AN: Thank you thank you to my betas. You know who you are :)
A person hears the word 'boudoir' and an immediate image comes to mind of a room lit with only the dim flicker of candle light, lush fabrics covering every surface, pillows liberally placed in a rather deliberate manner about the room, and a bed seething with the possibilities of many a sexual delight.
What Cullen stepped in was nothing of sort. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what to call it. The small room had been decorated in theme.
I hate Zevran.
The entire room had been designed to look like the Captain's quarters on a ship or at least what Cullen imagined such compartments might look like. Rich mahogany planks covered the walls. A small desk sat in one corner of the room; a parchment map spread open atop, pinned down with the aid of a sextant and compass. The focal point, however, was the bed, a massive oak frame topped with an overly plush mattress. Festoons of red hung in graceful swoop from the ceiling, flanking both sides at the head of the bed. It was like nothing Cullen had ever seen before.
He hesitated just inside the room, nerves chipping away at his courage. He had no idea what to do next. Did he go sit on the bed? Did he take off his clothes? Did he just stand there and look silly? One of those things he knew he could excel at. The others filled him with both dread and excitement.
"I..I don't know your name." It seemed a good place to start. Even if he couldn't look at her, which he quite obviously was trying desperately not to do, he should know her name.
The gentle prod of a finger drug electric along Cullen's stubble covered chin, pushing it up. She would have him see her. "You may call me whatever you like."
One name echoed in his head. But would he dare speak it? "How about Eli...za?" No.
Investigatory hands began their search of Cullen, his shirt the first victim of their rather thorough inspection. "If that is what you would like, then Eliza it is." Before he could feign protest, linen was swept quickly over his head, his shirt removed.
Lips probe the outline of a now exposed nipple along the of Cullen's chest. "Would you like me to undress or would you like the robes to stay on?"
It's almost too much to bear. Lips. The Maker. His chest. He could not think in full sentences. Only flashes of statements entered his mind.
On. "Off." The words came before he could really protest. What the mind wanted and what the mouth wanted seemed to be two different things at this point. His upbringing had told him: do not touch the loose woman for her values may taint your own. Yet, his hands could not help but find the roll of 'Eilza's' breasts, even under the coverage of cloth, and fully inspect their altitude. He had the feel of a woman's breast described to him before but nothing quite matched up to the real thing. Balls of cotton? No. Bags of sand? No. Sweet Maker, I want to bury my head in the billowy confection? Yes.
He could only imagine what they may feel like freed of their cloth barrier.
I hate Zevran.
His desire was her command. The sheath of a garment was shrugged off quickly and tossed to…well Cullen had no idea where. Bare breasts came into vision and really, everything else became a distant memory. Only the image of rounded flesh, ivory in pallor, and the small rounded shape of nipples filled his mind. Women used these to suckle infants, he tried to tell himself. But all he could see was: BOOBIES!
I hate Zevran.
Eliza's hands pushed down into Cullen's chest, nudging him to lay supine upon the bed. The navigator was on deck and ready to do her job. He lay against the lushness of the pillow top, apprehension still ripe within his movement. The never ending battle between psyche and logic continued to rage in his mind. He knew what he should do and he knew what he wanted to do. The pair was diametrically opposed.
"Let's see what the Captain has below deck." His pants were tugged aside, pushed along the length of his thighs. What little resistance he had felt up until that point soon melted away at the heated touch of well trained fingers. Templars train a person about discipline, faith and standing strong at times of trial. None of his training had prepared him for such a feeling. He found himself completely and utterly vulnerable under the pull of the woman now straddling him. Vixen, whore, witch, it didn't matter what the conventional man might call her. He knew he would call her goddess….at least for now.
The feeling of her flesh against his burned so sweet. His body quaked and shuddered under every tickle of her fingers and flick of her tongue. His stomach tightened; his body tingled. Everything stood on edge. This was the sin the sisters had spoken so outwardly against? How could something so wonderfully good be so …wrong? He didn't take a moment's pause to consider it. Lost in the moment, lost in the folds of silken flesh and wanton desire, Cullen lived in the moment for the first time in his life.
I hate Zevran.
Every nook, every cranny, all became fodder for a hungered and eager expedition. Arm pits? Check. Sway of the waist? Check. Innie? Double check. Everything was new, exciting and begging to be touched. He was a man…lost in the moment. Later he might flagellate himself for his sins. But now? The only whipping he engaged in was the soft slick of his tongue against the smooth flesh of his new best friend.
Everything became a blur to Cullen until..until the unicorns exploded in his mind. Sweet, sweet unicorns, rainbows and kittens. Yes, there were kittens. The warmth of another body sheathed about his, the rhythmic pulse of her bobbing up and down, he absolutely went explody…in seconds. As quickly as it started, it ended in the spasms of his bucking body. Light shot bright, his stomach gone taut, a moan growled loud. And it was done.
Cullen lay there on the bed, his stomach heaving in rapid breath. It almost seemed sinful how short it all was. It was a tease to what promised to be a long running show with encores. This was what Zevran went on and on about? A few seconds of the best pleasure EVER?
Three women in various states of undress clung to Zevran as he sat perched atop an oversized chair upholstered in blue damask. His slender fingers toyed with a lustrous strand of red hair dangling loose along the bared shoulder blade of his lap mate – a beautiful creature with the face of a doll. In any other surrounding, she might easily be mistaken for a woman fully within the blush of innocence. But as she sat there atop Zevran's lap, any such blush could not be found.
As Cullen walked slowly into the room, Zevran's mouth slid into smile. "I see you have returned from your voyage."
Was it that obvious? Had Cullen changed somehow? Would everyone know that he had done it? There was awkward and then there was awwwwwkwaaaaard and he really did not want to talk about what he just did. Of course, he also knew there was no way Zevran would allow such a thing. 'Personal boundaries' was not a phrase in Zevran's lexicon. "Um..yes." And try as he might, Cullen could not restrain himself from smiling. He tried to hide his happy guise with the turn of the head and an intense focus upon a particularly interesting piece of furniture.
Laughter filled the air. He unwound himself from the tangle of his female companions and sauntered to Cullen. "Let us go and see what other mischief may find us this evening."
Zevran said jump. Cullen asked how high. And while a good portion of him still found Zevran repellent, his approval bar for Zevran managed to tick up just a little in the positive. "I hate you by the way, Zevran," he said as they approached the brothel's front door.
"I would not have it any other way," Zevran shot back, not skipping a beat. "Now, you may call me Zev." And as if to punctuate the point that Zevran now considered the men to be friends, he helped himself to a little bit of Cullen's backside in a greedy grab.
A yelp of surprise burst upon Cullen's lips as he jumped forward at the unexpected grope. His mouth twisted in frown. "Ok, now I really hate you."
Entirely too self satisfied, the Cheshire cat grinned. "Of course. It is the ex-Templar way."