InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Mind the piano player."

ᴀʟᴛᴜs, ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴍᴀɢɪsᴛᴇʀ (tevene) wrote in valloic,
@ 2022-01-24 19:40:00

Entry tags:

!: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: cullen rutherford, ₴ inactive: dorian pavus

Dorian & Cullen

WHAT: A First Date goes awry, because it's Vallo
WHERE: On the way to the cat restaurant
WHEN: Today
WARNINGS: Creepy fuckers
STATUS: Complete

I’ll find us new reservations even if I have to take out whoever is next on the list. That’s how they do it in Tevinter, as you know.

Cullen had actually been excited about this evening. After all, he and Dorian hadn’t had many opportunities for anything one would call a proper date back in the world he came from. They’d been playing chess and kissing in corners at Skyhold. They’d been lovers, they’d been married, and in Minrathous they had to act in public like they were nothing more than close friends with a professional relationship. Between fighting wars and dodging assassinations, they hadn’t gotten to conduct a normal courtship where people went on outings together. If he had to start all over with his husband, a dinner reservation at a popular restaurant in the forest where cats did the cooking sounded like an excellent start.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Cullen didn’t have a shield on him (because he was going to dinner, Maker take it all, not to battle!), so he charged forward hard and drove his shoulder into the chest of the…whatever that toothy, eyeless monster was. It smelled like undead, but he’d never seen anything like it. It flew back the way a walking corpse would, though, giving them enough space for Dorian to zap the blasted thing while Cullen drove a knife into the skull of another one.

Maker’s left nut, these things looked like pure nightmare fuel - and Dorian was distinctly not impressed. He had looked long and hard (no comments from the peanut gallery) for a decent restaurant to take Cullen to for an actual date; he knew a thing or two about romance, he liked to think, and thought that the man who was his husband on another timeline deserved to be wooed a little.

He was married to the likes of Dorian - he deserved much more than a little wooing, but let’s not get into his self-esteem issues so soon, shall we?

A place in the forest where the food was prepped by felines (so odd) seemed right up Cullen’s alley; they’d be able to enjoy some fresh meat and wine and have a good talk, staying out late perhaps, discussing everything beneath the glow of the stars, a good shake-shake of illuminated powder across Vallo’s night sky - alas, it was no meant to be. Now he was going to get all bloodstained and sweaty and -

Thwack, that knife in the skull was sort of messy.

“Andraste’s tits,” he swore, calling upon spells he could cast without using his staff as a conduit - though he should have known better by now. And should have brought a weapon. But lightning would do it - it sizzled, veins in the sky above them, called down to electrocute the latest...intrusion. The ones with sharp teeth, all needle-like, and wrinkled skin - the whole look of them made him want to retch. “Please do not break your shoulder,” he called to Cullen, clearly concerned.

“I’m doing my best!” he shouted back. “You might have to–oh, bloody hell!” He kicked the next one hard, but it stayed put and went clawing across his chest. So much for the very nice coat he was wearing. It took another kick and another shieldless shield-bash to get the creature pushed back some distance and give Dorian room to shoot and himself room to finish speaking. “Might have to pop it back in if it gets knocked out, though! Have you had to do that in your timeline?”

Dorian was pretty good at a quick dislocation fix back home, but if this one hadn’t been living with a man with a tricky shoulder, Cullen figured he might not have learned.

“I’m quite sure I have,” Dorian grunted and, oh, balls - the idea of actually popping Cullen’s shoulder back in did have him going a little pale, an ashen undertone to that perfect olive skin. But he would do it. He’d done it before - when you were out traveling with the likes of the Inquisition, sleeping in tents, stepping over frozen dead bodies on the ground as you rolled through one Maker-forsaken town after another, you didn’t really have room to be squeamish. “Anything for you, darling.”

The term of endearment just slipped out - he wondered if he used amatus when referring to Cullen, back in that timeline; it had been what he used for Max, in his. It was an intimate sort of pet name, chock full of meaning if you spoke Tevene.

But back to these ugly things, however. Lightning worked well and so did fire - he cast, quickly, elemental spells always coming easily to him; fireballs were whipped from his hands, and he lobbed them right and left as Cullen dodged. A fine display of pyrotechnics, really.

“If I have to do that, do you think we’ll miss our reservations?” His sweater was already ruined, and so was this expensive wool peacoat. Annoying.

“I suspect we’re already missing our reservation,” Cullen growled. The missed reservation shouldn’t have seemed important enough to complain about in a life or death situation, but it was deeply annoying. Finally he gets to go someplace nice with Dorian, and here they were back on the same first date as before: fighting undead. It would almost be nostalgic if it weren’t also painful and disgusting.

Four of the horrors left coming at them, and Cullen could only keep up a weaponless fight against a tireless enemy for so long. Wrath of Heaven it would have to be, then; with a gesture and a hard stomp forward, he called a blinding pillar of light into the middle of the creatures, stunning all four of them at once. “That won’t last long!” he called to Dorian, just to be sure he took the opportunity to do as much damage as he could.

It was going to give Cullen a headache straight from the Void, because even with practice Templar abilities took a lot out of him without lyrium as backup. A migraine was marginally less painful than having his skull chewed open by the gaping maws of whatever in the name of Andraste those things were, though, so he’d take it. It also gave him an opportunity to stab another one of the wretched things at the base of its skull.

Dorian was so surprised to see Cullen do that, he was rammed into (and not in a pleasant way, mind you) by one of the creepy demon-like creatures - which jumped and landed on him, knocking him to the ground with an oompf; he quickly cast Death Siphon over himself and Cullen, however, and when the rest of them perished that would help heal them both a little.

Wouldn’t stop Dorian from having to pop Cullen’s shoulder back into place, but it would make them feel a little less like they’d been ridden hard and put away wet.

His ribs were throbbing but he knocked the creature off of him with another fireball and then whirled around, a flash of a purple skull lightning up the sky when he extended his hands and slammed them back down - the skull touched each remaining creature and Walking Bomb was now cast; when he hit one of the stunned creatures with another streak of lightning that sizzled, falling stars to the earth, that triggered an explosion in all of them.

Many explosions - so much ka-boom and splatters of blood and guts and bits of bone and teeth. “Well, this is lovely,” Dorian coughed, swaying on his feet to stumble over to Cullen and help him situate himself. “Suppose I’ll have to re-do those reservations for Valentine’s Day or some such. You’re alright?”

“For a certain value of the term,” Cullen dryly replied, letting Dorian steer him to where he could lean against a tree and catch his breath. “The shoulder actually stayed put this time, but one of the bastards got its claws through my coat. Just a surface wound, but it’s likely to be messy.”

Which was also bloody annoying - he liked that coat. Dorian had picked it out in Minrathous, claiming the blue would bring out the amber tones in his eyes, and it looked nice while still holding up to a good bit of abuse. Apparently claws of the undead were a hair too much, though, because now the front of the coat was shredded, silver embroidery and all, and he was bleeding through his shirt.

“And you?”

“Also for a certain value of the term,” Dorian smirked, appreciating that answer. He certainly wasn’t as young as he used to be - though he knew it was fucking impossible to live in Vallo and not have to battle monsters on the regular, so he just resigned himself to his fate and took the good with the bad; that was all you could do sometimes.

He checked over Cullen, hands cupping his face - and maybe Dorian took a moment longer than necessary to let his thumbs graze over the man’s cheekbones; it was an affectionate touch, however, before his hands drifted down and he dragged his fingertips over the torn coat. The bleeding was what he was most concerned with, palm pressed flat around the wound. “I learned some healing spells by way of Outlander coven meetings,” he said. “If you don’t mind?” Asking first seemed prudent - if Cullen’s intestines were hanging out, then Dorian would have gone the ‘do it, ask for forgiveness later’ route but it didn’t seem too severe.

This was unpleasant, but he wasn’t about to die of it. Nonetheless, he appreciated that Dorian asked. Cullen was a lot better about unexpected magic than he used to be, especially after a couple of years in Minrathous, but he’d still always rather have a warning, even from someone he trusted as much as he did Dorian.

“Go ahead,” he said with a nod. As Dorian worked, Cullen was giving him a visual once-over as well. He’d seen Dorian hit the ground in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t see any obvious signs of damage from that. “We didn’t do too badly, given that neither of us have our usual weapons.”

He kept his hand by the wound, hovering just over it - and then the magic emitted from his fingertips, something of a violet shade since his necromancy spells tended to emit that particular color. But the air shimmered and rippled like a curtain, a desert sky, as Dorian worked - the blood dried and the flesh knitted itself back together, cuts and scrapes sealed. Very impressive, if he did say so himself - he was quite sure he’d learned that spell from a woman who was no longer here. Emma, her name was - he’d have to remember to toast to her later.

“There we are,” he stated cheerfully. “Not much to be done about the shredded coat, I’m afraid - which is a shame. It is a lovely frock. I must have picked it out?”

It was getting less and less odd to bring up his other self - as long as Cullen didn’t find it weird, then Dorian didn’t really see the problem. Clearly Lan Xichen was right - souls remained the same, even if the paths and the footsteps taken upon them varied.

Cullen chuckled, because of course Dorian would spot this as his own taste. It wasn’t as strange for him, in some ways; this Dorian and his Dorian seemed just the same. A few different quirks of history, perhaps, but as far as Cullen was concerned, this was the same man he’d willingly followed to the other side of the world. It felt more like Dorian had lost his memory than that this was a different person.

“You did,” Cullen confirmed with a tilted smile. “At the Grand Bazaar in Minrathous. You said something about complementary colors, and next thing I knew my shoulders were being measured for the fitting of it. I tried to argue about the price, you made a joke about what good was a fortune in ill-gotten gains if you couldn’t spend it…just another day in the Imperium.”

“That does sound like something I’d say,” Dorian laughed a little. “And I was correct about the complimentary colors. Your face compliments many colors, however - it’s a good face.” Such a handsome face - one that Dorian wished to spoil with all of the ill-gotten gains, and he wouldn’t hear a word of protest otherwise.

His ribs ached, though they were likely just a little bruised - it was nothing a good soak in the tub while reading the latest in trashy novellas wouldn’t cure; he could breathe just fine, and was simply banged up and a bit bruised. “I suppose since we missed our reservation - “ Still annoying, by the way, he’d been looking forward to the feline chefs. And Dorian didn’t think this restaurant was the type to hold reservations, not when it was so popular.

“We ought to head back to Skyhold? Salvage the date with a quiet night in?” he suggested.

“It seems our best bet,” Cullen agreed with a sigh. “I’m already on my way to being dreadful company, though—using advanced Templar abilities always gives me an equally powerful headache.”

Back home—Maker, he actually thought of bloody Minrathous as home now—a day where he’d actually had to use Wrath of Heaven or something like it was inherently a bad day, probably one involving an attempt on Dorian’s life. They’d retire to their bedchamber afterward, share a hot bath or a pot of tea or both, and Dorian would massage his shoulders and neck to ease the headache. He’d fall asleep with his head in Dorian’s lap, and by morning the pain and stress would diminish. It was strange and a little sad to think that they weren’t there yet, comfortable and settled with each other—that he had to tell Dorian a headache was coming, because Dorian didn’t already know.

Dorian waved off that dreadful company idea. “No need to chatter incessantly, especially if you have a headache,” he insisted. And he knew those Templar abilities, without a lyrium boost, really would cause a migraine that felt like your skull was caught in a vice - he would do what he could to help. Because he cared.

“Here - “ He tucked his arm around Cullen’s, so they could begin the stroll back to the waypoint which would take them to Skyhold’s courtyard - hopefully they wouldn’t run into any more nightmare fuel creatures along the way (and where did they even come from? Likely the other waypoints, since they were scattered throughout the forest - monsters always showed up that way). “I can make us some tea if you think it would help? Rub your temples, maybe? Add some peppermint oil?’

Perhaps he wasn’t so far off from his other self - he didn’t want Cullen to be in pain, and was open to learning what he usually did to stave it off. What he as a good, supportive partner would do.

And it was exactly right, of course, because a Dorian who hadn’t fallen in love with him while they were fighting a war against Corypheus was still Dorian. It made Cullen smile faintly and lean his shoulder gently into Dorian’s. He’d always liked that he could do that, with the two of them almost exactly the same height.

“I’d be grateful if you would,” Cullen said. “And I can find a bottle of wine for you on our way in–it won’t fix the bruises, but it’s good for forgetting about them.”

“That it is,” Dorian concurred. “And we’ve plenty of wine to choose from.” The cellar in Skyhold was bursting with a decent selection - everything they had collected during the years-long Inquisition was there, hundreds of bottles, from the sip-sip to the Dragon Piss to whatever swill was made in a bathtub. And there was no way they could drink everything in short order, not with only a few people in the castle at any given time (and Dorian didn’t particularly wish for Max and his husband to earn themselves alcohol poisoning). Thus, saving some for an occasion such as this was no hardship.

He touched the glowing crystal with one hand, and they ended up in Skyhold a moment later - this type of travel really was convenient. “Whichever wine you’d like,” he added. “I’ll meet you in your room, if you’d prefer that.” Of course he knew where it was.

Cullen started to move in for a light kiss—this was all so familiar, it was easy to fall into old habits. He never hesitated to be affectionate with Dorian in private, hadn’t for years now. He recalled almost too late that they were on a first date and Dorian had no memory of ever kissing him.

“Forgive me, I—“ Cullen laughed softly at himself and brought his hand to the back of his neck, another old habit when he was feeling awkward. “You’re so much yourself that I forget it’s all different for you. I owe you a better first kiss than an afterthought on the way to the wine cellar.”

It was actually almost a habit for Dorian to lean in and accept that kiss too - he almost did, but was startled when Cullen pulled back. And then Dorian remembered - he was a different version of the man’s husband and no one had kissed him in ages; it felt like eons ago, that anyone had taken an interest in him.

And this felt so different. Like it was absolute, it was meant to happen - it was as sure as the setting sun and the ebb and flow of the tides; he didn’t have to question it. Didn’t have to be afraid - there were no guarantees about anything, no, but what they had wouldn’t dissipate the way morning fog did and a trek across universes and timelines showed Dorian as much.

“I do kiss on the first date, at least,” he said, holding Cullen’s chin in his hand, fondly, before letting go. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

Cullen had indeed taken the same room he had when he’d served with the Inquisition, making it easy for Dorian to find. It was much improved since then, however; for one, it had an entire roof overhead. A fireplace had made its way in, as well, and like the rest of Skyhold the east gate tower had been equipped with magic-fueled plumbing. Accordingly, the space was already much cozier than it had been during the war.

It had also seen a few improvements since coming to Vallo. Another timeline’s Cullen Rutherford had lived here before, and he’d acquired a nicer bed, a pair of chairs to sit by the fireplace, and a thick forest green rug. A civilized person might actually be reasonably comfortable in there.

Cullen was able to join Dorian in the tower fairly quickly. Given his choice of beverages, he picked up an Orlesian red wine that was easy to locate, and tried not to wince at every movement as he came up the stairs and across the battlements. The pressure in his skull had been building since the fight, and now it was settling into a deep ache that wouldn’t feel a bit better until he was lying down. The ladder from the office to the loft was the worst part, pulling a disgruntled sigh out of him as he reached the top.

“I know a loft above the office seemed like a good idea at one point, but now I am regretting the choice.”

A chuckle was the response, as Dorian waited - he’d brought with him a fragrant cup tea he’d concocted, one that would hopefully help the headache (a fine clove tea, in fact - proven to soothe away at least some of the pain associated with that ‘a swarm of bees have made a home in my forehead’ sensation). He had managed to get up to the loft as well, despite the pain in his battered ribcage - had he been wearing armor that pain wouldn’t exist at all, but alas. Here they were.

He’d already changed his clothes into something less splattered - borrowed something from Max, actually. And left a note. Because Dorian was considerate like that. Was he disappointed that he likely would have to burn his coat? Oh yes. But they were alive and did do well sans weapons, so he would take what he could get.

“Overall it was a good choice,” he assured, settling on the edge of the bed, tea set on the nightstand. “Though I know it doesn’t feel that way now. Here, come. Just lie down. I don’t even need a glass - I’ll simply drink that wine straight from the bottle.”

Cullen had his probably-ruined coat off, draped over his arm, and he set it over the back of a chair. He wasn’t ready to give up on it. People here could do all sorts of magic in Vallo, including things that weren’t even in the realm of possibility in Thedas. Maybe somebody around had a gift for mending cloth and leather and he wouldn’t have to give up this little piece of home.

“That’s good, because I didn’t think to bring any glasses up with me,” Cullen chuckled, sitting beside Dorian on the edge of the bed. He did want more than anything to lie down, but first he would get his boots off; he wasn’t in enough pain to justify getting dirt on the blankets yet. “The best I could offer is a mug. I think I left one on the desk, if you aren’t determined to relive your sordid youth drinking Ghislain Rouge right from the bottle.”

“If you can’t relive your sordid drinking days during a first date with your husband, then when can you relive them?” Dorian quipped. He had no qualms with popping the cork and taking a swig - the Orlesian red certainly brought him back to the days when he was stifled by soul-crushing depression and looking to alleviate some of it with alcohol and sex; he was a lot better these days, and he had never been a snobby drinker.

He’d rather sit in a dive bar with his compatriots, the Inquisition, and play Wicked Grace while learning to love cheap Ferelden beer than consume a snifter of Antivan brandy on a balcony, looking down on the rest of the world.

“All things considered, I did have a good time this evening,” he added, wanting to make sure to say it. “Because of the company and everything.”

“There’s something to be said for the rush of battle, though I think I would’ve preferred watching the cats make kebabs,” Cullen chuckled. He pulled one boot off and let it drop to the floor, took a second to decide if he had the wherewithal to put it away, and quickly concluded that he did not. His boots could stay by the bed for the night. The other boot followed, and Cullen laid back on the bed, not bothering to turn himself the right way ‘round or even get his feet up off the floor. All he wanted was the blessed relief of resting his head and closing his eyes–and Dorian’s hand to hold, which was thankfully available now that Dorian had gotten the wine bottle open. “You’re right, though, the company was good.”

Dorian’s hand found Cullen’s right away, lacing their fingers - his opposite hand landed in the man’s hair, carding gently so as not to add any unpleasantness to that headache. “Next time,” he murmured, with a certain amount of cheer. “I’ll find us new reservations even if I have to take out whoever is next on the list. That’s how they do it in Tevinter, as you know.”

Teasing, of course (though not about how higher-ups assassinated their cohorts for a prime spot at an expensive restaurant - that was unfortunately true).

He brought some peppermint oil with him so he shook a little out - just a bit, because too much would burn - and touched Cullen’s temples, arranging himself so Cullen could rest his head in Dorian’s lap if he wanted. “Alright, no more talking. Just lie here looking handsomely ailing.”

That made Cullen chuckle again as he settled with his head in Dorian’s lap, because that was never an invitation he would turn down. Apparently his husband was still willing to look after him even when he wasn’t his husband, which was encouraging. His goal of making Dorian fall in love with him a second time might not be too far off after all.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, eyes closing again. “I’ll talk again when I stop feeling like I was decked by an ogre.”