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

"What are you here for?" Malik asked and Altair's eyes left Leo. Again there was guilt but it was old guilt from when he'd seen Malik then, the present Altair felt none. Desmond knew all about it but didn't like to think about it. Malik was... special. He was a Sheep, he was blue, he had a brother who was an outstanding warrior, trying to become an assassin, and he'd been in love with Altair. That was why Desmond had always found him so interesting. He was an anomaly, something that shouldn't exist in itself, a blue Sheep, but also because of what he meant to Altair even if he didn't admit it or recognize it himself. Malik was stability, something his brother had needed then when he'd been holding himself together by hairs, having to keep what was left of his family alive and yet unable to actually mourn the loss of their entire clan and family. He needed it now too, but he had it. He had this, his purpose in life had been returned to him and his family was safe; all else was now secondary. There was guilt though that he'd left Malik here when he'd all but begged to come, wanting to see what was out there, see his brother again, and maybe be with Altair. Only the two first reasons made him guilty and that's actually what made Desmond the saddest. Again the memory glitched, warping at the edges like someone was burning a reel of film.

“You’ll see on the news soon enough,” Desmond’s mouth moved with Altair’s words as he spoke them and fell back into sync.

“Was that you? ‘The Prophet Lives’?” Leo quickly asked.

Altair’s eyes narrowed, “I do not agree with it, but yes, it is us,” Altair said.

“Why? No, never mind, I don’t really care,” Leo said shaking his head, “What are you doing here Altair?”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said because indeed the two of them did look very worried about that since they were stiff and wary of him and every movement he made. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“That was before you people started treating ours like sport,” Malik said narrowing his eyes at him.

Altair just sighed and rolled his eyes, “Why do we do anything Malik?” he asked him, “For the same reason I did anything,” and Malik blinked at him. “We just want peace, to be left alone, and now we have a chance to change things and make it so. So we are.”

“Half of our leaders are dead,” Leo said.

“I know,” he frowned, “I am sorry, we did what was needed. You’ll be glad for it one day.”

“Says who? The world is falling apart-

“Des says so, and no one doubts him, because no one can see the way he does,” Altair cut him off annoyedly. “He’s saved you both more than once because of what he sees.”

“How?” Leo asked.

“It wasn’t an accident that Garnier fell from that platform during his last public appearance,” and watched Leo pale. The man, a priest, had been one of the main supporters in trying to get Leo arrested for treason on the account that his painting was being used to fuel this chaos. However before he could fully act upon it he’d fallen off a platform during a fundraiser and broken his neck, killing him instantly. After that no one had been to keen on publicly showing dislike towards the artist since the general public loved him and were outraged by Garnier’s public accusations about him being a terrorist. “I don’t really have time to go over everything, but my brother and I made a promise, know that we’re keeping it.”

“Is that all you came here for?”

Altair shook his head then a sort of helpless grin cross his visage, “I’m here now for a totally selfish reason,” he admitted. The two Sheep just waited, “Des wanted to see you.”

“He did? Where is he?” Leo asked glancing around curiously as if the young man would just spring up out of nowhere.

"He's here," and Altair lifted his hand and pressed a finger to his temple. "Not now of course, but he'll see this. He wanted me to tell you that he's watching you, both of you and won’t let anything happen to you."

"How?"

"He's a prophet Leo, how do you think he is?"

"Oh… I admit Altair, I don't really know what to do. But then that's always the case with you Rifters isn't it?"

"That's fine, you don't have to do or say anything. I've seen what I've needed and said what needed to be said. You won’t see me again,” and he made to draw his hood up.

“What do you mean by that?” Malik demanded.

“It is a danger to be here, as it always is, I cannot be here associating with you and this is the only time we may see each other.”

“But what does that-

“Malik,” Altair cut him off, “Sometimes questions go unanswered,” and he snapped his hood up to cover his eyes. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he gave them a slight bow of his head showed himself out. As he was closing the door he heard someone coming after them but by the time they opened the door he’d already put himself out of their sight, hiding right in plain sight.

“Damn him,” Malik muttered to himself looking cross, “he always does this,” and he closed the door loudly.

Altair moved out from his hiding place looking at the door for a moment before he turned to leave. Something to the side caught his attention though and he looked, starting when he saw Salai staring at him from an open window. He’d forgotten about Salai. He glanced back over at the door before going up to the window which was open. “My apologies Salai,” he said switching into his more comfortable language.

‘I know Des wanted to see Leo but…’ he hesitated, his hands momentarily useless and fumbling and not their usual eloquency. ‘I miss him.’

“I know. He misses you as well. You were his friend,” he huffed a little sigh before saying, “Only one he has really. He doesn’t trust anyone else to call them a friend,” and the red head frowned deeply. “He wished I could take you to him,” that revelation startled the pet out of his sadness and he stared at Altair.

Finally he composed himself enough to ask, ‘Why not?’

"Leo needs you still and he knows he can't be so selfish to take you away from him," he said as the memory glitched, seeming to skip, and Desmond could feel his eyes dampen. It was true though and Desmond missed his friend, the one who had that strange broken giggle and didn't talk but rather saw everything, just like he did. "You understand?" Altair asked the red head.

'So when he doesn't will I get to see him again?'

"We'll see," he ruffled Salai's curly red hair. "Do you have anything you want to say to him?"

Salai thought for a moment before tugging on Altair’s sleeve and he leaned down to be more at the same level as the shorter man. Then with slow motions as if unsure he signed, ‘This isn’t for you Altair,’ and the Assassin got one of the shocks of his life when the pet leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

The memory glitched and pitched before bursting apart into threads of white like someone had ripped apart a ball of yarn. It faded quickly and Desmond roughly lurched to his feet the Apple falling from his hand to bang against the glass over the Wellspring. He felt Altair try to reach out and grab his wrist but he slipped right through, “Desmo-

“Leave,” Desmond said his voice uncharacteristically hard, snapping out like a whip.

“But Des-

“I said leave!” he practically yelled. “You’re my Sicarius and have to do what I say and I’m telling you to leave.”

There was a moment of hard silence in the room, only interrupted by the sound of the Animus before he heard his brother get to his feet, the pillows shifting around him as he stood. “As you wish Divinus,” he said in a low tone and Desmond heard him open and close the door softly and only then did he look back to make sure he was really gone.

He sat on one of the chairs in the room, slumping down and stared out one of the large windows. The storm had hit while they’d been inside the Animus and it howled and raged outside like some sort of demon battering at the fortress as though it could find a way inside. Desmond sucked in his lips with a frown before pressing a hand over his face and drew his knees up to his chest.

It wasn’t fair.

omg aren't we done yet???
--

He’d been to young to be anything when they’d been taken from the desert and couldn’t remember what it was like there except in dreams he sometimes had or when he brothers spoke of it. The desert and Masyaf they always went on about was something he didn’t understand, a memory he’d forgotten to help cope with a world he equally didn’t understand and who didn’t understand him. He could distantly remember getting his tattoo when he was eight, but it had been so long ago, it had hurt and he’d cried, it was why he remembered it, he remembered the pain. It soon became all the things he did remember, every time someone who’d bought him hurt him, or hurt his brothers. Pain had been easier to deal with, because you could become numb to it and it helped him get over the brutality the Templars had wrecked upon his family. Happiness wasn’t something he’d wanted from that life out in the desert because it hurt, it hurt so much, more than any pain he’d had as a pet.

The Borgia had changed his mind a bit. He hadn’t been aware someone could be so cruel, so twisted. That sort of treatment had stained him, finally breaking through the numbness he’d built up to cope in that world. He’d wanted to die in that place, especially once his brothers were gone, he would just sit and pray to God to be smited or to be killed, anything to end the torture or the pain of being forced to see and try to translate what he saw into words, all the while the threat of a knife cutting into his skin loomed over him if he did not perform.

He’d been happy to see Altair when he’d appeared in that cellar, but also afraid. Afraid he’d been just a hallucination, a wish of a tired and broken mind as finally he broke under the pressure of forcing the sight without a medium. He hadn’t though, he’d been real, and that was somehow just as heart breaking because now he’d have to live through the pain, try to piece himself back together again when he’d just wanted to fall apart. Desmond hadn’t trusted anyone after the Borgia, not at first, he’d been hurt to badly to just trust anyone. Eventually he’d trust Leo, but never as much as the man probably wanted him to, but it was all he could do.

Salai though was different. He was like Desmond, he’d been broken, but he could function perfectly well regardless. The first time he’d really met Salai had been when he’d brought Desmond dinner, about the fifth day he’d been there and during one of the few times he’d been lucid enough to recognize the people around him since he was half delirious with a fever and whatever pain medication Leo had put him on. His brothers had both not been there, he wasn’t exactly sure where and at the time hadn’t cared because he’d been starving (figuratively, not literally as he had at the hands of the Borgia) and like sort of weird fairy god mother Salai had appeared with food.

From then on Salai always brought him his meals and was happy to see Desmond eating because really he would eat anything if it was put in front of him, a trait he had to this day. They didn’t talk, they couldn’t, Salai was a mute and Desmond had trouble forming full sentences in a language the other man could understand. It was frustrating since unlike anyone else Salai didn’t want anything from Desmond. Even if it was something small everyone wanted something from him, Salai didn’t want any of that except that Desmond was happy. In frustration one day when he’d still been bed ridden, though was now permanently lucid and not on as strong drugs, he’d shared with Salai. He hated the language barrier because the one person he wanted to talk to he couldn’t so he fixed it so they could understand each other. It had hurt without the Animus, but he’d gladly be hurt again to talk to a friend, to someone who understood him.

After that they’d been close, it was hard not to after such an event like that and Desmond knew he liked the red head. He was easy to talk to and smiled a lot, and when he did he meant it, he also blushed at anything which Desmond thought was cute. He would have been happy if they never went home, because then he could stay with his friend.

Then everything had turned upside-down and suddenly he was being told they were leaving, going home. Only Desmond did not think of where they were going as home, he didn’t have a definition of home beyond where his brothers were because without them he was lost. To him they were home, not some geographical place on a map or some building, they were his family, his everything, all he had. At least until he’d made a friend. He hadn’t wanted to leave, he’d rather have stayed, because Leo was kind to him, and Salai made him happy, but at the same time he knew he could never just let his brothers go, and they would not leave without him, but they wanted to go home more than anything.

So he’d gone with them.

He sort of regretted it and was glad Altair didn’t know. It was true a prophet and his Sicarius shared everything, but some things Desmond wanted to himself. He had better control over his own mind than Altair and so had kept these feelings to himself or he knew Altair would have felt terrible for taking him somewhere he didn’t want to go. Altair would gladly give up his own happiness if his little brother was happy in his stead and Desmond couldn’t have that, he wanted Altair to have something he wanted for once and not what his brothers wanted. He was too selfless for his own good and Desmond made sure he never knew that he felt this was.

Desmond rocked back in the chair, the winds had started to die now. He’d bee almost angry earlier, angry he couldn’t be with Salai, angry that all of this had happened that he’d even been put in the position to feel this way. He knew the laws, Sheep and Assassins did not mix and even the seldom few who were accepted into their society had to fight tooth and nail to make anything of themselves, to become anything more than just a Sheep in the eyes of everyone else. It didn’t mean he didn’t feel the way he felt.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d sat there thinking, remembering, and still wonderfully stunned at what Salai had done. If he hadn’t seen it he wouldn’t have believed it really, it was almost to fanciful that the quiet Salai would have the guts to kiss his brother. Even if it wasn’t for him he’d still technically kissed him and now thinking along that train of logic Desmond giggled. Altair had been so pissed in the aftermath of Malik surprising him with that first kiss but this time he’d just been to shocked to do anything. Neither of them had been expecting it and in some way that made Desmond glad. He kept his third eye on Leo, Malik and Salai and hadn’t seen that coming, because the future wasn’t constant. Anything could change the future, and it was the jobs of the prophets to find the best futures and try to make them happen, and to then witness the events first hand through their Sicarius. But he hadn’t seen this, and for some reason that made him indescribably glad.

He hummed to himself and watched the storm die away, the sand sliding down the windows like rain instead of pounding against it, and the sun came back out. Desmond blinked at the sudden brightness and thought about getting up to dim the window but he didn’t want to. He propped his chin up onto his knees and stayed that was until the sky began to darken into a pure indigo color. Only then did he hop up out of the chair, his legs a bit stiff from sitting still so long and walked slowly back over to the Wellspring where he’d left his Apple. He sat down on the pillows, snatching up the orb as he did so, and rolled it between his hands in a thoughtful way his mind an entire country away.

Finally he opened his third eye and sank into the pillows as his normal vision ceased to be and the Animus swarmed across his eyes in a flurry of threads and strands. “Show me what I need to see,” he said softly, directing himself with his voice to focus on what he wanted to see. “Show me the path I want that won’t end in heart break.”

The world went white.

-fin-

Okay, now we're done. Well that was a fun ride wasn't it? Final word count is 70,959 (holy fucking balls you guys). Also now that I'm done I'll be happy to answer any and all questions you may have about... well, what the fuck has been going on/happened.

Also, in case you couldn't tell, total new OTP= Des/Salai.

And just so you guys know, originally there was a much happier ending where Altair and Malik did end up together. Didn't work though; SOOOOOOOORRRRRRRY!!!

Random!anon loves you. To bits.

And offers her virginity and all the internet babies writer!anon couuld ask for.

because...

few9rth9tuhoiueht[45thshfglskjl;;

Excuse me while I bawl my heart out and archive this.

Oh uhm... I'm not a dragon sweetie, I don't want virgins. Glad you liked though :D

;A;

Holy shit on a stick, this totally deserves a de-anon. I love you, and I love this fic, and I love how it ended. Love it, love it, love it~~!! *in happy place* I never expected one of my prompts to have such an epic fill! *hugs*

I cried when you had Des send Altair out of the room, because he was missing Salai, and I really, really wanted Altair to take Salai with him to Des. And for Altair to take Malik with him, too. But I know that wouldn't work, not in this world that you've created. I love realistic endings, btw. Happy endings are good and make me have warm fuzzies, but realistic endings, while gut-wrenching, are absolutely wonderful. <3

This fic makes me want more Des/Salai, because they'd be an awesome couple. (Could you imagine a modern AU with them together and the whole Shaun-Salai snark fest that would happen? *totally gonna post that prompt*)

I'm curious about to what future Des is going to get. But a future that won't end in heartbreak might not even involve all the people they had to leave behind.

I really wanted it to end on a happy note, it almost did for a while there too. But then everything else got in the way and there was no way it could be because of the rules of this world.

I'm also way ahead of you OP, I already requested a Salai/Des and it's a modern AU and I'm freaking out about how awesome it is.

As for the future... hmm, it'll be a good one, that's all I can say :)

Do I detect a note of epilogue right there? Is this prompt of mine still eating your brain?? XD

If there isn't a plan for one, you don't have to write it. I'm perfectly fine with my own imagination. *is shot by other anons*

No, no epilogue, mainly because I have no idea what I'd do. I'll just leave it up to you guys to figure out how Des gets his "happily ever after".

For the record, I very rarely comment on fanfiction, much less kink meme things. This, however, just broke my heart in the best of ways. This has been a beautiful journey reading this. Though I admit that my heart is aching and angry for the inability of Altair and Malik working out, I understand why and it's logical and it's kind of perfect and reasonable, fiction-wise. Might I also note that I usually cannot stand stories with Desmond that are not gen nor Shaun/Desmond, but I can totally be okay with this. You just worked it out so well. It was beautiful and heartbreaking, and I love it to pieces.
I adore Assassin's Creed AUs so much, and I must say that this is absolutely one of my most favorite AU stories/worlds ever. Thank you so much for the story.

Oh anon you're making me blush. I'm so glad you enjoyed my story enough to leave this wonderful comment :3

Thank you very much :)

*writing*

This has been an F5 smashing, what happens next, inspiring piece of work! I'm NOT a big AU fan but this took hold and didn't let go. I could (and can still) see hundreds of tangents you could fill out to expand this world you've created in an amazing way. Side stories and character explorations which would only enhance the great narrative you've built.

Congrats on a wonderful piece, a really well executed prompt and a story with a bittersweet, realistic and hopeful ending all in one. Thanks so much for this!

You don't even wanna know the amount of cutting I had to do with this story... I think it would have broken your heart. Especially with Altair since he's just so... Altair and knows fucking everything (even when he doesn't he does). At several points conversations between him and Malik were getting too long in the tooth so I had to cut it down. It was heart breaking.

I tried not to end on such a low note that it wasn't impossible for everyone to (maybe) get some sort of happy ending. That just wasn't the ending of this story.

Wow. Its certainly been a journey and I've loved every bit of it, although I'm sad to see its ended. *cries a river*

Despite wanting the ending to be a bit more happier, I really liked how it came out and I never thought of Des/Salai! I liked their friendship but it didn't even occur to me that they could be a pairing! It was too cute. :D

And because I'm a complete AltMal shipper I kind of wanted their interaction (when Des was seeing through Altair's eyes) to be longer/have something happen but nevermind, either way I loved the whole story.

You've made me happy, writeranon. :D (and also dying a little inside D8)

Because I'm never really satisfied and need more of this amazing AU, are you considering on doing a sequel or maybe share the missing AltMal parts, at all? ;D

As a fellow Alt/Mal shipper I planned for there to be more interaction between Altair and Malik at the end but that was before part 20 happened (which... I didn't plan) so stuff had to be rewritten to fit proper continuity.

I'll probably not ever write anything more for this AU just because it's complete and I kinda exhausted all my ideas for this AU into this story. I literally did everything I wanted to with this story and don't have a desire to write any more on it because there isn't anything else to tell unless you just want me to write Altair and Malik talking. Because I could write Malik asking questions and Altair answering them and world building till the cows came home XD

However if you want to write some more to satisfy yourself I'd be okay with that.

Wow. Just wow.
This was, truly, an amazing fic. It is definitely my new favorite, and I think I have to show all of my friends this now.
I'm not a big fan of AUs either or works that have a "you can think of your own ending" finale, but this was really, really, REALLY fantastic and an exception to both of those. It was wonderful to watch the story unfold and the characters grow.
I sincerely hope you continue writing in the future. You certainly have a talent and, again, this was amazing. I'm sad to see it end. ;A;

I'm glad you like it so much to call it one of your favorites and I hope your friends like it as well.

I'm with you in that I usually dislike "you can think of your own ending" except sometimes... you need them. Otherwise this story would have never ended (literally, I would have just stopped writing it).

Thank you.

This anon will be using this thread to rewrite the beginning and finish posting A Meeting With Ghosts (http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4188664#t4188664).

Malik awoke in a bed, a thick headache coating his mind and filling his skull with a stubborn layer of fuzz that slowed it down, and his body covered in a thin blanket, breeches still on his legs but skin otherwise bare. A painful ache shuddered down his non-existent left arm as if he had pulled the muscles. He huffed a breath and groaned, turning his head to look at the space where his absent limb should have been in hope that it would remind him that pain there was impossible. It never worked, no matter how many times he relived that heady, blurry memory of the saw biting into his skin.

He yelled a vicious curse and heaved himself to the right, scrambling away from what he saw.

Beneath the thin sheet a clear outline of bones could be seen, spreading right the way into a wrist.

The door banged open, there was a flurry of movement and flowing robes. Hands pressed down on Malik's shoulders until he lay back down, still staring at the skeletal limb clinging to his ruined shoulder. Altaïr hovered above him, shushing him as Maria knelt on his other side saying, 'it's all right, Malik, it's all right.' He sucked in shaky breaths through his nose and hissed them out through his teeth, muscles tense and still ready to leap away.

“It was the Apple.” Altaïr said gently and placed a bare hand at the top of Malik's neck, thumb stroking along his jaw. “It's been growing whilst you were asleep.”

Malik continued to gaze wide-eyed and fear-stricken. Across his body Altaïr and Maria shared a furtive glance. A metacarpal slowly moved the blanket with it's snail's-pace growth.

“It's actually happening?” Malik eventually croaked out, disbelieving. Maria nodded earnestly and placed a hand gingerly over his growing fingers. He gasped shakily even though he couldn't feel her touch.

“Malik you must tell me how it is you got the Apple to restore your arm.” Altaïr said as he rearranged himself on the bed, and stroked along Malik's exposed collarbone, fingering a scar that dissected it on the right side. Inside Malik burned with shame. One question, eh? Wouldn't become addicted to the power, hm?

“Not now.” He mumbled, eyeing the silhouette of the five bones protruding from what would become the back of his hand.

“Mali-”

“Not now.” He repeated more firmly and wrenched his gaze away from his half-formed limb to meet Altaïr's eyes. His stare was returned evenly. Maria cleared her throat quietly.

“I have to get back to Yusef.” She said softly and moved her hand to press against Altaïr's forearm warningly before scrambling to her feet and walking back through the door she entered from. Her stomach curved with a second child. Altaïr's hand slid up Malik's stubbled neck.

“I'm keeping you in the nursery until I feel assured that you'll be okay. Yusef's cot has been moved into the room next door with Maria.” Altaïr said and sighed.

“I think I can manage on my own.” Malik grumbled just to be difficult.

“Can you move it?”

Malik looked towards the bare bones of his left arm and tried to move his wrist. It remained still and unyielding to his will.

“No.” He eventually replied. Altaïr sighed heavily again and Malik looked back to him, the sight of his arm nauseating. “But I can't stay here.”

Altaïr narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

Laying in bed, Malik rolled his eyes. “Because I do believe that I have encroached upon your marriage quite enough as it is. I don't want to be-” Altaïr pressed his hand over Malik's mouth, cutting him off.

“Maria and I are not married. And she entered into the Creed knowing of our relationship.” He leant down and kissed Malik's forehead. “She knows that my feelings for you will never venture into our bed and do not compromise my love for my family, and she knows that my love for my family will never compromise my feelings for you. You have so little faith.”

Malik bit at the soft flesh of Altaïr's hand sharply until he drew it away, grunting. “This is too close to your bed with her.”

They stared at each other for another moment, waiting for the other to back down.

“Do you need anything?” Altaïr eventually asked, ignoring Malik's comment. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

“Water, please.”

A small cup and large bowl of water was situated next to his head, which was propped up on a couple of stiff pillows.

“I am only caring for you.” Altaïr said gently and placed a miniature bell next to the water. “Ring if you need anything at all.”

When Malik closed his eyes to rest Altaïr left his side and the room, leaving the door ajar.

*

All day spent in bed was incredibly dull. The only excitement came in the panicked moments where the pain in his arm would become too great, but Malik quickly decided that he would rather be bored than experience that often and usually kept himself on a small dose of hashish oil to keep his mind slow and the pain numbed. He counted the flagstones stones piecing together the ceiling aloud to himself. Yusef burbled in the room next to his. Sometimes he cried.

By night time the bones of his arm had completely formed and he had succumbed to his morbid curiosity, pulling the blanket up to look at the bones lying there like a perfect anatomical representation, or some poor soul's abandoned and rotten body. Some invisible force kept them together. Even though he had picked up his forearm and waved it around slightly the small, delicate bones of his hand had somehow stayed intact and secure on the end, and the elbow restricted the movement as it would if wrapped in tendons. Malik hoped for a further development rather than a sudden halt in progression. He was quite sure that walking around with a skeleton arm dangling at his side was not going to make a good impression on the townspeople of Masyaf.

The ache in his arm was gone. Instead a bruising and sharper pain throbbed over the scar tissue where the flesh of his arm cut off and where the bone jutted out. Malik groped for the bell by his head and grasped it in a sloppy fist before ringing it. Yusef made a muffled sound of complaint. Maria entered, the baby suckling on her breast. Malik quickly averted his eyes.

“Some more oil, if you will.” He spoke, the snuffling and suckling noises louder now that he was aware of them.

“You haven't eaten since waking up. Would you like some broth?” Maria cradled her child and caressed his soft head with her thumb.

“And bread please, yes.”

She left the room. Malik heaved a sigh of relief.

It was somewhat awkward to be alone in her presence. Though with others around them they were perfectly cordial and at ease it seemed that when they were left with only each other's company that life suddenly became much harder. Malik did not resent her. He had gone past that. It was just a strange set up. How did one's somewhat-wife talk to one's somewhat-lover? Their main and obvious shared interest was in Altaïr, but to speak of him between them would have been a sure-fire road to heartbreak.

A twinge of pain disrupted Malik's musings and he looked to his uncovered arm. Blood had begun to drip down the bone and stain the pillowed rug beneath him. He swore and grasped for something to soak up the stain, shoving it beneath the bleed and then checking for the wound. His skin had peeled away to reveal a bloody mess of muscle and veins which had begun to wrap around his bone slowly and painfully. He groaned loudly and let his head fall back on the pillows heavily. A worry hit him. He could lose a lot of blood. He looked to the top of his arm again. The dribble of haemoglobin red, apart from standing out like a sore thumb against the white of his bone, was only thin. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his breath hitched as another stinging sensation signified the tearing of his skin on the other side of his arm. He hissed and grimaced with pain.

Maria entered a moment later with a bowl of broth and chunk of bread in arms, kneeling next to Malik. She threw a long look to the exposed flesh creeping down his arm. It hadn't yet made a centimetre's progress.

“The oil first, then.”

Malik ate in silence, Maria having retired back into her own quarters. She was humming softly. Yusef seemed to be asleep. The fabric beneath his arm, which had turned out to be his dark scholar's robes, was now heavily stained. Blood dried on the surface of his humerus. With a deep breath after relieving himself into a chamberpot, Malik settled back into his bed, body aching with a mixture of tiredness and containing all too much unused energy and restlessness. The door to Maria's room from the corridor opened and closed quietly. In murmured conversation Malik could easily catch the baritone of Altaïr's voice. He waited almost impatiently for the man to enter into the room.

When he did he looked tired. More tired than usual. It was not so often that Malik saw him so late of an evening and in such light or under such circumstances. When Altaïr retired to their bed it was usually panting, moaning and groaning. The domesticity of the situation hit him quite unexpectedly. Altaïr collapsed at his bedside in a heap of robes and exhaustion, eyeing his unformed limb.

“It's growing quickly.” He remarked, and Malik managed to quirk a small smile.

“You will not have me in this bed for much longer.”

Eyes, though no doubt unfocussed and not entirely aware, travelled from fingertip to growing biceps with fierce concentration, tracking the trails of dripping blood in the last moment.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now. The bleeding is slowing down.”

Altaïr licked his lips. “We will have to suspend it to stop the muscle from sticking to the fabric. And we must try to keep it clear of flies and disease.”

“Most definitely.” Malik yawned widely and a flicker of a smile crossed Altaïr's face before falling away once more.

“Everything will be okay. I assure you.” He said soberly. “I will sleep in the office tonight.”

Malik rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You will do no such thing. I am well aware that you usually sleep with Maria. I have no qualms with it.”

“No, Malik. I will sleep in my office tonight, because if it were not for this set up I would be lying with you.” Altaïr's expression flashed with a sudden heat and Malik swallowed thickly and drily. He nodded afterwards, mutely and not without irritation. It had surely been a week since he had last indulged and been indulged by Altaïr's presence at his side, and he strongly wished almost now more than ever that he had never touched that damned artefact in Altaïr's office.

“I will bring you breakfast in the morning and we can talk then. Remember that you can always ring for Maria should you need anything. I only hope that Yusef sleeps peacefully tonight.” With a tired smile, constrained lust now visible beneath it to Malik's trained eye, Altaïr excused himself, muttering a few words to Maria before leaving her as well. Malik extinguished the flame of his candle with a snuffer and hunkered down to sleep.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 5 of 27

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Re: Clipped (21g/21)

Re: Clipped (21h/21)

Re: Clipped (21i/21)

Re: Clipped (21j/21)

Re: Clipped, author notes

Re: Clipped, author notes

Writeanon

OP!

Re: OP!

OP!

Re: OP!

Re: Clipped, author notes

writeanon

Re: 2; The wound [1/?]

Re: Clipped, author notes

Writeanon

Re: Clipped, author notes

writeanon

Re: Clipped, author notes

writeanon

no subject

FILL [2.a/?]

FILL [2.b/?]

FILL [2.c/?]

FILL [2.d/?]