Chapter Text
A strange fascination
with lips and toes.
Morning breath, bedroom eyes
on a smiling face.
Sheet marks, rug burn,
and a sugar glaze.
The shock and the awe that can eat you raw.
It’s the truth about love.
— The Truth About Love (P!nk) —
Abrasive sunlight filtered through the uneven blinds, beaming directly onto Teon Wystan’s closed eyelids and dowsing his limited vision in a vibrant pink. He groaned. His fingers fumbled around for the hanging cord, yanking on it until he was swallowed by darkness once more.
Fuck. That’s all he could think with the headache splitting his skull open. Fuck.
Smacking his cracked lips together brought back the awful aftertaste of every flavour of alcohol that had slid down his throat and now left it dry and painfully barren. He tasted the sharp vodka, the Antivan rum…there might have been shots of whiskey. Maybe. There was some sort of spice there that churned his stomach. Stupid. To mix drinks so irresponsibly.
A breeze wafted through the closed blinds and Teon shivered. He frowned. Fingers slipped beneath a thin blanket and found exposed skin everywhere. When did he get undressed? Maker, when did he unbind?
The bed dipped suddenly, a great weight shifting until a muscled arm — that definitely wasn’t his own — wrapped itself around his middle and pulled him flush against hot, foreign skin.
“Good morning,” a low voice greeted happily.
His icy eyes flew open, a yelp pushed out of his coarse throat as he lurched up and out of the strange grasp. His back pressed flat against the wall, heart pounding as wide, amber eyes stared back at him. The stranger remained on his side, head lifted slightly with knitted brows. Importantly he was naked too. Very naked with the blanket falling off them both.
“Uh…hi.”
The stranger flashed a nervous smile, a thin scar pulling at his upper lip. “Hello.”
Teon blinked a few times. Right. He needed to think. Needed to remember where exactly he was and why there was a naked man in bed with him — a shame his head pounded so badly. He rubbed his temple in an effort to stimulate a memory.
Ewan had invited him to a party. Yes, that was it. And he refused to take no for an answer. “It’s your Fresher’s week,” he had argued with an infuriating charm, “perfect time to go to parties and make friends before lectures start. So, you’re coming.”
Ewan Trevelyan. His childhood friend. His first love. A third-year student at Gallows University and frustratingly adverse to actually doing his studies. Teon had wished to go to a university with a familiar face, quite forgetting that also meant dredging up some old, buried feelings. Ones he had to bury deeper what with Ewan currently dating a fellow third-year transfer student.
“You good there?”
The stranger’s nervous question pulled him back to the present. The awful present of a naked man in bed with him. Sex had occurred, clearly. The aches and sores in his muscles were familiar. If only he could remember a damn thing.
Teon flicked a few crazed strands behind his ear. “Peachy,” he muttered. Right, there was no polite way out of this. “So, um, who are you?”
The smile strained. “Cullen. Rutherford. I’m guessing you don’t remember much?”
Try fuck all. “Cullen, right, yeah. We, um, we—.”
“—slept together,” he finished. He flushed hotly. “Must not have left much of an impression.”
“No, no!” Teon flustered. Wait, why was he trying to comfort him? “That’s not…look I drank way too much, clearly.” He curled into himself in an attempt to hide his bare skin. “Can you pass me the blanket, please?”
The stranger — Cullen, as he claimed to be called — sat up and searched around for the fallen blanket. Teon couldn’t help his eyes flicking over the man’s body, over the toned muscles and faint scars and his firm arse bearing a bruised handprint. Shit. Did he do that? His hand did sting a little, or was that just a placebo effect?
What in the fuck happened?
Cullen handed over the blanket, Teon swiftly covering himself up to his neck as he settled into sitting cross-legged. He scowled at the empty space between them. His face flushed as he desperately tried to rack his brain to remember something.
A lot of noise. A lot of blurry faces he didn’t recognise, so therefore a lot of alcohol to soothe his nerves. Too much. There were games — some more risqué than others. Did he participate? Surely not. Maybe. There was a faint image of a spinning bottle. Still, no memory surfaced regarding this ‘Cullen’.
Probably a fake name, that’s how it worked right? Fake names, do the deed to get it out of your system, move on and pray to Andraste you didn’t share any classes. Rinse and repeat for four years and then boom. Out in the world as an adult with a degree. Easy. Except, he looked older. A mature student perhaps? Shit, what if he had a wife and kids? There was no ring but he could’ve just taken that off…
He risked glancing up to see Cullen was still staring at him expectantly. Expecting what, he had no clue. The smile was gone now and what replaced it was a thin line. He’d sat up a little himself, pillow covering his privates as he flushed a deeper crimson.
Teon tried to wet his lips. “Sorry.” Why did he keep apologising? “I haven’t been in this situation before, so…”
“Neither have I.” Maker, there was warmth to his words. Something honeyed. Sweet. “I shouldn’t have…you were too drunk and I,” Cullen fumbled over his swollen tongue. So shy. Cute. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” Teon replied. Being in bed with him may have been mortifying, but being left alone in a house he didn’t know was far more terrifying. “Would it be too much to ask for a glass of water, though?”
Cullen huffed a chuckle. “Not at all.”
He clambered off the bed in search of clothes and Teon got a full view of his back. The lean skin was adorned with prominent red scratches that trailed from his shoulder blades all the way down to his arse. The sight made his fingers tingle. With some maroon cargo trousers slipped over that damn handprint, Cullen silently left through a door across the room.
Teon released the breath he was holding. His body slacked. He rooted around for his t-shirt and slipped it over his chest before the pounding in his head forced him to lie back down and shove his face into a sweat-stained pillow. The strong scent of sandalwood lingering on it soothed his racing heart. Must have been this Cullen’s scent, if he had to guess. He fought the urge to sink into it and instead peered out to finally take in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Rather spacious for a student flat, was his first thought. The high walls were painted in a discoloured cream, flakes of wallpaper peeling away in a far corner. Apart from that the room was basically flawless. A large, intricately carved wardrobe took up most of the space, beside it an even more impressive dressing table littered with perfumes and other little glass bottles. A bookcase filled to the brim with books stood at the opposite wall, so full in fact there were stacks scattered on the floor beside it. The bronze-coloured furnishings hid the majority of the basic wallpaper, which seemed to be the intention given that far too many paintings covered the empty space between them.
The bed itself, Teon finally noticed, was laid with beautiful satin sheets that shimmered in the low daylight. The blanket was a scraggy green thing, clearly not actually from such a well-designed room, yet he buried himself in it anyway. It smelled of home — of wood chips and earth and a hint of moss.
The door handle jiggled and he shot back up, cursing inwardly at the sharp blade cutting through his forehead. Cullen reappeared with two glasses in his hand, elbow pushing the handle down. The hallway behind his head murmured with morning chatter, one that vanished when he carefully closed it again by leaning his body against it.
Teon’s heart stuttered now he could properly take in his handsome features. Dark stubble lined his jaw, more a shadow than an actual attempt at a beard. Chiselled cheekbones perfectly dipped and stretched exactly where they needed to compliment his face. Blond curls stuck out wildly, a few tight strands sticking to his glistening forehead, and once again his fingers tingled as he vaguely recalled tugging on that head of hair. His thin, scarred lips caused him to squeeze his legs together.
A potent memory of a skilled tongue lapping at his cunt flashed behind his eyes. Fuck.
He smothered the bubbling arousal by reminding himself this was a random stranger and whatever had occurred might — might — have felt good but it should not have happened. He couldn’t even be sure he had consented.
A glass appearing in front of him caused him to jolt. Still, he took it and muttered a short ‘thanks’ before lifting it slowly to his lips. He could’ve cried as the cold liquid trickled down his dry throat. His gaze remained on Cullen though, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed and chugged his own water. Some of it dribbled down his bobbing Adam’s apple, down the purpled marks covering his neck and Teon very nearly choked as another indecent memory of his arousal dripping off Cullen’s coated lips struck him unapologetically.
Cullen stayed oblivious to it, placing the now empty glass on the nightstand and then turning back to Teon with a warm smile. “Better?”
“Yeah,” he croaked back. He cleared his throat and tried again, glass clasped firmly in both hands. “Yes, thank you.”
Cullen nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, ah, I’m sorry.” When Teon just frowned, he continued quietly, “we shouldn’t have — I shouldn't have let it continue.”
Teon shifted a little beneath the blanket but shrugged. The deed was done, no need to obsess over it. “It’s fine. No harm done. We’re not the first people to sleep together while too drunk and definitely not the last. I’m sure it’s happened plenty of times in this room anyway.”
Cullen smiled sadly and shook his head. Guilt scrunched those rugged features. “Not an excuse. I’ll — I’ll leave you be. Your friend is in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
He moved to stand and Teon, out of sheer panic, grasped his arm. The swift action spilt some of the water onto the satin sheets, not that he particularly cared with those amber eyes fixated on him. They shined. Pools of honey that he could easily get lost in. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, but he didn’t want this poor man to agonise over whatever had occurred between them either.
Teon attempted to match the sweetness with a shy smile. “Last night was fun. Please don’t feel as if you did anything wrong.”
Cullen just stared expressionless for a moment, then all at once the weight bearing down on him melted away and his tense shoulders eased. “You are being far too considerate.”
“I’m not,” Teon insisted. Against his better judgement, the glass was discarded on the windowsill as he reached to cup Cullen’s cheek. The older man leaned into it, eyes fluttered closed. Oh sweet Andraste. “I admit I don’t remember much but I don’t sleep with just anyone either. So, what I’m saying is you definitely made an impression.”
Cullen hummed. It almost sounded like a whine, as if he didn’t want to let the words comfort him. If words couldn’t maybe a very stupid, impulsive action could. Teon leant forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. Stubble poked his lips but that was secondary to the sharp intake of breath. He smelled so earthy, salty with sweat, and Teon couldn’t stop himself from capturing his bottom lip properly. Large hands rested on his hips, the contact so soft, so gentle, that he considered drowning in this beautiful man again.
He reluctantly pulled back, shaky breaths pouring from his mouth that still ghosted dangerously close to Cullen’s parted own. He looked so hazy, half-lidded and pleasantly surprised. Adorable. Definitely a mistake but not one he regretted this time.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Teon offered carefully.
Cullen blinked away the fog. He smirked. “I hope so.”
The door flew open, both of them snapping to a very disgruntled-looking man with hands firmly planted on his hips.
“Really? In my bed?” The tanned man spluttered.
Teon stiffened at the sight of Ewan standing behind him, a toothy grin stretching across his freckled face. He untangled himself from Cullen and covered up his exposed lower half with the blanket again, horrified as more faces appeared behind the two men. None he recognised but all were bemused by the scene.
A dark-haired man with an even darker beard whistled. “So how did ‘shutting down’ our little celebration work out for you, Rutherford?”