asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
Entry tags:
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
I Touch Myself (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-10-09 06:04 pm (UTC)(link)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.
Re: I Touch Myself (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-11-19 07:27 am (UTC)(link)Please come back writeanon!
Re: I Touch Myself (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-11-28 04:17 am (UTC)(link)-----
That incident had cost also Malik the majority of his left arm, the injury requiring amputation just above his elbow. The driver that hit them, also a devout Catholic, had stood over the boys and watched, seeing the work of God in the actions of the young Malik. He offered to pay to send him to school, which Malik had staunchly refused. While he had no proof, Malik was fairly certain the anonymous donor of his seminary school tuition was that man, but he couldn’t prove anything.
When he returned home eight years later with his Masters in Divinity, he was approached by the elderly priest of the church he attended in his youth to take his ordination there, and eventually, to take over the duties as head priest of the church.
Which lead him to his first reintroduction to the Ibn-La'Ahad boy. It seemed the devout, wide-eyed boy of his younger years was nearly a man himself, full of rebellion and arrogance that only youth can offer. The young man was nearly as tall as Malik, with broad shoulders and a thin waist. The scar across his lip from a childhood tree-climbing accident seemed to never have healed properly, but it only added to the smirk that constantly graced the young man's face.
And that day was the first day of what Malik internally named his 'Trial.'
-----
“Brother Malik,” the elderly priest spoke, his smile crinkling his face. “Thank you for agreeing to lead the advanced catechism class. The boys were just too much for these old bones.”
“It's my pleasure, Father Khoury,” Malik replied, returning the other man's smile as he glanced around the room. Several young men stared back at him with varying looks of interest on their faces. When the Reverend Father asked him to lead a few catechism classes so he could spend more time with his grand-nieces and grand-nephews, Malik couldn't refuse. This man had been the one to legitimize his awkward performance of Last Rites over his brother, something the young man was eternally grateful for.
“These four can be a handful if you let them...”
“We're not that bad, Father,” one of the boys said with a soft, but full smile.
“No, not you Rauf.” The old man said. “Now, let's introduce ourselves, eh, boys?” Father Khoury sat up a little in his chair. “That is Rauf. Beside him is Richard. Next is Abbas. And you might not remember him, but... Altair, please pay attention.”
Altair? “The Ibn-La'Ahad boy?” Malik asked, wide-eyed.
“'The Ibn-La'Ahad boy?'” Altair repeated mockingly. There was a look on his face, half contempt and half curiosity. Both looks combined to make Malik's eyes widen just a little further and his mouth suddenly feel a little dry.
“Altair,” Father Khoury admonished lightly. “Brother Al-Sayf will be receiving his Holy Orders next month, and he will be treated with the respect he is due.”
“Yes, Father,” the young man said, his tone indicating this wasn't the first time he'd received such words from the elderly priest.
Re: I Touch Myself (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-12-02 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)