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

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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

YESSSSSSSS. I have been waiting for the rest. Anon, this ending made my day. You are an excellent writer.

I absolutely love how Shaun has business cards for tutoring. Clever way to give someone your number. >:3

All your comments made me smile so much! I'm glad that you all loved the descriptions, and that you guys thought that I made Malik in character! Malik is a hard character for me to write, and hearing that you guys really liked the characterization made me very happy! This was a fun fill to write, and I'm glad that I was able to provide a good reading experience.

Not bad for my first AC fic, eh? ~_^ Thanks to all for sticking around! <3

No way. There's no way this is your first. I can't believe it! Anon, this is better than "not bad." This is wonderful. I hope you continue to write more!

If I could write porn, I'd offer to fill a prompt of you choice. But I can't write porn to save my life.

Just so you know; this place is real. I've eaten there, it tastes like... well, my mother's cooking.
—
The sign was a cheerful yellow color and the words Garlic and Lemons is printed in slightly curling letters across it. Harvard Ave is busy, full of college students (but what street in Boston isn't during the lunch hours?) and business men and women. Altair tugs him inside and the first thing Malik recognizes is the smell. It smells like his mother's kitchen. There are four large slabs of meat on carousels, slowly turning in front of a low burning gas heater. It smells like garlic, lemons, more spices than Malik can name and meat. The walls are the same almost obtrusive yellow color as the sign. It wasn't particularly busy though Malik wondered how long that would last.

"How the hell did you know this was here?" Malik asked as Altair dragged him over to where you ordered, almost cafeteria style.

"I have my ways," and Altair winked at him. There was a cute girl behind the glass separator. Altair spoke to her in a tongue Malik didn't know. Apparently the girl did though for she nodded and went back into the open kitchen. A man who had a great appreciation for food appeared in a chef's apron, a bit of a grease stain on the front. Altair threw up his arms and said something in an enthused voice. The chef apparently recognized him and replied in the same tone. Malik just watched with mild confusion as they talked, both grinning. Malik knew English, enough Arabic to hold a slow conversation and barely enough Spanish to know how to roll his Rs. What these two were going on in though wasn't any language Malik knew.

After sharing a bit more pleasantry the man pulled out two plates and began piling food onto then. Malik watched as meat, vegetables, falafel, rice and pita bread was stacked onto the various plates which multiplied before his eyes. Altair took half the plates, still chatting to the man in whatever language they were going on in, and motioned for Malik to take the others. He did so and Altair sat them down at one of the small tables.

"What the hell was that?" Malik hissed once Altair sat down after grabbing them both silverware and a Coke.

"What?"

"You know that guy?"

Altair smiled, "We're friends you could say, yes," Altair said his smile telling Malik he hadn't told the entire thing.

Malik opened his mouth to ask before he shut it. Malik really did /not/ want to know actually. Altair wasn't just a guy after all. He was an assassin with a very powerful uncle on top of that. Who knew who Altair knew or why. He went for a more appropriate question as Altair dug into one of the kebabs which dripped all sorts of delicious and bad for you fat, "What language was that?"

"Armenian," Altair said after swallowing.

"You speak Armenian?"

"I speak languages I need to know," Altair shrugged.

"But this is Lebanese food," Malik said looking down at his plate. Well really it could have come from anywhere in the Middle East but it said Lebanese on the sign.

"Remember my hint? Who makes the best Lebanese food? Answer; the Armenians," and he smirked. "That and its free. Don't look it in the mouth," and Altair pointer his fork at Malik's still untouched plate. Altair had a point. He mint not be a college kid but even he appreciated free food. Malik decided he might as well eat before it got cold. He sighed when he finally took a bite. It reminded him of his mother's cooking. Comfort food if there ever was any. Some people liked meatloaf and mashed potatoes for comfort food. Malik preferred falafel and pilaf. It reminded him of his mother and a time before he'd gone off to the Marines.

He felt Altair watching him though he never actually caught the other man looking even though Altair's cutlery never stopped moving, clacking against the porcelain. Malik did his best to ignore him though if he was trying to be sly about it.

As they were finishing their lunch though he grew a bit antsy. "What is it?" he asked his fork poised with a quarter of falafel on it, the green disc slathered on a white sauce.

Altair gave a short huff of half a laugh, "What makes you think there's anything wrong?" he asked as Malik shoved the falafel into his mouth.

"I didn't say wrong," Malik said after quickly chewing and swallowing. "I just asked what is it? You've been staring at me."

"Well, for starters," Altair said and reached across the distance, "you have some sauce on your face, very attractive," and he wiped the falafel sauce off with his thumb. Malik watched the path of his thumb as it pulled away from the corner of his mouth and traveled to between Altair's own lips. Malik just gave him a look, "But," he continued his lips smacking slightly as he pulled he thumb from his mouth and wiped it across his napkin, "I need a reason to look at you now?"

"Look, no. Stare, yes."

"And whose to say I'm not just struck by how good you look?" Altair smirked and that's when Malik felt heat rise into his cheeks.

He rolled his eyes regardless of what the rest of his face was doing however. "Oh please," he huffed putting his fork down.

Altair's smirk fell away reveal something resembling a frown. For a second Malik wanted to take back his words. He wasn't very used to being noticed for reasons other than the fact that he only had one arm, it was what people who didn't know him tended to focus on since it was so obvious. Thus he didn't take comments, even good ones, about his looks with anything less than skepticism since usually people spoke well of him out of pity. Of course he knew Altair knew better than to even attempt to pity him. "Okay, you're right. There is something," Altair said, still frowning. He reached out and covered Malik's hand with his own, Malik in turn twisted his hand so that their fingers laced together and Altair's amber eyes brightened a bit. "I'm sorry."

Malik blinked, "For what?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"For taking so long," he said.

Malik snorted, well that was irony. He'd waited over a decade for a man he'd thought he'd wanted only for it not to work out. Seven months to wait for someone he didn't know he wanted seemed like time had barely passed. "I don't forgive you," Malik said and he saw something in Altair sort of... rip, was the only was to describe it. In the breath between his words Altair's fingers tightened around his own, "For there is nothing to forgive," and now it was Altair's turn to look puzzled. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sure I was annoyed you didn't call, but... I understand that you didn't."

Altair bowed his head and gave a short, dry chuckle before looking back up at Malik, eyes bright and warm. He brought the other man's knuckles up to his mouth and kissed them, "I am fairly sure I don't deserve you in any capacity," he said.

"Damn right you don't," Malik teased and Altair laughed, squeezing his hand again before letting him have it back. Malik just allowed himself a pleased smile as he picked up his spoon to scoop up the last of his pilaf.

—

They made it back to Malik's work almost half an hour after he was supposed to be back. Malik couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed as they walked from the T station, Altair having twisted his fingers firmly into Malik's when they'd been on the train, only seeming fit to let go when they debarked.

"You are going home now," Malik told Altair sort of sternly, he wasn't going to let Altair's anywhere near his work.

"I shall await you with baited breath," he said, gently bumping their shoulders together as they stood several feet to the side of the building entrance.

"Shut up," Malik said rolling his eyes, but he had a grin on his face.

Altair just smiled brightly at him, "Have a good rest of the day at your boring desk job," he teased and bumped into Malik again, this time so that their lips brushed.

"Well not everyone can have an exciting job like you Mr. Assassin," Malik teased softly and Altair seemed to appreciate the humor. "Don't kill anyone on the way home," he added.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Altair promised, their foreheads almost touching they were around close. After a few seconds of silence, broken only by their breath, Altair leaned over and kissed him. Malik kissed back, squeezing Altair's hand firmly. Altair tasted faintly of Lebanese food and rich spices and Malik was actually disappointed when the other man pulled away. "Off to work with you," he breathed and let go of Malik's hand. Slightly flushed Malik nodded and retreated going back into his office building.

He slumped into his chair with a sigh. Almost immediately Rauf poked his head over their divider. "Where the hell were you?"

"Lunch," Malik said in a grouchy, gruff tone. He really wanted Rauf to fuck off.

"With who?"

"A, what makes you think I was with anyone and B, if I was, what makes you think it's any of your business?" he growled. He didn't know why but he didn't want the others to know about Altair. At least not yet. He'd only broken up with Ezio a week ago, he didn't want to give them any wrong impressions that he was.... well at the very least kissing and going out to lunch with another guy. He wouldn't call them dating really since... he didn't know. He just didn't want them to know and he was damn well within his rights to do so.

"You're usually not late unless you're on a lunch with someone. Last time you were you and Daniel somehow were late by fifteen minutes on a damn sandwich run," Rauf said furrowing his brows.

"Oh shut up Rauf," Daniel growled from his cubical. "I didn't mean to make us late."

"And you still got my order wrong," Rauf added.

Daniel just made a wordless groan of annoyance, his words 'oh shut up' obvious. "What Daniel said, shut up Rauf," Malik said smartly. "None of your business."

"Uhg, you're killing me here Malik," Rauf groaned but did retreat back into his own little box. Malik turned back to his computer, ignoring any further comments from any of them.
--
We're so close to the end I can taste it! Just two or three more short scenes and yaaaaa!!

I'm stuck between going Yaaaay! More fic! 8D and Nooo, I don't want it to end so soon! ;A;

prompt is here: http:// forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19860.html?thread=6250388#t6250388
---

This anon can’t write smut for her life, so have some cute scared-out-of-his-mind!Leo.
---

Leonardo wasn’t too sure how it all happened. He was just aware that he was falling while clinging to Ezio for dear life.

Earlier, he and the aforementioned assassin had been meeting on a bench, discussing a new possible design. Ezio had expressed how much he enjoyed the parachute, and how useful it had proven. Of course, this only made the artist smile profusely at the praise. Which, he couldn’t help but stop and ponder. Ezio always praised his works, or gave constructive criticism where he could, but each time he gave an approving nod, or a encouraging smile, Leonardo felt renewed inspiration.

Still, despite this, he hated having to be so discreet and quiet when meeting his friend. It was annoying, above anything else. But that was entirely Cesare Borgia’s (the name was always spat when he was in private) fault. But, while designing things for Cesare, he’d always spare an extra hour (or four) at night to accommodate for Ezio’s commodities.

“How goes your painting, Leonardo?”

Roused from his musings, Leo turned his head slightly to spare a glance at the hooded man. As usual, his head was tilted down, never showing much of his face – and never showing his eyes.

“Oh, it goes well enough,” Leonardo said was chipper as he could muster. He had this ... aching sensation that something wasn’t too right.

His attempt at seeming happy was quickly caught on to, however.

“What need have you to lie, Leonardo? Do you lack inspiration again? Or the time?”

“Eh... well,” the artist coughed awkwardly. “I just don’t know. I cannot bring myself to paint. I’ll sit down at something, and my mind wanders away before I get two marks down. It is becoming rather obnoxious; when I am not doing that, I’m working on designs for Cesare, if not that, looking for something, and ... well, you get the idea.”

“Have you considered taking a break?” Ezio said suggestively, his head moving ever-so-slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Go on a walk. Sit by the canals; rest your feet in the water,” Ezio continued. “Do something that will calm your nerves. It’s what I do.”

Oddly, that made Leonardo laugh. He had a hard time picturing the usually stoic, upright assassin just lounging about near the thieves' palazzo, free of his armour, pants rolled up, and feet hanging languidly over the small wall as water sifted around them.

“What?” Ezio said in quiet defense. “I do.”

“I do not doubt you, old friend,” Leonardo chuckled. “I just have a difficult time pic-"

Leonardo stopped short when he saw Ezio’s shoulders and head lift; his whole body tense, listening intently. Part of him wanted to ask what it was, but he dared not speak, or risk jeopardizing something. Ezio turned his head to look over his left shoulder, and Leonardo could see the concern in his eyes. In a flash, the assassin stood up, grabbing Leonardo’s arm and yanking him off the bench.

“Run!”

Leonardo took a second to register the command, but as soon as a throwing knife shot past his face, he immediately obeyed.

It was slightly difficult to run with Ezio; he was doing more pulling along than Leonardo was doing of keeping up. But the rush of adrenaline was a good kick, and helped him keep up (somewhat).

Behind him, he could hear the soldiers shouting.

“He’s kidnapped the inventor!”

Kidnapped me?

“Cesare will have a fit – get him! Kill the assassino!”

They must have not been paying attention, because Ezio sure as hell wasn’t “kidnapping” him. How they got that idea was beyond him.

The chase ensued through the suburban sector outside of Rome; people jumped out of the way, and many shouted in the confusion. All Leonardo was really aware of was his heart racing madly in his chest, the sound of blood pumping viciously in his ears, and his lung all but screaming at him to stop. And stop he did – by colliding with Ezio.

In the second he took to re-orientate himself, Leonardo saw that Ezio stopped because of a large cliff a few metres ahead of them. He spun around to see the guards closing in on them. His breath sucked in sharply, and he felt himself being pushed back by a strong arm.

“Do not stray from behind me, Leonardo,” Ezio commanded coolly.

As the three guards got ever closer, Leonardo heard Ezio draw his sword. He always hated that sound; metal sliding on metal, creating a beautifully cacophonous sound. He quickly scrambled back a little bit, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire. He still clutched his hat, while his free arm was shaking and tense at his side. People were speckled about beyond the guards, watching the ensuing fight.

He wasn’t quiet sure who made the first move, but Leonardo was suddenly vividly aware of the three-to-one dual. He couldn’t help but watch with a morbid fascination at how fluid Ezio’s movements were. Years of relentless training proved their worth; every move was calculated, and a perfect answer to it’s opponent. However, despite it all, Ezio clearly was not in the mood to fight, nor was he too thrilled about the odds.

Any normal person would’ve shouted ‘What are you doing?!’ when Ezio sheathed his sword, pulling something out of his many pockets. His arm lifted sharply, and in one quick motion, there was a sudden plume of smoke.

Leonardo coughed, his eyes narrowing as his tried to gain his bearings. Without warning, he felt something shoved into his hand, an arm around his ribcage, and felt himself being forced to run forward.

The second Leonardo’s feet felt nothing beneath them, he felt fear and panic well up in him. His arm shot up around Ezio’s neck, clinging to his hood with no remorse. He felt his legs kick up, brushing against Ezio’s thighs, and his mouth hung open uselessly. He was vaguely away of his hat flying off his head, but beyond all that, he did exactly what he shouldn’t have done.

He looked down.

The grassy earth below was lovely, and looked very inviting – but not to him. It took all of Leonardo’s willpower not to let go of the handle he held and grab onto Ezio, burying his face into his clothes to keep from seeing that horrible site.

Uncoordinated as he was, Leonardo wasn’t aware of Ezio telling him to tug slightly on his side. The next thing he was even remotely aware of was a rough growl, and two powerful legs locking around him. In an unceremonious display of his lack of bravery, Leonardo shrieked when Ezio’s arm let go of him, and forced him to let go of the handle. Had this been under other circumstances, Leonardo might have laughed at how Ezio was holding him with only his legs.

“Leonardo, I’m going to drop you in the hay; I want you to somersault into it!” Ezio commanded.

“Y-wh-WHAT?!” he stammered pitifully, feeling the legs slack around him. He couldn’t help but scream for Ezio when they let go completely, and he dropped roughly into a large stack of hay, rolling out in a tremendously embarrassing way.

He heard a thud ahead of him, and the sound of fabric rustling as it deflated and rested on the ground. Leonardo couldn’t care less; he was too busy shaking furiously. He wasn’t even very aware Ezio was a bit in front of him till that growl came back.

“What was that?! I told you t-"

Ezio stopped short in his rant, looking down to see Leonardo burying his face into his hands. In an instant, the assassin was in front of him, kneeling down.

“Leonardo...?” He asked cautiously, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. He nearly lost balance when Leonardo vaulted himself forward, wrapping his arms around Ezio’s neck uncomfortably tight. He took a moment to think, before slowly returning the embrace.

“...You’re afraid of heights.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Leonardo nodded weakly against his shoulder.

“Oh, Leonardo...” Ezio said forlornly, tightening his hold. “I’m sorry – I would not have had I known.”

“N-no...” the artist stammered lightly. “You were just rescuing me... is all. I-" He paused, inhaling and gathering his shaky voice. "I understand.”

With a sigh, Ezio found himself petting Leonardo’s back in an awkward attempt to soothe him. He felt a large thrum of guilt for having put him through that, but it had been a do-or-die situation. After a few minutes, Leonardo’s erratic breathing began to meld into a normal pattern, and his grip loosened, before he dropped his arms entirely and pulled back, glancing up to Ezio sheepishly.

“Mi dispiace, amico mio,” Leonardo mumbled, tugging at the cuff of his shirt. “I guess I should have told you before...”

“Where, in all our conversations,” Ezio began with a jokingly-snarky smirk, “Would your fear ever have come up?”

“...When you used my flying machine?”

“I thought we agreed not to mention that again,”

“It was just a small crash! You were not seriously injured!”

“Leonardo, I nearly broke my arm. And I almost cut that cat in-"

“No! No, no, no, not listening!” Leonardo said harshly, turning to cover his ears.

Right, that was why they never discussed it.
---

I hope this was ok. First fill ever, and un-beta'd so I hope it doesn't suck too bad. Had fun writing it, though!
even if it's not too short.. (also pardon any Italian translations. Going off the game and what little knowledge of the language it's given me.)

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=818377
Oops. Sorry about the MIA.

---

“... Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“If we do this, there is no turning back. I cannot lose you.”

“Mi amore, you never will- make me yours.”

“I c- ahh...Ezio...”

“Please...”

Desmond jolted with a gasp, sweat pooling from his temples and running down the back of the Animus cushion. He turned to Rebecca, pupils dilated.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry! I had no idea that those were the memories we were, uh... gonna... Yeah. No Desmond, just lie back down... Desmond, please- your heart rate was going crazy, there’s no way we can risk keeping you in- I had to pull you out as fast as I could... I just don’t think you’re not ready, especially w- Wait, stop, what are you doing? Desmond? Stop! ”

Desmond fought hard to control the harsh intakes of breath as he tore out the IV’s from his arm, blood splattering the arm rest and the console. He stood up, blinking away the black spots in his vision as he stumbled forward, pushing away Rebecca’s arms none too gently. “I can’t, I need- I need to get away...” He choked out. He felt the blood flushing his face with warmth and travelling down to a region he had not dared to linger upon... Not since...

He hoisted himself up against the wall, wet palms and fingers trailing water marks as he stumbled along as fast as he could. He finally made it- he slammed the door, fumbling at the lock before collapsing forward, sweaty fingers fumbling with his zipper. They finally gave way and he let out a moan, eyelashes fluttering as he threw his head back in relief. He grasped himself, desperate to hold on to the feeling because this time- this time he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop- not when he was so close. To hell with everything else.

His entire body trembled as he moved his hand, his other forearm braced against the concrete ground. Warm hands covering his hands, his body... Smells of coffee and something else he couldn’t identify but would always remember, one finger of those beautiful hands reaching up to push the bridge of glasses up before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Desmond’s... He bit his lip as he pulled roughly, speeding up as his mind burst with fireworks of warmth and imagined sensations. It was building up inside him, slowly, gradually, but... Warm hands running down the curve of his spine, pressing Desmond tightly against his body- “Make more yours. “ Still pulling faster... And...And...

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, back arched tightly, his legs spread up to the confines of his jeans. But not matter how long he kept going, he couldn’t make it. He tried, and tried but still. The peak- it lay just out of reach, taunting him.

“No, no...Damn it!” He let go and punched the ground, his member already waning but still throbbing with the fury of unsatisfaction. He stood up, the tears of frustration already crawling over his cheeks and down his jaw. He swiped them away with his sleeve. God... The one time, the one time he let himself go, the one time he really needed it... He was just so fucking useless... There he was, standing in an empty room, crying with his pants around his ankles and the inability to release. And what would Shaun think of that?

“Desmond,” came a muffled voice on the other side of the door. “Er, are you alright mate?”

Desmond swallowed, trying to choke back his despair as the tears built up. He pressed his forehead up to the cool, wooden door, imagining that the separation between them would just fall away...“Yeah, Shaun, don’t worry about me. I just needed a breather- get my heart to calm down...”

There was a hesitation of silence- had Shaun figured it out? “Well, come out when you’re ready, Okay?...Becca’s panicking right now.”

Desmond couldn’t bring himself to answer, not when all he wanted to do was to tell Shaun not to leave because he needed him. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. He waited until he heard footsteps echoing down the hall before he slid down to the floor, back against the door. He clasped his hands over his lips to muffle the screaming sobs, tried to push the pain back inside- back where it belonged.

I cannot lose you... You were never mine.

I really did squeak when I saw another chapter for this fic. I didn't expect to see it in my inbox. You just made my night writeanon! I really enjoyed this fic (not because of the whole rape portion, but because you didn't sugar coat it and there isn't any magical-healing-cock in it. Things like this take time for a person to recover from, and sometimes there never is any recovery.)

Oh, poor Desmond. ;A; After all that, and he couldn't even finish. D: Shaun, you need to figure this out and help Des.

Fill for this prompt: http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19860.html?thread=6611348#t6611348

AU, where Malik is a young priest and Altair is one of his altar boys (and of course his irresistible temptation). In this fic Altair has to be younger than Malik, however I don't want shota.

BONUS POINTS for:
- a bit of angst from Malik's side (how he is doing something that is total taboo but at the same time can't resist it, etc.);
- bottom!Altair who struggles a bit at first but actually wants it/is absolute slut.

Authornon's Note: Please forgive any inaccuracies regarding the rites and rituals of the Catholic church. Authornon has not been a Catholic for over 20 years, but has tried to do research when appropriate.

-----

“Altair,” Malik sighed, pushing his fingers against the bridge of his nose in frustration. “The Divinyls are not an appropriate choice of music. Especially not during our catechism study.”

The boy at least had the sense to stop singing along to his iPod, instead opting to just mouth the words at the young priest leading the class. If anything, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad was sent to him as a test: a test of his patience, a test of his compassion – the boy could be just plain infuriating at times, and, worst of all, a test of his faith. As he continued leading the class of five young men, Malik considered just how the seventeen year old was truly his greatest challenge yet.

Altair was a test of his patience, for sure. The boy knew exactly how to push Malik's buttons to make his infamous temper – which he could keep a handle on with everyone but Ibn-La'Ahad – flare with a near righteous anger. Whether it was purposefully disrupting the young priest's classes or performing his duties as an altar boy immaculately after spending all week screwing around, it never failed to strike the match to ignite Malik's ire.

The young man was a test of his compassion as well. Malik supposed this was a kind of an extension of the test of his patience, but for whatever reason, Altair was far too easy to snap at. Perhaps it was his air of superiority, but when Malik's anger was roused, all he wanted to do was knock the boy from the pedestal he placed himself upon just to watch the look on his face as he fell.

Most disturbingly, though, Altair was a test of his faith. Not just his faith in the teachings of the Catholic church, but his faith in the interpretations by man of the word of God, his faith in the infallicy of the dogma, his faith in the rules of his position, and his faith in himself. He first met him when Altair was nine. The wide-eyed, eager to please child looked up to the then seventeen Malik for guidance, the younger boy having just joined the altar service at the request of his guardian. It still was odd to Malik that the boy who lost his parents two years prior seemed no worse for wear by the tragic boating accident, save for a terrible fear of bodies of water.

Malik remembered how he was unsure what to do after he graduated school, but that summer... That was the summer God called him to serve. He and his younger brother Kadar were riding their bikes down to the local city park when one car swerved into another lane, the other car swerving to avoid it and hitting both brothers. Malik didn't remember much of what happened after the accident, save that he knelt next to Kadar's still body, watching the light leave his little brother's eyes as blood pooled behind his head. His left arm hung uselessly at his side as he knelt, listening to his brother tell him how he saw angels, and that Malik shouldn't cry since he was going to live with Jesus, and someday, Malik would join him. He didn't remember anything else until he woke in the hospital, the elderly priest of their parish sitting vigil by his bed. The man told Malik how, when arrived at the accident to perform the Last Rites for Kadar, Malik had already been trying to perform the Viaticum for his brother, using his bottle of water in lieu of the Blessed Sacrament, and how Malik had seemed almost not himself as he spoke words that the young man didn't remember ever learning. That, the elder priest said, was proof that he was being called.

Hey who left this pool of drool on the floor!? Oh right, that was me. I love your story and I refuse to believe that this was your first time with AC. If it was, I'm glad I helped you pop your cherry. Now if you excuse me, I need to re-read this at my bunk.

:DDDD You posted another part! *flails*

Oh, poor Des! Shaun needs to get over there and comfort him!

jesus fucking christ on a fucking polar bear xD
i love this fic--made me both laugh and choke on my drink c:

So glad you liked it, OP. ^_^

And yes, you totally popping my AC cherry. <3

OMG. This is beautiful. This is exactly what I never knew I wanted. I'm looking forward to more!

OP is as always too late to notice new things and is very sorry for late review. The first chapter is very promising. All mentioned characters are so in character (especially the thing that Altair can get on Maliks' nerves so easily. It is exactly like in the game). I am really looking forward for new parts, anon!

So after I lost the rest of the first chapter and had to rewrite it, I went back and changed a few things, so here's 14 again with new stuff.
___________________________________________________

“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.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may.”

“I was wondering…why did you save me from the guards, back in the city? I mean…you knew nothing about me, but you risked yourself to save me.”

Malik grinned smugly. “It was hardly a ‘risk’.”

“Whatever,” Naji grumbled, “Just…why?”

“I’ve been around long enough to know that the city guards are often brutes even on good days, and they are not above harassing citizens just to pass time. As for why I stepped in…I simply felt like it. I did not wish to stand by and watch you been slain. So I stopped it.”

“But…what if you’d know before? That I was thief?”

“It would not have altered my decision. Many people are thieves, for many reasons. I don’t think it picking pockets is worth dying over. My actions still would be the same.”

Naji was stunned, a little. “I…thank you. Most people…most people wouldn’t have cared. They probably would have been happy to see me put down.”

“I am not most people.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he smiled.

Malik smiled back. “I suppose I’ll simply have to find a god use for you, until you can pay me back.”

Naji winced. Crap. He had half-hoped the other had forgotten. “You’re not going to…make me your slave or anything, are you?”

“You would make a poor slave, I’d wager. There’s always the chance you’d palm something I gave you to handle, and you clearly don’t have the kind of stamina for any hard labor. No, I’m sure I’ll think of something else.”

“When you say it like that, I worry.”

The vague evil look the man gave him only heightened the feeling.

“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 became 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.

Naji stared at him, confused, but continued, “Well, I’m not sure what it was, but apparently it was more important than I thought. I didn’t even make it out of the keep before they came after me, and caught me. They beat me and took it back, and then I was thrown in the dungeons, to be executed. I panicked and worked to find a way to escape. I found one and got out of there as soon as I could. The soldiers however found out I’d escaped and were searching the city for me. The only choice I had was to leave.”

Malik was radiating tension; silent, pensive. Naji watched him nervously, uncertain why his story seemed to have rattled the man.

Finally he spoke. “This ball…did it have strange grooves and markings? About this size?” he used his hands to give an example.

“Yeah…yeah it did. How did you…?”

“The keep it was kept in. Do you still remember where it was? And the room it was stored in?”

His frown deepened. “Yes…”

Malik was quiet for a long time, his face drawn in deep thought.

“What city was it?”

“It was...Tyre..." he answered, "But that was a year ago.”

“Even if it is no longer there, they may still have information about it, and where it was moved.”

“Wait…you want it? The ball?”

“Yes.”

"Why?"

Malik flicked his eyes up at him before sliding them to look at something outside. Naji followed his gaze to see the eagle flying in low sweeps, as though patrolling, and his brow furrowed, looking back to Malik.

"To be free," he said finally, softly, "The orb...took something from me. And I must get it back, no matter the cost."

Cryptic. And confusing. "What does that mean?"

Malik's face suddenly took on a calm edge and he turned back to his meal. "I will explain later."

Great.

Time crept by as Malik busied himself with a number of menial tasks, packing his things and rearranging them, occasionally pulling out documents and jotting something down, feeding and grooming his horse. At one point he climbed up into the loft and left something there, though Naji didn’t see what it was. He then settled down with a book and began to write in it, while Naji sat bored and restless across from him. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere, and even if he wanted to, he had nowhere to go. Malik was obviously no longer in the mood for conversation, which left him picking at the straw on the floor and desperately wishing for something to do.

He cursed himself for getting into this mess. What had his mother once said? If you can help it, never be indebted to someone.

Well, obviously he had failed to heed that advice.

In his defense, though, dying wasn't exactly a preferable affair.

Suddenly the eagle let out a sharp cry, startling him, and Malik looked up to see the sun beginning to set outside. He let out a low, short sigh as he gathered himself up to his feet and closed the book, replacing it into the saddle bag. He then turned to face Naji, and the look in his eyes made him sit up straight, anxiousness pooling in his gut.

"You asked me before why I needed that treasure.” Malik spoke, voice edged with something he couldn’t put his finger on, “But I'm afraid I cannot explain it to you know. There are...things you need to learn first."

"Things?" He didn't like the sound of that.

The elder nodded. "For now, all you need know is this. When the sun sets, I am going to leave, and I will not return until dawn. Do not look for me. Or rather," he smiled, "There will be no need."

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but…that wasn’t it.

His face went slack. “Wait, what?! You're joust going to leave me here alone? How do you I won't leave? Or,” he stuttered, but it came out anyway, “Or take anything?”

The smiled widened. "You won't,” Malik announced confidently, “And you won't be alone. You're going to watch my eagle.”

He sincerely hoped this conversation was going to start making sense soon.

“Your eagle? Why would I need to watch your eagle? He seems perfectly capable of looking after himself.”

“Oh, believe me, he’s alright now, but at night he is different. I imagine he will be in something of a foul mood once he learns of this. If he asks you, tell him I left a note to explain. He will know where to find it.”

“If he asks me? If he asks me what? Why would he ask me anything? How would he ask me anything? Why would he be different?” he gripped his hair in frustration, “Malik, I don't understand what you're saying!"

“Calm yourself. You will understand soon enough.” He moved over to soothe his horse, which was kicking restlessly at the ground. “In the meantime, I will tell you this. You would do well not to run from him. He likely won't be happy, and doubtless he will be far less even-tempered than I when he questions you. If you think I am harsh, let this be my advice. Do not run."

What was Malik talking about? What was he talking about? Why was he leaving? Where was he going? Why was he talking about his bird like it was a person? A note? Don't run?

He desperately wished he wasn’t here, that this whole thing wasn’t happening. He was just imagining it, a mixture of boredom and the long afternoon spent under the burning sun.

He sent Malik an imploring look. “I don’t understand what you expect from me.”

The man didn’t answer. Instead he reached out his arm and the eagle flew down to alight upon it. Malik stroked its head briefly and it crooned, nipping his fingers. He then gave his arm a shake and it lifted, flying up and disappearing into the loft. He and Malik watched it before the elder turned to leave, Naji staring at his back, head spinning as it tried to make sense of exactly what had just transpired. Malik paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder.

"Remember. Do not run.”

Naji, frankly, could not believe this was happening. This whole day, in fact, did not seem real. First he was nearly executed by the city guards. Not exactly uncommon, but never quite such a close call. Then he was saved by what turned out to be a mad man, who was now essentially holding him hostage for his assistance in some matter.

And now that same man had abandoned him and disappeared somewhere, leaving him only vague instructions that, honestly, made absolutely no sense.

In short, this day kind of sucked.

Frustrated, he paced about the stable, the horse giving brief, restless snorts drawn by his agitated movements, but he ignored it. He did not hear the eagle up in the loft. For all he knew, it had flown back outside again. Or was roosting. Either way, he didn't care. He was irritated with Malik and his nonexistent explanations. Why should he have to watch the eagle?

"Do not run, he says," Naji scoffed, "Only a madman would stay. I've had enough of this. It's just a bird, what's it going to do, peck my eyes out? I'll eat it for dinner."

"Will you now?"

Naji jumped, heart leaping in his throat, as he whirled around to see a man, robed in white, crouched on the wall behind him. His golden eyes glinted in the shadows, scorching and fixed, just like an...

Like an eagle's.

Startled, his eyes fixed on the man's short, dusty brown hair before zeroing in on the scar that ran down the right side of his lips, exactly in the same place as...as Malik's bird.

Gaping, he stood frozen in shock.

"What was it you were saying about eating a bird?"

Naji was going wild in his head, the bird--the man--the beast was speaking to him! Great Allah, what had he done to deserve this? The man looked like a snake, poised to strike, one wrong move and he's dead!

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Page 18 of 27

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Re: Detention (6/6)

Thank you everyone!

writeranon here

Re: writeranon here

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (76?)

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Re: Altered Flight Pattern (77?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (77?)

To the Rescue

Re: To the Rescue

Re: To the Rescue

Fill: Fade 28/?

Re: Fill: Fade 28/?

I Touch Myself (1/?)

Re: Detention (6/6) OP

Re: Fill: Fade 28/?

Re: Detention (6/6)

Re: Detention (6/6) OP

Re: (Malik/Altaïr, mpreg) Untitled, 1.l/?/author's notes

OP here!

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

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 15/?

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 16/?

A Long Time in Coming- Favorable Chance Encounters 17/17

A Long Time in Coming- Men of Lore, The Myth Becomes 1/?