Work Text:
“So, if you just pull this end down and back up through here,” Cullen says, winding the length of rope into a loop around Lavellan's wrist. “It should be nice and tight.”
Lavellan sits on the bench, lets Cullen wave his wrist around in demonstration, and tries not to let the boredom show on his face. He's lost track of how many times Cullen has shown this same exact knot, but the man still stands next to him, not a shred of frustration in his voice.
You need the patience of a god to deal with this audience, Lavellan thinks. Cullen had asked him to help teach them some knots down in the courtyard, and he'd figured that he'd planned to spend this surprisingly quiet day lounging down there anyway, so why not help out? It doesn't help that he still has a tough time saying no to Cullen's big blue eyes and scruffy jaw.
Except it turned out that his mastery of all the Dalish knots didn't mean he could teach for shit. One quick knot and a set of completely blank stares later, and he was relegated to mock-prisoner duty. Which would have been fine, if not for the complete lack of focus from two of the three students, who prolonged every step with their banter.
And it just so happened that this demonstration was the punishment for those two after an unfortunate incident involving an escaped captive and the damning evidence of their garbage rope-work.
“Taking prisoners isn't really my thing,” Varric had said.
“How was I s'posed to know there are different types of knots?” Sera had grumbled.
And then there was their final, uninvited guest who had somehow known exactly when this was happening and had already been in the courtyard waiting for them.
“Are you sure this is helpful to you?” Cullen asks Bull, who's sat with his head resting in his hand the entire time and refused the offer of a length of rope to practice with.
“I've never tied a knot in my life.”
“I... I know for a fact that's not true.” Cullen's brow furrows just as Lavellan raises his own.
Bull just shrugs, content as a cat in the sun, and keeps staring at the knot-work around Lavellan's wrist.
“Anyways. Um. Let me show you the handcuff knot, alright?”
Cullen starts off on his explanation as he creates two loops with the rope in the air. He brings up examples of times he's needed to use this knot in the past, which Lavellan really does try to pay attention to.
And then Cullen brings the rope over and slips Lavellan's wrists through it, and all he can do is watch those large, callused hands brush over his own. The rope tugs at his skin a bit and – okay, he knows Cullen doesn't favor men. And he respects that.
But he still can't help but start thinking about the last time he'd been tied up. His name was Athvin, and he belonged to a clan that they crossed paths with every few seasons. The two clans would spend a few days trading materials and socializing, which Lavellan's Keeper kept insisting he actually participate in. She didn't know that Lavellan was usually eager to just find Athvin, pull him away, and do all his “socialization” one on one. Athvin was an older elf, and he seemed muscular to him back then, but, wow. Compared to Cullen? Or Bull?
“So,” Cullen says. “Once you've got their hands through, you can tighten it here.”
It's too dangerous to think about Bull when he's caught in a position like this. Lavellan glances up to look at him and immediately darts his gaze away when they accidentally make eye contact. He has no idea why Bull is staring so intently at him, but his skin starts flushing pink under that eye.
And then he starts thinking about Cullen tying his wrists up under Bull's watchful gaze, and Bull barking low orders at both of them, and oh, that's a hell of an image.
“Then, you can just pull them up,” he vaguely hears Cullen say.
He definitely needs to find the time to masturbate more.
“Like this.”
Lavellan is suddenly hoisted up to his feet as Cullen tugs his bound wrists up over his head.
“Unghhh – “
It's somewhere between a moan and a yelp, and combined with Lavellan's fluttering eyelids, it might take the record for the most vulgar noise to ever be muttered in this courtyard. Lavellan snaps his mouth shut as his daydream shatters apart.
Oh. Oh no.
He manages to look up at Cullen's bright red face just as he lets the rope go like its burned his palms.
“Oh, fuck – oh Cullen, no, I'm so sorry,” he stammers, but Cullen still just flaps his mouth open and shut. “It's not – I was just, I was thinking about other – “
Varric practically keels over laughing, hand repeatedly slapping the top of his knee.
“Oh, gross,” Sera says with a scrunched up expression, before she starts cackling as well.
Bull covers his mouth his hand and even though he doesn't start laughing, Lavellan sees the skin around his eye crinkle like it's a damn hard effort to keep quiet.
He's done. Somehow the gods managed to find a way to kill him worse than anything he'd ever imagined.
“Truly, Cullen, I am so sorry.”
Cullen stares down at his hands. Lavellan doesn't want to know what he's thinking. “Well, that's... the end of the demonstration. I need to go... evaluate my employment.”
Cullen turns and walks away, slow and shocked for a few steps before suddenly finding impressive speed. Lavellan is left standing with his hands tied and a sudden fixation with the ground.
He makes his way over to one of the tables on the far side of the courtyard and sinks down in the chair, letting his burning face rest flat against the cool stone.
“This is better than anything I could ever come up with,” Varric yells out between howling fits of chuckles.
“Someone please come untie me when you've stopped laughing,” he moans.
Lavellan has already resigned himself to the fact that that might take a very, very long time.
“Do you need a change of pants too while we're at it?” Sera calls.
There's a hard thud. Lavellan looks up and is surprised to see Bull sitting across from him, still looking way too amused, but at least not struggling to breathe like the other two. Bull makes a come-hither gesture with his fingers, and Lavellan sighs. It's those big hands that always get him.
He keeps his chin pressed against the table, but stretches his wrists out in front of him. Bull knows exactly what to do to start loosening the rope, moving his fingers with expert precision. Lavellan wonders if his face will be permanently stained red from this.
“So, Boss. Get tied up often?”
Lavellan raises an eyebrow. Was that – it almost sounded like Bull had been flirting. But he couldn't be. He's practically thrown himself at Bull a few times already, so obvious that Bull's complete lack of acknowledgement has been all the rejection necessary. Bull also sometimes just sounds like that, all gravelly and smooth and so damn frustrating.
Lavellan weighs his options. He can't find any scrap of dignity left inside himself, so what's the point of trying to preserve of something that's already gone off and died? Might as well splay himself out like a feast on a table while he's too embarrassed to care.
“Not as often as I'd like, clearly.”
Bull blinks. Does he look taken aback? It was just for a second, but Lavellan swears he saw the slightest hint of surprise in Bull's expression.
Bull hands slow as he works around the knots, and the gentle touch makes Lavellan shiver. Is it really necessary that he cup Lavellan's hands in his own? Or that he oh-so-lightly holds Lavellan's wrists in place as he unwinds the rope?
Lavellan rests his face back down on the table. He's imagining it all. It's pathetic how touch-starved he is. It's simply been far too long since someone touched his skin who wasn't trying to kill him.
“I think you're chasing the wrong wagon with Cullen, if you know what I mean,” Bull says.
“I can't help it,” Lavellan mutters. “I like the rugged type.”
Bull's smart. Lavellan knows this – it's just one of the reasons Lavellan can't help but think of him so often. He gets it, he has to. But he doesn't respond, finishing untying Lavellan in silence before dropping the rope in his upturned hands and standing up to leave.
“Thanks for the demonstration, Boss.”
Rejection is a bitch.
Some months later, Cullen is flipping through his papers as he walks along the battlements, when he hears heavy footfalls behind him.
He reaches for his sword on instinct, only to relax when he sees it's Bull who runs up beside him, easily matching his pace and greeting him with a casual wave.
“Oh, Bull, good timing. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the mission in the Mire.”
Cullen feels bad whenever a mission he orchestrates goes poorly, but this one was a particularly unfortunate failure. One of their informants had given them some misguided information, leading to a completely pointless trek into the swamp by Bull and his Chargers. And rumor had it that the concurrent expedition in the Western Approach, led by the Inquisitor himself, had been one Bull was not going to be happy to have been away for.
“I wanted to apologize, Bull. I know the information turned out to be – “
“Oh, no need. I actually wanted to thank you,” Bull says.
“What?” Cullen isn't sure why, but he feels dread build in his stomach.
“For the inspiration.”
“Excuse me?”
“Remember that time with the rope?”
It takes Cullen a second. His brain had been kind to him and buried that memory down deep. Bull just crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows as he waits for the moment that Cullen's expression morphs into horror.
“The – oh, Maker, I don't – ”
“Well, me and the Boss had quite a bit of fun reenacting that down in the courtyard last night.”
“No.” Cullen takes a step back. Bull just smiles, teeth bared in a sinister parody of gratitude.
“Only it ended a bit differently, this time.”
“Is this because they killed a dragon while you were away? I swear, I didn't know they – “
“I even got him to call me Commander.”
“Why would you tell me this?” Cullen groans, and he's going to need a drink to get that image out of his head.
“You know how it goes. We just can't keep our hands off each other when we've been apart for so long.”
Cullen briefly considers jumping off the battlements of Skyhold, but decides that still carries too high a risk of survival.
“I will... see to it that you don't miss out on a dragon hunt again. I swear.”
“Have a good one, Commander.”
Bull strides away, and he doesn't give off any magical energy, but Cullen is convinced he must be channeling a demon.