[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 108
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Anders ♂, Cullen ♂, Fenris ♂, Serendipity ⚧
Rating: T (L2 N1 S2 V0 D1)
Warnings: Quit peeing on things Anton, gross mating rituals
Notes: This is why we don’t pee on statues. Also, a crown of lime.
[ Master Post ]
Cullen sat in Anton’s lap, panting. Perhaps it wasn’t so much sitting as sprawling, one arm hooked back behind Anton’s neck, a leg stretched out far enough to have been rude, if anyone were trying to use the hall for its intended purpose. Starry-eyed, he stared up at the ornate patterns of the ceiling, head resting on Anton’s shoulder. Anton flexed his ass, bouncing his hip, and Cullen groaned. "You’re insatiable."
Anton laughed. "Nah, I just fake it well. The illusion won’t last, if you move."
"We should probably get back — do you think anyone heard…? Oh, Maker, I hope not." Cullen’s free hand rose up to cover his face.
Anton shrugged one shoulder. "It’s a loud party. I don’t think you were that loud." Of course, it had been right next to his ear, so he really had no way to judge. Still, if it had been that loud, he didn’t figure too many people would actually ask about it. Isabela, probably. Maybe one of his brothers.
A familiar, tattooed dwarven face appeared around the corner. Sigrun grinned at them and waved. Anton waved back while Cullen tried to hide his face and his mortification behind his hands.
"What is it doing?" Shale asked Sigrun, noting her impish grin. "Is it spying on the noisy fleshlings in the hallway?"
"Just curious," Sigrun said with an exaggerated shrug. "I was half expecting it to be Anders, but, knowing his type, that probably would have been louder." She spied the Warden in question, blond hair and cat towering over the crowd. "I miss drunk Anders. Well. Except for that… noisy part."
Shale made a disinterested and yet mildly disgusted noise. Soft voices floated in from the hall, and Shale stilled, eyes narrowing. "Is that the flesh creature who peed on me?" she asked. "I was wondering where it scampered off to."
Cullen was in the middle of extricating himself from Anton’s lap, when a shadow blocked the light from the main hall. He looked up, still half on Anton’s knob, to see the golem of his future nightmares standing in the entryway. He froze, stuck between a rock and a… well, a recently hard place.
Shale’s eyes moved from Anton’s face to Cullen’s, the first time she’d gotten a clear look at him, all night. "It swatted me with sticks! It swatted me with sticks for years!" Her eyes narrowed. "And now it engages in absurd, noisy behaviours with the flesh creature that peed on me! I should squish you both, like pigeons."
"No! No, no. No squishing, like pigeons or otherwise," Anton insisted. "We’re, er, rather important. It would cause no end of difficulties."
Cullen straightened up, as best he could, while leaving the bottom of his skirt draped across Anton’s lap. "Well, if I’d known you were a real golem — I mean, you — I — I couldn’t possibly have expected…"
"It attacks all rock formations with sticks, does it? Perhaps I should swat its rump with a stick to see how it likes it!"
"I’m… I’m fairly certain my rump would not enjoy that," Cullen replied. Anton fixed his own skirts under Cullen’s and slid to his feet. Worst case scenario, the front door was at his back, and they could make a run for it again. That would mean missing his own party, however. And he doubted Cullen would enjoy running through the streets dressed as he was.
Shale advanced towards them, stone hands in fists. "As for its equally squishy friend, it is lucky I do not have such vile bodily functions or I would pee on it too."
Cullen looked to Sigrun for help, but she was bent too far over in hysterics to pay him any heed.
"Oh, that is a marvellous corset!" came a voice from behind the golem. "What is that, silverite?" Serendipity swished up the hall, skirts rustling. "That is an amazing colour on you!" She pinched Anton’s cheek, eyes still on Shale. "Why do I think this isn’t about cards, for once, Tony?"
"Cards? No." Cullen looked utterly terrified, still, stark white and staring upward. "No, no, he peed on her, as a child!"
"Me? You hit her with sticks!" Anton spat, eyes round and a little too wide.
"Steel. It is very kind to ask. It is the first flesh creature to ask about my clothing, this evening. I think its choice of orange is somewhat questionable, but it appears very decorative in that outfit." Shale addressed Serendipity in a much less threatening tone. "Does it know the peeing creature?"
Serendipity fluffed her tulle skirts. "We are acquainted," she replied. "He really is quite charming when he’s not peeing where he oughtn’t."
"She says this like it’s happened more than once," Cullen said, eyes still on the golem. "Is this a habit I don’t know of? Are there other vengeful statuary I should look out for?"
"But steel, you say," Anton said, elbowing Cullen and following Serendipity’s lead. "It really is masterful craftsmanship. I was admiring it while praying you wouldn’t squish me." Anton smiled, still looking terrified. "And those gems are a lovely touch. Are they some kind of crystal?"
"Opal," Shale answered. "I thought the way they caught the light rather festive. The flesh creature making the corset insisted the whole thing be done in a rather putrid shade of pink. I insisted on squishing his head if he tried, so we compromised."
"The Commander really wanted to come to this party, herself, but between Amaranthine and Gwaren, she’s got her hands full," Sigrun added, finally choking back her laughter, as she leaned against Shale’s leg. "She had to distract the smith’s husband with ice custard and talk of a vein of veridium, to get that corset made, though. Herren just gets so shouty when Wade agrees to her weird ideas."
"Ice custard?" Cullen asked. "She’s sharing the ice custard? And I thought I was special!"
Sigrun held out her hand. "I’m guessing from the … er … from the theme of your outfit, that you’re a templar? And if you know the Commander’s ice custard, you must be Ser Cullen. I’m Sigrun. This is Shale. She talks about you." Sigrun’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
"She… does?" Cullen was already a nervous knot of tension without hearing that. Solona Amell. Talking about him. "Oh. Oh Maker. She didn’t tell you about that time in the First Enchanter’s office, did she?"
Anton raised an eyebrow. "If she has, do share."
"It was nothing like that!" Cullen sputtered, face turning shades. "No… closet shenanigans, if that’s what you’re thinking."
"That’s always what I’m thinking," Anton murmured, giving Cullen’s ass a pinch. Cullen squeaked, and Anton gave Sigrun a wink. "And he’s not just ‘Ser Cullen’. He’s Knight-Captain, you know." Anton beamed with pride. "Here to represent the Order."
"No. No, I’m not. Not in a corset, I’m not."
"It’s a very nice corset, Knight-Captain," Serendipity purred, stepping in to get a better look. "Fran does such excellent work, doesn’t she?"
Cullen’s face finally picked a shade of red and stuck with it. The flush went well with the red of the bottom of his skirt. "She… I, er… Well… Anton looks amazing, doesn’t he?"
"I do not understand why the squishy creatures squish themselves into these outfits. If they wish to be squished, I would do it for them, and much more effectively. They would not be partially squished." Shale was still looking for an excuse. The one had peed on her and the other hit her with a wooden sword! Unforgivable.
"The squishy creatures are more attractive to each other, partially squished," Serendipity explained, tactfully, patting Shale on one heavy arm. She’d done parties in Orlais. A disgruntled golem may have been one of the stranger things she’d encountered, but it was no more dangerous than an Orlesian noble family. "It’s a matter of shapes. You are much more solid, and I’m sure if you picked a different shape, you’d keep it. We can only change for a little while, with a bit of squishing and unsquishing."
"It’s a gross mating ritual," Sigrun clarified. "Surfacers do that."
Shale made another disgusted noise. "I have seen enough ‘gross mating rituals’ among the flesh creatures. Tediously messy. And loud."
Sigrun bit her lip against another snorting laugh. "I forget sometimes that you’ve spent more time with Zev than I have."
"It’s something I should like to forget, myself," Shale replied. "Among other things." She shot Anton and Cullen another baleful look. The ‘like being peed on and hit with sticks’ went unsaid but implied.
Anton bit back a groan. Shale wasn’t advancing on them anymore, but she still blocked their path back into the main hall. "You know, Shale," Anton said, dialling up his charm, "I am glad you came to my party. It gives me the chance to tell you from the bottom of my heart how deeply sorry I am." He pressed a hand to his bare chest for dramatic effect. "Is there any way I can make it up to you? Maybe hit Cullen with stick?"
Cullen stepped back to give him a scandalised look.
"Very kinky, Tony." Serendipity winked at Anton.
"Oh, if you’re hitting him with sticks, the Commander’s going to be so sorry she missed this!" Sigrun covered her mouth with one hand.
"I thought she liked me!" Cullen protested.
"Oh, she does…" The words were a bit muffled, but Sigrun’s eyes sparkled, as she struggled not to laugh.
Shale studied the two men. "It is proposing another gross mating ritual, isn’t it. Come, Sigrun, I wish to speak with the elf-construct, again." Shale looked entirely disgusted. "Let us go, before they become loud and messy, again."
Sigrun offered another wave, lips still pursed against a laugh, and followed Shale back into the Main Hall.
Cullen let out a relieved breath, his whole body seeming to deflate with his lungs. "Maker. Thought I was staring my death in the face again. She’s almost as frightening as Meredith."
Serendipity chuckled, smoothing out the corner of her skirts. "Then I suggest making sure Tony here doesn’t pee on her." She winked at Anton, who looked another kind of horrified.
"That’s…" Cullen glanced at Anton. "That’s not a talk we have to have, is it? Please do not pee on the Knight-Commander."
"I try not to pee on people. Things, but not people. How was I supposed to know she was a people?" Anton tugged at the front of his skirt, adjusting the overlap of the panels.
"It may be best to assume that if it’s shaped like a person, it’s probably a person. I hope you haven’t been anointing statues of Andraste, in your spare time. That’s going to be something to explain." Cullen sighed and took Anton’s face in his hands. "Some days, Anton, I look at you, and I understand anti-Fereldan prejudice. Am I marrying a dog? Is that it? Is this some demonic dream, and you’re actually a mabari? No, I think mabari are smart enough not to pee on golems."
Anton raised an eyebrow and barked.
There was a long pause. "No, Cullen, I’m not a damned dog. Smartass. And I’m not going to pee on your boss."
Shale found the elf-construct out in the gardens with his usual mage trio. They sat under the lime tree, next to the goat pen, skirts fanned out along the ground. The blond flesh creature was braiding branches into a makeshift crown, the tip of his tongue poking out through his teeth, while the rumbly flesh creature was snorting with laughter, one hand up to his face and the other threatening to spill a glass of cordial. The third mage sat between them, waiting for Anders to finish the crown.
Fenris looked up at Shale, a pained look on his face she could commiserate with.
"If this is another gross mating ritual," Shale sighed, "then I am trampling everything in this house."
"If I spend another five minutes in the company of drunken fools, I may assist you in that." Fenris handed Artemis’s leash to Cormac, as he stood up. "I desire a stronger drink."
"I could help it crush them," Shale offered. "A kindness to a fellow construct."
"Let us not crush anyone, just yet," Fenris said, diplomatically — far more diplomatically than he felt about much of anything, at this point in the evening.
Sigrun produced a mostly-full bottle of strawberry cordial from behind her back and offered it to Fenris. "I decided it was time to liberate some beverage options."
Fenris gave her a measuring look, his scowl lightening. He took the bottle from Sigrun, pausing to point one finger at her. "You. I like you."
"Is this another fleshling ritual of some sort?" Shale rumbled. "Dealing with drunken foolishness by getting drunk and foolish?"
Sigrun grinned and nodded. "You’ve met Oghren, haven’t you?" she asked wryly. "He’s perfected that ritual."
At this point, the moue looked carved onto Shale’s face. "It doesn’t need to remind me." To Fenris, she said, "The trampling of flesh creatures is an open offer. Though I might keep the rumbly mage as a pet. The leash is handy."
"You’ll have to get your own mage, I’m afraid. This one is mine. I would also prefer you not trample him, even if he is obnoxiously drunk." Fenris debated whether he would be able to protect Artemis, if the golem decided to go through with the trampling, and decided it was extremely unlikely.
Under the tree, Cormac laughed as his brother laced lime blossoms into the crown of sticks.
"We could put it on you," Anders said, "and you’d be the king of dicks."
Cormac laughed harder. "I think that position’s already filled by you and your flagpole."
"Technically, you’re the one filled by Anders and his flagpole," Artemis answered, words running together. He was drunk enough to be extremely proud of his wit. "And there’s another joke in there about positions…" He knelt in front of Cormac and set the crown on his head. He was about to sit back when he reached for the crown again, tilting it just a little to the left. Then again, rotating it just a bit clockwise.
"Artie. Artie. It’s a crown of twigs." Anders gently pulled Artemis’s hands away. "That’s as even as it’s going to look."
Shale watched the display and hissed. "This looks dreadfully familiar," she said. "If it starts climbing my shoulders, I will begin trampling."
"I don’t think you have to worry about your shoulders. He seems to have graduated to climbing slightly smaller things. If he starts climbing Anders, though, I may be willing to look the other way, while you trample," Fenris offered, taking a swig of cordial before handing the bottle back to Sigrun.
"I just never understood the appeal of Anders," Sigrun said. "He’s really freakishly tall, and to hear Nate talk — well, to hear Nate shout, drunkenly — that’s not the only monstrously large thing about him. Actually, I do know that, firsthand." She laughed. "I saluted his flagpole over breakfast, one morning, complete with flag. I guess he got tired of Nate talking about it, and decided to solve the whispers once and for all."
Fenris took the bottle back before Sigrun could have a drink. "For giving me that mental image," he said, grimacing through an even longer swig. It wasn’t the first time someone had intimated that Anders’s… staff ran on the large side, and he was just as uncomfortable thinking about it now. "A flag? Really?"
Sigrun’s grin split her face, and she took the bottle back. "Really."
"Is it tall?" Shale asked with a sniff of disinterest. "All you flesh creatures seem tiny to me. He is no less squishable."
"It’s tall," Fenris confirmed. "Even for a human."
"I think it should be a suggestion." Anders ran his thumbnails along Artemis’s palms, still holding his hands. "Maybe not with so much of an audience, but definitely a suggestion I look forward to observing the outcome of."
Artemis licked his lips and looked them both over, at the miles of skin on display in front of him. He could still feel Fenris from earlier, but that made the idea no less tempting. "Oh, it’s always a suggestion," he said. "Would be more than a suggestion right now if not for that audience." He shifted his knees so that his thigh muscles flexed under Cormac’s hand. Artie was just on the edge of drunk enough that he would have already forgotten that audience if Anders hadn’t reminded him.
Fenris watched the trio of mages over the lip of his — Sigrun’s — bottle while Shale ranted about pigeons. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could make an educated guess from the smirk on Anders’s face. Anders. The mage with the flagpole currently touching his mage’s hands.
Cormac leaned in a little closer, to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard. "Is that a fact? I bet you’re still all wet, inside. I bet I wouldn’t even need to use grease. I could just fuck you with your lover’s spunk for lube. And then, maybe… would you let me beg Fenris for you? Let me beg him to let Anders fuck you, too? To stretch you wide and empty himself into the lake of come inside you? Leave you fucked out and dripping down your thighs, until I lick you clean? Do you want your big brother to make you come again, licking that drippy mess off your trembling thighs, eating it out of your gaping, wet hole? I’ll fuck you with my tongue to get it all out of you, little brother. I know how important it is to get you clean again."
Anders made a small, strangled sound, letting go of one of Artie’s hands to tug at the bottom of his corset and the top of his loincloth. He wasn’t wearing nearly enough to be hearing things like that… to be imagining things like that.
Fenris handed the bottle back, suddenly. "I believe I need to put a stop to something, before it inspires any crushing, squishing, or trampling. Shale, I would like to continue this conversation, another time. I do not know how long you are in Kirkwall, but would it be acceptable for me to send you a letter, if I do not see you, before you go? My writing is poor, but you seem to have a particular insight my companions lack."
"If it will convince the rumbly flesh-creature to induce that vibration, again, the elf-construct is welcome to send me letters. I do not receive letters. It will be a pleasant change."
If things kept going the way they were, Fenris suspected that Shale would end up vibrating again before long. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gave Shale and Sigrun a parting smile and nod of his head.