December 22nd

–

Cold seeped into Cullen's skin through the rags his uniform was now reduced to. The manacles keeping his hands bound cut into his wrists and he could feel the raw wounds weeping with every tiny movement he made. It was days since the manacles were fastened around his hands and he was numb to their pain now.

Sharp barbs of iron pressed into the back of his thighs, preventing him from sitting or slouching. He was exhausted from forcing himself to remain upright, but sitting or lying down was out of the question. He couldn't allow himself to rest. He wouldn't allow himself to lose focus or to be vulnerable. There was no telling what would happen to him if he gave into the immense fatigue the plagued every beat of his heart.

Each time he closed his eyes, blinking, it was a monumental effort to open them. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. He hadn't eaten in days - he couldn't trust the food put before him by his captors. His throat was dry and cracked - the last drink he had was soiled, dirty water. And even that was beginning to feel like it had been a hallucination or a dream his sleep-starved mind conjured up.

He knew what things were real though. The burns and sores slowly healing across his torso were real. The rusted iron spikes pressing into the backs of his calves like hundreds of small knives were real. The pain where the edge of his upper lip was split was real. His dank box of a prison cell was real. The dingy lighting, the damp, stone walls, all real. His captors were real.

They were frighteningly real. Each day there was someone new who came to torment him. Someone new who spat in his face and shouted demands at him. Someone new who offered him food, clean water, a bed to rest his weary body in. Someone new who he stared at in resolute silence, refusing to give in to their demands and their tempting offers. His body and mind cried out for succor and sustenance.

Cullen refused.

Perhaps it was foolish pride or simple Fereldan stubbornness. Perhaps it was a misplaced sense of loyalty. He witnessed the brutalizing and butchering of his friends before his very eyes. He heard their screaming, their pleading to the Maker and begging for their mothers. He was the last one left. He had endured torture and people trying to twist his mind. He vowed to himself he would not give in for the sake of those who died before him. To do so would be an insult to them. It would be an insult to everything they stood for and believed.

In his delirious state, he heard footsteps approaching. His eyesight was poor in the dim light and the person drawing closer kept to the shadows. The squeak of his cell door opening made his head hurt. Ice cold water sloshed over him, drenching him from head to foot. He cried out against the shock and the immediate pain that followed. Water dripped from his hair and the remnants of his clothing. He mustered what strength remained in him and glowered at the figure standing before him.

"It could all end right now, you know?" The voice was female, husky and alluring to him. Even through the blood throbbing in his ears he heard her as clearly as if she were shouting. "You've impressed us. You've impressed me." She stepped towards him, reducing the space between them to nothing. Cullen watched her hand reach out and caress his bare skin between the tears and rips in his shirt. He recoiled from her touch and hissed at the sharp stab digging into the backs of his legs from the iron spikes behind him. "You don't have to be brave for me." Her voice was smooth and warm. She brushed her thumb over the split in his lip and Cullen winced at the slight pressure she applied to the wound. "My people could sew that up for you. Fix your pretty face."

He couldn't make out many of her features - the light was so low and it impaired his vision. He could make out where her eyes were, and the slope of a nose. Little else was visible on the woman's face. Cullen licked his lips, savoring the few droplets of water that remained. He swallowed and his throat stung. "I won't give in to you," he growled.

"Who are you staying strong for?" she cooed. Something in her other hand flashed at her side but it was too quick a movement for him to know what it was she held. "It would be a waste for you to die here like your friends." She inched closer until Cullen could feel her lips beside his ear and her breath brushing his skin. "I could make it all go away." Her hand on his chest descended lower, feeling down over his abdomen. "I could take you down from here. Make you feel better than you ever have before." The flat of her palm slid over his cock. There was the tiniest movement of his body betraying him. The woman chuckled, "Would you like that?" She rubbed again, "Wouldn't you like all the pain to stop?"

Cullen closed his eyes. Her hand felt good, and it was the first relief he'd had since Kinloch fell and he was captured, it would have been easy for him to give in to whatever she wanted. Or whatever her people wanted. He could have ended all the pain in that instant. Betrayed everything he believed and stood for. He tightened his jaw against her touch and pooled the strength that remained in him. He lunged forward as far as the shackles around him would allow him, not sure what he was aiming for, but determined to make a connection with something. The spikes dug into the muscle of his calves and thighs as his forehead smacked against the bridge of the woman's nose.

She cried out in pain and recoiled. Two other people Cullen hadn't noticed rushed past her, the two of them shoulder tackling him back into the iron barbs and against the back wall of his cage. Fists connected with his gut over and over again knocking the wind from him. Cullen heaved, doubling over feeling the pain flood over him and through every nerve like a shock of electricity. The spikes behind him pressed into his flesh and he could feel blood spilling from the small wounds they inflicted.

"Enough!" the woman commanded. The punches stopped. Cullen spat blood from his mouth at her feet, the familiar iron taste lining his teeth and tongue. "You stubborn, stupid boy." she snarled, pinching the bridge of her nose. It wasn't broken but Cullen could see a small droplet of blood. That alone gave him a sense of victory and triumph. "If you insist on doing things the hard way," she walked towards him with purpose. The item she held in her hand flashed again.

Cullen saw a blade and then felt it, a sharp stinging slicing through the sensitive flesh above his hip. She wasn't stabbing him, that would be too easy and potentially kill him. This was a cut, deep, long, and the first of many he would receive that day. Cullen bit back a groan of pain. A groan that became released as a roar when one of the other people layered some kind of grainy substance over the wound. Salt. Cullen knew it was salt from the excruciating pain that rocked through him. It was as if thousands of needles were being stuck into him all at once, the pain was excruciating and flooded all his senses, overwhelming him.

The woman grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. She pressed the flat of the blade to his cheek, leaving a smear of his blood in its wake. "Then we will do this the hard way. Until you learn when you're beaten."

The knife disappeared from view and Cullen felt it cut across his skin.

He jerked awake, yelling and drenched. Blankets tangled around his feet constricted him and he struggled to wrestle them off as he fought the panic racing through him. In his urgency, he slipped off the couch to the floor. His right side smacked on the edge of the coffee table. He yelped and heaved, grasping a hand to his side. Pain wracked through him making him squirm and writhe as though being stuck with so many blades over and over again. He didn't feel in control of his own body. It was like he was a marionette with its strings being twisted and tangled, utterly beyond his control.

Sweat soaked and curled his hair. The back of his neck was wet and the t-shirt he wore to bed stuck to him like a second skin, constricting and suffocating. His heart hammered fast and loud within his chest like a jackhammer. He struggled for breath to centre himself and to stave off the panic attack he could feel beginning to take hold. He squeezed his eyes closed. He could feel the blade sticking into him, hear the woman's voice, every word a purr. The features of her face drifted across his vision and Cullen shook his head to be rid of it. He remembered the expression she wore with every drag of her blade over his skin; the unadulterated thrill that filled her as she tortured him and tried to break him. He was trembling and afraid.

"Cullen, what - Maker's blood, Cullen!"

Somewhere a door slammed and suddenly there was a figure within Cullen's personal space. He recoiled from two hands reaching out towards him. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. His mind was awash with pain, his focus only on trying to quell the terror flooding through him. He was safe. He knew he was safe. He knew what he experienced was only a memory, and yet it felt so real. He could still smell the damp and musty odor of his cell as though he was still captive.

"Hey, hey…" A woman's voice, frantic and desperate, spoke to him, breaking through the haze. The hands he shied away from slid across his back. "Andraste's flame, you're soaked through. Cullen?" Hands slipped through his unruly curls and cradled the back of his neck. "Cullen, you're okay. It's okay…"

Whether of his own volition or because she was steering him, Cullen found himself lying on his side on the ground. His head was on something soft and a hand wound through his hair while the other clenched his right hand. The woman lifted his hand and pressed it to her chest. "It's okay. Breathe, Cullen, just breathe…" She took a long, slow breath and released it. She did the same thing over and over, steady, measured breaths, each one deliberate. He could feel her heartbeat racing and reverberate through her chest, a regular rhythm that helped him focus his mind.

The haze began to lift, his mind clearing with each shaking and painful breath. The mist of fear and of frantic dread started to diminish, little by little until there were only dregs of it remaining within his body. A poison he would never truly be able to shift. There were slender, delicate fingers curling a tuft of his hair steadily and he realized he was on the floor, his head on a cushion and in a lap. His body still trembling as the aftershocks slowly ebbed away, Cullen shifted very gradually, each movement deliberate and slow.

He turned his head peering at Nevena's concerned expression above him. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, loose curls and waves framing her face. There were defined wrinkles marring her forehead and the edges of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes looked as though they were glowing amber. He realized she was gripping his hand to her chest, that the heartbeat he felt was hers and he noticed how it was beginning to slow as her own fear started to ease off. Her fingers paused in their regular twisting of his hair. He wanted to protest - it felt nice and he wanted her to continue - but he couldn't find his voice just yet. Nevena pushed her fingers through his hair where it was sticking to his forehead and cleared it away.

"Hey," she smiled faintly, running her thumb along his eyebrow. "Welcome back."

"Hi…" he replied, voice rough and his throat stinging as though he'd vomited. He hadn't, yet he could taste the bile on his tongue and the old tang of blood. "We're on the floor…"

"We are." She nodded, still tracing and touching the contours of his face as though doing so was calming her. "You're too big for me to move back onto the couch by myself."

A low chuckle rumbled within Cullen's chest. It hurt to laugh and he gingerly touched his ribs where he impacted the coffee table. He supposed it was lucky it wasn't the same side where he landed skiing.

"Bad dream?" Nevena curled his hair behind his ear.

Cullen sighed and closed his eyes. "They always are." He didn't want to think about what was in his dream. Just considering it turned his whole body to ice. He curled up as much as he could into a protective ball, bringing his free arm around to cling to Nevena's waist. He nestled his forehead against her belly. At that moment he didn't care if it was too intimate or too familiar for their arrangement. He wanted the connection, he knew it would help. "I didn't mean to worry you," he mumbled, eyes still closed and inhaling deeply. She smelled nice this close, of ginger, and grass after heavy rain. It was a scent he could get used to.

She sighed above him, there was a movement and then he felt something brush his forehead which sent a pleasant tingle down his back. "You can let me worry about you a little." Her fingers resumed in their twirling and twisting his hair. He assumed it was keeping her calm, as much as it was helping him wind down. "Do you think you can move?" she asked after some time. "Back onto the couch? I'll get you a cloth."

"Mhm." Cullen's limbs felt lucid and his mind still a little muddled, but he managed to nod and slowly untangled himself. It took more strength than he had and Nevena's assistance for him to climb onto the sofa and his legs gave out as soon as he sat down. Nevena pulled the blanket up off the floor when she stood and folded it haphazardly. He flexed that hand she'd been holding, missing the contact.

"Don't move." She gave the order gently, and Cullen watched her disappear into the bathroom. Once she was out of sight he lifted the hem of his shirt. His torso was riddled with scars; more than he could count. Some long, some short, some were burns creating ugly centralized scars that looked like bullet holes. Each scar was an injury made with a purpose. He ran his fingers along the puckered seams over his chest and abdomen, physical memories of a time that haunted him. Each mark seemed to tingle in reaction to his touch, the scar on his lip most of all. He touched that carefully with his fingers as if fearing doing so would cause the wound to open again.

"Here, lie back." Cullen quickly pulled his shirt down to hide his skin when Nevena came towards him carrying a white cloth, still dripping a little at the edges. He did as she said and lay back, resting his head on one arm of the couch. He stretched out his right leg, the left remained dangling somewhat, his foot flat on the floor. Nevena placed the cloth over his forehead and slightly over his eyes. It was refreshing on his clammy skin and made him realize how warm he was. He cracked an eye open watching Nevena perch gingerly on the edge of the sofa. "Are you okay?"

"No," he shook his head. There was no point trying to lie. "But, I'll be fine."

"What was your nightmare about?"

Cullen kept his mouth closed and shut his eyes. He willed the thoughts plaguing his mind to leave him, to give him some respite and prayed the headache behind his eyes would recede if he stayed still long enough. "What time is it?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Just gone seven in the morning."

Cullen groaned. "What time did we go to bed?"

"Around four."

"Great."

"You can always go back to sleep," Nevena told him softly. "You can take the bed if it'll be better for you."

"No… no. It… It's fine." Talking felt like hard work. Every word seemed to deplete what meager energy Cullen currently possessed. He peeked out from under the cloth. Nevena was curled up at the far end of the couch watching him with a worried expression. He wanted to assure her he was fine, but any idiot would be able to tell that was a lie. "Did I wake you?"

"You were screaming." Cullen grimaced and Nevena ran her hands through her hair, exhaling sharply. "I swear, I thought a bear had broken in. When I came in, you were just… writhing on the floor. I was so scared you were having a seizure."

"I'm sorry," Cullen sighed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't apologize," her tone was gentle but firm. "You don't need to. I don't expect it." She reached over and took his hand. "I'm just glad you're okay. You worried me there."

He laughed weakly. "Maybe that makes us even."

"Maybe." There was a rustling sound and Cullen saw Nevena pulling the blanket up around her legs and carefully placing it over his. "Try and get a bit more sleep. I'll stay awake."

Cullen would have argued if the idea of a few more hours of rest did not seem so appealing. He allowed eyes to close and the tiredness he felt to wash over him, hoping for a respite from the memories that hounded him.

When Cullen awoke again he found himself staring at the ceiling for several seconds while adjusting to being awake. His neck ached a little as it was still perched on the arm of the couch and the cloth over his forehead was gone. He felt groggy and a bit sluggish, his mind not quite in tune with the rest of him yet. Grime coated his skin from where he was sweating before, making one of his first thoughts a desire for a shower. He was calmer than earlier and was grateful that. He either hadn't dreamed, or the dreams were so vague he could not remember them.

As his mind and body slowly grew in synch with each other, he became aware of a few other things. First, a warm weight lying over him, another chest rising and falling in tandem with his, and messy tendrils of blonde hair tickling his mouth and nose. He brushed the hair away with his fingers wriggling his nose to keep from sneezing. After rubbing the crust of sleep from his eyes he blinked hard several times in succession to bring everything into focus.

Nevena slept on soundly, unaware of him waking. She was cushioned between him and the back of the couch, half her torso lying on his chest, with her head settled near his heart. One hand was balled into a fist by her face, the other arm was resting over his abdomen, rising and falling on each of Cullen's breaths.

His immediate thought was mild worry. How long had they slept? What day was it? Why was she sleeping on top of him? What put them in this position? He calmed his mind with a few long breaths, recalling how she curled up at the end of the couch when she told him to rest. That she said she would stay awake - given how late they went to bed and how early he woke her, he couldn't blame her for wanting some more sleep. As he looked around for clues to the time, he saw the blanket that he recalled her covering them with was only half on them, just about clinging on around his knees and her hips. His phone was just out of reach on the coffee table and while he wanted to know the time, he realized moving an arm could result in dislodging her, and he didn't want to cause any disturbance.

Resigned but not annoyed by his predicament, Cullen relaxed into the cushions. He wriggled down the couch a little so his head rested on a pillow rather than the arm of the couch taking away the strain. Gradually moving his arms, he maneuvered the one that Nevena was partly lying on to curve around her back and began to move his fingers up and down her spine and over her lower back almost immediately. With his other hand, he pushed her hair out of her face and off his. She snored softly, mouth open, eyelids flickering ever-so-slightly. The sight caused warmth to stir in his chest. He ran one finger lightly down the slope of her nose and along one eyebrow. Her face wrinkled and a groan of complaint mumbled from her lips.

This had to be the strangest and most complicated business arrangement he'd ever found himself in. Whether he liked it or not there was more to their relationship than either of them expected. It didn't matter if they wanted to admit it or not, it was there. It was palpable. The night before he'd wanted to kiss her for Maker's sake. Tried to kiss her. She was close to kissing him back, he felt it, until she stopped. Why would she have stopped it, unless it was because she felt something there and it startled her?

She was still his client, which made things more complicated. Maybe if they sat down, talked, put all their cards on the table, they could figure out what to do. Whether to carry on the facade, or let it drop and allow things to progress naturally. Things would progress whether they wanted them to or not, there was no stopping it now. It was like an avalanche.

Cullen would have gladly had that conversation right there and then. He hated game playing when it came to relationships and people he was interested in. And he was interested in Nevena. Very interested. More interested in her than he'd been in any other woman in his life for some time. Somehow, he doubted Nevena would be open to talking so candidly. They would need to eventually. He didn't want their arrangement to come to an end and for them to walk out of each other's lives without at least confronting what was so clearly between them.

There were also the things he would need to tell her. The nightmare today, the details of that, he would have to tell her eventually what it was that plagued him. He'd told her the most basic of details. Delving into it any further and he worried he would scare her away. He would have to if he wanted… whatever this was to go anywhere or develop. He didn't want to keep secrets from her. She deserved the truth. About everything.

After what felt like an hour, Cullen started to feel Nevena stirring. A soft murmur or groan signifying she was starting to wake, while she stretched her limbs. He watched her waking, the bleary blinking of her eyes and how she ruffled a hand through her hair lifting her head from his chest. He paused his fingers where he was drawing circles over the small of her back.

"Morning," he greeted her, keeping his voice low.

Nevena stared at him for an instant, blinked and then jerked up with a gasp. "Ohmy-I'msosorry!" She was wide awake in seconds, her skin turning scarlet across her face, neck, and chest.

"It's okay, it's okay." Cullen sat up, reaching his hands out towards her to placate her. "You fell asleep. It's not a crime." Nevena bit her lip. She shied away from his hands and he let them fall into his lap. "You were tired. We both were."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," she explained.

He shrugged. "No harm done." He thought treating it as though it were nothing would be the best course of action. "You sleep, okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah…" Nevena rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, yawned, and stretched her arms up. A low, satisfied groan spilled from her mouth, the sound of which made Cullen's blood flow hotly. "What about you?" She dropped her arms. "You sleep okay? Any more nightmares?"

"No," he shook his head. "I'm fine, promise."

Nevena glanced around the cabin as if looking for something. She spotted his phone on the coffee table and reached out for it before stopping herself and smiling sheepishly at him. "Uh… could I trouble you for the time?"

"Of course." Cullen pressed a button and the screen ignited. "It is… ten past one in the afternoon."

"Ten past one?" repeated Nevena, flopping back. "We wasted a whole day."

"Depends on your view of wasted." Cullen put his phone back on the table. "I consider it recharging."

"I guess that does make it sound a little better." A small smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "No Redcliffe today."

"It will still be there tomorrow." Cullen reached out and tentatively held her hand. Nevena glanced down at the gesture but didn't move her hand away. "I have a suggestion."

"Do you?"

"Seeing as it's already the afternoon, why don't we just take today off? A day off from your family, from everything. I'll go have a shower because I feel rather revolting. While I do that, why don't you set up a nest on the couch? We'll watch whatever Christmas crap is on TV." He tilted his head and smiled. As he did so a loose curl flopped in front of his eyes. Nevena pushed it away before Cullen could touch it. "What do you think?"

She nodded several times. "Sounds like the best idea I've heard in days."

"Good." Cullen got to his feet and stretched. "You build a fort, or a nest, or whatever you want. I'll try and be quick."

"Take your time." Nevena was already moving cushions and pillows.

Following his shower, Cullen changed into a clean pair of loose jogging bottoms, an old t-shirt, and hoodie for comfort. When he returned to the living room he saw Nevena had also showered and was roughly drying her hair with a towel. He saw that she'd brought in the pillows, cushions, and duvet from the bedroom. She'd pushed the coffee table up against the sofa, put cushions on that and spread the duvet out over both, making the sofa more like a futon. There were cushions piled up all around the couch, just to make it look more inviting and soft. The television was already playing some terrible Christmas movie countdown.

Joining her on the couch, Cullen stretched out his legs onto the coffee table. Nevena smiled, clearly pleased with what she had accomplished. Once she felt her hair was dry enough, she took the towel back to the bathroom to dry and returned, settling under the duvet.

Over the course of an hour or so, they talked back and forth, making comments and quips about the movie countdown that was so terrible and predictable, but neither of them could look away from. The whole situation and set up was comfortable and familiar. It occurred to Cullen this was the first time since getting to Haven that it'd just been the two of them sitting and relaxing in each other's company with no threat of interruption. None of her family around, and no plans they needed to go to. They could do what they wanted for the day, and it was easy. There were no awkward pauses, no long, dragging silences where they searched for something to say. When silence fell, it was comfortable. When they talked, it was not to fulfill any awkward need for sound. It was because they wanted to.

Cullen couldn't remember the last time he felt as relaxed as he did in someone else's company. Even with Varric, Cassandra, and some of his other friends, he felt a need to control himself. To keep some things internal and not be too upfront or honest. With Nevena, that thought never occurred to him. He hoped she wasn't holding back with him either. That this was the actual person she was, and not a front, or tightly controlled side to her personality. If the person sitting with him on the couch with her feet in his lap was the person she was, he would be happy.

The countdown took a break going to loud, over-enthusiastic commercials. Nevena quickly dropped the volume and Cullen stretched his hands and arms out, realizing he'd been sitting in much the same position for some time. Without thinking, his fingers brushed along the sole of Nevena's foot right foot. It jerked in his lap and he quickly caught it before she accidentally kicked him.

"Don't do that." Nevena narrowed her eyes.

"Do what?"

"Don't tickle me."

"I didn't." Cullen tightened his grip on her foot a little. "Not on purpose at least."

"Cullen…"

"How ticklish are you?" He ran his fingers along the underside of her foot again. Her leg seemed to spasm and her upper body jerked. "Maybe we should find out." He tilted a brow, mouth slipping into a crooked grin. He was flirting with her. Maker preserve him, he was actually flirting with her. And obviously, too. Again.

"I will not be responsible for what happens to yo- ah- don'tdon'tdon'tdon't!"Nevena squealed, her toes curling and her left foot kicking against Cullen's thigh as he ran his fingers back and forth on her skin. Her squeal became a loud peal of giggles. She reached towards him to grab his hand but as he increased the pressure on her foot, her whole body jerked and she wriggled more violently to get away. Her laughter was becoming breathless, her pleas interspersed with gasps. He paused his fingers for a few seconds, giving her a moment of respite, only to resume again when she caught her breath.

Cullen saw the colour flood her cheeks and tears begin to streak down her face. Somewhere a phone rang, trilling an obnoxious tune, but neither he nor Nevena paid it any mind. His smile grew into a grin as he left her foot and ran his hands up her legs to see what other parts of her body were as sensitive. As soon as his hands got to her waist she yelped and writhed where he applied pressure. Her hands flailed, grasping for purchase on him and finding none as her grip failed over and over. Laughter bubbled up in Cullen's chest, low rumbling chuckles that spilled out of him in response to her own giggling.

"Stopstop-" Nevena panted. "Ahhaa – Cullen- stopppit!" Her voice was growing strained. Cullen slowed his hands, coughing through his laughter. Nevena's hands wrapped around his wrists and in a series of quick movements, Cullen had his hands up by his head against the back of the couch and Nevena looming over him, staring him down. He realized she was straddling his lap.

Fuck.

Her grip wasn't particularly strong. Cullen knew he could easily overpower her and turn the tables but found he didn't want to. He watched her chest heave, the deep red colour staining her skin spreading all the way up to her forehead. Her nostrils flared, eyes blazing, hair a tousled mess around her face and shoulders – Maker's Breath, she was beautiful. Her fingers barely wrapped all the way around his wrists. The whole day she'd neglected to wear the hoodie he was used to seeing her in. If he straightened his head he would be eye-to-eye with her breasts so he kept his head arched back, eyes fixed on her face.

What laughter remained inside her spilled out of her mouth nervously, like bubbles through a brook. The mild anger on her face disappeared and was replaced by a bemused smile. She shook her head and Cullen could feel her fingers pressing into his skin. He wondered if she even realized the position they were in. How close they were. How easily he could lean up and kiss her. Maker, he wanted to. Just as he had the night before. Just as he had every minute of every day since… probably since the day he met her. She was driving him to distraction and she didn't even realize it, did she?

"Don't tickle me," Nevena commanded.

Cullen narrowed his eyes a little, considering his options. He could agree not to and put an end to this flirtation. Or he could be difficult and have it extend a while longer. "Or what?" He decided to be difficult. He rather liked having her over him this way.

A momentary look of shock flew across Nevena's expression. There and gone in a blink. Her tongue ran across her bottom lip before she bit it into her mouth, thoughtfully. She shifted on her knees. Cullen was certain she lowered herself into his lap because there was more weight on his thighs than before. "Are you not aware who has the upper hand here, Mr. Rutherford?" She tilted her head, "You're pinned."

"Am I now?" Flexing his hands, Cullen tensed his muscles and moved his arms away from the sofa. As he expected, he could move with relative ease. Nevena quickly put all her weight and strength into her grip and pushed back. He was surprised by the strength she mustered so quickly. He stopped tensing and allowed her to push his arms back into place. She readjusted her grip on his wrists. "I stand corrected."

"Yeah, y'do," Nevena smirked, lifting her chin in triumph. Her hair spilled forward over her shoulders. "What're you going to do about it?" She was teasing him. She knew he could easily overpower her, she must have known.

"Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeves," Cullen replied, matching her smirk with one of his own.

"Is that so?" Nevena's mouth twisted to one side. She wriggled towards him. The squashy material of the cushions made it difficult for her to retain her balance and she overarched, toppling forward somewhat. To stay upright, she pushed her weight down into her backside on Cullen's legs and went still for a moment or two until she was steady. When she moved again, Cullen inhaled shakily - her pelvis was directly above his and the position was doing nothing to calm the warmth beginning to simmer in Cullen's belly. Her balance and composure regained, Nevena's pleased smile returned. "What tricks might these be?"

Cullen shook his head. "That'd be telling," he remarked, watching how she bit the corner of her bottom lip and her smile broadened again. His eyelids flickered slightly and a soft groan hitched in his throat when she shifted her weight again - he disguised it as an attempt to clear his throat. Whether on purpose or not, she pressed her hips against his and the heat in Cullen's belly grew. His cock twitched and he prayed she wouldn't notice or feel anything through their loose clothing.

"Keep your secrets then," Nevena chuckled. "I don't need to know. I-" She stopped and sat up straight, like a dog finding a scent. Cullen heard the trill of a phone coming from the bedroom. "My phone." Nevena's grip slackened around his wrists. She was beginning to move to see who was calling. Cullen quickly grabbed her around the middle spreading his hands across her back while pushing his weight against her. Nevena squeaked in shock, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Cullen didn't stop moving until his hands were firmly cushioned between Nevena's back and the duvet.

He was over her, one leg bent and positioned between hers, torsos touching, faces parallel. He felt the quick rise and fall of Nevena's chest against his own and smiled at the nervous laughter spilling out of her. Cullen slid his hands up her back, pressing his fingers into her skin; she arched into him her laughter replaced with a small gasp. Her fingers clenched at his shoulders scrunching into his hoodie. He knew he should move. He was playing a risky game and until things between them were out in the open and they each knew where they stood, anything like this friendly and flirtatious behavior should be kept to a minimum and in front of her family.

But it was so hard to keep that in mind when she was right there beneath him, looking up at him with flushed cheeks, wet lips, and half-hooded eyes. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe he felt more between them than there was because of all the things he knew about her. And all the things she knew about him. He'd told her things some of his oldest friends didn't know. She'd witnessed and nursed him through a panic attack and the aftershocks of his nightmares. He cared about her in a way he didn't think was possible for him again. It was overwhelming, all-encompassing, and if Cullen was completely honest with himself, he wanted it to swallow him whole.

Of course, maybe he was simply fooling himself and there was no chance the way he was feeling towards her was reciprocated. Or if it was, it wasn't as strong. Maker, he hoped that wasn't the case.

"Uhm…" Nevena laughed a little. "This… is…"

"I'll move." Cullen tried not to allow disappointment to fill his chest when he began to shift his weight.

Nevena's hands gripped his shoulders. "I didn't say you had to move." Cullen stopped, his eyes widened a little. He noticed she was shocked at her own admission and her gaze darted away from his. "Uhm… I mean…" She closed her eyes and slapped one hand over the top half of her face. "I don't know what I mean," she sighed.

"Nevena," Cullen's fingers flexed along her back. He lifted one hand away and pulled her fingers from her face. That hand then cupped her cheek and Cullen brushed the tip of his thumb along her bottom lip. She kept her gaze averted demurely, breaths growing faster and shorter. Cullen could feel the warmth radiate off her cheeks as he inched closer, brushing the end of her nose with his in an overly affectionate gesture that he hoped was not too forward. "Look at me."

With some effort she did. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes and released it as steadily as she breathed as if the two things were linked somehow. Her brows furrowed. Her eyes went from his to his mouth and back again over and over. A small wriggle and Cullen adjusted his position over her to be more comfortable. Neither of them said a word, silence and tension building in equal measure until it was almost too much to bear and it felt like a crushing weight over them both. "Tell me what you want." Cullen's voice was a low, hoarse murmur and he felt Nevena shiver delightfully beneath him.

Nevena slipped one hand, gingerly, from his shoulder bringing it round to rest on his cheek. "I…" Cullen leaned into the touch instinctively, returning the soft smile Nevena offered with his own. "I want…" Her lips quirked to one side, her bottom one tucking behind her teeth, head tilting to one side. Her thumb brushed along the scar on his lip. "Where did you get this?"

As Cullen went to reply, two things happened. Nevena's phone started ringing from the bedroom again, and there were a series of loud knocks on the cabin door. Cullen sat up, confused for a moment as to who would be knocking. Then he remembered Varric saying his book would turn up today. He quickly clambered off Nevena and offered a hand to help her up.

"You should probably see who's been calling." He ruffled a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Hot anger at being interrupted filled him, and his face was glowing, warm to the touch.

"It's probably Roselyn. I should have called her hours ago," Nevena said, avoiding his gaze and tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Go answer." He ushered her towards the bedroom. "I'll see who's at the door."

He waited until she was in the bedroom and he heard her speaking to whoever was on the receiver. When he knew it was safe, he answered the cabin door. A delivery truck was parked on the curb; the driver stood at the door bundled up against the cold, a small package in hand. After Cullen signed his name, he took the package, bid the driver a safe trip and closed the door.

Nevena was still in the bedroom, talking.

Cullen sat. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and stared at the space he and Nevena occupied mere moments before. His lip felt tingly from where she touched the scar and he ran his own thumb over it a few times. They needed to talk. Sooner, rather than later, before either of them did something they would later regret. He didn't want to be something she would regret, he knew that - he just wasn't sure how to approach talking about it with her.

He quickly slid the package into his bag before Nevena came back into the living room. They resumed their previous places at opposite ends of the couch, neither of them mentioning what almost happened.

Sighing, Cullen turned his attention back to the television. Tomorrow in Redcliffe. He would talk to her about it tomorrow. He wanted to enjoy today.