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Cullen had never been the sort to put much stock in superstitions—regardless of what any ribbing about his faith might suggest (or, perhaps, after all that had happened, because of it). Most of the ones he had encountered tended to fall apart under the slightest bit of logic, after all. He had walked under a ladder with the only bad thing to follow being the cursing from the workman on it and the only unpleasant thing about breaking a mirror was the mess that came in trying to clean it.
Except that, like with so many other measured, rational things, an outlook like that only got to last for so long in the medical field. Because it was one thing to dismiss the rumors of the full moon turning everything, from people to everyday occurrences, haywire. But, as it turned out, it was entirely different to try doing so on a shift full of back to back calls, each more insane than the last.
From there, it hadn’t taken long to realize that signing up for any holiday aligned shift all but guaranteed the same treatment (no matter what state the celestial bodies above might be in).
So, in retrospect, that the crew had had enough time to pause to catch their breath should have been the first sign. Even more so when, right as the final hour of their shift was approaching, Lavellan trudged in with the look .
By that point, Cullen hadn’t even been able to find it in himself to chastise Sera for her insistent, curse-ladened, grumbling while piling into the ambulance for a run. Particularly not when, from how the captain had relayed it, the scene wasn’t the kind that usually required their presence. But then again, the call had come in from Aveline, who, of all people, could be trusted not to blow things out of proportion.
But then, the certainty of another person’s nature could never be an absolute thing—a notion Cullen had more reason than most to be aware of.
It was a good deal harder to judge after arriving on scene, however. Not from any immediate rise in severity, but, if for nothing else, that none of them could have judged Aveline for calling them in just to have someone to share in the pain.
However, high on the shit list a last minute call on Christmas Eve ranked, having to listen to someone screech over a light scrape on their partner’s head while simultaneously demanding they be held in a jail cell overnight had to be right up there with it.
The display was just distracting enough that Cullen didn’t realize there was even another person involved until that person was sliding disastrously across the ice after stepping forward to issue a rebuttal to the rather abusive language being thrown his way. Fortunate, really, that a lifetime spent around his siblings had left him with quick enough reflexes to respond.
Or, at least, that seemed to be the case right up until realizing who he actually had in his arms.
The man, of course, was striking. Not that there had ever been a time he hadn’t been, at least for Cullen. It struck a far too personal form of betrayal to admit that, though. The kind that, combined with taking in the laughter lines that appeared all the more prominent under the man’s bright grin, threatened to take him out at the knees entirely.
Dorian Pavus, it would appear, had been doing just fine without his former best friend. Better than, so it would appear.
“Only during the holidays, am I right?” It was easy to tell when Dorian realized who exactly he was clinging to. The last bits of laughter died off from his lips, eyes widening in a way that could only signify alarm. “Cullen? What are you—”
It had been quite sometime since Cullen had had cause to worry about his appearance. Still, he didn’t need to have a mirror handy to know his youth had disappeared faster than most. And it was impossible not to resent Dorian a little for forcing him to remember it.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“My… My name ?” Dorian sputtered. “You already know who I—”
“Right then.” It was all only slightly by the book, at best, which Cullen knew even without Sera’s raised eyebrows. “Are you experiencing any pain? I know there was an altercation that occurred, so if—”
“Stop, it would you!” It took Cullen grimacing against the bite of Dorian’s fingers through his jacket to convince the other man to (finally) let go. “None of this is necessary. I didn’t sustain any injuries.”
“Other than your pride.” The good humor fled from Lavellan’s face, however, once Dorian turned his head towards her. “A fairly typical state of affairs, I’d expect.”
“Oh, for…” Dorian pressed the heel of a gloved hand to his forehead, a measured breath sucking in and out. “You would think I had come back to be bullied.”
“No,” replied Cullen, unable to help himself, “I didn’t think you meant to come back at all.”
There would have been a contradiction to that, to be sure, as Cullen could already spot the quarrel forming around Dorian’s tightened lips, if not for Sera’s abrupt whoop.
“Oh, that’s who you are!” she crowed. “You’re the asshole that—”
A quick pinch to the ear from Lavellan put a stop to that, thank God, even if the resulting squeals were almost as ear shattering.
Still, it was difficult to place the flicker of emotions across Dorian’s face; none of it quite settling, regardless of the pinch around the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” was what came out eventually, “I am indeed the asshole in question.”
By now, Aveline had managed to stride over. From the knot that had formed on her brow, her opinion of the situation was obvious. Yet, because of who she was, all Cullen had to do was shake his head for her to acquiesce with the barest hint of a sigh.
“Good news,” she offered instead, “if you can call it that. Seems like those two just want the whole thing swept under the rug.”
“Trying to cheat on the holidays.” Lavellan said, tongue clucking. “That’s one for the record books.”
Cullen blinked, eyes flicking over to where their initial patient was being bundled angrily away before landing back on Dorian. “Tell me you didn’t—”
“I didn’t!” Dorian was quick to snap back. “I was on my way to Felix’s, if you must know, before my car took it upon itself to break down. There still isn’t a hotel here, of course, so I had thought… Well , it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Despite all he had been through, Cullen still possessed a remarkably under-formed survival instinct. Which, in the end, was about the only excuse he had for declaring around a sigh, “Looks like you’re stuck with me then.”
There was little point in taking it back, even with everyone ogling him as though he had just offered a strip down in the below freezing weather.
“That’s very kind of you.” Damning praise, really, when Dorian presented it more as a question than anything else. “But I could hardly put you out. Particularly not when…”
There was no need to press for clarification. Not when the flick of Dorian’s eyes brought an itch around Cullen’s shoulders that had little to do with the long stretch of his shift. “Since when has my designation mattered?” he asked. “Or have you forgotten that I can bodily toss you if the situation calls for it?”
Dorian tried to appear indignant, but even Aveline was coughing into her hand to hide the chuckle emerging beneath Sera’s whoops of laughter. “I’m hardly scrawny anymore,” he grumbled.
“Mm-hm.” Cullen only shook his head under Dorian’s glare. “Come on, where’d you park? A delicate flower like you has to have more bags than just that.”
*
Now, perhaps, was a good time to introduce the other reason for Cullen’s lack of faith in superstitions. A take kept to the safety of his own mind more often than not, if only because of how close it came to being exactly what it endeavored to be proof against.
Because, from everything Cullen had learned throughout his life, there was little that could stand in the way of his own uniquely cursed brand of luck.
All of which might have been a truly excellent thing to remember. Except, after trudging about in the cold, all while pretending not to notice Dorian’s furtive glances (or to be indulging in some of his own), the only thing Cullen could think of was a long, hot bath to set his aching joints to rights—unexpected company or no.
It wasn’t until the door burst off its hinges to emit two small blurs of color and curls that he remembered that calling ahead might have been a good idea.
“You’re back!” The multicolored smears of frosting all about the rounded edges of Branson’s cheeks gave a hint as to why the boy was even more hyperactive than usual. “Can you split your share of the cookies? Please, please!”
Rosalie, on the other hand, had realized there was something (or, rather, some one) different about Cullen’s arrival, which wasn’t a state of affairs she was prepared to tolerate. Her fingers scraped against the pockets of his work pants, searching desperately for purchase as she tried to scramble her way up. Even Cullen giving in by scooping her up wasn’t enough to settle her entirely, her face pressing into his neck with tiny wet snuffles.
From the waver of Dorian’s upper lip, he was hardly in a better state. “Oh dear.” He raised a hand, only to drop it under Branson’s unwavering stare. “I… I don’t suppose you two remember me, after all.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Mia managed to look remarkably like how their mother used to with her arms crossed like that. Even more so with the wooden spoon clutched in one of her hands; one as old as the house itself. Not that Cullen was about to voice such a thing when she looked prepared to knock any of them around the head with that same spoon if they dared to come up with a response she didn’t like.
Dorian shifted from one foot to the other before settling on the smile that had once seen them out of trouble more times than Cullen could count. Just as well too since that trembling, vulnerable twist of lips had once been able to talk Cullen into any number of foolish childhood mishaps. “I’m not about to make excuses,” he said, “but I haven’t arrived empty handed.”
Mia, of all things, sighed at that, eyes drifting up to the flickering lights cast haphazardly over the roof of the porch. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never do.” She cut off anything else with a flick of the spoon. “Well, get in already, before the lot of you freeze to death. The children are in their pajamas, need I remind you?”
“We’re hardy!” A sentiment Branson was determined to prove by lugging in one of Dorian’s (lighter) bags. Not that it kept him from shooting a hard look at the same man on the way in. “I’m not sharing my cookies.”
Cullen hissed his brother’s name out under his breath, but Dorian only shook his head with the faintest of laughs.
“Nor should you, good lad.”
He stopped short in the hall, however, eyes casting around in a way that left Cullen confused until something hard forced his stomach into a sink.
“They’re not here,” he said, even as Dorian’s mouth began to form the question.
“Oh!” There was a glimmer of relief in Dorian’s eyes, only pushing that knot in Cullen harder. “Did you convince them to take a vacation at last then? Good on you! Better to do it now when the—”
Cullen grabbed the other man by the elbow, ignoring the affronted look to ensure that his younger siblings were still too preoccupied haggling over cookies to notice anything amiss. “Dorian,” he murmured, “my parents passed away. Didn’t you hear?”
The rapid loss of color from Dorian’s face made it very clear that he had not , but he brushed away any attempts from Cullen to steady him. “No, no,” he pressed, “if anything I should be the one soothing…” He trailed off, swiping a trembling hand over his face. “When did… Maker, I would’ve come back had I known. Please, tell me you know that.”
Cullen let his mouth work once, twice, before giving in with a shake of his head. “I… I can’t,” he said. “Not after everything.”
“I see.” For a moment, Cullen was caught by the flutter of Dorian’s lashes; a tell still archived within the far reaches of his mind. “I had hoped that the letter might have changed things. Foolish, no doubt, given that you never responded, but I still…”
“Letter?” Cullen frowned. “What letter?”
Dorian regarded him with a sort of narrow eyed exasperation, right up until apparently realizing that there was no hidden feint behind Cullen’s confusion. “How can you not know?” he murmured. “I gave it right to your—”
“Mr. Dorian!” Branson charged into the hall, so abruptly that both men started under the reminder that they were not, in fact, alone. “Do you know chess? Mia says you do. Can you help me practice?”
Cullen had to force himself to smile, knocking his shoulder against Dorian’s own. “Go on,” he said. “He wants to beat Mia at it.”
“Ah, is that so?” At least the bright shine of Branson’s eyes seemed to loosen some of the tension around Dorian’s shoulders. “I’ll have to pull out all the stops then.”
“No cheats,” Cullen began, only to shake his head (more fond than not) at Branson’s delighted whoop. “Why do I even bother?”
“Not all of us can live up to your standards,” Dorian replied. “Sadly.”
Cullen’s head whipped around with enough force that he was left rubbing at the twerked muscle beneath the skin. Just enough time, as it turned out, for Dorian to allow Branson to tug him away to where the chess sets (there always had to be more than one) were kept.
All that was left was to haul Dorian’s bags up into his own room. Just as well since it would spare the polite, if phony exchange, where Dorian did his best to pretend that no, really, he would be perfectly fine taking the couch instead of Cullen.
If one of them were bound for that lumpy, worn out bit of furniture, it was going to be the one who had worked a tough enough shift not to care where he happened to pass out.
Still, the whole time, what Dorian had claimed wouldn’t let him be.
There couldn’t have been a letter. Not when, under the circumstances, he had only ever inhabited a single residence throughout his life. If it hadn’t arrived by now then Dorian had to have been mistaken about ever having sent it in the first place.
That should have been enough to snuff out whatever bit of hope had tried to relight inside of Cullen. Except that Dorian hadn’t said anything about dropping it into the mail. Instead he had claimed to give it right to…well, someone.
To call it a long shot would have been an understatement. Truth be told, it probably would have been better to describe it as the fool’s errand it really was. But still, he found that he couldn’t help nudging open the door to what had once been their parents’ bedroom, moving past all the boxes that had been crammed inside until he found the one shoved into the farthest corner.
Aveline had brought it with her, packaged under her own hands, when delivering the news of the car crash—their parents' final effects.
None of them had wanted to touch it, of course. It would have made all of it too real, even when, one by one, the reality of what had happened pressed in around them.
So it was up to Cullen to break the tape, forcing himself not to squeeze his eyes shut as he dug down through it all until...
Until his fingers made contact with a faded, bulging envelope tucked into his father’s jacket.
*
In true defiance of the odds, the littlest of the Rutherfords were the ones to claim the couch. Even with the determination to stay up stronger than ever under the lure of the holidays, there was only so much energy to go around once the supply of cookies had been cut off. Particularly now that with Cullen home, each could be assured that their favorite people were precisely where they were meant to be.
That, such as it was, happened to be how it fell to Dorian to inform the only person left out of the loop. It wasn’t as if there were any need to direct him on where to go. Not when each step brought back another unbidden sense memory—avoid the spot on the step that creaks most, that scuff on wall from when a pint sized, haughtier Dorian had dared Cullen to prove himself a knight.
For Maker’s sake, he could even place the reason behind each decoration in Cullen’s room, having assisted in hanging a few of them himself.
There was some amusement to be had, at least, in the realization that (of course ) the other man still made his bed to the same regimented standards, as though prepared for someone to come grade him on it. Or that happened to be the case until the realization of what exactly it was Cullen was hunched over.
“Ah.” For all that his senses fought to deaden themselves, there was still something within Dorian too attuned to not search out the bittersweet spike of alarm when Cullen’s head snapped up. “So you did know.”
“No! I didn’t…” It wasn’t right that this version of Cullen—the one propelled to his feet with all the grace of a newborn halla—should feel the most familiar. “You gave it to my parents, but they didn’t have a chance to…” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, barreling on before Dorian, having already caught on to the direction, could stop him. “It was in with what was delivered after the crash.”
“Just our sort of luck, I suppose.” Dorian flexed his fingers against his thighs, knowing, instinctually, there was no right thing to say, yet still under the compulsion. “I… I really did mean that I would’ve come back, you know. Even if there would have been little I could have done.”
“It wouldn’t have been safe for you,” Cullen replied with a little hoist of the letter. “Would it?”
Dorian couldn’t quite tear his eyes from the bit of paper. He had taken such time to get each word right, he remembered, despite having little of it to spare. “No,” he let himself admit, “but I doubt it would have stopped me.”
It had been far too long since he had been on the receiving end of a Rutherford embrace. On the worst days, he had regretted ever having been introduced to it. Because, embarrassing as it was to admit, it was far easier to scoff at such obvious displays of emotion before getting to learn how it felt to have another person do all they could to keep you pressed in tight and warm—as though that alone would be enough to keep you safe.
“Why didn’t you let me help?” Cullen muttered, somewhere into Dorian’s shoulder.
It should have spoiled things, really, it would have been worse had he not asked. He had never wanted to tamper with that part of Cullen that still managed to care without reservation.
“You know what my father is like.” Even now, admitting to it felt like nursing tiny bits of glass far too close for comfort. “How could I bring that to your doorstep? Knowing the lengths he would have gone to…” This time, at least, when he shuddered there were arms to fix tighter around him; ones that would never seek to hurt. “I needed—wanted—you all to be safe.” He pinched at the man’s side when he sensed him about to protest, managing a weak chuckle at the yelp it earned him. “You would have done the same, don’t lie.”
Watching Cullen step back now, brow furrowed under the weight of all that warring sense of nobility, Dorian couldn’t help but think how little the man had ever really needed to prove himself after all.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He hesitated for a moment, a hand rubbing over the back of his neck in such a familiar gesture that it made Dorian’s heart ache for a moment. “Is this your way of asking me not to take a swing at your father next I see him?”
“While I can understand the urge,” Dorian said, “please do resist. I’ve only just managed to feel comfortable about living close to him again. It wouldn’t do to stir the pot over old grudges.”
“It’s not an ‘old’ one to…” Cullen trailed off, bluster fading under the weight of realization. “Wait, you’re living nearby?”
“Well, it’s not official yet.” Dorian had had a similar haze of anxiety when imagining just how to explain himself under such an encounter. Except that had been back when he had been planning around a quick passing on the street, not being brought back to the home of the one man in town he would have wanted to avoid. “But the bookstore on the main drag has sat empty for long enough, don’t you think? A more noble purpose now that I have access to that old trust fund at last.”
“You’re going to live your dream,” Cullen grinned. Because, naturally, he was going to be the one to remember how Dorian would press his face up against the glass of the old, darkened storefront, detailing exactly how he would have things had he been in charge.
“Not exactly.”
Dorian sucked in a breath under the weight of Cullen’s frown. It would have been easy to leave things there, come up with some excuse to fob the other man off with. Except, perhaps at the end of the day, Cullen really had been going without the truth for too long.
Or it could be just that, in order to see yourself as better than you once were, you had to be ready to prove it as well.
Not that any of that made it any less terrifying to admit aloud that, “I had rather grand aspirations of courting you back in the day, you see.”
He couldn’t say that he had been expecting Cullen to laugh, in all honesty, so he thought he was owed the affronted step back. It didn’t take long for the other man’s hands to catch up with him, however, quickly followed by a mouth still turned up into a smile and…
Oh. Alright then.
Cullen, it would seem, was entirely content to cradle Dorian’s stunned face in his hands, eyes run warm in that rare, shining sort of way. “Good to know one of us was inclined to show a little initiative back then.” There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something else across Cullen’s face, before, “And that you don’t share your father’s opinion of male Omegas.”
“How could you even…” Dorian forced himself to taper off around a huff at how Cullen winced. “I suppose I haven’t given you much reason to believe me as of late. But, truly, it’s been quite some time since I resigned myself to being gone on you.”
“Feel like making up for lost time then?” The sheepish hunch to Cullen’s shoulders had no right to be there with how the man was tipping his head back towards the bed. “Might be out of order, but when has that ever mattered?”
“Liar,” Dorian couldn’t help muttering. “When have you ever been one for chaos?”
Which, he supposed, left only himself to blame when he had to contend with Cullen ducking in close for no other reason than to whisper, “With you,” into his ear.
*
It was interesting, if only in a personal way, to unearth those fantasies that just this morning Cullen had had a strict rule against trying to ever look too closely at again. That some adjustments had to be made was only to be expected, really. After all, such plans, if you could even call them that, had been dreamt up back when he could still barely browse most of the sites that inspired him without blushing.
The Cullen from back then certainly never would have thought to be the one on top. Which, considering the current benefits, would have been a damn shame.
“Still with us, Pavus?” he couldn’t help but ask. Even if the response, at least at first, was a slap along his thigh.
“Y—Yes, just…” Dorian hissed out from between his teeth when Cullen rolled his hips just so. “Just struck by where you must’ve learned this from.”
That was enough to make Cullen still for a moment, aware of how abashed he must look under Dorian’s arched brow. “You’re not going to guess,” he said.
“Well, it can’t have been Amell,” Dorian pondered. “Or you’d have never let him go.”
The rueful undercurrent to the man’s tone couldn’t quite be hidden, leaving Cullen to drag his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “I was mooning over you for far longer, you know.” He carried on at a conversational, if somewhat shaky, pace, not about to let Dorian use that to its full leverage (yet). “’sides, it was more…Amell adjacent than anything.”
It was easy to tell when the recognition broke through, if, for nothing else, the incredulous burst of laughter that broke free from Dorian. “You were never one to aim small,” he remarked. “Were you?”
Cullen shook his head, reaching back to brush his fingers against where Dorian was about to shift inside of him again. It led to the rest of Dorian’s words tumbling into a whine, which would have been an impressive enough feat without the arch to his back. “No,” he admitted, aware that, no matter where he shifted, it would still feel like Dorian was pressing right to his insides, “it would seem not.”
The sudden press of Dorian’s arm around the small of his back was about all the warning Cullen got before, faster than he could blink, his back was thumping onto the bed instead. “Now where did…” There was no way to get the words out, as much with the press of lips to his throat as the endless sharp thrust of Dorian’s inside him.
Any sounds of disgruntlement were easily swallowed up, however, with Dorian nipping his way into his mouth until there was nothing for it but to let his hand fall from the other man’s hair to drag down his back.
“Nowhere that mattered,” was the whispered assurance as Dorian clutched to his free hand. “Nowhere.”
In another time, it might have been easy to feel jealous of those people. But not now. Not when all he had to do to make Dorian’s gaze soften like that was to squeeze back to his hand.
Instead, he let himself arch the next time Dorian leaned down, legs locking in tight around the other man’s waist. “Can I know how often you thought of this instead?” he murmured. The hissed out curse against his lips was answer enough, even without the way Dorian twitched inside of him. “All those sleepovers, you…you know? Acting like…like I wasn’t half-hard so we could share a bed.”
Dorian smothered a groan into Cullen’s throat, nipping until the breathless laughter fell into a moan instead, followed by a near desperate form of rutting. “Maker above,” he said. “That shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.”
Cullen had spent the majority of his adolescence desperate to prove to his best friend that he could be as much needed as wanted, so, now that that opportunity presented itself, he saw little reason not to enjoy it to the hilt.
“Like you never thought of it?” That staked just a touch too close to something real, though. An unknown that he couldn’t be certain he wanted to examine yet. “The role-play possibilities alone are—”
Even with the momentary knock of teeth against one another, the press of Dorian’s mouth was still far too gentle given what the two of them were currently engaged in.
“I… I thought I’d be lucky enough to just get this.” The relevance was punctuated by another kiss, threatening to steal the air right out of Cullen’s lungs. “Thinking any further ahead would have been torture.”
“See?” Cullen raised a hand until he could brush the short, soft hairs along the back of Dorian’s neck with the tips of his fingers. “This is how I know we’ve been apart for too long—you think I’ll let you get away with talking about yourself that way.”
Each of them, it would seem, were prepared to pretend that the laughter Dorian pressed into Cullen’s mouth was shaky for another reason entirely. “Yes, yes,” he remarked, canting Cullen’s hips up until the other man squirmed under his hold. “I’m sure you’ll have me properly trained again in no time.”
Cullen had to fit his teeth around the expanse of Dorian's shoulder then, doing his best not to think of just how badly he wanted to place the bite elsewhere as the knot of the Alpha above him—his friend's—caught enough to make him shake apart. Something it was much harder to feel guilty for when Dorian was locking in with a shudder, teeth scraping with more than a hint of desperation against Cullen's throat.
*
It took Cullen a moment, under the gray haze of dawn, to remember why he hadn’t fallen asleep properly layered against the winter chill last night. That all he got for reaching out through the tangle of quilts was an empty space already gone cold felt like the worst kind of prank.
There was something almost frustrating about how, despite himself, his mind was full of every possible rationalization. Even if Dorian couldn’t (or wouldn’t) risk the cold weather that might not have stopped Felix—ever the tender heart—from coming to pick him up. Or perhaps the other man had risked the chilly temperatures, if only to get a start on getting his vehicle towed free.
In the end, it was all pointless, he had to remind himself, while forcing himself to sit up. None of it, after all, could do away with the fact that Dorian had decided to leave yet again. And, from a quick glance around his room, this time without even a note, Cullen had to react with a certain dark humor.
He could only wish that the man could have decided to limit such antics to another day. From the rise of squealing voices from down below, his younger siblings were already up, which meant he couldn’t give way to how he was feeling without spoiling their enjoyment of the holiday. Not to mention that Mia would hardly let him retreat into himself without a fitting explanation and she was far more perceptive than either of the little ones.
A proven fact, it would seem, from how the door to his bedroom was currently swinging open.
“Mia, could we not—”
“Ah, wrong one, I’m afraid.” Dorian was too busy nudging the door back closed with the heel of his foot to notice the force with which Cullen’s head snapped towards him. He had a steaming mug in each hand, one of which he presented to Cullen with a smile. “I convinced them to let you sleep in just a little longer. I hope the way you take your coffee hasn't changed anymore than your favorite mug has, by the way. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
Cullen cradled the chipped yet still vibrant red mug in his hands, doing his best to pretend there was no pricking behind his eyes. This was the same one that Dorian had once called an eyesore, if he remembered correctly. “I could barely get through a cup of it back in high school,” he said.
“Which left more over for myself,” Dorian replied. “Do try to keep up. Now, preferably, as I swore I’d be enough to get you downstairs. Don’t think you want any of your siblings actually charging up here before you get back into the required pajamas. Particularly not Branson, that lad is all elbows.”
He paused in the middle, of all things, snagging an actual set of pajamas from Cullen’s dresser to examine him through narrowed eyes.
“Don’t tell me you thought I’d left.” He sighed when Cullen, rather predictably, flushed. “It’d be far easier to scold you, if I weren’t aware of how much I have to make up for.”
“That isn’t…” Cullen set the coffee aside to snag the sweats from Dorian’s hands, tugging them on so he could climb out of bed without at least a bit more decency. Although, if the way the other man’s eyes dragged across his body were any hint, it was hardly needed. “I don’t want you to do this out of some form of penance.”
There was a quick flutter of lashes from Dorian before a startled laugh tore itself free from his throat. “Oh, dear, no,” he said, “that’s not…” He shook his head, arching into the press of Cullen’s hands against his back. “I came here to put things to rights, I always knew that. That I get to live out the fantasies of a younger me by apparently showing off all around town under the excuse of dates is simply the best sort of bonus.”
Cullen hummed, licking his way into Dorian’s mouth until he could chase after the fleeting tastes of chocolate and coffee. “So I managed to get you a Christmas present after all?” he asked. It earned a swat to the arm, but at least they were both laughing for real now.
“I’d say I’m not that easy,” Dorian said, pressing their foreheads together, “but…ah, well, perhaps I’ll let you get away with it just this once.”
(Even the thundering up the steps of the rest of the Rutherford clan couldn’t ruin things. Not when Dorian caught Branson before he could reach Cullen, blowing raspberries onto his cheek while he squirmed with giggles while Rosalie bounced around, exclaiming about the holiday wonderland down below. Even Mia’s all too knowing gaze couldn’t spoil any of it.)
So much for bad luck.