[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 181
Co-Conspirator: 
MaverikLoki
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anton Hawke ♂, Cullen ♂
Rating: M (L2 N3 S3 V0 D1)
Warnings: Wine, mirrors, and bad Orlesian novels
Notes: Cullen asks advice of Goatilda. Anton has some ideas involving mirrors.
"I just… I don't know what to do," Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair, fingers twisting in his curls. "I don't know what Meredith was thinking when she signed this order. A tower without Spirit Healers? What good does that do?" He blew out a sigh. "What do you think? Do you have any advice for me?"
Goatilda eyed the templar rubbing her ears. After a long moment, she answered with a decisive, "MAEH."
Cullen nodded, patting her nose with a bit of hay, which she promptly folded her lips around. "This is a fair point," said Cullen as Goatilda pulled the hay out of his hand and started to chew. At the very least, it was better feedback than he was used to from his recruits. "I'm glad we're having this talk."
Cullen didn't hear the door open behind him, but he did hear Anton's chuckle. He turned and offered his husband the bit of hay he'd just picked up. "Lunch?" he offered.
"Thank you, but I had hay for breakfast," Anton replied. He tipped his head at Goatilda. "New assistant?"
"I, er…" Cullen just shrugged, exhausted exasperation settling across his face. "When I can get better advice from a goat than I'm getting in the office, there's something distinctly wrong in the world, but that's where I've been. Months of this horseshit. Years of it." He sighed, pressing the ball of his thumb against the inner curve of his eye. "Don't say 'horseshit', Cullen. Yes, ser." He looked back up at Anton. "Some days, I wonder if it's worth it, and then I remember the lyrium. And then I remember what it would be like, if I weren't there. I want the circle to be a safe place for everyone in it, but… It's not. And I keep trying, and it's still not. And now, I find out that Meredith had the healers removed? I can't even find records of exactly what happened to them. Just… 'removed'. I'm about to go through the records of the Tranquil, again, because otherwise I think they might be dead. She's very fond of making people dead. As a warning."
"You're rambling," Anton pointed out, with an indulgent smile. "Come on, it's too hot out here. You'll melt your wits right out your ears, if you keep thinking so much. What if I get Cormac to freeze some of the wine from last night, and we go upstairs and drink wine, and get naked, and you tell me all your worries, and I'll lick them all away, hm? I'm probably better advice than Goatilda, at least."
"Oh, I don't know," Cullen teased, a smile easing the hard lines of his face. "Goatilda's advice might be on par with yours, but I'm willing to try it out." He tossed the hay at Goatilda's feet and wrapped an arm around Anton's waist. Anton certainly had a point, however. It was sweltering out here in the sun, and his tunic was soaked through with sweat even without the weight of his armour.
"Oh, you're willing, are you?" Anton drawled, the fake scowl given away by the curl of his lips. "Would you rather share the wine with Goatilda and have her lick it off?"
"Well, now that you mention it…" Cullen tapped his chin as though genuinely considering this, until Anton poked him in the side, prompting a laugh out of him.
Anton kissed Cullen's cheek and led him back out of the goat pen. "Don't worry, Goatilda. I'll bring him back not much worse for the wear."
Upstairs, Anton was all hands. Cullen couldn't keep track of him. One moment he was sipping slushed wine, and the next his hands were sliding down Cullen's legs, but there was the wine again. Cullen checked for Isabela, just to be sure, but this was all Anton. It may, however, have involved some sleight of hand and the vanity.
Anton's fingers loosened laces, sneaking squeezes between knots, and Cullen was left panting and groaning, just trying not to spill wine on the carpet. The iced wine had been a very good idea, Cullen decided, pressing the mug to his face. He looked up in time to see Anton crouch down to loosen his boots, and that was when he spotted the mirror. Anton's precious full-length mirror, that was angled directly at him.
"Anton, no." Cullen looked down at the top of Anton's head, trying to steady his grip on the mug of wine. "Not in front of the mirror."
"Why not? You should see how completely breathtaking you look, when I swallow your knob. You must turn every head in the Gallows, when you come in without your plate. And when I touch you, when I taste you, when I get to see you like none of them do…" Anton smiled up, looking just as dazzled as he tended to at the sight of Cullen. He'd married this man. Must've done something right.
Cullen cupped Anton's face, his expression softening at the adoration he saw in this man's eyes, adoration he still didn't think he deserved. "'Breathtaking' isn't exactly what I see when I look at myself," he said wryly. "When I look at you, however…" Cullen knelt in front of Anton, palm moulding to his husband's cheek as he kissed him sweetly, tasting the wine on his lips.
Even here, half hidden behind Anton, the mirror distracted Cullen. He avoided looking at it, but it was still there in the periphery of his vision. "Just… could we maybe do this elsewhere?" Cullen asked. "How would you feel watching yourself in the mirror?"
"You say that like you think I haven't done it," Anton replied with an impish smirk, hands resting on Cullen's hips and pulling Cullen into him. His arms looped around Cullen's waist.
"That's… huh. I suppose that was my mistake." And that was putting all sorts of terrible thoughts in Cullen's head.
"How would you feel watching me in the mirror?" Anton asked, fingers sliding up under Cullen's shirt. "We're almost the same height. I know you can see over my shoulder."
And that was something Cullen hadn't quite gotten to, but now that Anton had said it… He could feel his cheeks flush at the thought of Anton, who he knew would put on an act that would put any stripper at the Rose to shame — he'd seen enough of them at the wedding to be pretty sure of that — standing in front of the mirror, presenting every side of himself to Cullen's inspection. "That… This is not leverage, Anton. If you do this, it doesn't mean I'm doing it."
Anton's eyebrows arced up. "Well, no. If I do this, it will be because I think it's a fantastic idea, and I'm gorgeous. And I love the idea of you getting a good look at me, of me getting a good look at me — you know, if you want, we could do this in front of the window, and then the neighbours could watch, too. Nosey bastards. Be good for them to get a faceful of Hawke, the way they watch the house."
"No. Absolutely not the window. Maker, Anton, how did I end up married to an exhibitionist? You're lucky you're cute." Cullen leaned in and kissed Anton's neck. "No neighbours. … … Yes to the mirror. For you."
"For me," Anton repeated with a soft chuckle. "Except I think it will be for you, too," he added in Cullen's ear, licking Cullen's earlobe into his mouth.
"As long as it's not for the neighbours," Cullen replied with a breathless laugh. He finally set his wine on the floor, sliding it out of reach so they didn't knock it over. With fingers still chilled from the wine, Cullen set to work on Anton's clothes, slipping off each article of clothing tenderly, almost reverently, in between kisses. Anton toed off his boots, the trousers Cullen pushed down to his knees, and soon they were both naked, kneeling on the floor.
Cullen chanced a peek at the mirror. Avoiding his own reflection was easy enough when he had such an inspiring view of Anton's ass, the lean line of his back. He watched his hands trace those lines in the mirror, noted the contrast in skintone and the way Anton shifted under his touch. This man was unfairly beautiful from every angle.
Anton got in the way of that amazing view, just long enough to pull Cullen into a dizzying kiss, and then he stood. "Think we can do this without knocking over the mirror?" he asked, with a teasing smile. "I mean, I know I can, but you… You're some burly Fereldan savage. Too many solid thrusts, and I might need a new mirror."
"Maker, Anton…" Cullen dragged a hand down his face. "Is this something I should actually be worried about?"
"Nah, the mirror's survived rougher things than you." Anton reached down and tugged Cullen to his feet.
"I don't know. I rather liked the view from the floor," Cullen joked, still nervous about this idea, the splash of pink creeping down across his shoulders as he eyed the frame of the mirror over Anton's shoulder.
"View's about to get better," Anton said, copping a quick feel before he turned around and grabbed two carven mountain cats on the frame of the mirror. He looked at himself admiringly before looking over his shoulder at Cullen, teasing grin firmly fixed. "Come on, Ser Templar, show me the might of your sword."
Cullen let out a sound between a laugh and a groan. "Oh, is it my sword today?" he teased, the pink spreading further, down along his chest, as he approached. "Not my 'meatpole'?"
"Would you prefer 'meatpole', Captain?" Anton subtly adjusted his stance, the movement of his ass drawing Cullen's attention. "Perhaps your 'lusty man-spear'? Your 'turgid rod of delights'?"
Cullen choked out another pained laugh, wrapping his arms around Anton's waist and resting his head on his husband's shoulder. "Maker, that's terrible. Please don't ever try to seduce me with the word 'turgid' again."
"Try? Please." Anton arched back into Cullen, grinding back into his 'turgid rod'. "It seems to be working so far."
"You are terrible," Cullen said fondly, pressing a kiss to the skin just in front of his face. He caught Anton's eyes in the mirror and smiled.
