Chapter Text
"Hold still."
"Ow!"
"I said hold still!"
"It's too tight!"
"Well, stop pulling it then, this will be easier if you just relax a moment…"
"I'm trying to relax, but it's turning purple."
"It's no use. We'll just need to cut it."
The ropes were new, and the silkier texture made for a hazard as Evelyn and Cullen discovered. Every tug made her bindings tighter, the green silk around her wrists biting into the skin until finally Cullen gave up trying to release the knot. He grabbed a sharp knife from their bedside table, effortlessly slicing through the strands. The comfort was instant, the pressure on her limbs gone, but Evelyn still groaned.
"They weren't cheap," she lamented, picking up some of the shredded rope. "I ordered them specially."
Cullen put the knife safely away, flopping next to her on his side, grinning. "Next time, maybe don't go with the silk. It's too slippery."
"It was absolutely fine until we tried to release me," Evelyn snickered, sliding further into the bed next to him. "You soldiers and your knots."
"I didn't hear you complaining." He pulled her into his bare chest, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck with a smile. "Certainly not while you were moaning my name…"
To think that once he could barely look her in the eye without blushing, but then after so many years together, there was a familiarity that was as second nature as breathing. A trust that went beyond just husband and wife. It was why Cullen allowed Evelyn to lead him down the rabbit hole of kink in the first place.
He'd always known he had darker urges, a need for control. Just as much as she wanted to relinquish the responsibilities of constant decision making that came with being Inquisitor.
With the help of a very interesting book and a bizarre form of mentorship in Dorian and Iron Bull, they found a new kind of expression behind closed doors.
Two years later, Evelyn was ordering custom ropes from a very exclusive store in Val Royeaux.
"Lost in the moment," she smirked, her throat still rough. "I can't be held accountable for the things I do or say while we're having sex. It's not fair."
He chuckled, giving her body a squeeze when his safe softened. The adrenaline was beginning to dissipate; Cullen could feel it in the way her body was trembling.
"What do you need?" He whispered against her temple. "Bath?"
"Mmhmm."
Aftercare was a well rehearsed routine. What Evelyn needed varied. Sometimes it was a bath, food, or even a cathartic cry against his shoulder until she fell asleep. With sore muscles and generally feeling grimy in a layer of drying sweat, a bath was the care of choice for tonight.
Cullen certainly could think of worse ways to unwind than a large tub of scented warm water and holding his well-wrecked wife. When he settled in at her back, a smile tugged the scarred corner of his mouth, seeing the faint teeth marks he'd left on the junction of her neck.
"Better?"
"Mmmn, much better," Evelyn sighed, sinking up to her neck. "And you used the lavender oil too."
"You did say there was an abundance from the clinic. Speaking of which, I'll need to be there early tomorrow. We have a new batch of Templars coming for treatment."
"More? Maker, at this rate, you were right. We might need to build a second complex just for housing."
The clinic began as a mumbled idea in the middle of the night, both lying together in bed, having been in their farmhouse for barely a month. Cullen wasn't the type to sit idle for long. It came as no surprise to Evelyn when he started searching for other avenues to explore in their post-Inquisition retirement. He was exhausted by conflict. The various roles offered as a military advisor didn't interest him, but helping others? That was a calling Cullen could always remember, even as a child. It was the reason he'd wanted to become a Templar in the first place.
Lyrium withdrawal had been excruciating. His need for self-flagellation led him to turn away from anything that could ease his pain. He'd stopped lyrium through stubbornness and a fear of failure, but it didn't have to be that way for others.
And so, the clinic was born. Built on their land close to their home, it housed and treated Templars looking to leave the Chantry and break their ties. Healers, many of them ex-Inquisition, offered treatment for the physical side effects, while having so many of them living together built a support network. Where one would falter, the others would support them.
It was Cullen's proudest achievement.
"I may have already spoken to the architect. We could break ground on it in barely a month if I'm happy with the plans," he said quietly into her neck, pressing lazy kisses against her damp skin. "Enough about work just now. Relax, love. You were so good for me…"
Evelyn closed her eyes and smiled, glowing with his praise. Another kink she hadn't realised until they'd explored together.
Lounging in the bath together, neither saying much beyond the odd murmured sweet nothing, it was only when the water began to cool that they emerged. Cullen, still the dutiful dominant he was, wrapped her in clean linens and carefully dried every inch before Evelyn pulled on one of his old tunics.
Climbing into bed, she was enveloped in his arms, and basking in the particular intimacy that came with their play, it wasn't long until both were fast asleep.
"Oh, Evie. That looks sore!"
Trying not to blush, Evelyn abruptly hid her arm from Marsha, the baker, the older woman beginning to fuss the moment she spotted the rope marks on her forearms.
"It's nothing," Evelyn insisted with a cheery smile. "I really need to stop wrapping the lead reins around my arm when I'm walking Bann into his stable."
A plausible excuse, and one Marsha accepted with a good-natured eye roll. Maker, the people of South Reach must have thought she was the most accident-prone woman alive.
The life she and Cullen carved for themselves was more or less idyllic. Living on the edge of a pretty village, with plenty of land, surrounded by forests and farms. Their reputations preceded them, but Cullen gained respect for his clinic as much as his work as a commander. Evelyn, on the other hand, would never truly escape her title of Inquisitor or Herald. It bothered her at first, but nobody meant harm, and now she would smile.
At least Marsha used her name.
"Just the usual today, love?" Marsha asked, wrapping the cobb loaf in waxed paper for Evelyn to place in her basket. "Got some current buns fresh made!"
"Go on then, I'll take two."
A trip to the market was the most excitement Evelyn could expect. A task so domestic, it would have been unthinkable when she was Inquisitor. No demons or rifts, just bartering for prices on produce. Boring? Perhaps, but Evelyn found comfort in the mundane. Knowing what each day would bring was a luxury they had earned.
The excitement they created behind locked doors was more than stimulating enough.
"Herald! I've got a letter here for you. Looks important."
Evelyn smiled indulgently at the messenger. John was young and enthusiastic, and hero worship was in his eyes every time he gazed upon Cullen. It never failed to make her giggle at how her husband squirmed at the obvious praise.
Readjusting the basket of groceries in her arm, Evelyn took the letter from him.
"Ah, saves you having to go all the way to our home," she commented. When the boy looked crestfallen, she added, "Nobody is home. Cullen is at the clinic all day."
"Oh, uh…right. Yes, saved me the trip," he mumbled bashfully. "But if either of you needs anything—"
"We know where to find you. Anyway, I'd better get all this home. Thank you."
A dismissive farewell, more curt than Evelyn liked to be, but she wasn't about to be trapped in a tiresome conversation about their Inquisition days, no matter how well-meaning John was.
She glanced down at the letter in her hand, the rich red envelope clearly expensive. It only piqued Evelyn's curiosity further, to the point she was almost twitching to open it by the time she walked through the farmhouse door.
Placing the basket in the kitchen, Evelyn turned the letter over in her hand, feeling the thick paper between her fingers, the envelope sealed with golden wax. She thumbed the embossed Mabari before slipping her finger below to pull the letter open.
The letter was just as ornate as the envelope, lined in golden ink on dark parchment.
To the esteemed Inquisitor Trevelyan and Commander Rutherford.
We would like to extend a warm invitation for you both to join us in Denerim for an evening that celebrates hedonism and freedom, where those who wish to indulge are welcome without judgment.
You have both come highly recommended to us for membership by Magister Dorian Pavus of Tevinter.
We look forward to your attendance,
Madam Petrice of The Silverite Society
"The Silverite Society?" Evelyn mumbled to herself, frowning at the page. Reading it multiple times still gave little indication as to what the invitation was for. She knew who would.
"Dorian, are you there?"
The sending crystal in her hand glowed, the voice of her dear friend drifting towards her.
"Evie! Always lovely to hear from you. How are you and that husband of yours?"
Hearing from Dorian always brought a smile to Evelyn's face. She'd missed him terribly since they departed from Skyhold, but the sending crystals were Maker sent. Being able to communicate instantly was far better than waiting weeks and weeks for a letter.
"Things are the same as ever. It's peaceful, and nobody is trying to kill it. How is Tevinter?"
"Same as ever. Chaotic, and everyone is trying to kill me," Dorian chuckled flippantly.
Evelyn smirked, even if he couldn't see it. Trust Dorian to make light of the constant threats to his position.
"Dorian, I received an extraordinary invitation and since your name was mentioned, I was hoping you could tell me what in the void it is..."
Through the crystal, Dorian's laugh boomed around Evelyn's kitchen. "Ah, I was wondering when you would receive that!"
"And just what is that?" Evelyn pressed. "And please remember I'm not there in person to see what I presume is a smug grin on your face."
"Evie, I am wounded you would assume I am anything other than completely stoic." She could hear the smile in his voice. "My expression is entirely coincidental…"
"Dorian..."
"Alright, alright. It should come as no surprise to you that there are plenty of others in Thedas who enjoy the same…lifestyle that you and Cullen do," he said slowly. "And since I took no small part in setting you down that path, I am leading the way once again with a small nudge."
Evelyn snorted, blowing a strand of hair from her face when she leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Still not an answer…"
"The Silverite Society is a very exclusive club that caters to those with our tastes. Expect debauchery and nudity."
It was fortunate Dorian wasn't present to witness Evelyn's eyes bulging. "A sex club?! Dorian, have you just put in a recommendation for Cullen and me to be members of a sex club?"
"You're welcome."
"No! No, no. Fetish is one thing, but you know Cullen. He's so private, this would mortify him!"
Dorian chuckled, clearly amused. "Now that's what you said about the strap-on, but if I recall—"
"Ah, ah! I told you that in confidence," Evelyn hissed. "Sex in public is a different thing!"
"Who said anything about you doing anything. Just because you go to the society doesn't mean you must participate!" Dorian declared firmly. "Some go to simply unwind, release the pressures of life, and enjoy a drink with like-minded people."
"While watching others have sex…"
"Whatever works for them. Evie, I wouldn't have recommended you for membership if it were some seedy, back-alley establishment. Maker knows, their little gatherings once a month may give some much needed excitement to your domestic life."
Evelyn frowned indignantly at the crystal. "Oi! We are perfectly content!"
"Speak to Cullen. Have I ever steered you wrong before in these matters? Wasn't I the one who took you shopping for your first set of cuffs?"
Blushing, Evelyn's nose wrinkled against the awkward smile that pulled at her lips. Upon mentioning to Dorian that she and Cullen were experimenting, she found herself dragged into an extremely upmarket store in a small Val Royeaux street. The assumption that it simply sold lingerie was shattered the moment she spotted a row of bejewelled riding crops on display.
That was the thing about Dorian. He teased and delighted in making her blush, but the jokes were always good natured. Never malicious. He wanted to see them happy and connected, reiterating that it was about exploring what they both wanted with enthusiastic consent and trust.
"No, I suppose you haven't," she muttered. "How do you even know about this place?"
"Oh, Evie, please..."
"Fair point."
Bidding farewell to Dorian, with a reluctant promise to keep him informed, the house felt far too quiet without another presence. She busied herself in the kitchen, putting away her pantry items and beginning to make supper for when Cullen came home. The mechanical actions were as automatic as breathing, well rehearsed and it left Evelyn with too much time to think.
Did they need excitement? The war against Corypheus and running the Inquisition felt like enough excitement to last a lifetime, yet barely into her thirties, they had long years ahead of them, hopefully. Yes, routine was a luxury, but Evelyn began to ponder if it was enough to satisfy them long term.
She loved Cullen. There would never be a day she didn't want to be by his side, but perhaps exploring the darker whims of their desires wasn't such a bad thing.
The sun began to lower in the sky, the first hints of dusk appearing, and a nervous energy began to grip Evelyn's stomach. She scoffed at herself. It was ridiculous that she'd feel nervous broaching the subject with Cullen. She could tell him anything. He'd seen her at her most vulnerable, in all ways, and he'd never broken her trust.
A conversation was surely the least daunting thing they've done together.
The rest of the day, Evelyn simply kept herself busy. Writing letters to Varric, Iron Bull, and Leliana, preparing supper. By the time the door opened and Cullen's familiar footsteps echoed through the front room towards the kitchen, she was up to her elbows in apple peels with flour on her nose.
"Sweet Maker, are we expecting company for supper tonight?" Cullen exclaimed, his brows shooting to his hairline at the sheer volume of food. "There's enough for an army."
Evelyn blushed, smiling awkwardly and pushing back a stray lock of hair, smearing the flour from her fingers through the strands.
"Oh! Just…something to keep the hands busy, that's all."
Cullen's eyes narrowed, scrutinising his wife thoughtfully. He knew her far too well.
"What's wrong?"
"Hmm? Nothing. Nothing is wrong."
"Evelyn..."
"Nothing is wrong," she insisted, pulling off her apron and dusting down her skirts. "We received an invitation today."
"Another diplomatic ball? Just burn it if you'd rather not go. Maker knows, we've declined enough since—"
The way Evelyn shook her head stopped his words, and he tilted his head curiously when she handed him the letter. She watched his eyes rapidly scan the paper.
"Hedonism and freedom without judgement?" He recited. "What the hell has Dorian suggested us for?!"
Evelyn bit her lip, leaning back against the counter. "I'm not sure you're going to like it..."
"Well, I don't know what it is yet."
"It's a club with rather exclusive membership, I gather. For those who enjoy…our…private activities."
Watching his face morph through the various stages of understanding was at least amusing. The way his confused furrowed brow expanded as his eyes widened and his cheeks turned scarlet when the penny finally dropped. Cullen flapped his mouth, spluttering his indignation.
"This— We— In public?!"
"Apparently, it's very popular," Evelyn snickered. "Look, I knew you wouldn't be interested, and I wasn't going to entertain anything that would make you uncomfortable, so just give me the—"
"I didn't say that," he muttered, pulling the invitation from her reach. "I'm just a little taken aback, that's all."
Evelyn stopped, relaxing back. "Oh? You would be interested? I didn't think you'd be comfortable with it. Voyeurs and public exhibitionism…"
Cullen shrugged, his cheeks still pink. "Well…I mean— I'm not opposed. We've broadened our horizons over the years, and I assume there's no need actually to participate if you don't want to."
"Hang on," Evelyn shook her head rapidly, fighting the need to rub her eyes. "Wait, do you already know about these clubs?"
"There were…rumours that Knight-Commander Gregor of the Ferelden Circle was a member of such a place. I was too young to assume it was anything more than just a brothel at the time."
Huffing a laugh, Evelyn smirked. "Dorian thought it might bring some more excitement to our retired lives."
"And do you think we need more excitement?"
The lack of judgment in his tone didn't make Evelyn's spike of worry any less when she rushed to his side, snaking her arms around his neck.
"No! No, no, not at all," she cried. "I love our life. We fought for this. It's peaceful and beautiful and—"
"Not always as exciting as living in Skyhold," he smiled, finishing for her when his hands came to her hips. "It's alright, love, I can admit it. I love our life too, but sometimes it can be a little sleepy."
Evelyn frowned thoughtfully. "I thought that was what you needed?"
"It is, but…this might be interesting," he admitted quietly. "It's not like I'm about to sign myself up for the Ferelden army. It's just a… particular kind of party, and if we hate it, we never go again."
Evelyn eyed him warily. "Who are you and what have you done with Cullen Stanton Rutherford? You hate parties…"
He heaved a reluctant sigh, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I have to admit, Dorian might not be wrong. I love our life here, but lately I've been getting…twitchy."
"Bored?"
"Not bored!" He insisted. "But going from running an army during wartime to living in the countryside running the clinic has been a dramatic change of pace, one that was badly needed at the time, but now…perhaps this could be something interesting. If anything, it will make for a vivid memory to share."
The corner of Evelyn's mouth twitched at the idea. It was hardly an experience she thought they'd ever try, but if Cullen was willing, then so was she.
"I suppose there's no harm in taking a trip to Denerim," she smiled, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. "And if we hate it, if it's not something we're comfortable with, we leave. Right?"
"Right," he nodded, his smile mirroring hers, but there was a storm in the back of his eyes. Something darker made her stomach tighten, and a pleasurable shiver trickled down her spine.
"Now the real question is, what am I going to wear?"
Cullen smirked.