"You think about her when you're watching, don't you. Things Templars pretend they don't think anymore."
Cullen wished desperately he'd worn his helm, so his uneven blush wouldn't be so very visible, and his attempt to ignore the teasing might have a hope of success.
Blasted Anders. Always causing trouble.
"You tell yourself you have feelings for her, don't you? As if she could ever care for one of her jailors."
Not that he could contain the grunt of mingled embarrassment and annoyance at that one, even if he'd had a helm to hide behind.
Anders leaned in closer, his voice whisper sweet despite the bitter words. "You should always consider, when you look at her, when you imagine kissing her, that even if she submits, you'll never know if it's because she wants to, or she's afraid not to."
"That's not ... she wouldn't, I wouldn't ..." Cullen couldn't seem to make his words function, or his thoughts. He wished he was doing rounds rather than guard duty, so he could walk away, but he couldn't, had to stand, had to fumble.
Had to listen.
"You say that now." Anders huffed out one short breath. "I hope you remember it, the next time you see her alone."
Anders was too close, always too close, but then suddenly he was even closer, lips pressed to Cullen's mouth, hard and firm and the sharp edge of teeth until it hurt, and Cullen was too startled to do more than push him away and swallow the bitter metal sting of blood past his tongue.
"That's the sort of affection we earn, in here."
And he was gone, and Cullen was swallowing again, and still he couldn't leave, not to think, not to pray, his face as close to Templar-still as he could make it.
Infatuation, T
Cullen wished desperately he'd worn his helm, so his uneven blush wouldn't be so very visible, and his attempt to ignore the teasing might have a hope of success.
Blasted Anders. Always causing trouble.
"You tell yourself you have feelings for her, don't you? As if she could ever care for one of her jailors."
Not that he could contain the grunt of mingled embarrassment and annoyance at that one, even if he'd had a helm to hide behind.
Anders leaned in closer, his voice whisper sweet despite the bitter words. "You should always consider, when you look at her, when you imagine kissing her, that even if she submits, you'll never know if it's because she wants to, or she's afraid not to."
"That's not ... she wouldn't, I wouldn't ..." Cullen couldn't seem to make his words function, or his thoughts. He wished he was doing rounds rather than guard duty, so he could walk away, but he couldn't, had to stand, had to fumble.
Had to listen.
"You say that now." Anders huffed out one short breath. "I hope you remember it, the next time you see her alone."
Anders was too close, always too close, but then suddenly he was even closer, lips pressed to Cullen's mouth, hard and firm and the sharp edge of teeth until it hurt, and Cullen was too startled to do more than push him away and swallow the bitter metal sting of blood past his tongue.
"That's the sort of affection we earn, in here."
And he was gone, and Cullen was swallowing again, and still he couldn't leave, not to think, not to pray, his face as close to Templar-still as he could make it.
He hoped she wouldn't walk by this way tonight.