Title: 5+1: The Flagpole
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anders ♂, Hawke ♂, Karl ♂, Nathaniel ♂, Isabela ♀
Rating: E (L2 N4 S3 V0 D1)
Warnings: Dick jokes, smut, prostitution
Notes: Anders isn’t just well-hung, he’s outrageously hung, and it’s actually a problem. (This started as a joke in Rhapsody, and then it got out of hand.)
Karl was smaller, and honestly, Anders had assumed, until that point, that Karl was just small. Not that he had a problem with that. In fact, the things Karl could do to him with that ungenerous knob were breathtaking. But, Anders was no small amount larger, in both length and breadth, which he kind of assumed had something to do with being taller and a little broader in the shoulders, too. But, the proportions were still off, so he’d assumed Karl was just not that well-hung.
Still, as they both got into circulation, Anders began to notice some things. A lot of the guys felt about the same size as Karl. And a lot more of them were interested in his ass than his knob. With the ladies, at least, it was easy to pass off their interest in his non-knob talents as a disinterest in the obvious troubles that came of mixing ladies and knobs. In fact, all of the interest in his knob came in the form of licking and sucking, which shouldn’t really have been much of a complaint.
It still bothered him. So, finally, one night with Karl — because who else was he going to try the most questionable things with, first — he insisted. He begged, he complained, he promised to be gentle. And, finally, Karl gave in. Everything went well — fingers, tongue, grease spell — until he finally tried to get his knob in. It went slowly, and Karl was painfully tight around him, but just kept waving for him to hurry up. He’d gotten about halfway in, before Karl broke down and made him take it out. It was, he reflected, probably a good thing he’d been studying to be a healer.
He’d made it out of the tower, at last. Out and over the water, with nothing but a couple-ten miles of road between him and the nearest proper town, with civilised people in it. And when he reached that town, he set up as a healer, to earn the coin he’d need to move on. He was somewhat surprised at how heavily his pockets jingled, even at the end of the first day.
And so, he decided to put some of that coin directly back into the community, in the form of paying a lovely and no doubt talented prostitute to spend a bit of time with him. She was a professional. Her skill with knobs would be unmatched by all the amateur fumbling in the tower.
In the end, she gave him half his coin back and kicked him out.
When he became a Warden, there were things he hadn’t counted on. One of those was the insatiable appetite. The other was the infernal Warden stamina. Yes, there were prostitutes, in Amaranthine, but even on a Warden’s budget, he couldn’t afford to pay any of them for long enough — and even with the tricks of the trade, there weren’t many who would hold up to that.
So, one night, he got Nate to take him on a drunken tour of the keep. More of a drinkers’ tour of the keep, really. Every time Nate found something with a bad memory attached, they’d both take a drink. To this day, Anders isn’t sure whose room they ended up in, but they were on each other before the clothes finished hitting the floor. They were both Wardens — very frustrated Wardens — and there was very little they could do to each other that Anders couldn’t clean up.
And Anders did end up cleaning up, thanking the Maker that Nate had been too drunk to feel pain. He snuck out before Nate woke up, leaving a note that read, ‘Sorry about the blood. I took care of it. You’re fine.’
They didn’t look at each other for a week. And then they did it again.
And then Nate started calling it ‘the flagpole’, which, to be fair, was probably a defence after that one time the entire keep had heard him screaming his head off, like he was getting murdered, only to have it end in ‘Harder! There!’ They were both drunk enough not to have noticed they’d ended up in the Warden-Commander’s office, in the middle of the night, either. So, when they were caught with their pants and everything else not just down but scattered across the floor and the Warden-Commander’s desk, Nate had jabbed a finger at Anders and blamed him for being ‘the one with the flagpole’.
After six days of non-stop flagpole jokes, Anders had had about enough, and he stepped out into the middle of the Warden dining hall, wearing nothing but a flag, hanging from his pole.
"Are we done yet?"
The Commander’s elven lover stood and saluted it, and Sigrun followed, while the Commander rolled on the floor in hysterical laughter. Oghren decided he needed another six pints for this freaky mage shit, and Velanna and Justice intently went on with their dinner, pretending that nothing was happening. Nate stood up and walked out, without a word.
The next morning, a storm was rolling in, and Anders found himself tied mostly naked to the roof of the keep, wearing nothing but that flag. The terrified shrieking eventually caught the ear of one of the soldiers, and Sigrun and the Commander had to cut him down before he attracted too much of the storm’s attention, being the tallest point in the immediate vicinity.
He refused to drink with Nate for a whole month after that.
He passed through Denerim, looking for a ship, after the Blight. After Justice. For a time, Justice seemed content to let him lead, and lead he did. They took a room at The Pearl — a brothel would always have room for a healer — and he plied his trade for money to book passage. Well, until he realised that between that ‘electricity trick’ and being nearly inexhaustible, he had faster ways to make that coin in a brothel.
And that was where the pirate queen had found him. She paid a decent amount of coin for such exotic talents as his, and he earned every copper coin of it. The old hands weren’t joking when they said she’d outlasted the best they had to offer, time and again. But, she couldn’t outlast him. And more even than that, she couldn’t quite fit all of him, either, which was something of a record outside of Tal-Vashoth circles.
She paid him extra and came back the next night, but just for the electricity trick.
And then there was Hawke. Hawke who begged for it, wanted to be broken open and split apart. Hawke who sank onto him, night after night, and rode him like the morning wouldn’t come. And every time Hawke screamed, Anders held his breath for a moment, waiting to be told it was too much, and this had to stop. But, it never happened. When Hawke screamed, it was for more, and Anders was all too happy to give.