asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-03-29 05:37 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.3
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List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Mindshift 9/18

(Anonymous) 2011-06-08 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)
He let Malik hold the ragdoll as he spoke. Desmond recounted everything he could about his mission, the century he had come from and the Animus, and his journey here.

“You are useless: you can’t remember much.”

Desmond scratched his head. “I don’t know why, though. I’ve only been here a week and a half. I shouldn’t have forgotten the simple things about my world. The only thing I haven’t struggled to remember is how to shoot.”

“Shoot?”

“A gun. Here.”

He took out the gun and explained how it worked, leaving Malik studying it closely. He told him about how he had forgotten how to turn on the Iphone, and they spent well into the night discussing the future. The more they talked, the more Desmond remembered, but it was all fleeting—a brief thought, vanishing the same second he remembered it. Malik dispatched a messenger to inform his Granddad he would be gone all night. At midnight, Malik stretched.

“It sounds like your forgetfulness is not because of you, but because of the Apple. I am sure it has done stranger things, but to erase your memory?”

He saw Malik frown, and he shrugged. “I can’t entirely say it’s a bad thing. I’m more at home here than in the future, and I’ve stopped seeing things.”

“You’re talk of the future is fascinating, but it will do us no good if we cannot think.”

He raised an eyebrow when Malik yawned.

“I am tired, and I need to process this information. I will lend you my room to sleep in, so that if an assassin comes in, I will get to him before he to you. Tomorrow, you will tell me more about the Bleeding Effect after breakfast.”

Desmond nodded, feeling tired when Malik yawned again.

“If you do not mind, may I hold the doll I made for Kadar—”

“Sure, my first question to him was if it was for you, but he shook his head ‘no.’ I think he knew it would buy me shaky security.”

Malik smiled softly as he gazed at it, and Desmond thought he looked absolutely beautiful in the lantern light.

“Thank you,” Malik whispered, closing his fist lightly around the tiny scrap of cloth.

Desmond inhaled sharply when a watery-eyed smile was turned his way.

“It has been so long since I thought about him for fear of my hatred returning. The new Altair does not deserve the same hatred as the old one.”

Desmond offered a soft smile. “I’m glad I could bring it to you. He was a cool kid from the memories I lived.”

Malik rose, looking back at the doll. “He was a good young man. I miss him terribly.”

He followed Malik to his private chambers, where they settled down on the small bed to sleep. He stripped from the armor and the layers of clothing.

“How do they do it?” he muttered.

“Speak up, idiot.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve been called in while. How do the Templars do their work in these uniforms?”

He shook himself to cool down after peeling off the last layer. He was still sweating slightly, and the moving air felt good on his skin.

“There is a reason why they do not move when they ‘work.’”

He took the offered towel from Malik and wiped down with a bowl of water. “Thanks, dude.”

“Dude?”

“Uh… means ‘friend,’ ‘brother,’ or something like that.”

He turned to see Malik lying in his underclothes on the mat. Whatever deity existed had surely lost an angel—of course, he also said that about the blonde woman back home.

“Ah, yes, that must be twenty-first century terminology.”

Desmond smirked, and Malik frowned. The younger man stepped back slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You look like that idiot Grand Master when you smirk. Smile. You look better that way.”

Desmond was surprised as he settled beside Malik. “Really?”

Malik yawned, and he stretched out beside him in his underpants. Before he could get an answer, he was out cold. He woke at noon the next morning, dressing quickly and walking out.

“You must have worked your brain too much yesterday.”

“I agree,” Desmond said, stretching.

When he looked back at the man after working the sleep from his muscles—which were thanking him for the relaxed training regime—he saw Malik staring at him, scrutinizing him.

“Yeah?”

“You do not react to my sarcasm and criticism. Even Altair, while it is not anger, does respond, but you agree to it.”

Desmond shrugged. “I’m used to it. I get it all the time from glasses man.”