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Invitation to a Game

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“And then he had the audacity to tell me that my cloak wasn’t even in season. My cloak! In seaso- Cullen, are you even listening?” He nudged the Commander who was staring out across the ramparts, mouth hung half open.

 Cullen’s attention snapped back to him. “What? Oh…. the Comte De Casperge… his tights….”

 “That was three insults ago, Cullen. What are you staring at, you look positively Ferelden. By which I mean…. Ferelden. It’s not that positive a thing.” Pleased with his insult, he was further put out by the lack of response from Cullen, and followed his gaze instead. “Oh. Him. The Nevarran Knight-Commander. Dull brute.”

 Cullen knew without a shadow of a doubt that the blush hadn’t missed an inch of skin. “N-not that dull, really. Interesting, actually.”

 Dorian levelled his least impressed look at Cullen. “Is this some Templar hero worship? It certainly can’t be infatuation. He’s handsome, sure. Quite… large. Probably all over, if you know what I mean. But he’s so….”

 “Commanding,” Cullen barely whispered. He cleared his throat and took Dorian’s wrist. “Let’s go….uh. Let’s go. Come on.”

 Dorian allowed himself to be pulled along, huffing all the way. Whatever had gotten into Cullen was frustrating, but also wonderful. He was making physical contact in public and nobody would even be able to understand how much it meant to the Tevinter. Everyone was happy, Cullen with his secrets, Dorian with his needs. He was eventually deposited at the chess table in its quiet, partially hidden corner of the Courtyard.

 “Cullen, are you alright? Are you afraid of him? Do you need me to go-”

 “Dorian,” Cullen laughed, “it’s really nothing.”

 Sometimes, Dorian didn’t even have to speak, he was more than expressive enough. However, he valued the sound of his voice, so with the eyebrow that easily questioned the Commander, he said, “It’s not nothing. You stood dumbstruck and then scattered… why are you shifting like th-” He looked under the table, reappearing with his jaw dropped and eyes big. “Commander!” He said too loudly. Cullen kicked him to shut him up. “Commander,” Dorian whispered, “I believe the, uh, Templar in you is trying to stand to attention for your superior.”

 There was no time for Dorian to be too delighted with what he thought was incredible wit, as Cullen was suddenly standing to actual attention. And quickly sitting back down before his shame could be spotted.

 “Commander Cullen,” Zhukov grinned. “Good to see you again. And in such good-” His eyes took Cullen in, completely, “-form.” He looked down, calmly, to the mage who had just cleared his throat. He gave him a nod, and his own analysing gaze, though far less sexual tension and more Templar Versus Mage tension. Still not being entirely used to Templars treating him in such a way, Dorian simply stared back.

 “Ah. Knight-Commander, Zhukov, please, allow me to introduce Ser Dorian Pavus, of Tevinter.”

 “Of course he is,” The Knight Commander smiled, slowly.

 For some reason, the danger of the situation did not help Cullen’s arousal. It only added to it.

 “And valued member of the Inquisition,” he warned.

 The smile was turned back to Cullen, friendly now, and he nodded to the board. “Didn’t know you played. Perhaps you’ll treat me to a game tonight? Your quarters?”

 Dorian’s glare was burning a hole in Cullen but he composed himself enough to say, “Actually… I have a regular chess partner these days.”

 He watched Zhukov’s inner workings. Ex-Templar. Committed to a Tevinter Mage? The man laughed, a great booming sound, and slapped Cullen on the back. “Good. I shall see you both there, in that case.”

 Dorian opened his mouth to protest and Cullen kicked him under the table and shook his head as the Knight Captain left. “You fucked him?” he hissed.

 Cullen, head in hands, tried to shake it. “I’m not sure what I did. Mostly I just…. Laid back and…. He did the rest.”

 Dorian, scowling, crossed his arms. “Is he big?”

 “Looks it, but… I wasn’t…. On that end.”

 Cullen wondered if all Tevinter people were like Dorian, constantly battling insecurity and pride and, of course, that love of scandal they shared with Orlais. The mage sat forwards. “You mean…. He just rode you?”

 Looking away, Cullen pointed out that he wasn’t the one who’d ridden the Bull.

 “This again?” Dorian sighed.

 “He’s just so… big,” Cullen huffed, hands estimating what he believed the size of Bull’s cock to be.

 Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes. He is. The actual fucking is barely worth the task of prepping, as I told you. Look, if I was caught down an empty corridor, horny as an Emperor, you’re the one I’d want to see approaching me with a stiffy and some oils.”

 “Stiffy,” Cullen snorted. “Maker, Dorian.”

 “Your cock is magnificent. How’s that?” the Mage smiled.

 “Better.” Cullen was playfully sulking now, a trick he’d learnt from Dorian to get himself more praise.

 “I can fit it in my mouth, it completes me when it’s inside me, and Maker knows how I love the weight of it in my hand. How’s that erection of yours?”

 “Not as impossible as you.”



It was decided, over the game, to agree to Zhukov’s invitation. Though Cullen did point out that the argument of never likely seeing the man again had already failed him once. But Dorian was nothing if not inquisitive and at least willing to try.

 Which is how they found themselves waiting, at sunset, in Cullen’s office, chatting nervously.

 They both jumped when the door opened and, grinning, the Knight-Commander clapped his hands together with a, “Good. Good.”

 “Lubrication,” Cullen smiled awkwardly, holding up a glass.

 Zhukov took it with his thanks and a smile, holding it up to them. They clinked glasses, drank, and Cullen locked the door as Zhukov took the lead up the ladder. By the time Cullen had climbed it himself, Zhukov was already half undressed, Dorian watching him, curiously, arms folded.

 “You’ll want to get those off,” Zhukov nodded to him. “Unless you’re waiting for help? That what you expect of Templars in Tevinter?”

 Cullen moved between them and shut Dorian up with a kiss, undressing him and them himself.

 Not wearing even a scrap of insecurity, Zhukov observed them both, thoughtfully, hands on hips. He nodded to himself after a while and pointed to Dorian. “You. On the bed, on your back. Prepare him.” He threw the vial of oil once he’d slicked up his own fingers and watched as Cullen climbed onto the bed and spread his legs for his lover. The lover who kept throwing curious, pouting glances at the Knight Commander who was preparing himself. It turned into an outright jealous scowl as Zhukov put a knee on the bed and leant in to inspect Cullen’s asshole, giving his cheeks a little slap.

 “Right, looks like we’re ready.” He tugged Dorian’s dick with his warm, oiled fingers, until he was perfectly rigid, and then straddled him, staring him dead in the eyes as he took him slowly and completely in. He rotated his hips a little and, satisfied with the chirp he got from Dorian, tugged Cullen down in front of him, holding him in his lap as he stretched him open.

 Cullen made a sound that might have been intended as words at the start. Oh how he should have been more upfront before. Or even whining and wheedling and begging for this dick. Like the rest of Zhukov it was strong, upright, and broad. And it took what it wanted.

 Looking down with a half smile, half moan, his eyes met Dorian’s, whose were wide with wonder, like his mouth. An awkward shift and Cullen was able to pull him into a kiss. “I’m yours,” he whispered, reassuringly. Dorian captured his lips again, sucked, nipped, and let him go as Zhukov rocked them both. The bed was creaking, and shifting noisily, accompanied by the moans of three men, the slap of skin and sweat and then….

 Something. Cullen recognised it, smugly, as Dorian’s mother tongue. He’d heard it before, brought Dorian to that place where he couldn’t concentrate hard enough to speak the Common tongue. When he went into himself so completely, Cullen wrapped around him. Only this time, it wasn’t Cullen. Zhukov was taking him in and fucking Cullen in turn. And Zhukov, unlike Cullen, was able to respond.

 Dorian’s eyes shot open at hearing his own language uttered back to him, flushed, closed his eyes, pressing his head back into the pillow and responding. Cullen watched, aroused and horrified and jealous. He cleared his throat.

 “Haven't forgotten you, you dirty dog,” came Zhukov's breath against his ear. It tightened his guts and made him shudder. “Don’t you understand what he’s saying? What he’s begging for?” The Nevarran teased. “You ought to treat your whores better. You’ve got a filthy one here.”

 Cullen wanted to be offended at the name calling, but Maker…. It made him hurt with want. He grabbed Dorian’s hand and held it to himself, crying out as he felt the electricity through the fingertips. Behind him, Zhukov let out a surprised grunt. Feeling less inadequate, Cullen smiled, knowing full well the feel of Dorian’s little tricks, hitting straight to spot that so easily undid him. Zhukov was shuddering, rutting, growling as he took from them both. A hand reached up around Cullen’s neck as he came inside him with a triumphant shout. He rode it out, holding the base of Cullen’s cock tightly with the other hand until he lifted him free. Zhukov wriggled back, moving a hand firmly on Cullen’s back, the other holding Dorian’s erection, until he deposited Cullen, embarrassingly easily, upon it. Cullen sunk straight down, Dorian hitting hard into him, both of them making surprised sounds.

 “Oh fuck,” Cullen whined. Dorian pulled him down, kissing him, fucking him, hand working him until his own seed mingled with Zhukov's and, feeling dirty, and used, and so full of delicious shame, Cullen came. They were kissing lazily, catching their breaths, when Zhukov spoke. Loud, as usual, it made them jump. He came closer, dressed now, and stroked Cullen’s hair, tugging his head back enough to kiss him, before taking Dorian’s hand and kissing that with a wink.

 “Well then. Thanks for that.”

 Dorian shot up, knocking Cullen out of his lap. “Is that it? Won’t we… see you again?”

 “My tour of the south is done and I hope never to suffer it again,” Zhukov laughed, shaking his head. “But if you’re ever in Nevarra, or we find ourselves in Tevinter… perhaps there’ll be time for a game. Good evening,” he nodded, heading down the stairs. “I’ll let myself out,” he called up.

They listened to the door close before breaking into giggles.