Seven Deadly Sins

Fandom : Fate
Rating : M (for sex and language)
Pairing : Cú ChulainnXDiarmuid (my guilty pleasure)
Genre : Romance, Humor
Characters : Cú Chulainn, Diarmuid
Preview : Examine the affection of the two Irish Lancers under the theme of Seven Deadly Sins.


Diarmuid prides in his skills in both battlefield and in bed. While the former matter remains unproven as the two Lancers never miss a chance to challenge each other to a dual and neither has yet to claim an absolute victory, the latter has been settled on a humid summer afternoon. With one single breathless kiss that leads to a rather long and intimate experience afterwards, the Hound of Ulster proves his superiority over the Knight of Fianna. Diarmuid admits his defeat in a mix of bliss and sourness. Cú Chulainn is quick to console his bruised ego with another round, another climax. The Knight of Fianna does not really mind; the night is still young after all.


Diarmuid struggles to get himself out of the warm blanket; the wintry morning air is chilling against his skin. It is actually a tricky task, to untangle himself from the lean yet strong limbs of his partner without disturbing his peaceful sleep; Cú Chulainn has a habit of wrapping his limbs around his lover’s body, sometimes a little too tightly that Diarmuid feels numb the next morning. When it is all done, Diarmuid takes a moment to look at his partner’s face, which emits a boyish charm, and smiles. In this severe weather, he is tempted to get back into the comforting warmth and spends the rest of the day snuggling up to his favorite hound. However, someone has to prepare breakfast.


Never before has Diarmuid felt the sharp sting of what he could only decipher as ‘jealousy’. Nevertheless, he is certain he is tormented by one right at the moment. Too familiar with Cú Chulainn’s notoriety with the opposite sex, Diarmuid knows he cannot possibly be the first to be in the hound’s bed and it is silly of him to get jealous of Cú Chulainn’s past, yet he cannot help but be pricked by its thorn. How easy it is for Cú Chulainn to see through the reason of his sulking. The Hound of Ulster just laughs. “What’s so funny ?”, he asks in an irritated tone, the tone he has yet used to talk to his hound before. Cú Chulainn, after a fit of laughters, pulls Diarmuid’s face close to his roughly. A kiss he expects but a kiss he does not get; instead, his sensitive ear lobe is tickled with the other Lancer’s breath as he whispers:”You’re the first and the last man I would kiss and do all sorts of thing with.”

Immediately Cú Chulainn proves his words.

Before his rational thoughts are shut off with immense pleasure, Diarmuid has just enough time to realize the pricking thorn no longer troubles his heart.


For a long time, he has been thinking about Cú Chulainn. At first, it was no more than a pure admiration for a warrior whose skills and caliber impeccably match his own. Then, something gradually grows to take its place; something aching, something scorching, something that leaves a trail of throbbing pain in him whenever his thought directs to the Son of Light. He won’t say he stops admiring his fellow Irish Lancer; it’s only that his admiration pales in comparison with the new emotion whose source seems a perfect blur to his logical thinking. If he has to define it, ‘lust’ is the only thing that comes to his mind. While he can’t figure out its origin, he’s constantly torn between its urge and his voice of sense which always shout at him that it’s never right to feel this way toward Cú Chulainn. His heart fills with shame as he realizes he desperately yearns for Cú Chulainn. With all the honor and agony of a noble knight, Diarmuid knows he must suppress this outrageous feeling by trying to avoid the other Lancer. Sparring becomes scarce and before, the Hound of Ulster starts to question Diarmuid’s unusual behaviors. Their confrontation ends shortly with the Hound of Ulster, who isn’t able to hold back his rage when Diarmuid keeps beating around the bush, forcefully pins the other Lancer against the hard, cold wall. With their finely sculpted bodies pressing so close against each other, the tension finally reaches its peak. One thing leads to another and the next thing they know is their laying in each other’s arms, naked, spent, and content like they have never been in a thousand years.


As their relationship progresses, Diarmuid discovers particular traits of the other Lancer. One of which is a remarkable voracity. Whenever they’re by themselves, one slightest contact, a soft brush of skin, a small suggestion, is enough to get them into the mood. Location doesn’t matter, on the bed, on the couch, in the kitchen, against the wall; as long as there is a flat surface, they are satisfied. Each time they finish, snuggling against each other’s bare body, the Hound of Ulster will look at his partner’s face and flashes his usual triumphant grin.

“You’re just as voracious as me.”

Diarmuid remains silent.


Diarmuid rarely has a chance to witness the wrath of Cú Chulainn and neither does he wish to see the Son of Light in rage. Nevertheless, when he stumbled upon an opportunity to see a furious Cú Chulainn, he was presented with a sharp chill of fright. His eyes, two blazing embers; his canine as sharp as a beast’s and monstrous, pulsating veins marred his handsome face. Diarmuid was not afraid of Cú Chulainn’s sinister appearance; he was more than familiar with the other Lancer’s legend. He ws terrified by what the Hound of Ulster might do Diarmuid’s Master. One second too late and Kayneth would have ended up a gory, unrecognizable mess. It was sheer luck that Diarmuid stopped him in time.

“Shame him with your shitty arrogance again and I’ll purge your tiny little heart from your chest and feed it to dogs.”, snarled the Hound of Ulster as he dematerialized his cursed spear.

Kayneth better knows Cú Chulainn meant every word of his.


“You don’t have to do this !”, Cú Chulainn protests but Diarmuid firmly proclaims that he wants to do something special for his partner. His strong persistence wins Cú Chulainn over and the Hound of Ulster finally agrees Diarmuid to pleasure him with his mouth. One mere contact with the warm, wet and smooth texture of the inside of Diarmuid’s mouth is enough to eliminate his ability of rational thinking. To hell if he says he is an amateur, is his last coherent thought before his mind is swept away with intense pleasure provided with the skillfulness of Diarmuid’s tongue. A bucking of his slender hip informs Diarmuid that he is about to climax yet the First Knight of Fianna, too focus on his task at hand, seems not to get the signal. Eventually, Cú Chulainn comes, spilling his essence into Diarmuid’s mouth; the latter doesn’t mind as he swallows to the last drop with greed, which startles even Cú Chulainn. Smiling, Diarmuid exults at his hidden agenda satisfied. He did have an ulterior motive for pleasuring Cú Chulainn after all, that is to quench his own insatiable need to taste his lover.

Never would Cú Chulainn know of the First Knight of Fianna’s greed.

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