62 - Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up.
Join me for some tooth-rotting Darren x Cyrus fluff...
The birds always sang to the rising of the sun. It was something that had taken Darren time to get used to, after returning from the Inquisition. From the cold and craggy mountains of Skyhold. They had startled him, the first few nights; saw him bolt upright, straining to hear, wondering if it was a distant horn warbling from the gates. Now, the birds caressed him from the depths of sleep - drew him forward like a loose thread from a ball of twine.
His right side was warm. It always was, now. Muscles languid with sleep, Darren stretched out, feeling his heels brush the edge of the bed, feeling something else shift beside him. Move. Drape a lazy leg over his. He liked to joke that Cyrus was like a cat, forever twining himself around the things that brought him comfort. The hilts of his blades. A warm bowl of soup. A good book. A slow smile spread over Darren’s face - a secret between himself and the ceiling. It stirred something deep in his chest, to know he now stood among those few rare things.
“Hmm... mornin’...” The words came thick as honey. Half-asleep, Darren licked them from his lips as he ran an absent hand down the length of Cyrus’ back, resting in the dip where his spine curved just so. It always amazed him, how the Orlesian fit against him so perfectly. He would swear on his life that the Maker had shaped them as a pair.
Cyrus’ response was even less coherent - an exhale, slow and rough along the edges. He curved closer, chasing the warmth that forever hovered over Darren’s skin. Chuckling, Darren used his arm to scoop the man over. It was a thing they had grown used to, with the promise of winter drawing closer each night. There was no protest; just a hand, sliding up Darren’s chest, gentle against skin. It stopped as Cyrus settled himself anew, fingers loose and heavy, curling at the crook of Darren’s neck. It was so easy, just to lie there. So easy to let the day drift past, as soft as the flutter of wings outside the window.
Eyes still closed, Darren raised his free arm, the sheets thick and warm against his skin. His fingers began at Cyrus’ bent elbow, tracing to his wrist, then back down again, coaxing a breath from the Orlesian that merged half-way with a yawn. Darren felt him tense, shiver, fall loose, and wished nothing more than to feel that simple, silent pleasure every morning. Until his hair turned from blond to grey. Until he returned to the Maker.
Cyrus’ curls tickled his chest, then his neck, then his cheek. Even with his eyes shut, Darren could practically see those dark locks, tousled into comfortable disarray. They were as soft as the lips that pressed to his, barely moving, perfectly content. Darren hummed softly, leaning into the kiss, his arm bracing Cyrus’ back, keeping the man from rolling to the side. Cyrus’ hand was still warm against his shoulder, and Darren found it with his own, twining their fingers as each languid kiss melted into the next.
But the birds were calling, and the sun would not wait.
“We... should get up...”
Cyrus made a noise of disapproval, low at the back of his throat. “Nnnh... still dark...”
Another press, more insistent than the others. The sheets rustled, soft as autumn leaves, and Darren’s lips curved against Cyrus’. The man was simply impossible to deny.
But not to tease.
“... Not if you open your eyes.”
The suggestion went about as well as Darren had expected. Cyrus drew back slightly, wrinkled his nose, then collapsed against him like a sack of grain. From beneath Cyrus’ obstinate dead-weight, Darren laughed softly, tilting his head to press a few more kisses into those dark curls. He supposed it was still early enough. They wouldn’t be missed for a half-hour, at least.
“Alright, alright, you win... five more minutes.”
Cyrus huffed, but gave no further protest. It was always Darren’s compromise. Every morning. Just five more minutes, then it was time to go.
Breathing deep, chest and lover rising then sinking back down, Darren let the plan for the day slowly unfurl at the back of his mind. It had become something of a ritual, after they began sharing a bed. A time for Darren to trace mindless patterns against Cyrus’ skin. Sort out his thoughts. Organise his day.
And he had the time, as the birds grew louder and the sun turned the darkness behind his eyelids a warm honey-red. He had the time, because when Darren promised Cyrus five more minutes, it was the rest of the world’s half an hour.
“I’ll be here as long as it takes.” Tin and Leah? <3
“I’ll be here as long as it takes.” Tin’s voice was firm yet gentle. A blend of caring and stubborn that Connors remembered so fondly from their youth. From happier times. Tin’s brown eyes practically burned a hole in her as Connors finally found the strength to meet them, and the woman leaned in imploringly. “You know that, right Leah?”
“I… I do.” Connors glanced away, taking a moment for herself. A moment to collect. Steady. Try to piece together what had set her off. Eventually, her gaze drifted towards the window. Towards the merchant who had set up shop outside their rooms. “The flowers.”
Tinesha frowned, cocking her head slightly, sleep-tousled ringlets tumbling to one side. “Flowers?” she repeated, confused, then followed Connors’ gaze. “I… oh.”
It was clear she recognised them too. Recognised the bright yellow blossoms that were the very same that grew outside Connors’ home back in Ferelden. The merchant pedaled his wares as exotic, and it was clear he had maintained them with a great degree of care. So much so that they had achieved full bloom, even in weather that did not suit them. The smell of them had woke Connors a few hours after dawn, the wind blowing from the docks carrying it straight through their bedroom window. It had arrived like a punch to the gut and left her gasping.
“Leah…” Reaching out, Tin folded her hand over Connors’. “I can ask him to move, if you want.”
Without pause, Connors shook her head. “No. It is something I need to face. I… I won’t let myself be put in a state over a few flowers.” They had been her favourite, once. It was the reason her mother had bought and planted them in the first place. Only now did Connors realise their colour was almost identical to the shade of Tin’s hair. “He can stay. I’m all right now.”
Although she seemed unconvinced, Tinesha didn’t argue. “Well, if you’re sure. You always knew more about this kind of thing than me.” She squeezed Connors’ hand gently, mustering up a reassuring smile. “But, hey, if you change your mind, just say the word. I’ll send him packing.”
While it was a bit dramatic, Connors appreciated the gesture, folding Tin’s hand in hers and bringing it to her lips. “Thank you.”
They sat in soft silence for a moment, Tin’s hand resting in Connors’, the sound of Val Royeaux stirring awake drifting from the open window along with the smell of Ferelden summer. It was a strange mix. Disconcerting, yet… warm. The more Connors forced herself to breathe it in; the more she looked and Tin as she did it; the less power she found it had over her. It was not perfect. Perhaps she was simply getting used to it, as the minutes passed. But her heart-rate slowed to its normal pace and Tin reached out, catching the cold sweat on Connors’ brow with her sleeve. “You sure you’re okay?”
This time, Connors even managed to smile. “I’m okay.” She reached out, her hand slowly cupping Tin’s cheek. Caressing it. “I have you. That’s already more than I ever thought I’d have again.”
A fond half-smile tugged up the corner of Tinesha’s lips. “Hey… I’m flattered, but you’ve got to start setting the bar higher. You always had me. Ever since we were kids making mud pies between our houses.”
Connors actually laughed at that. It was soft and a little hollow, but Tinesha welcomed it with her usual enthusiasm, her smile widening into something bright and bold. “Your cooking hasn’t improved,” Connors informed her, and Tin made her usual show, reacting with perfect Orlesian dramaticism.
“Well I never…” She huffed and tossed her hair, nose in the air. Then her gaze slowly slid across to fix on Connors. “You’re lucky I love you. Seriously.”
Shifting on the mattress, reaching out to wrap her arms around Tin’s waist, the air thick with the smell of flowers, Connors pressed a soft kiss to the woman’s neck.
