[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 90
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cullen ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Bethany Hawke ♀
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: The internet is for porn, GOAT NO, horseradish jokes
Notes: A delightful afternoon in the garden with Anton and Cullen.
"Oh, shit, Anton, please! Yes!" Cullen panted, clutching Anton’s hair, as that teasing tongue darted across his ginger-flavoured skin.
They’d gone to the garden, just as Anton had offered, and Cullen found himself naked on the grass, drizzled in the syrup he’d brought. Half the bottle of wine was already gone. This time, there was a terrace of flowers and a hedge wall between them and the house, and this was, Cullen thought, a distinct improvement. Every time he’d seen the empty pedestal from the statue, since, all he could think was that it was a clear shot to so many windows. But, not this time. This time they’d picked a spot before they started drinking.
Anton’s fingers stroked and kneaded his thighs, holding him down, as he writhed under the onslaught of alternate tickling and pleasure. Every time Cullen thought it might be too much, Anton switched again, darting his tongue against another spot. Cullen thrashed as Anton licked into his navel, mercilessly wringing giggles out of him, until he hiccuped.
Anton chuckled against Cullen’s skin at the sound, and Cullen’s skin mottled in embarrassment even as he laughed too. "You are always a tease," he said, still squirming under those fingers.
"You almost sound like you’re complaining, Captain," Anton purred. He blew against the spot he’d just licked and grinned when Cullen’s muscles jumped in reply.
"Complain? Never!" The last syllable ended in a squeak as Anton bent to lick something that wasn’t his navel.
Anton’s tongue traced the lines of Cullen’s knob, flicking along the veins, darting against a couple of spots he knew drove Cullen wild. His hands slid up, kneading the tops of Cullen’s thighs, thumbs digging in just right.
Cullen’s head fell back, and he found himself looking at the roots of a hedge. Roots which reminded him of that other time. Which reminded him of other things he might have done. Had that been as good as he’d thought? Was he just stupidly drunk and turned on by everything? That was a thought. That was a very dangerous thought, and maybe he’d been right. Maybe he shouldn’t have been drinking, or at least not that much.
"You all right?" Anton asked, as Cullen got strangely quiet.
"Just remembering something." Cullen kept staring at the roots. "Did you— did you tell me I said ‘manhood’? Did that actually happen?"
Anton laughed. "That very definitely happened. And you begged to have it put in you. Terribly unlike you, but who’s to argue with begging?"
"Maker," Cullen groaned, "maybe I am reading too many of those Orlesian novels."
"I thought they were your friend’s?" Anton teased.
"Well yes. She needs to stop reading them. Yes."
Anton chuckled and nuzzled Cullen’s ‘manhood’. "But I rather like the naughty things they teach you," he purred.
Cullen shivered, reaching up to take hold of the hedge’s roots. That too brought a flicker of memory. He licked his lips and sucked in a breath. "And what if I…" he said, fumbling for a moment. "A-and what if I begged for it this time?" He stared up at the hedge instead of at Anton. "Not… your manhood — well, yes, your manhood — but a different… word?"
"What if you begged for my knob? Oooh, hmm…" Anton licked his way up Cullen’s body, nipping at his collar bone, biting at his neck. "Well, I guess I’d just have to give it to you," he purred against Cullen’s ear. "But, I might have to hear you beg, first, if you really want it."
"Please!" The word was out before Cullen could even think of it. "Knob. Your knob, yes. I want—" He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.
"You want?" Anton asked, dragging his fingers over Cullen’s chest, pinching one nipple and then the other. "I can tell you want. But, what do you want?"
"Your knob. I want your knob!" Cullen gasped.
"Is that so?" Anton asked, grinding his knob against Cullen’s belly, and trying so very hard not to laugh. "Well, it’s all yours. I’ll rub it all over you, if you want."
"Tease," Cullen growled, still not sounding like he was complaining. "I want your knob. Please. I want your knob inside of me." And, Maker, those were words he never thought he’d say, let alone sober. Yet considering the embarrassing words he’d already said drunk, he supposed it hardly mattered.
"Oh, is that all?" Anton said, grinning. "Why didn’t you just say so?"
Cullen wrapped a hand around the back of Anton’s head and pulled that smart mouth crashing down into his. Anton laughed against his lips even as he kissed back, hands smoothing down Cullen’s arms, his sides. One hand darted out to retrieve the bottle of oil from among the other bottles beside them, and Anton put his talented fingers to good use, opening the bottle and greasing his hand, without spilling anything. And then he put his fingers to even better use, reaching down between them, to stroke the edges of Cullen’s hole.
"You want me in you?" he breathed around the lip clenched between his teeth. "Here?"
"Yes!" Cullen wondered how many more times Anton was going to make him say it, but this was Anton, and Anton was such a tease. All further thoughts flickered out as Anton’s finger pressed into him, slow and gentle. He clenched around it, feeling the second knuckle bob in and out as Anton toyed with him. "Somehow, I remembered you being bigger than this," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. Anton wasn’t the only one who could tease.
Anton grinned back and tried not think about how it hadn’t been him inside Cullen last time. It would be this time, and Cullen would remember every minute of it. All without destroying the garden. "I am bigger, yes," Anton said, still toying with the one finger and acting like he didn’t know what Cullen was implying. "Much bigger. Too big, perhaps? You’re right. I should take my time."
"Anton," Cullen groaned, as much out of frustration as out of pleasure, letting his head fall back. Anton laughed and pressed in another finger, taking his time curling his fingers, stretching them, getting to know every contour of Cullen’s insides. "Anton," Cullen said again, more breathlessly this time.
"Yes, Knight-Captain?" Anton purred.
"You are such a tease." Cullen’s eyes were wild as they returned to Anton’s face, frustrated and wanting.
"Oh, well, maybe if you remind me what it is you want — keep reminding me — maybe use some of those naughty Orlesian phrases…" Anton drummed his fingers against one spot that made Cullen squirm.
Cullen’s hips rolled, against his better judgement. That was good. That was so good, but… "No."
"What?" Anton stopped moving.
"I am not … No. No naughty Orlesian phrases." Head tipping back again, Cullen stared into the roots of the hedge, rather than look at Anton, who was now making puppy eyes at him. "I haven’t had even half a bottle of wine. I’ll choke on my own tongue."
"Well, will you say naughty things to me in Common, then? Filthy words with Alamarri roots?" Anton’s fingers started moving again, now that he was sure that wasn’t the problem.
Cullen looked like he might catch fire, for a moment, frozen, wild-eyed, holding his breath behind clenched teeth. And then the words spilled out of him, as a red flush spread out from his cheeks to his hairline and the middle of his chest. "The only root I care about right now is yours, Anton, and I want it in me."
"Ah, more interested in Fereldan roots then." Anton marveled at how easy it was to make his templar blush, even now. "I remember you being a fan of Fereldan cuisine."
Cullen was about to explode from all the teasing, and Anton finally showed mercy on the poor man. He withdrew his fingers, savouring the hitch of breath that drew from Cullen, and smoothed more oil over his knob. Maybe if he worked Cullen into a state of incoherence, the templar would start with the naughty Orlesian phrases after all.
Cullen would have the hedge’s root system memorised, the way he was staring at it, but a gentle hand on his thigh drew his gaze back to Anton. "Are you going to plant that Fereldan root or what?" Cullen asked through grit teeth.
"I’m just taking the time to appreciate the equally Fereldan hole I’m about to plant it in. You’re a very handsome man, Ser Templar, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and every little bit in between — which isn’t to say your bits are little." Anton smiled slyly and pulled Cullen’s hips into his lap, stroking those bits again, before he lined himself up and leaned forward.
Cullen’s ankles crossed, behind Anton’s hips, catching him as his ass dropped between Anton’s thighs, and then the angle had changed entirely, and his legs held him up, flexing against Anton’s sides, as Anton began to push into him. What had he been thinking? This was absurd. That was much too big to fit. The first sound out of Cullen was slightly panicked, as the head of Anton’s knob breached him.
"Cullen? Do you want me to stop?" Anton smoothed Cullen’s hair back with the hand that wasn’t greasy.
Flickers of memory danced through Cullen’s mind, and he shook his head, emphatically. No, he did not want this to stop. He’d enjoyed this, once, he was sure of that much. But, maybe he had to be drunk to like it. Or maybe he had to—
"Relax." Anton’s voice was soft, as he moved his hand down between them to rub gentle circles between Cullen’s hips, Cullen’s still extremely interested knob resting against the back of his hand.
Cullen forced himself to suck in a breath. Relax. Right. Easier said than done. Maker, that knob felt bigger than it looked. But then, it had fit before, hadn’t it? And he didn’t remember needing a potion after. Granted he didn’t remember much of anything from that night, but… Overthinking. He did that, didn’t he?
"Right." Another breath, and Cullen forced his muscles to unclench.
Anton watched his face all the while, never moving except for the hand rubbing circles in Cullen’s skin. He smiled. "There we go," he said. "All right?"
Cullen nodded, determined. He was. All right, that was, even if the pulse in his throat said otherwise. He trusted Anton. "Yes, now get on with it."
Anton rocked his hips, sliding in and out, every thrust just a little deeper than the last. He watched Cullen’s face, waiting for — ah, there it was. Cullen’s eyes rolled back, hands scrabbling at Anton’s back. There were those sounds he’d heard, that night in the garden. Anton rolled his hips, grinding in, right there, only about halfway in, but just enjoying the way Cullen writhed for him, pulled at him.
"You like that?" A sly smile lit Anton’s face.
Cullen’s reply was completely incoherent, but signs pointed to yes. Particularly the part where he ground his hips against Anton, flexing his legs to pull them closer together. Anton’s hand turned, no longer stroking Cullen’s belly, and curled around Cullen’s knob, stroking that instead.
"O-oh! Maker! Anton!" Cullen gasped, squirming under Anton’s touch, like he wasn’t sure which part of Anton he wanted more of. Anton gave him more of everything.
"Still no Orlesian?" he purred. "Are you not enjoying my ‘manhood’?"
Cullen didn’t have the wits for a reply, but he had enough for a half-assed glare. Anton laughed and bent to kiss him, hips still rocking, and Cullen kissed him back breathlessly before letting his head fall back to the ground. He panted, eyelids fluttering, and through the pleasure it took him a moment to realise he was no longer staring at the hedge’s root but at a pair of cloven hooves.
"Merciful Andraste…" Cullen blinked and squinted upward, just in time to take a falling leaf to the eye.
A goat peered through the hole in the hedge, still chewing. "Maeh!" it declared, dropping more half-chewed hedge on Cullen’s face.
Anton jumped, clutching Cullen to him, before realising he’d been using that arm to hold himself up. They toppled to the ground, beneath the goat-hedge, pinning Anton’s arm uncomfortably, and his other hand even more uncomfortably, stuck, as it was, between them. "That’s a goat," he muttered against Cullen’s neck. "Why is there a goat? … Oh, shit, that’s my brother’s dowry goat. Mum’s going to—" He choked on the rest of that sentence. "Cormac‘s going to shit a brick when he sees the bill for the topiary."
"It’s staring at us," Cullen whispered, blinking up at the goat’s chin, its beard swaying with every chew.
"And… we’re whispering because we’re afraid the goat will hear us talking about it?" Anton whispered back.
Cullen made a few goat-like noises himself. "I have your… y-your manhood buried in my ass. I wasn’t exactly mentally prepared to deal with this situation."
"Maeh!" The goat nosed at Cullen’s curls, then at Anton’s face.
"Andraste’s cootch!" Anton swore, flapping his hand at the goat. "My hair is not food!"
"We should get up," Cullen suggested. "We should get up very quickly, because my family used to have goats, and if that thing gets any closer, we’re not going to have clothes left to put on." He paused. "I did mention I had a brother, didn’t I? I know exactly what goats are capable of in situations like these."
"You’re joking." Anton looked spooked, paler than usual, eyes wide. He glanced around — at least the nearest article of clothing was still a few feet from the goat-hedge.
"Very much not joking. Also, you’re squeezing my knob. Very hard." Cullen winced, apologetically. Anton had been unaware there was such a thing as an apologetic wince, but every day with Cullen was a learning experience.
"Sorry," Anton muttered, swatting the goat away from his hair, again, as he let go of Cullen’s much-abused knob. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Doubly sorry for this—" He pulled out much too quickly and grabbed the nearest article of clothing, tossing it to Cullen. "Let’s see what you learned in the barracks! How fast can you put it on?"
"Faster when it’s not yours," Cullen assured him, yanking the trousers on, anyway.
"Always love when you try to get into my trousers," Anton said, shimmying into Cullen’s. He certainly… filled them out differently than Cullen did.
They rescued what articles of clothing they could, but they were too late for Anton’s left sock. Cullen grabbed Anton’s hand and pulled him towards the house.
"Those were Orlesian!" Anton complained. The goat turned to look at him, stocking hanging out of the corner of its mouth. "Well, fine! I hope they’re delicious!" Cullen tugged Anton onward. The goat bleated and trotted after them as they made their retreat.
Cullen leaned heavily against the door as it closed behind them, rumpled clothing still clutched to his chest. There was the clink of a teacup in a saucer, and he and Anton looked up to see Bethany watching them with tea in her hands and a smile on her face.
"Out in the garden planting horseradish, dear brother?" Bethany asked, only the slightest shift in her smile, as she eyed Anton.
Anton choked back a laugh, colour rising in his cheeks.
Bethany turned her eyes to Cullen. "I’ve heard you’re terribly fond of horseradish, Knight-Captain."
"I don’t know that I’d say terribly fond, but I do like it, yes. It’s not a bad taste, at all." Cullen looked terribly confused, and a boot slid out of his grip, bouncing off the arch of his foot, as Anton continued to suffer under the clutches of not laughing.
"Oh, Maker. Stop talking, Cullen," Anton choked out.
"I am a fan of horseradish sauce — what? Is this some sort of family joke?" Cullen asked, looking between the two of them.
"Oh, I bet you could make him stop talking with your spicy Fereldan horseradish, Anton. He does like the taste. Even the sauce!" Bethany went on, still smiling, apparently unmoved.
If Anton bit his lips any harder, he’d draw blood. Cullen looked back and forth between the siblings. "This is a family joke, isn’t it? You have in-jokes about root vegetables?" He suddenly thought about what he and Anton had been saying earlier, regarding ‘planting’ and ‘roots’. "Oh." His face coloured as well, turning a deep shade of red that spilled down to his chest. Which Bethany could see.
"Don’t worry, Captain," Bethany said, still so devastatingly pleasant. "I’m sure Anton likes the taste of your spicy Fereldan horseradish too."
Anton groaned and passed a hand over his face as Bethany slunk back into the kitchen.
"There’s a story behind that, isn’t there?" Cullen asked. "Do I want to know the story?"
"No. No, I don’t think you do."
The goat bleated at them through the door, chewing Anton’s other sock.