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Title: been waiting on you
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Cullen/Iron Bull
Prompt: 031. watch
Words: 734 words
been waiting on you
Cullen has to admit, if only to himself, that the Iron Bull is… something else.
He remembers the qunari from Kirkwall and he’s wary at first. Especially since he admits outright to being a qunari spy. And Cullen’s hiding a secret from everyone but Cassandra. And Leliana, because the woman knows everything.
No one says anything, but Cullen still feels eyes on him.
“Y’know Curly, you need to loosen up,” Varric says. “Come by the tavern some time. First round’s on me. I’ve got a bet going with Buttercup about you showing up.”
Cullen stares, and wonders when Varric started to care about him.
Two nights later, he shows up at the tavern. He’s in luck; he hasn’t thrown up today and while his hands won’t stop shaking, it’s not too noticeable. And though his breathing rasps in his throat, he ignores it and holds his hands over his mouth a moment to shake the chill from them.
When he steps in, he sees Varric grin, “You owe me, Buttercup.”
“Shite.”
“I didn’t expect that you’d come, Cullen,” the Inquisitor – Jason, he reminds himself – says. He’s wedged in at the table, between Cassandra and Warden Blackwall. “There’s a seat next to Bull, if you’ll take it.”
“Thank you.”
Iron Bull lounges in his seat and grins at Cullen, the sort of grin that sends shivers down his spine and makes his mark burn against his skin.
Cullen resists the urge to press his hand over his heart. He slides into the seat, and is surprised at the speed with which a tankard is deposited in front of him. Despite Haven’s location, it’s better than the swill he remembers from the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. Or the bootleg liquor that circulated in Kinloch.
He shoves those thoughts to the side, focuses on keeping his hands from trembling.
Listening to the conversation flow around him, Cullen observes it. And tries to ignore the tingling of an eye on the back of his neck.
Because that’s just the thing: He doesn’t know if the tingles are good or bad.
The entire time, his mark burns against his skin; humming with energy.
Cullen stays for one drink, then makes his excuses. What surprises him is that Bull follows shortly after him. He scowls, his stomach beginning to roil – whether from anger or the ritual nausea, he’s not sure. It’s likely a combination of both.
Once they’re outside and a good distance from the tavern, Cullen whirls on Bull. It doesn’t bother him at all that he has to crane his head back to glare up at him.
“There a reason why you’re always watching me?”
It has to be the drink in him, he thinks.
Bull shrugs one large shoulder, “If I said cause I found you attractive, would you believe me?”
“I – you – what?”
Confusion churns within him. Attractive. Him. Bull. His thoughts stutter to a halt at about the same time that bile burns at the back of his throat in warning.
He barely makes it to a stack of nearby crates, his stomach emptying itself. Even once it’s empty, the smell of vomit lingers and he continues to dry heave until his throat feels like it’s been scraped raw. Cullen wipes the back of his mouth, stumbles back.
Straight into Bull.
His head is still spinning, his balance off, but he’s grateful for Bull’s steadying arm at his back.
“You alright, Commander?”
Cullen nods, trying to focus his eyes again. He feels unsteady on his feet and, perhaps unconsciously, sags against Bull. He’s so very tired.
When he opens his mouth, about to answer the unasked question, he feels it.
It’s like a sharp knife, carving something into the line of his ribs. Cullen’s hands fly to it, he hisses, but the pain fades as quickly as it sparked.
And he knows he didn’t imagine the way Bull tensed. Cullen jerks his head back, breaking the contact he hadn’t realized he’d made with Bull’s skin.
His mark.
“I...”
Cullen’s never been good with words. He doesn’t know what to say now. He looks to Bull and, whatever’s on his face, must be worrisome, because Bull’s falls and he sighs.
“C’mon commander, I’ll walk you back to your rooms. I figure we can talk there.”
“Talk, right, yes.” Cullen clears his throat, but that makes it hurt worse. He sounds ragged.
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Cullen/Iron Bull
Prompt: 031. watch
Words: 734 words
Cullen has to admit, if only to himself, that the Iron Bull is… something else.
He remembers the qunari from Kirkwall and he’s wary at first. Especially since he admits outright to being a qunari spy. And Cullen’s hiding a secret from everyone but Cassandra. And Leliana, because the woman knows everything.
No one says anything, but Cullen still feels eyes on him.
“Y’know Curly, you need to loosen up,” Varric says. “Come by the tavern some time. First round’s on me. I’ve got a bet going with Buttercup about you showing up.”
Cullen stares, and wonders when Varric started to care about him.
Two nights later, he shows up at the tavern. He’s in luck; he hasn’t thrown up today and while his hands won’t stop shaking, it’s not too noticeable. And though his breathing rasps in his throat, he ignores it and holds his hands over his mouth a moment to shake the chill from them.
When he steps in, he sees Varric grin, “You owe me, Buttercup.”
“Shite.”
“I didn’t expect that you’d come, Cullen,” the Inquisitor – Jason, he reminds himself – says. He’s wedged in at the table, between Cassandra and Warden Blackwall. “There’s a seat next to Bull, if you’ll take it.”
“Thank you.”
Iron Bull lounges in his seat and grins at Cullen, the sort of grin that sends shivers down his spine and makes his mark burn against his skin.
Cullen resists the urge to press his hand over his heart. He slides into the seat, and is surprised at the speed with which a tankard is deposited in front of him. Despite Haven’s location, it’s better than the swill he remembers from the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. Or the bootleg liquor that circulated in Kinloch.
He shoves those thoughts to the side, focuses on keeping his hands from trembling.
Listening to the conversation flow around him, Cullen observes it. And tries to ignore the tingling of an eye on the back of his neck.
Because that’s just the thing: He doesn’t know if the tingles are good or bad.
The entire time, his mark burns against his skin; humming with energy.
Cullen stays for one drink, then makes his excuses. What surprises him is that Bull follows shortly after him. He scowls, his stomach beginning to roil – whether from anger or the ritual nausea, he’s not sure. It’s likely a combination of both.
Once they’re outside and a good distance from the tavern, Cullen whirls on Bull. It doesn’t bother him at all that he has to crane his head back to glare up at him.
“There a reason why you’re always watching me?”
It has to be the drink in him, he thinks.
Bull shrugs one large shoulder, “If I said cause I found you attractive, would you believe me?”
“I – you – what?”
Confusion churns within him. Attractive. Him. Bull. His thoughts stutter to a halt at about the same time that bile burns at the back of his throat in warning.
He barely makes it to a stack of nearby crates, his stomach emptying itself. Even once it’s empty, the smell of vomit lingers and he continues to dry heave until his throat feels like it’s been scraped raw. Cullen wipes the back of his mouth, stumbles back.
Straight into Bull.
His head is still spinning, his balance off, but he’s grateful for Bull’s steadying arm at his back.
“You alright, Commander?”
Cullen nods, trying to focus his eyes again. He feels unsteady on his feet and, perhaps unconsciously, sags against Bull. He’s so very tired.
When he opens his mouth, about to answer the unasked question, he feels it.
It’s like a sharp knife, carving something into the line of his ribs. Cullen’s hands fly to it, he hisses, but the pain fades as quickly as it sparked.
And he knows he didn’t imagine the way Bull tensed. Cullen jerks his head back, breaking the contact he hadn’t realized he’d made with Bull’s skin.
His mark.
“I...”
Cullen’s never been good with words. He doesn’t know what to say now. He looks to Bull and, whatever’s on his face, must be worrisome, because Bull’s falls and he sighs.
“C’mon commander, I’ll walk you back to your rooms. I figure we can talk there.”
“Talk, right, yes.” Cullen clears his throat, but that makes it hurt worse. He sounds ragged.