asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Entry tags:

assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.

There are no request in this part of the meme.

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Writer!anon here, glad you are liking it, OP and others!

Hoping to have something more to post up a little later, but the world must occasionally stop for football. ~_^

I instantly snapped my head back forward, looking down at the half-cleaned drawing from earlier in class. I could feel my cheeks heat again, and I couldn't get that look on my history teacher's face out of my head. It was... his eyes were... and pink cheeks... and...

I shifted my weight a little and heard a sharp intake of air from behind me. I whipped my head towards the sound, only to see Mr. Hastings drop his eyes back down to the papers on his desk. He was checking me out! Holy shit. I was getting checked out by the history teacher with the stick up his ass. I returned to scrubbing a little harder; at least I was almost done cleaning the desk.

“So, uh, I'm not keeping you from a hot date tonight, am I?” I asked, going to my usual way of talking through discomfort.

“Yes, Desmond, I have a date with a microwave dinner and a hot cup of tea. The absolute pinnacle of excitement.”

“Oh.”

It was the way he kept saying my name like that. It was... well, if I was being honest with myself, it was making my goddamn pants pretty uncomfortable. I sighed, going back to scrubbing. However, I could still hear Mr. Hastings breathing behind me, and it wasn't helping when it came to willing my erection away.

“There's no Mrs. Hastings?” I asked, hoping that hearing the man was happily married would get my hormones to take a hike.

“No. “ Wow, did he answer that one quickly. “And if you insist upon continuing this mindless prattle, I'm going to add 'I will not make my instructor gag me.' to your list of things to write on the board.”

Did he just...? Oh my god. Oh my god. I knew my eyes were wide when I looked back at Mr. Hastings again, and that look what back in his eyes. Did it ever leave? Fuck me.

“Excuse me?”

Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud? I was pretty confident that I had a very deer in headlights look on my face, but I couldn't help it. Shit, shit, shit.

“Board, Desmond. Now.”

Anon, after a terrible day at college, you have made my life happy again. Thank you. XD I can't wait to see the rest!

Daww, I want a puppy!Leo too!

Unfortunately the only contribution I have to add to this would be to imagine "what if the ghosts of the Auditores were watching overnight?"

Giovanni and Maria: <_< Petruccio: *eyes and ears covered by...* Federico: *whose hands are covering Petruccio's eyes and ears while he looks on in wide-eyed glee* Mario: *looking sideways with a shit-eating grin and a big outstretched thumbs-up* MAGNIFICO! ... yeah.

Son of a fucking bitch in heat. My face was roughly the color of a tomato as I quickly stepped towards the board. I kept my back to him, afraid I was hearing things in his voice that weren't there. I could very well be imagining the heat in his voice, or mistaking sexual tension for just plain crankiness. If that was the case, the bulge in the front of my pants was totally uncalled for and would probably get me suspended or expelled or something.

But I saw it. That heat. I heard him fucking gasp when I wiggled my ass at him, and the tips of his ears were as pink as mine were. I wasn't mistaking it, right? I mean, the barely held control when I accidentally said 'fuck me' was as real as the tattoo on my forearm.

I stared at the piece of chalk left in the board's tray as images passed through my head. Since my teenage brain decided to let the whole 'fuck me' thing take off running, all I could think about was being bent over Mr. Hastings desk, the teacher behind me. Would he be gentle? Or would he just take what he wanted and damn the consequences? Would he be the friendly reach around kind of guy, or would I be expected to take care of myself? Would he suck my cock as he stretched me, or would he make me fingerfuck myself?

“Desmond.”

I couldn't stop the gasp that left my lips as I heard Mr. Hastings' bedroom voice ghost along the shell of my ear. It took me three tries to get enough spit in my mouth to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Start writing.”

“Yes, sir.”

I picked up the chalk, raising it to the board. What the hell was I supposed to write again? I will not doodle on desks. There. Hormones be damned. One down, ninety-nine to go. I started the second 'I' when I felt a pair of lips on the back of my neck.

“Keep going.”

This--this is pure gold, anon. I am so excited you keep posting! :D

ANON. I CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE. HO MY CHRIST. DO EET, DO EET, DO EET. ;3;

Prompt: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=3734008#t3734008

Fill: (prologue) http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=6943736#t6943736

Mr. Hastings whispered in my ear, and I totally couldn't stop the shudder that passed through me. The 'will' left a lot to be desired, but apparently there was a lot of my skin that was desired. I paused in my writing to let him unbutton most of my shirt. My left hand hung limp as the shirt fell off my shoulder. The only thing keeping it from falling open completely were the two buttons he left fastened at the bottom of my shirt. Oh, and Mr. Hastings pressed against my back.

The 'not' was even worse than the 'will' as I felt Mr. Hastings' fingers move further down to unfasten my jeans. While I wore my pants loose, they weren't so loose that they would hit the ground the second they weren't being actively held up by my non-hips. I gasped as I felt teeth along the junction between shoulder and neck, nearly dropping the chalk in my hand.

“The next word is 'doodle,'” Mr. Hastings helpfully supplied, and I could feel his smirk along my hairline at the back of my neck.

I must have stood there, trying to take a full breath for too long for his liking. He shifted a knee between my thighs, and I could feel--holy shit! That... that was his... his... he was just as into this as I was. Maybe more so. The 'doodle on' was hastily written on the board as I moaned and pressed backwards against that hardness. Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking polar bear. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. I was going to wake up in the middle of class and have to deal with dried jizz on my junk for the rest of the day.

Yeah. Sure. That scribble I wrote on the board totally looked like 'desks.' Totally. As much as a word can look like 'desks' when your hot as hell history teacher had his rock hard cock pressing against your ass.

The 'I' of the next sentence may or may not have looked like a 'T,' but the way he was grinding against my ass like he would fuck me through my fucking jeans was just...

“You are hardly finished with that sentence, Desmond,” Mr. Hastings whispered into my ear, and holy fuck if I wasn't going to finish stupid quick if he kept doing that.

“It's kinda hard...” I started, and I nearly choked on my words as I felt his hand slide into my boxers.

“That it is.”

My brain took a moment to remind me just what the fuck was going on. I was writing sentences on the blackboard after school. My history teacher, who I would swear on any other day hated me to the point of making my senior year miserable, was pressed up against my ass, his cock hard enough to probably rip both his dress pants and my jeans. My shirt was hanging off my shoulders, and he was kissing my neck like it was his equivalent to breathing. Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I was getting all of this. Thanks, brain.

Where's part six?

WHERE IS PART SIX!

Well, now that I've got that out of my system...

*carries on like nothing happened*

“Very well,” Ezio kept trying to get closer to him but Altair wasn’t about to let that happen and kept moving back, further into the courtyard. “You say you want to fight. Then stop running,” Ezio growled.

Altair just grinned, “I am not running, simply—” and he sprang forward, finally, his short sword sweeping out in front of him. Ezio managed to side step but they both heard the sound of cloth tearing. “Planning my attack,” Altair said as he turned on the spot and faced Ezio again.

“That was rude,” Ezio said holding out the end of his cape to inspect. There was a six inch long cut in it.

“I am known to be such,” Altair said and made Ezio jump away again as he pressed his advantage of a distracted Ezio. Ezio threw up his sword and caught Altair’s blade just in time. Altair then put him on the defensive. “You’d think you’d know to keep your eyes on an opponent by now Ezio. Did your uncle nor your years teach you nothing?” he asked and when Ezio tried to make an attack Altair just batted it away as if it was nothing more than an annoyance.

“I know well how to fight,” Ezio growled back.

“Oh you do? Perhaps you should show me then?” Altair openly teased him. He knew unlike himself Ezio was easy to tease and set off. “Instead of just waving that sword around. You’ll hurt yourself,” and as it to prove his point he slipped into Ezio’s defenses and grabbed Ezio by the wrist. “Or everyone around you,” he added softly, leaning close and tapped his short sword to Ezio’s chest.

The younger man swung to land a punch on Altair’s face but he saw the flicker of yellow from the side of his eye and in a move of acrobatics simply flipped out of the way. Ezio stared after him. “How did you do that?” he demanded trying not to sound impressed. Altair just put a finger to his lips, now with both feet back on the stone. “What?”

“A good Assassin knows how to get out of any situation. He can move like water and leave his opponent spinning in circles. I learned from one of our eastern brothers. He taught me many things,” Altair said slowly circling Ezio. “Can you leave me in circles Ezio?” he asked cocking his head.

Ezio just growled, taking the bait and now Altair let himself take the defensive. Altair’s blade moved through motions that no one this side of the world had seen. He imagined he held one of the oriental blades he’d once trained with, with it’s graceful curve and dark steel that flashed like rippling water at the end of his wrist almost bending under the force of his motions. This short sword did not react like those blades but it was still familiar and responded to the graceful motions of Altair’s arm and wrist.

Ezio didn’t land one hit, or even get close.

“You are better than I expected,” Ezio ground out from between his teeth.

“You should always expect your opponent to be better than you Ezio.”

“Do you?” he snarled and pressed down on Altair, using his superior height and bulk to gain a slight advantage.

“Always,” Altair said softly, leaning forward so their faces almost touched. “Even if they never are,” and in one fluid motion Altair unbalanced Ezio but suddenly dropping to the ground and rolling to the side. Ezio fell forward but tucked himself into a roll as well, popping up a moment later in time to leap away from Altair’s sword aimed right at his throat.

“You’re very cocky Aalam,” Ezio said voice wary now.

“Confidence. Do not confuse the two,” Altair said moving forward again and making Ezio have to defend himself. “An Assassin always acts in confidence, even if deep inside he is at a loss and doesn’t know what to do,” he said. “For to panic is to be vulnerable and to be vulnerable is to allow the Brotherhood to be compromised; the third tenet of the Brotherhood,” his words were punctuated by the sound of ringing steel as Altair slapped his sword against Ezio’s brutally twisting it into holes Ezio didn’t even know he had until Altair’s blade almost met his body.

“The third tenet,” Ezio repeated and to most ears it was a statement, to Altair’s it was a question. A subtle one, as though Ezio had never before heard of such things, the tenets. “You will find I have confidence in spades Aalam. I would never allow harm to come to my Brotherhood,” and he tried to get on the offensive.

“Good,” was Altair’s only reply and didn’t allow it, almost playfully pushing Ezio’s sword away. He controlled the fight and while he doubt Ezio realized it he wouldn’t allow the younger man the offensive unless he wanted to play defense. “Do you know the second?” he asked dancing around Ezio, swiping his sword in and out of Ezio’s sight like it was lightning.

“Second?” Ezio huffed, his breath ragged now from their furious fight.

“Of our Creed,” Altair said pulling back to let Ezio attack him properly. The man thought better when he wasn’t being annoyed he was losing in a sword fight. Ezio’s sword tried to fight the holes in Altair’s style but after so many years Altair had no holes. At least none he didn’t put there on purpose.

“I cannot remember, I am getting on in my years. Remind me,” Ezio growled out.

Altair grinned from behind his mask. His plan was working perfectly. He refrained from making a crack at Ezio’s age and said. “You are a blade in the crowd. A ghost amid the living. Hide in plain sight,” and to make the lesson stick Altair spun, his black and red cape fluttered out behind him in an arc. He reached up and at speed unlatched it so that on his second pass in the spin he flung it at Ezio.

The cape hit Ezio square in the face and the man stumbled back a few feet, regained his footing and jumped back blindly to miss Altair’s swipe. “Always remain undetected,” Altair said as Ezio tugged Altair’s cape away from his face and Altair once again slid up almost too close to Ezio startling the younger man and making him back up again. “A visible Assassin is a dead Assassin,” and their swords grated together as Ezio tried to hit from from close range.

He saw Ezio’s throat bob as he swallowed and tried to slip away. Ezio found himself with his back to the wall of the training courtyard. His eyes widened slightly and Altair almost effortlessly disarmed him, making Ezio give a wince as his sword clattered out of reach. One hand pinned Ezio’s left hand to the wall, the other pressed his own left hand and Ezio’s right to Ezio’s shoulder.

“And the last, the first really,” Altair said in barely a breath of air, his mask almost touching Ezio. “Most important,” and Altair’s hidden blade shot out of it’s sheath so it almost shot through Ezio’s throat. Ezio just started at him, slightly confused, maybe a bit worried, and swallowed hard. “Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent,” he whispered and then let Ezio go. The younger man visibly relaxed when Altair stepped back. “Hmmm,” Altair said and went to pick up Ezio’s sword for him. “It appears you now owe me a favor my friend,” Altair said offering Ezio his sword, his voice light.

Ezio took it after a second, “It appears I do,” he agreed, seeming relived to be back on less intense terms. “You… fight like no one I have ever met Aalam,” he admitted.

“As I have been told,” Altair shrugged and reached back behind him to shove his short sword back up between his shoulder blades. “Often people do not live to see my true skill. I thought anything less against you would be an insult however,” and Ezio could see Altair’s eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Monteriggioni,” Altair lied, such a small, effortless lie. “Mario often played hosts to our brothers from other lands. They have different ways of seeing the world. Different ways of fighting. I learned from them, to be the best I could be, in all things,” Altair said facing away from Ezio as he went to retrieve his fallen cape. For a moment he thought about reattaching it before he folded the square up instead and tucked it under his arm. At least that short story was not such a lie. Mario had played such a part to Assassins from other lands.

“I did not know,” Ezio frowned watching Altair carefully.

“There is much to learn from all our brothers. I see the skills of our novices increasing when you send them off on missions to far off lands,” Altair said and rested his hands on his belt easily. “They learn other ways, new ways, it is good for them, good for all of us,” Altair nodded.

“I see the wisdom in this,” Ezio agreed.

Awwww, just the beginning of an epic story (I hope) and it looks promising! I hope author!anon continues... I am very excited to see where this goes

Good job, author!anon *showers encouragement* !

—

Altair woke up smelling bacon. He didn’t eat bacon, but damn if it didn’t smell good sometimes, especially when he’d been a bit drunk. Not enough to be hung over, but he definitely wasn’t exactly sober come morning and was still a bit in a haze and just tired. It probably didn’t help that his side still hurt so that when he sat up he swooned a bit. He looked over at the kitchen and saw Kadar in it wearing what was obviously his night clothes and looming over the stove no doubt staring at the pan where the bacon was frying.

He grabbed some clothes from his duffle and dressed under the blankets before rolling off the couch. He felt insanely sore all over from the past few days and sleeping on a couch and everything else that didn’t include the gunshot wound. That wasn’t sore, that just hurt. He grabbed the bottle of Ibuprofen from the coffee table where he’d put it the night before and took five of them before hobbling over to the kitchen bar and sitting.

“Morning,” Kadar said as he flipped the bacon though didn’t look at him.

“Mmm,” Altair agreed still not even awake enough for proper words. “Whr’s Malik?” he asked rubbing his face.

Kadar shot him a look from the stove, “It’s ten in the morning, he’s at work.”

“Oh, riht,” Altair’s head sagged a bit.

“Want some bacon?” Kadar asked after a solid minute of silence with only the sound of bacon to be the go-between. As he asked he fished the strips of pork out of the pan and put them on a paper towel to soak up the grease.

Altair glanced at him from under his fingers, which were still rubbing his face, “I’m Muslim Kadar,” he said in an unamused tone.

“You were drinking last night, Muslims don’t do that either.”

“Technically it depends on your caliph,” Altair grumbled, “I don’t eat pork.”

“More for me then,” he said shoving some bread in the toaster and cracked some eggs into the pan he’d just fried the bacon in. “What did you and Malik do last night?” he asked curiously. Altair didn’t answer and Kadar threw a piece of bread at him, striking him on the temple, “Hey, answer me,” he snapped.

“We went to dinner,” he said and slowly tore the crust off the bread.

Kadar hummed and turned the eggs over making the bacon grease hiss and spit in the pan. “Okay.”

“Do you care?” Altair asked slowly, equally curious why Kadar was asking him. He didn’t really know Kadar, just that he was Malik’s brother and went to Harvard on a nice cushy scholarship.

“Of course I do you prick,” he snapped and threw another piece of bread at him. This time Altair caught it. “I had to deal with Malik when you left and I’ll be damned if I had to go through that a third time,” he actually glared at Altair who looked down under his righteous anger.

“If it makes any difference I didn’t plan it like this,” Altair said and Kadar practically slammed his plateful of breakfast down on the counter opposite him.

“Oh really? What’s your excuse than?” he demanded still glaring.

“I couldn’t get in contact with him,” he said drumming his fingers on the counter feeling like he was meeting someone’s parents and not their younger brother. “And this was the first time since spring I was allowed to leave the country.”

Kadar’s lips made a thin, hard line as he stared at him, obviously thinking and trying to figure him out. Than he sighed and bowed his head, grabbing a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth. “I believe that,” he said in a normal tone, no longer sounding angry, gnawing on the bacon around his words. He picked at his eggs before grumbling to himself, “You know I should hate your guts.”

“Why?” that startled him, “I didn’t do anything to you.”

Kadar pointed his fork at him looking annoyed again, “My brother likes you, like really really likes you, and you totally fucked him over,” he informed him. “You have no idea what Malik was like when you left and I had to deal with it and try my damnedest to help him out because he kept waiting for you,” Altair felt terrible listening to Kadar, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t expecting. “I refuse to do that again too, or let him go through that for a third fucking time. So if you’re going to fuck with my brother again know I will. Kick. Your. Ass,” he ended in a growl and Altair didn’t even bother to think Kadar wouldn’t give him a run for his money, he wasn’t some weakling after all. Sure he was a nerd but he was still ex-military and with a brother like Malik he doubted Kadar had forgotten how to fight.

“Trust me, that isn’t the plan,” Altair said and shoved some of the bread into his mouth, having made a mess of the crust, he hated the crust. “And you said third time, what was the first?” he asked carefully. He really hoped it wasn’t Ezio.

Kadar didn’t answer right away, he just shoved another strip of bacon in his mouth along with some toast, chewing in a sort of angry though thoughtful manner. “His name was Sam and that’s all I’m saying. You wanna know about Sammy you get to ask him. Because that’s one thing I’m not comfortable going into.”

“Why?” Altair leaned his folded elbows against the counter.

“Because I don’t like talking about the dead. Bad karma or whatever,” and Kadar made and little dismissive hand motion.

“Okay,” Altair nodded slowly. He wasn’t so keen on actually asking Malik about it. How big of a bad move would that be? Bringing up a dead boyfriend he probably wasn't supposed to know about ranked up there with the stupidest things he’d ever done in his life. Best to let that one lie for a while before he even thought about asking. He ate the rest of the bread as Kadar moped up the yolk of his eggs with his toast and as the younger man was going to start the cleanup Altair found himself asking, “You seem oftly interested in Malik’s love life. Boyfriend situations non withstanding.”

“He’s in my love life, I don’t see why I shouldn’t muck around in his,” he said turning on the water.

“Yeah well my cousin, the smart one, is trying to get in your pants, I think he has plenty of reason for concern.”

Kadar found that amusing, “Yeah, I wouldn’t touch Federico with a nine foot stick.”

Altair blinked at him, “But you were always giving Malik a hard time about him butting into your love life about that-

“I like giving my brother a hard time,” and then he turned and pointed a soapy at hand. “Do not tell Malik I just told you that. I get way too much enjoyment about making him worry I’ll fuck his best friend’s brother.

Altair actually smiled in disbelief, unable to believe that Kadar was actually playing Federico. He’d honestly never heard or such a thing. “Is he still trying to sleep with you?” he asked leaning on the counter.

“Yep,” Kadar nodded. “Not. Interested.”

“Any reason?”

“Not my type. I like girls more for starters.”

“So you’re saying my cousin is ugly?”

Kadar sent him an annoyed half-glare that looked just like a look Malik would give him, Altair grinned. “I’m not into playboy Italians who think they’re gods’ gift to humanity. Federico’s good looking, not as terribly shameless as his brother, still not my thing. Not to mention, have you seen your Aunt? She is so scary!”

Altair laughed at that. “She isn’t,” Altair informed him, “You’re just easily intimidated.”

“Fuck you I’ve been shot at, not to mention blown up, and that was the time that didn’t include an RPG,” Kadar snarked.

Altair snorted, “Okay, okay,” he held up both hands in a peace keeping manner. Kadar finished cleaning up and as he was putting away the dishes Altair decided to go shower, still thinking about what the younger man had said about Malik.

OMG OMG OMG OMG UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE EXCUSE ME WHILE I READ THIS AND FLAIL

asfjasjfklasjfklas Kadar let me love you forever and ever and everrrrrr ♥ I'm v. glad that Altair is getting a sense of what Malik went through (and in a way us too because we didn't really get to see *g*) because ~consequences~ and all that and oh god this is so incoherent I'm sorry it's late ):

BUT JUST. KADAR. I LOVE YOU. ALTAIR GO FACE UP TO WHAT YOU'VE DONE ETC. MALIK JUST CONTINUE BEING AWESOME, and let me love you for writing this because it is like one of the only stories I eagerly follow and look forward to an update from *___*

"I must go and finish gathering supplies. You wait here with the horse, and I will bring back something for us to eat."

"Why must I wait here? I can't come with you?"

Malik raised an eyebrow. "Were you not just professing how sore you were, and now you wish to walk?"

Naji colored a little, and as if in reminder, the ache in his legs burned, forcing him to suppress a groan.

He lowered himself to sit in the straw. "Yeah. I'll wait here."

Malik gave him a faintly smug look, shaking his head, before turning and walking out of the stables. Naji watched him go until he was out of sight, and turned to glance at the horse, who was watching him quietly.

"Don't you dare kick me."

* * * *

Malik was not very surprised upon his return to see Naji poking through bags in the stable, glaring at his horse and muttering threats to it as though he believed it was conspiring to do him bodily harm.

"--I'm no fool, I've seen horses from the cities before, and enough of them have tried to run me down in the past that I know your kind is no good, I don't see why I'm such an offense that they--"

"Do you always ramble to animals as though they were people? If you do, I have a few birds that I wouldn't mind you conveying some messages to for me."

The other jumped, startled, and caught his hand in the sack he was going through in his hast to yank it out. He pulled it free and stumbled, glaring at Malik.

"You frightened me!"

"Yes, I see that. I hope very much for your sake that you were not rummaging in my bags as well."

Naji panicked and shook his head. "No, no! I left them alone, I swear!" He kicked his feet at the ground. "Your horse would've likely bitten my hand off if I tried."

"You have no reason to be so afraid of him," Malik reasoned, moving there himself and carefully arranging the parcels in his arms. "In addition, you should not be going through anything else here either. I doubt any of it will be of use or value to you."

"I...I wasn't stealing anything! I was just...curious..."

Malik gave him a look and he wisely looked away.

Malik gave him a look and he wisely looked away.

“Here,” the elder said, holding out a small bundle.

He reached out to accept it, unwrapping it to find a loaf of fresh bread and a small cut of cheese, as well as fruit. Oh, it was humble, but it looked wonderfully appetizing right now. He hadn’t eaten since the day before, and his stomach rumbled appreciatively at the sight.

“Thank you.”

Malik nodded as he finished packing away his purchases, seating himself across from Naji in the straw and unwrapping his own food. They ate in silence for a while.

“So,” Malik started, “You mentioned before you were not from that city. Do you travel much then?”

“Well, not really. I actually was living in another city before, but then…things happened and I had to leave.”

“Oh? What things?”

Naji’s expression become hesitant and he glanced away, tearing a piece from his loaf and nibbling on it.

“Ah. Something unlawful I presume? You may tell me. I will not care.”

He studied Malik a moment. “Well…you already know I’m…a thief, more or less. I usually just pickpocketed; guards, citizens, whatever I needed to get by. Sometimes,” he stressed it, giving the elder a pointed look, “Sometimes I would steal other things. Nice things. Items that would fetch a good price. Or that I liked.”

He paused for a moment, glancing at the floor. Malik nodded for him to continue.

“One day a convoy came into the city, escorted by…soldiers in unusual garbs. They were bringing in what looked like the spoils of a siege, all carrying chests and boxes of various sizes. I was curious, so I followed them. They went to the keep in the north of the city, where they were met by one of the officials. They opened the boxes and inside were a number of strange items, but one of them was…this curious looking golden ball. I remember thinking how it seemed to…draw attention to it. I thought it was interesting.”

Malik was suddenly listening raptly, leaning forward, his posture stiff and tense and his eyes narrowed.

“Once the inspection was over they brought everything inside and took it to a storage vault. The ball…I realized I wanted it. It didn’t look like much when I thought about it, but I thought it might still have some use, or at least fetch a good sum. And it didn’t really look like something they’d miss. I snuck into the keep later and stole it.”

“You stole it?” Malik suddenly barked, and Naji jumped, startled.

“Wh—what? Yes, I mean…why? Does it matter?”

Malik frowned, leaning back. “Finish your story,” he said after a moment.

The white faded slowly from his vision, cracking and splitting away like ice from a glacier, and falling away to reveal behind its brightness countless tomes and scrolls. The grand library seemed empty and dated. Altaïr could already count ten scrolls he had personally locked away, five that were much dustier than he had left them and four that were not in place on the shelves. This wasn't right. His eyes flickered over the small section of the room that he could see as he stood frozen in place. Natural light played on hide covers.

A heavy thump sounded behind him, to the right. In a fluid movement he pulled his sword from its sheath and twisted to face the source of the noise, blade held defensively to block oncoming attacks to his torso. One could never be too careful.

He recognised the face straight away.

A young, adolescent Malik blinked back at him, eyes darting from sword, to the scar bisecting his lips and then all over his robes, taking in the details of the sweeping Grand Master's cloak. One hand – his left – was stuck in a sling that drooped from his neck. The other attempted to curl around a thick scroll, which he had dropped to his feet. Dust settled in clouds on his boots.

Altaïr relaxed and slid his sword back into its sheath, the defensive stance of his body melting away.

“Safety and peace, Malik.”

“To you too, Altaïr.” Malik replied and tilted his head in acknowledgement, a distrustful frown creasing his brow above a hawkish nose. They stared at each other evenly, Altaïr assessing the situation he found himself in and Malik wondering how Altaïr managed to appear older and as Grand Master. Something was greatly amiss. He licked his lips, his hand curling tighter around the heavy scroll and itching to take hold of a weapon.

“Let me help.” Altaïr said, and moved forwards, hand outstretched and heading for the scroll. Malik shuffled back minutely, grip wavering, causing a minute pause in Altaïr's movement. When Malik stilled he moved forwards again and hefted the scroll up, holding it out as an offering. Cautiously it was taken from him and cradled on Malik's arm as if it were a newborn child. They stared at each other evenly, until with a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat, as if in acceptance of what he saw before him, the young Malik turned swept behind a bookcase. His right hand dragging over the dusty wood, the Grandmaster lingered and watched.

Tucked away in a small, quiet corner, Malik had been studying at a low table. He sat on a worn and stiff cushion that prompted correct posture, and yet hunched over a myriad of scrolls that he had collected from all over the library, and took notes in minuscule. Casting a trained eye over one of the scrolls that had been spread over the wooden table Altaïr recognised it for religious texts – ah, yes, hadn't Malik been going through a small spat of religious interest about the age of eighteen? Had he not spewed religious quotes, and quietly asserted to those he felt he could that Religion was not the true answer? How right he had been.

With a small sigh Malik had sat back down and was struggling to place to scroll so that he might read it. His quill fell to the floor and he hissed a curse, frustrated. Out of habit Altaïr stepped forwards and took the scroll away, opening the text and weighing it flat with an ornamentally carved rock. It had been Malik's favourite paperweight and had broken three months ago in an accident. As he traced a fragile limb of quartz Malik snatched up his quill.

Above is, of course, me

“You do not seem to be the Altaïr I know.” He grumbled, his irritation loosening his tongue, and dipped his quill before poising it above his parchment.

“No, I am not.” Altaïr said, and then smiled briefly in recollection. Thirsty for a fight, for challenge, for respect and for reverence amongst his peers, Altaïr would have hesitated to help anyone other than himself, Al Mualim, Adha or a fair woman at market when a young adult. From there his arrogance grew, and, after he had lost Adha, consumed him.

“I have grown much since now.”

Malik rested the nib of his quill on the parchment, staining a black spot of ink that bled out. “You make no sense.”

There were the first foundations of the caustic tone Malik perfected by the age of twenty in that voice and it made Altaïr shiver pleasantly and ever so slightly. Looking at Malik he was once again shocked by how young he seemed. His arm was there and whole (though out of commission), the crease between his brow was softer, the skin beneath his eyes sagged slightly with a tiredness that came with night of study rather than being purpled with nightmares of loss, and he was clean-shaven, his sharp jaw not yet shadowed by a small and stark, black goatee. He was young and whole and gorgeous (much more than he had been at such an age, for he matured much quicker, despite his relative youth.)

“I did not aim to confuse. I must ask forgiveness.”

Malik held his gaze a little while longer and then scoffed and looked to where his quill rested, re-inking it before scratching down a quick, short sentence.

“You most certainly are not the Altaïr I know.” Malik mumbled to himself, his bow arched with surprise and a touch of disbelief, maybe even exasperation towards the young man of which he spoke.

Altaïr contented himself with brief silence, and then moved to the more comfortable rug and cushions beside the study table, lounging in the light cast through a small window. It was all an illusion. All the Piece of Eden had ever created was illusion. There was no way that this was real and the only way to break free of the illusion – or at least the way he had found when he was last trapped – was finding the 'key' that took him there in the first place. Meanwhile he would have to do all he could to remain calm, keep the illusion from clouding his mind and judgement, and keep mass attention away from him, lest things fall into chaos.

“You wear the Grand Master's robes.” Malik drawled, watching him from the very corner of his eye. “Why?”

Altaïr sighed and got himself comfortable. Should he tell the truth? He picked at the hem of his black outer robe.

“Because,” he started, and then pushed his hood back to reveal his face completely. “in the future I am the Grand Master and you are my closest friend, my right-hand man...”

Malik feigned disinterest and barely hid the exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“And my lover.” It was better to tell the truth than to spin a faulty lie. They clung to lies, ripping it apart. The Apple enjoyed exposing flawed logic and burrowing into his mind, scratching away at his largest insecurities. No, best to tell the truth which he knew and keep them as calm as possible than give them an opening.

Malik's quill broke and bent in his grip. A second to late for it to be anything but forced Malik gave a short bark of terse laughter. The tone wavered with uncertainty. He discarded his broken quill, worrying for the cost of having it replaced.

“You're mad.”

“No, I am not.”

“You lie.”

“No, I do not.” Altaïr said, and then relaxed further into the cushions. He was tired, his mind had hardly enough energy to find a key when he had no idea what it might be. It would have to be close though, the Piece of Eden always made sure it was close. Perhaps it was Malik. It was most likely to be Malik. But in what way?

“There is no way that I would ever become your lover. Besides finding you unattractive in all ways I also do not hold such... unnatural desires.” Malik sniffed. “And you cannot be from the future, as that is impossible.” He fumbled for a new quill, dipping it again into his ink. If it weren't for Altaïr's knowledge of Malik's 'unnatural desires' and how he had fostered them from a young age he would almost believe the self-assured statement.

“Ah, but you do have desires. You yourself will tell me. All in due time, of course.”

Malik scowled and muttered a violent denial under his breath.

“...And yet you still do not believe me.”

The youngest of them whipped around on his pillow. “Of course I do not!”

Altaïr eyed Malik's frame, tense with fuming anger, and once again reminded himself to keep his mind in the future rather than the present.

“Well no, I suppose that a man would have to live through the act of falling in love to ever understand it.”

“Always the philosopher, aren't we, Altaïr?” Malik twisted back to his desk and tried his best to concentrate on his work. “Now leave me. Can't you see I have work to do? And I would return Grand Master Al Mualim's robes before you are found with them.”

“It started with an apology.” Altaïr hummed, and ignored Malik's command – it was only safe to stay in one place, and besides, Malik was the key. Somehow.

“An apology.” Malik mocked, and scratched out more words with his quill. By the sound of it this nib was far too blunt.

“Yes, and you forgave me. Well – you say that you did not, but in fact you will.”

“Your tenses are confusingly erratic.”

The slight tilt of Malik's head told Altaïr that he was listening intently, despite his comments.

“Then, when I became Grand Master I asked you to join me as an equal. You were only befitting the title.”

Malik did not re-dip his quill.

“However you believed that I was still trying to apologise; that I was not sincere. Though this is not true I still could not convince you to share with me this title. You became my right-hand man, an advisor and brother both in arms as in the brotherhood of the creed.”

“This does not explain how we were to become lovers.”

“How we are lovers.” Altaïr corrected. “And no, for that came later.”

“Oh, do go on.” Beneath the façade of sarcasm Altaïr could pick up on Malik's desire to hear more.

“As you wish.”

“I was being sarcastic.” Malik grouched, and for show took to writing a new line.

“I will be the judge of that.” Altaïr replied, and, when Malik remained silent as if ignoring him, smiled. “Love, as you may have heard, takes time to develop. As does trust, and one cannot stably exist without the other. Trust had begun to restore itself the moment I apologised to you, and despite many interruptions it steadily continued to bloom between us until I trusted you with me life and you trusted me with yours. All this time there was something between us. An object, and also a woman.” Altaïr paused to determine Malik's reaction to this. In his present – the future – Malik would protest that Maria ever troubled him. This Malik remained quite still. He was dreadful at pretending he was not listening.

“The woman was a lover of mine, and I could see that you disliked her, however I believed it was merely because she had doubtable roots and loyalties. I could not see it for the jealousy it was for years, She had two children by me, and left years ago with them both, to my great displeasure.

“The object, more so after her departure than before, held my interest and threatened to overcome me. Still threatens... I become unwell all too quickly now for not looking after myself. You will be the grounding force keeping me to this...my world. You were jealous of it and angry at me...and worried. And you cared very deeply for me. I was mourning and short-sighted.

“One week you hid the object from me. I searched all day on the first day, driven mad. Then I rested. On the second I fought with you. On the third I realised that you cared for me greatly. That you had been a very...constant figure in my life.

“I considered all of my feelings for you, and so even when I retrieved the object I was haunted by confusing messaged and alien feelings. What I first dismissed to be brotherhood; platos, I then discovered to be eros. We confessed two years ago. I was twenty-six.

“You are very young for a Grand Master.” Malik mumbled, as if dismissing everything else Altaïr had told him.

“Even Al Mualim was young once.” Altaïr sighed, and wrenched his eyes from the back of Malik's head to the ceiling.

“Strange,” Malik smirked, and abandoned his work entirely to turn on his cushion and face Altaïr. “I never thought I would hear the day that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad did not sing Al Mualim's praises...Or his own.”

“As I have said, I will change much to become who I am now.”

Malik gave a thoughtful hum, not agreeing or disagreeing. A silence descended upon the both of them and a tiredness washed over Altaïr, coaxed upon him by hours of gazing into the Apple and the exhaustion of dreams plaguing his sleep. He yawned widely and silently, and then asked with his voice still distorted by his widened throat, “Do you believe now?”

Malik shook his head in reply.

Altaïr gave a small smile and a quiet, contented hum. “Yes, a man must live through it to believe it, I suppose.”

“And,” Malik started, gaining Altaïr's attention, “even if I did live it, I would not believe that you felt for me. Not if there was a woman.”

Ah, there it was; Altaïr's own little insecurity. What if Malik doubted his affections? And he did not mean this young Malik, but the one who grew from him. The Apple seemed to be erring on the edge of offence, beginning to scratch away at his vulnerabilities. He would have to move carefully and reclaim control, at least until his tired mind could grasp the key.

He turned his head to look back to Malik, and stared straight into his face; into his eyes. Malik stared back defiantly.

“You will become such an integral part of me that the moments spent with women will pale in comparison. Of that I am confident.” Some part of him twisted inside; a small, worrying voice that screamed for Adha's memory and for his love of Maria and their sons, but the overwhelming majority knew that the statement was true. “I hope that you will never doubt me.”

Malik looked down to his hands, the working one clenching, and clammy with sweat. His brow knotted and he bit at his tongue whilst sucking his teeth and pursing his lips. His knuckles whitened, and then flooded with colour when he relaxed his grip. “Prove it.” He finally said, and looked back up Altaïr, visibly nervous but attempting to hide it behind his rigid posture.

The Grand Master's eyebrows raised, and he saw Malik falter slightly, biting the inside of his lip and retreating into himself, inch by inch with each second passed. He steeled himself for a rejection, which he would no doubt use as evidence that he, Altaïr, was lying. Scrabbling for control Altaïr tried to think of how he could prove the future, and, as strange and alien as it sounded, prove his affections.

Malik had never been a material person. If you bought him something beautiful and practical then there was a possibility that he would take to it, and as a consequence take to you, but this was rare to come across. At the time of Altaïr's confession he had been contented with his words and an embrace, but the assassin had a feeling that this younger Malik would not be contented with such a small gesture. Especially as this Malik was hormone driven, attracted to him, free of the exhaustion they had both felt at twenty-six, and an illusion of the Apple all too ready to turn malicious.

“And how would you have me do that?” Altaïr asked, testing the waters and pushing himself to sit up. Malik had the chance to stand down, but did not take it.

“How did you prove it to me the first time?” Malik asked quickly.

“I told you, and then we embraced.”

“...I want more than that.”

Altaïr heaved a deep sigh. “I thought you might say that.”

A/N: Aaannd that's all for now.

/scurries off into non-existence yet again

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 15 of 27

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Re: Detention (2/?)

Re: Detention (3/?)

Re: Detention (3/?)

Re: Adopted 17b/??

Re: FILL: Comfort [6/6]

Re: Detention (4/?)

Re: Detention (4/?)

asdfghjkl;

FILL: Under the Wide and Starry Sky

Re: Detention (5/6)

Re: Detention (5/6)

Re: Two Eagles (127/?)

Re: Two Eagles (128/?)

Re: A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 12/?

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (71?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (72?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (72?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (72?)

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 13/?

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 14/?

3; The soothe [1/?]

3; The soothe [2/?]

3; The soothe [3/?]

3; The soothe [4/?]

3; The soothe [5/?]