[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 182
Co-Conspirator: 
MaverikLoki
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anton Hawke ♂, Cullen ♂
Rating: E (L2Â N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: Ridiculous smut, completely ridiculous smut, put down your drink
Notes: The Knight-Captain takes on the Ass-Bandit. A duel of meatswords begins in earnest.
Anton stretched and shifted as Cullen's hands wandered his skin, always putting those hands at the best angle, making it terribly clear exactly what he thought of being touched. He watched Cullen's eyes in the mirror, waited until he caught Cullen looking at his face, again, that blush still so obvious, even over his shoulder. "Do you want me to beg for it, Knight-Captain? To plead with you to put your virile rod of manly delights inside me?" Anton wiggled his bottom against his husband, trying to keep the burgeoning giggles behind his lips, without breaking into a ridiculous smile.
Resting his forehead on Anton's shoulder, Cullen snorted. Sometimes, he almost missed the days when they could get through a night without a reference to those terrible books, but… those terrible books really were what brought them together. Right down to Anton's performance at the wedding, and his own decisions about their reckless romantic holiday, right after. Still, any hope of the flush on his cheeks fading was dashed in that moment, and he thought if Anton kept on like this, he'd be discovering if his toenails could blush. He hadn't been paying attention any of the previous times he might've had the opportunity, and he might not be paying attention this time, either.
"Cry out for it, knave!" he demanded, resting his chin on Anton's shoulder, and dropping one hand to cup Anton's balls. "Instruct me in the depths of your depraved desires!" He was never going to get rid of this blush. His face would be dyed beet-red for eternity.
Cullen could feel Anton shaking with suppressed laughter, and in the mirror, his lips pursed and his eyes glittered. "Oh, Captain!" Anton said in a syrupy groan. "Ravish me! I yearn to feel your mighty man noodle deep inside me!"
A wheezing laugh punched out of Cullen, and he clung to Anton's shoulders to stay upright. "'Mighty man noodle'. I don't remember that one being in any of my books!"
"You should read some of Isabela's books, some time," Anton replied. "She'll add some new phrases to your vocabulary."
Of course, the mention of Isabela's writing brought to mind that glorious filth featuring Anton and the Arishok, and there was no way Cullen's blush was going to fade any time soon. He could see the rest of his chilled wine out of the corner of his eye, and he considered grabbing it, pressing it to his heated cheeks to see if it would help.
Anton grinned. "Or would you prefer 'turgid man noodle'?"
Cullen lunged for Anton's wine, instead, as he spotted it on the vanity, returning as quickly as he'd leaned back to press the frosty mug to the inner curve of Anton's hip. "What did I tell you about 'turgid'?" he growled, eyes wide and cheeks bright red, as Anton squealed and squirmed in his arms, cackling like a fool.
"Oh, Maker — Maker — Cullen, oh, shit that's cold! What—!" Anton cackled and sputtered, trying to twist away from the iced wine against his hip, but only succeeded in knocking his knob against the cup, which set off a whole other round of squealing.
Finally, Cullen moved the wine, to take a sip of it, before he set it back on the vanity, dipping his fingertips in it, so he could paint cold lines on Anton's chest. The Tevinter 'property' mark was simple enough and small enough to get through with so little wine, and he grinned over Anton's shoulder. "You're mine now, knave. Perhaps your depraved pleadings would win you mercy from someone, but I am a very serious man. Devoted to my work." He flicked Anton's nipple with his freezing fingers.
Anton let out a high-pitched squeak, eyes wide and round in his reflection, jumping under Cullen's touch. "Oh, please, Captain!" he pleaded. "Have mercy on your captive!"
"Mercy?" Cullen growled against Anton's neck, frozen fingers tracing down his belly, feeling the muscles bunch. "Why should I show you mercy, knave?" His fingers played over Anton's knob. "Would you have shown me such mercy, hmm?" He punctuated this question with a bite at the juncture of Anton's shoulder and neck.
"Please, Ser Templar!" Anton gasped, body squirming. "Allow me to atone for my transgressions!" His knuckles were white around the mirror's frame.
"Atone?" Cullen purred. "Do tell me how you plan to do so."
"I'm ever so good at polishing things." Anton's eyes caught Cullen's in the glass. "Maybe your knob needs a new shine, ser? I'm extra good with knobs." He bit his tongue, not to laugh, when Cullen pinched just above his hip.
"A champion knob-polisher, hmm? I might have some use for you, but not enough to free you on the basis of such a flimsy offer." Cullen nibbled at the side of Anton's neck and tried to keep his mind on those ridiculous novels and off what went on in the Gallows when he wasn't looking. "Surely you must have something more fitting."
"Oh, well," Anton purred, grinding back against Cullen. "If it's fitting you're looking for, you're welcome to check me for a perfect fit. I'm told I have the very finest and best-fit bottom, this side of Rivain. Of course, the other side of Rivain is mostly water, so unless you've a fondness for the fit of fish…" He grinned.
"Anton…" Cullen wheezed, resting his forehead on Anton's shoulder, before pulling himself together. "Have I captured the notorious Ass-Bandit, then? The thief who looks good going, but looks better coming again and again?" He stifled a giggle against Anton's neck.
Anton had to bite his lip against a laugh, a snicker still bubbling up his throat.
"Or perhaps I have let you capture me, good Ser," Anton purred, composing himself, his smile coy in the mirror. "I have heard legends of the good Captain's skill with a sword. Never bested in a duel, or so I've heard, and I had to see for myself how well you wielded your weapon." He rubbed back against Cullen's knob in an obvious reference. "So what do you say, Captain? Do you accept my challenge for a duel? I would throw a gauntlet, but both of mine are already on the floor, along with my trousers."
"Ah, but I think throwing your trousers would be a more apt challenge, anyway," Cullen replied. "But I accept your challenge, knave. I look forward to putting you in your place, Oh Ass-Bandit!"
"Mmm, more like putting you in my place," Anton choked out, in something that might have been a purr, if he'd been able to completely suppress the laugh behind it. "You know what they say about those who come to plunder, but are plundered for come."
"Maker's breath, Anton," Cullen cackled against the back of his husband's neck. "Where did you leave the oil, you glorious idiot?"
"Table on the window side. It's right next to the orange syrup you love so much. And please don't mix up the bottles. That would be really terrible for both of us, but mostly me." Anton pushed off the mirror and stood up, as Cullen went to get the oil. He grabbed the wine and took a few long swallows, letting the chill sink in. "Andraste's tits, but it's nice having a mage in the family," he groaned, taking one more gulp, before pressing the mug to Cullen's chest as he returned.
"'A mage' says the Ass-Bandit," Cullen replied, voice rising in pitch at the press of cold against his skin. "It's nice having one mage in the family but less nice having more than that?"
"You've met my family," Anton said wryly. "You are my family. You know the answer to that."
"I suppose I do," Cullen murmured, leaning in to press a kiss just behind Anton's ear. "But I believe a challenge was issued!" His tone changed, settled back into a theatrical cadence as he brandished the bottle of oil over Anton's shoulder.
"Time for you to draw your sword, Captain," Anton purred.
"Draw it or sheathe it, Ass-Bandit?" Cullen replied, unable to quite bite back his laughter.
Anton smacked Cullen with the mug of wine one more time, as he ducked under Cullen's arm to set it back on the vanity. He returned swiftly to his place before the mirror, hands back on the frame. "Well, I'm hoping you'll do both of those things, many times, in rapid succession, Captain," he teased.
"Perhaps I won't begin with my sword. It might be best to test my target, first — to see if bringing my sword into this is even necessary," Cullen teased, setting the bottle beside Anton's foot and rising to catch Anton's eye in the mirror, just as he plunged one slick finger in. Anton arched, mouth opening around a gasp, as his hips tilted up, and Cullen watched it all happen. He could see the appeal of this, as long as Anton was the one on display. He was already a little too familiar with his own body, after — but he wasn't thinking about that. Easing another finger in, he stroked Anton's insides, caressing just as gently and intently as he'd touch any other part of Anton. "A sword might be overkill," he murmured, dabbing the first drop from the tip of Anton's knob, with a finger of his free hand, and raising it to Anton's lips.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll need to bring your blade to bear before this is over," Anton replied, voice a bit breathy now. "Though I love a man who knows how to wield more subtle weapons." Anton wrapped his tongue around Cullen's finger, slipping it into his mouth and moaning shamelessly around it. He watched himself in the mirror, eyes on the point of contact between Cullen's finger and his lips.
"Looks like I'll be doing the plundering tonight, knave," Cullen said in his ear, crooking his fingers in Anton's ass and feeling Anton gasp around the finger in his mouth. Cullen pet Anton's tongue and slowly pulled that finger free to trace over Anton's lips, watching his husband's face in the mirror all the while. Yes, he could see the appeal in this, but then, he found almost everything about Anton appealing.
"Will you, Captain? Will you sink to my level, then? Plundering comely asses?" Anton pressed a kiss to Cullen's finger before nipping at the tip.
Cullen jerked his finger out of Anton's mouth and flicked him in the nose with it. "I am entirely sure there's a joke about come that you're expecting me to make, here."
Anton eyed Cullen expectantly, in the glass.
Cullen sighed. "Yes, well, it'll certainly be comely by the time I'm through plundering it." His hand drifted downward, teasing one and then the other of Anton's nipples.
"Come-filled, if nothing else." Anton grinned and wriggled, knob bobbing obviously in the reflection.
"Already you raise your sword to me!" Cullen gasped, melodramatically, parting his fingers as he drew them out. "Perhaps it is time for me to sheathe my mighty sword in you, and put an end to this mockery!"
"Maker protect me!" Anton said just as dramatically.
"The Maker does not protect the wicked, Ass-Bandit!" Cullen declaimed. "And you are the most wicked man I have ever met." He pressed his knob against Anton's entrance, watching Anton bite his lip and tilt his hips back in the mirror. "Do you yield, knave?"
"Why should I yield now, Captain?" Anton asked, his smirk every bit as wicked as Cullen had expected. "The duel has barely begun!"
