The former Templar gazed up into the eyes of his beloved, blood quickening in his veins. “Corypheus, my lord, my love. I want to feel you explode inside of me, but how can I, a mere mortal, withstand the seed of a...of a god?”
“Do not fear, my noodly-haired darling,” soothed the magister, long, clawed fingers tenderly brushing Cullen’s stubbled jaw. “The matter is well in hand.”
With a flourish, he produced a long, girthy crystal of red lyrium, almost as big as Cullen’s forearm. “By inserting this into your wondrous anus, I will remake you into a form capable of receiving my...” Corypheus chuckled, “bounteous blessings.”
Cullen gasped twice. First at the idea of finally being ploughed by his magnificent magister, and then again as Corypheus unceremoniously rammed the makeshift dildo between his bare butt cheeks. It wasn’t a lack of familiarity that caused his shock; long, lonely nights at the Templar barracks had gifted him with great experience. Nor was it the size; dalliances during the Qun’ari occupation of Kirkwall had seen to that. It was the cold, unrelenting hardness of the crystal followed by burning pain as the magic blazed through him and drove him to his knees.
Towering above his sweetheart, Corypheus gazed down with an almost paternal affection. “Soon, my dear, I will be god-king of all Thedas. And you, my lyrium-snorting slut, shall be my queen.”