LOG: Penelope and Cullen WHO: Cullen Rutherford and Penelope Featherington WHEN: Evening of Monday, July 20 WHERE: The halls of Mount Weather WHAT: Finally getting around to smooches WARNINGS: None to speak of.
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Cullen did not play his best game of chess that evening. He wasn’t especially concerned about it, though. His mind wasn’t on the match to begin with--it was entirely on Miss Penelope Featherington.
He had managed to work himself into a good case of nerves by the time he got to her door. It had been a long time since he had actually been interested in anyone. Cullen’s affections and attention didn’t tend to settle themselves lightly to begin with, and the last few years had been tumultuous, to say the least. There hadn’t been much time for romance as Kirkwall boiled over, or when the mages and Templars went to war, or after he had taken up command of the Inquisition’s army.
External circumstances completely aside, Cullen had his own internal struggles to deal with. He didn’t trust people easily, he was reluctant to show weakness, and even before he had been tortured by demons he was socially awkward. Now he was socially awkward, guarded, and sometimes deeply troubled. He still suffered from lyrium withdrawal at times, and nightmares a few times a week, and really, at what point did you tell someone about things like that?
And Penelope was a lady. Cullen knew farm girls, and he knew woman knights. They had little in the way of expectations for courtship. It was different for the nobility, even he knew that. The more he thought about it, the more certain Cullen became that he was probably going to ruin this spectacularly.
So when he knocked at Penelope’s door, it was with his heart about to pound straight through his sternum and his brain racing through quick exit tactics just in case.
Penelope had checked her hair in the mirror a dozen times in the last hour, at first having neatened the braided coronet she kept pinned to her head, and then decided that perhaps a softer look would be better. She’d taken it down and was pleased with the smoothly rippling effect as her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in a dark red sheet. But perhaps that was too much; she caught it back loosely.
Too… prim, somehow. Sighing, she loosened it again -- and Cullen’s knock came. It was too late to do anything else, so hanging loosely down her back would have to do. Cautiously, she opened the door, and immediately smiled. A blush warmed her face, and she pulled the door open wider.
It hadn’t occurred to Penelope that she and Cullen might be from entirely too disparate classes to truly be anything beyond friends. He treated her as if she were worth listening to, worth talking to, as if she herself was enough as she was. He hadn’t retreated when she’d told him about her secret life as the author of a scandal sheet, and seemed to think that she should try her hand at writing here, too. No one had ever paid her such close attention in her life, or treated her as if she had real worth beyond what she could bring to a marriage. Cullen was a gentleman down to the toes of his boots, in all the ways that mattered.
“Hello.” She smiled for a moment, absorbed in just looking at him, before remembering that he had a chess game right before he came to her. “Please tell me that your game went well?”
It was hard to hold on to worry when Penelope smiled at him that way. She didn’t know it (he was certain she didn’t), but she radiated a warmth and light that made him feel like everything was going to be all right somehow. He found it difficult to stay nervous, faced with that, and he smiled.
“One of the worst matches I’ve played in the past several years,” he said, but Cullen didn’t seem like he minded in the least. In fact, he appeared perfectly happy about it. “Your evening has gone well, I hope.”
She nodded, trying in vain to keep at least a modicum of dignity in her smile and utterly failing. Instead it was wide and beaming and shone from her eyes. “It has, yes, thank you.”
She glanced backwards into the apartment, slightly dim in consideration of Tristan, already fast asleep in his room. “Would you mind if we walked for a time? Tristan is asleep, and I would hate to garner Annie or Finnick’s wrath by waking him.”
Cullen kept his voice low for the sake of the sleeping baby. “I would be happy to,” he agreed, stepping back out of the doorway to let Penelope through. “Up to the garden, perhaps?”
Mount Weather was low on areas for a nice walk, particularly after dark, but it seemed like the garden was at least passably romantic. It was the best Cullen could come up with on short notice, at any rate. This, he thought, was probably where he started ruining things.
Penelope nodded, stepping through the door and shutting it quietly behind her. In a sense the garden reflected their budding relationship: ground had been broken and plants were steadily being added to line the paths, allowing it to gradually earn its status. “Yes, let’s. I haven’t been up there since the groundbreaking ceremony.”
In Penelope’s world, it was simply assumed that a lady would slip her arm around her escort’s, so she did so. Cullen’s arm was solid and warm beneath her hand, his presence beside hers comforting and scented with the soap that he used. It mingled nicely with the citrusy-minty soap that Alison had made for her use.
Unfortunately, Penelope’s brain deserted her as they walked, her mind centering now on the promise of a kiss and how badly she would mess it up. It was impossible for her to think even of the book they were reading, to start them on a discussion of Wart’s adventures thus far.
Cullen hadn’t thought to offer his arm, and then Penelope took it and he realized that he should have. It had been more than a decade since he’d spent any significant time with a woman who didn’t wear armor on a daily basis, and clearly it showed. He couldn’t tell if Penelope were dismayed by it, or if she were merely as nervous as he was, but she seemed slightly off kilter, and he didn’t know how to address it. He really only knew of two options, as communication skills were definitely not his strong point: ask directly, or ignore it completely.
“I dropped by a few days ago just to make sure the flowers weren’t going to poison you,” he said, going with the latter. “Messere Longbottom assures me they will not, by the way.”
“I am glad to know that,” Penelope answered, glancing up at him. “He’s nice, and never seems to mind when people go to the greenhouse just to be around living plants that won’t kill us. However did you find the flowers? I’ve not seen them growing nearby, but I also haven’t been very far from Mount Weather.”
She wasn’t entirely sure who was causing them to walk faster than a leisurely stroll, but she was afraid it she was the one, her nerves believing that she was in a race. She forced herself to slow, to breathe. To her surprise, she admitted without prompting, “I’m nervous.”
If she was nervous, then it seemed he had slightly less to be nervous about. She would only be nervous if she was still interested in him after having some time to think it over, which meant that at least some of his worries were for nothing. Cullen laughed softly, relieved.
“Thank the Maker,” he said. “I spent the entire walk from the library to your quarters coming up with ways that I could make a complete mess of this, and most of this walk as well.”
“I don’t think you could, Cullen. You’re… sensible. Whereas I have this horrible tendency to never have the right words, or to say them at the wrong time, or, even worse yet, to say the wrong words at the wrong time, with the entire world looking on besides,” she answered, forcing herself to stop talking before she babbled. Penelope felt better for having admitted to her nervousness, though, and knowing that he was also nervous helped to ease the pounding of her heart.
The corridors were mostly empty, people being primarily in the common areas or in their own apartments socializing and otherwise intent on their evening tasks. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been out and about at this hour.”
“Sensible is part of my trouble, actually,” Cullen replied with a rueful smile. “Feelings aren’t sensible at all, and then I’m uncomfortable because I’m accustomed to being sensible and feel quite out of my depth.”
And he was already starting to talk too much, he was sure of it, and...yes, starting to blush. Which was probably visible, because he was the world’s best at embarrassing himself. Another nervous laugh escaped him, and his free hand went to rest awkwardly at the back of his neck.
“I’m surprised to hear you say that tend to say the wrong thing,” he said, because if she were talking about herself then maybe he wouldn’t have to keep talking about himself and sounding like an idiot. “You have always seemed to me to be very good at talking with people and putting them at ease.”
Penelope didn’t bother to hide her grin at what she’d found to be a nervous tic of his, rubbing his neck when he felt awkward. It was endearing and, yes, adorable. “I will not laugh at anything you feel -- at least not maliciously. I might laugh in happiness, though.”
She could find nothing to refute his observation. It had been unusually easy for her to make friends in Mount Weather, to become in a small way, a leader. She was on at least smiling acquaintance with most people, and found that she enjoyed leading the small book group that had formed out of a desire to read aloud. “I… Nobody here expects me to… well, to be the wallflower I was at home. I’m not treated as if I’m invisible, or as if what I have to say is forgettable.”
The revelation that she was no longer the Penelope Featherington of 1824 staggered her, and she stopped walking completely. “I still think of myself in terms of -- of the other Penelope. Who fancies herself in love with Colin Bridgerton and is resigned to be a spinster for the rest of her life. But she no longer exists, Cullen, not any longer.”
He had stopped walking when she did, but he hadn’t moved away to a normal conversational distance. He was standing too close--more than close enough to just bend down and kiss her, in fact. He thought about doing exactly that, because he didn’t know who Colin Bridgerton was, but he wasn’t about to make that man’s mistakes and miss out on an intelligent, charming, beautiful woman. She appeared to still be a little startled with herself, though, and it was evident from the things she said that she had even less experience in romance than Cullen did, so he spoke instead.
“I’ve never known any Penelope Featherington other than the one beside me now,” Cullen thoughtfully replied, and then looked down at her with a lopsided smile. “I am very fond of her, though.”
The old Penelope Featherington would have stammered, blushed, looked at anything other than Cullen’s smiling face. This Penelope still blushed, but she didn’t look away from him. She was a little bit frightened, and more than a little proud of herself, because she was the Penelope who had danced and sang her way across a stage two nights in a row. If she could do that, in front of dozens and dozens of people, then she absolutely could lean up and press her lips inexpertly to Cullen’s mouth. Which she did, very inexpertly and more than a little shyly.
But she was the author of her very first kiss, and that meant everything.
As far as Cullen was concerned, she was absolute perfection. It didn't matter that she wasn't practiced in the romantic arts; what mattered was that she had kissed him, just because she had wanted to, with pure affection and enthusiasm. He wouldn't trade that for all the technique in all the worlds.
And besides, she would have a great deal more practice very soon, at least if he had anything to say about it. He was already on the task of coaxing her along now, sliding his hand from her waist to the small of her back and teasing her lips open. He probably should have thought about the fact that they were in a public hallway where anyone could walk by, but...that was something they could concern themselves with later.
That first heart-pounding instant evened out into a slow study on how to kiss, and Penelope, not being a slowtop at all, learned quickly. Their kiss deepened, and she wound her arms around him, needing both closeness and his sturdiness. It ended on a sigh, with Penelope pressed against Cullen, eyes bright, cheeks flushed for a reason other than awkwardness.
“I’m very fond of you, too,” she told him, after a moment to catch her breath.
He was especially fond of her exactly like that, Cullen thought. Penelope was just being herself, trying him out and seeing what she liked, but she was making his head spin in the process. It was probably a good thing that she had stopped to breath, because Cullen wasn’t at all sure that he would have remembered that was a necessary part of existence.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “I said I was going to kiss you, and then I got nervous and let you do all the work of being brave.”
She giggled, her hand finding it’s way to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m really not complaining. You may be brave next time.”
She rubbed her nose against his, enjoying this new closeness very much. And there was more, so much more, and it wasn’t daunting at all, from where she was standing. “It’s your turn.”
Cullen laughed, and it was rather rare that he laughed out loud. He was just startlingly happy, so much that a smile wouldn’t be enough to contain it. The laughter didn’t last long, though, because he very quickly cut himself off to tip his head down and kiss Penelope again. That was just as good an expression of being intensely glad to be exactly where he was, and with her newfound expertise, Penelope was even more distractingly wonderful than ever.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” he murmured against her lips, and then went right ahead and kissed her once more. He could do this all night, Cullen decided, though someplace to sit would have been nice.
"Mm," was all she said in response. But her legs were starting to ache from the necessity of stretching up to meet Cullen. She eased down, keeping her palms pressed against his chest. She smiled, her dimples showing. "You are tall, sir. If you must insist on keeping me out late, then I must ask that we find some place that isn't so... public."
“My quarters?” he suggested, because getting down to her height was indeed a challenge, but he was nowhere near done kissing her yet. Then it dawned on him what that sounded like he was implying, and Cullen’s eyes widened.
“The common area, I mean!” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest that--I certainly don’t expect--I mean--oh, Maker’s breath.” Cullen sighed, disappointed in himself. And here he had been doing so well, too. “What I mean to say is that I did not have any intention of...of getting ahead of ourselves.”
Penelope chuckled warmly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth -- so quickly did she take to the wonders of courtship. "Shhh. I know. The common area is still public, and I have no desire for who I kiss and how long to be public knowledge. Your rooms are ideal."
Not that she cared who knew of her and Cullen's courting; it was the other that was private. She trusted him, and trusted herself, and what they did and how far ahead they got of themselves was purely their business. "I've a fancy to kiss you more, and read further in our book."
He had actually meant the common area in the rooms he shared with Amadeus and Annabeth, but he was already making enough of a hash of things trying to correct himself. Penelope clearly wasn’t offended, so...no harm done, then? Cullen gave her a small, relieved smile--and this time, he remembered to offer his arm properly.
“Shall we, then?”
Penelope took his arm, tucking herself close. She still marveled at herself, this Penelope who had different limits and such confidence that she had never imagined. The future looked sweet indeed, regardless of how things turned out. "We shall. I hope we don't bother your roommates."
“We’ll work something out,” Cullen said, because his roommates were all generally considerate people--and they all tended to stay in their own spaces, for the most part. If someone else was already using the sofa in the common area, then it was easy enough to simply move to the bedroom, since he had already made it clear that he didn’t have any inappropriate intentions for this stage in their relationship.
It was, Cullen thought, the best night he’d had in quite some time. He’d had no part of simple pleasures like these for years. Since the Kirkwall Chantry had been attacked, it had all been life and death every day. There had been precious little time for relaxing, and Cullen just hadn’t been in much of a mental state to be involved with anyone. He wasn’t actually sure he was now, but he was at least feeling stable enough to try. He just hoped that his damage didn’t end up affecting Penelope.