Apr 062015
 

Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 19
Co-Conspirator: TumblrMaverikLoki
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anton Hawke , Cullen
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: Anton’s mouth, zero relationship skills, Cullen has no idea what he’s doing, teh gay, nude dudes, interesting uses for syrup
Notes: A great lot more licking.


"So what do you think, Ser Cullen?" Anton kissed the top of Cullen’s foot, nipped his toe playfully before setting it back down on the bed. "Is there a part of you I haven’t licked well enough yet?"

Cullen tried to answer, he really did. All that came out of his mouth was a squeak and something that sounded like "hnnguh". So much for intelligent conversation. It was unfair of Anton to be asking all these questions after all that licking.

"What’s that?" Anton asked sweetly. "Your knees? Your elbows?"

"You tease," Cullen growled, finally gathering together enough braincells to form two syllables. Yes. He could do two syllables. "Come here." He all but lunged for Anton, grabbing him about the waist and pulling him down onto the bed, lips meeting in a furious kiss that stifled Anton’s laughter.

"Oh, I know," Anton murmured into the kiss. "But, I want to hear you say it."

Two syllables at a time. Cullen could do this. "My knob," he growled, flushing vividly. "Lick it."

And he’d been concerned about asking politely. In all likelihood, he should have been ashamed those words even came out of his mouth in that order, but there wasn’t really a better order for them, and at least it saved him the indignity of getting his elbows worshipped with an unhealthy amount of tongue.

"Oh," Anton purred, fingers ghosting lightly over the knob in question. "This? You want me to put this in my mouth?" His fingers danced along the length. "Maybe lick right here? Kiss there? This bit’s good for nibbling, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Yes!" Cullen gasped. "Please!"

"Say it. Full sentence." And there was that wicked grin again.

A full sentence. Cullen had to take a moment to remember what that sounded like. He had to take another to work out more than two syllables. "I want…" he began, voice still this side of growly. "I want you. To lick. My knob."

"I didn’t hear a please."

"Please lick my knob!" Cullen all but squeaked, and that just made Anton laugh again.

Anton bit his lip playfully before pulling back. Desperation sounded good on Cullen. "Oh, alright," he said. "Since you asked so nicely."

He pushed his templar bedmate back to lie flat, palm smoothing over his chest, down his stomach, followed by a teasing tongue. Anton paused to nibble at one hip, pressing his lips into the curve, licking along the bone, and then biting at the point, before giving the other hip the same treatment. He was in no rush, and every moment he procrastinated, nuzzling the inside of Cullen’s thighs, for instance, was another moment he could enjoy those delightful sounds of excitement and frustration.

Pressing his face into Cullen’s balls, Anton reached down and picked up the orange syrup from beside the bed and nuzzled the base of that throbbing knob. He liked the smell of Cullen, he decided. He was sure he’d decided that before, but he was deciding it again, in this particular moment in which Cullen was all he could smell. He put out the tip of his tongue and licked slowly upward, as he drizzled the syrup down to meet him in the middle. Perhaps not quite as well thought out as it could have been, but he followed the orange trail up to the tip, and lifted his head with a flick of tongue.

Finally that sharp tongue was where Cullen had wanted it, proving once again that Anton was clever in more ways than he could count. He pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could see Anton, and the sight that met him was sin personified. Anton smiled up at him through his lashes, tongue sweeping over his knob, catching orange dribbles and making him shudder.

"Maker," Cullen breathed. This man was beautiful and dangerous and so painfully, completely out of his league.

Anton continued to take his time, continued to tease, to make Cullen squirm. He savoured every hitch of his breath, every curl of his toes. He considered them his accolades for a job well done. Finally he wrapped his lips around his knob, suckling at the tip and pressing just so with his tongue.

Cullen had been entirely unaware that sound was anywhere in his vocabulary, until it ripped out of him. His hips bucked, and his hands grabbed, one untucking the corner of the sheet, and the other pulling at Anton’s hair. Liars. Liarswrote those books. Or, again, maybe he’d read the wrong ones. Either way, Anton’s mouth would be his unmaking, at this rate.

A finger dipped into the puddle of drool at the base of his knob, and then that same finger circled and daubed at somewhere he was entirely certain fingers did not go. It dimly occurred to him that this was an entirely hypocritical thought, seeing as he’d had his entire knob inside Anton, and on the night they met. But, that was Anton, and Anton was depraved! Anton was depravedly sucking his knob, all too well, exactly as he’d asked, and better than he could have dreamed. Anton did, after all, know what he was doing.

Slowly, Cullen relaxed, but the finger didn’t push into him, just stroked and teased, toying with his flesh. He was terribly certain Anton was going to work him into a state and make him ask for it, again. But, he’d win this round, because that wasn’t something he was going to ask for. Still, Maker, the way that finger worked him, it was tempting. And with Anton’s mouth on him, he’d say yes to anything.

Anton let Cullen’s knob drop from his mouth before bending to lick another broad stripe from base to tip. Maker. These sheets were going to tear if Cullen gripped them any harder. "So tell me, Captain," said that devilish man, lips and breath teasing along his balls. "Is this what you wanted?"

Cullen grasped for a coherent answer to that. He’d never thought sex would involve so many questions— he’d have prepared, had he known — though with Anton’s noisy encouragements in the closet, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. At least the answer to most of these questions were, "Yes. Sweet Maker, yes." That was simple enough to remember, and it was an answer Cullen was willing to give even when Anton wasn’t asking any questions.

And there was Anton’s mouth again, taking him in, some delicious sound vibrating in his throat and making Cullen tingle. And there were his fingers, every bit as clever as his tongue, touching Cullen where he never thought he’d want to be touched. And there was Cullen, flushed and panting, and wishing he’d known such decadence existed.

Well, he knew it now, and it was going to take demonic intervention to part him from it. He writhed and pleaded, under Anton’s outrageous talents, until the whole world got ripply and white. It was like kissing the Fade. He’d gotten close enough to do that, once, not that it had been nearly this pleasant, that time. And he just lost track of everything except the waves of pleasure washing over him.

As the world began to filter back into his senses, he became aware of Anton still lazily licking him, in long, slow stripes, along his softening flesh. Oh, blight. That wasn’t what he meant to do at all. He was sure he was supposed to have been inside Anton, when that happened. Well, somewhere else in Anton, anyway. The flush crept back up his cheeks as Anton moved back to nibbling his hips.

Cullen groaned. "I — I’m sorry. I didn’t—"

"Sorry for what?" Anton actually looked a little confused.

"Well, I mean… I just… In your mouth." Ah, there was the sputtering. So quick to return, even after such an excellent sequence of events.

"Of course you did. I’d have been a little put out, if you hadn’t!" Anton laughed and nuzzled the top of one of Cullen’s thighs.

Cullen was fairly certain he was looking his death in the eyes. A gorgeous man was going to be the death of him, and his name was Anton Hawke. He always knew a templar shouldn’t fear death, but he never thought he’d embrace his with open arms. While naked.

Since words weren’t cooperating with Cullen just then, he conveyed his adoration by sitting up, cradling the back of Anton’s head and pulling him into another kiss. And there was another thing Cullen never thought he’d do: taste himself on another’s man’s lips, and — mm, oranges.

There were hands in Cullen’s curls, nails scraping beautifully against his scalp, and Cullen kissed Anton’s lips until he remembered air was something they both needed. "Is it…" Cullen cleared his throat. "Is it my turn to lick you, then?" He was aiming for sexy and coming out shy, but Anton didn’t seem to mind, going by the grin on his kiss-swollen lips.

"My, Ser Cullen," Anton murmured. "You sure know how to spoil a man."

Cullen awkwardly manhandled Anton into a somewhat more appropriately horizontal position. He could do this. He had no idea what he was doing, but Anton had just done it to him, so he could do it. He looked determined as he reached for a bottle. Hibiscus? He wasn’t sure he even knew what that was, but the syrup was bright red. That would be easy to see, and whatever it tasted like, it couldn’t be bad. Anton had excellent taste in food.

With Anton smiling curiously at him, Cullen kissed his way down the man’s chest, over the taut muscle of his belly, down to… Oh, Maker. That was a knob. That was a knob, and it wasn’t his knob, and he’d never been this close to anyone’s knob before. He took a deep breath and the smell of Anton and sex filled his lungs. And that did not help. This was really really a man, that he kept really really getting naked with. This was also really not the time for a crisis. Things had been enjoyable. Things could continue to be enjoyable.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Anton had done to him. Kisses on the hips. That part was easy. Nuzzling the thighs. And there were balls against his cheek. That gave him pause, but he could get used to this. It was just Anton, and Anton was beautiful, delicious, and terribly dangerous to anything resembling his morality or good sense. Determinedly, he tipped his head and rubbed his cheek against Anton’s balls, only to be rewarded with an encouraging hum. That was in, then. That was a good idea. He could do this.

Follow Anton’s lead. Drizzle syrup on Anton’s knob and apply tongue. He hardly needed an instruction manual for this, and Anton was providing his own instruction in the form of encouraging gasps and groans. So this… this was what another man’s knob tasted like, what Anton’sknob tasted like. Plus hibiscus. He could get used to this.

Cullen continued to lick Anton’s knob until it shone, mapping every contour with his tongue. He held Anton by the thighs, thumbs kneading the taut muscles there and feeling them twitch under his ministrations. By then Anton was breathing heavily, and Cullen peeked up at him to see his chest rising and falling. "Maker, yes," Anton purred, and there was that word again — yes — and that voice, making Cullen smile against hibiscus-flavoured skin.

Cautiously, Cullen tried the next step, wrapping his lips around Anton and seeing how far he could take him. Not that far, apparently. Maker. He vaguely wondered if it was a natural talent, for Anton, or a whole lot of practice. If the latter, maybe one day Cullen would learn to keep up.

Still, Anton was making the most delightfully sharp sounds, gasps and strained groans. Delicious little whimpers, between extended strings of praise and expletive. And most of it had some sort of internal logic to it. Cullen only wished he was that coherent with Anton anywhere nearhim. He flicked his tongue under the foreskin, and circled the head. That actually felt good against his tongue, so he did it again, and then Anton’s hands were on him, pulling him up and off, and he wondered what he’d done wrong, but Anton just folded forward and clung to him, panting against the back of his head.

"Didn’t want to choke you on your first time," Anton panted, stroking Cullen’s hair. "Wouldn’t be polite."

Was it that obvious it was his first time? Or had he said as much aloud somewhere in all his incoherence? Either way, it couldn’t have been too bad if all his oratory fumbling had Anton shivering this beautifully.

"You didn’t strike me as someone overly concerned with ‘politeness’," Cullen murmured. He had no idea where he’d gotten the brain cells for that quip. He traced Anton’s knob with the tips of his fingers as he spoke, tentative at first, then growing bolder as Anton arched against him.

Anton chuckled breathlessly against Cullen’s curls. "No, indeed," he said, "but I’d rather not put you off a repeat performance."

Repeat. Performance. Anton was already thinking of doing this again, Maker help him.

"So, how long can you get away from the pressing duties of your captaincy?" Anton asked, tugging Cullen up the bed with him, as he lay down again. "Would you like to spend the night with me and all these wonderful dessert toppings?"

Cullen groaned quietly. "Not long enough. Not tonight." His leg wound around Anton’s, as he curled around the man’s side. "But, I can spare you a few more hours."

"Busy, busy!" Anton teased, stealing a quick kiss. "I suppose I’ll take what I can get, then! If not tonight, perhaps another night? A night with better planning, on which no one expects you back until morning, or maybe mid-afternoon? I’m sure I can get you back before supper."

An entire night and half another day. Cullen’s brain shorted out, in short order. Anton wanted to spend most of two consecutive days with him. Probably in bed. This man who knew he was dealing with a clueless oaf who barely knew how to work his own knob wanted to spend two days in bed with him. Demons. Blood magic.

He dropped a Smite, just to be sure, and Anton shivered, but nothing changed. "Still not a demon. Still not a mage. Was that a no?"

"What—? No! No, it’s not a no. I just… I had to be sure." Cullen fidgeted.

"I heard what happened, there. It’s good you got out." Anton kissed Cullen’s forehead. "So, if that’s not a no…?"

"It’s a yes. I — yes. I’m sure I have a sick day I could use. Shall I send a messenger, when I know?"

"Or you could just bring me orchids, again," Anton teased, smiling.

That smile, this man… Maker’s breath, but Cullen was out of his depth, and more than happy to drown.