've missed you.
[He says it quietly, but sure of himself. He never should have let this go - he should have been more focused, more attentive to his own feelings, his own needs. Cullen knows in these moments that he's not being entirely fair to himself in his regrets, but when he thinks about what they could have had... it's difficult to keep the blame from turning inward.]
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Ah, when did he get so sentimental? The Dorian of before would have laughed at the thought, or at least convinced himself it wasn't necessary.
His pulse is racing beneath Cullen's hand and Dorian also inhales deep, long breaths when they part, his head pressing back against the wall to look at the other man with a smile. Hands slide up his back to hold him close, unwilling to part just yet either.]
Have you? I never would've known... [Naturally, he can't help but tease, but there's a warmth there that suggests he's pleased by this knowledge. One of Dorian's hands comes around to touch Cullen's face too, skimming along his jaw as he feels the familiar stubble along his palm.] We should've done this sooner. I'm not prideful enough to claim I haven't missed you too.
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[That was the excuse back in the Inquisition. Too much to do, too many things that needed them, too many priorities. It only makes sense that after their service, such excuses continued. But if they don't make time, if they don't prioritize this... it doesn't happen.
It probably wouldn't happen anyway. They both have important lives, so far away from one another. But at least they can have this.
He tilts his head into Dorian's palm, nuzzling against his soft fingers, smelling the achingly familiar scents of scented oils and inks. It sends a pang of nostalgia through his stomach and Cullen finally finds the strength to step back and tug Dorian behind him, toward his bedroom.
Like the rest of the home, it's a bit on the small side, but the bed will comfortably fit both of them (as it often fits Cullen and Poppy both, overnight). He has a wooden trunk at the base of his bed, a dresser, and a few other bits of furniture, all of it well-worn and utilitarian, though not quite as much as his former office in Skyhold.]
Will you undress yourself, or would you prefer to laugh at me while I curse at your buckles and straps?
[It's a jest, but there's... some truth to it. Cullen's fingers have always been a bit clumsy when it comes to Dorian's fineries, and he suspects that's not about to change any time soon.]
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Lips twitch into a smile at the suggestion and Dorian turns back to Cullen.] Like the good old days?
[Ah, how many nights did they spend fumbling with Dorian's clothes in particular? They had been so eager, every instance so urgent, and usually in the dark. Standing in Cullen's space in the middle of the day, seeing every bit of him under a new light (quite literally) is a sobering experience.
He reaches to undo a clasp holding the outer layer of his travel robes together, letting it fall off his shoulders as he folds the thick material over one arm neatly. It's soon tossed over the top of the trunk by the bed, Dorian stepping closer to him again too, reaching for Cullen's hands. He draws them to his hips at first, guiding one of them toward an easier set of buckles just beneath his ribs.]
I'll guide you and laugh with you, this time. How does that sound? [He raises a brow, so clearly amused at the thought, but he's eager to be as close to Cullen as possible after so much time apart.]
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Maker, but he really is a beautiful man. Cullen hadn't been sure at first, hadn't known how to approach or initiate anything - Dorian hadn't minded any of that. And now, he feels comfortable in his desire, easier to fall into it like he has in the past, to see Dorian's exposed skin and just want to lavish all kinds of attention onto.
He does use his hands how Dorian sets them, and tilts his head to capture the other man's mouth in a kiss, his stubble scraping across Dorian's shoulder.]
Anything with you sounds delightful.
[His fingers twist blindly over the buckles, seeking out the little tab of fabric to hopefully pull it through - he stumbles there, not sure which way is the right way, and eventually Cullen has to pull back and actually look at what he's doing.]
Ah.
[It's the other direction. He manages that well enough, and the next one, and the next, until Dorian is divested of every little jingle and strap on hand, so that Cullen can push it all off of him and guide him toward the bed.]
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Even the scrape of stubble on his skin has Dorian's nerves on end in the best possible way, and he'd be embarrassed about his own desire here if Dorian had any capacity for shame in the first place. Thankfully he doesn't, and this just leaves him longing for more.]
See? You've learned during our time apart. Maybe I should be jealous after all.
[Spoken with a smile as the last of his ridiculous clothes are undone and pushed to the floor, leaving Dorian bare from the waist up. His pants are much easier to remove, and as Dorian is pushed down onto the bed, he undoes them himself to kick off along with his muddy boots. He sits up on his elbows against the bed, eyes roaming curious and hungry over Cullen's body.]
You look different. [He can't help but comment as he reaches out for him, working on swiftly tugging the simple shirt off of his body.]
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Dorian isn't wrong: he has changed. In the Inquisition, Cullen had kept his muscle mass through sheer repetition and exercise and little else - sleepless nights, withdrawals, and a missed meal here or there had left him capable, but not exactly thriving. Now, he's let the rigorous training fall away in favor of the work around the farm. It's left him healthier, even if he's not quite as well defined as he had been back then.
But more has changed than just his body, and they both know it.]
Good different, I hope.
[He leans in for another kiss, this one a bit deeper, nipping at Dorian's lower lip as he pulls him in close, his hands sliding down the other man's body to feel all the ways that he's changed as well.]
You're still as lovely as ever.
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Very, very good. [Spoken lowly as he's lost in another deep kiss, one hand sifting fingers back through Cullen's hair to cradle the back of his head.
It's been so long since he's been touched like this, he barely hides the way he arches into those lovely hands, just as calloused and rough as he remembers, despite their gentleness. A soft sigh of pleasure escapes between their mouths as Dorian's fingers map out the strength of Cullen's back, slowly getting reacquainted with this man he knew so well once. Touching him is as familiar as it is new.
Dorian's body hasn't had too drastic of a change, though he doesn't swing his heavy staves around as often as he did with the Inquisition. A little slimmer perhaps, but his skin is just as soft and well-maintained as ever, and there's no denying the strength in his legs when he slides one up to press against Cullen's waist and drag him down flush to his body.]