asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Altair is hopelessly lost. His son just threw a punch at someone the man who’s taking care of him is hiring for one thing or another. The two men are staring at him, and he doesn’t know what their problem is. He must be going crazy. He turns around and leans over the sink, resting his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Sibrand.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite okay. I can see your fire in him. He’s just trying to look out for you.”

Altair grunts. “Just want do you do? In terms of work.”

“Richard and I are merging businesses. Talal is an old friend of mine who will be designing the new building.”

Altair hums as he squats down and gathers the supplies. Maybe he should try to get his cleaning supplies from the settlement. He needs his bucket again.

“If you need, I can get you an apron with pockets. Or a tool belt.”

“A bucket would work fine.”

The maid must have been cheap given the extensive amount of cleaning supplies that the man bought. Or perhaps she brought her own—professional service. Now free labor. He’s scrubbing down the stove—the burnt-on pancake batter is ridiculously tough to get off.

“Are you sure? The pockets might be handy. Less digging. Are you handy with tools?”

He can work with those. He’s done his own repairs on the home. He knows the landlord should, but he doesn’t care, and it was something else to do. The more he thinks about it, the more appealing the apron sounds. He could switch out the cleaning supplies without having to root around in a bucket. And he wouldn’t have to find place to store them when he needs the bucket.

“If you want,” he grunts.

He realizes, in fact, that the maid did a horrid job of cleaning, and that that isn’t burnt pancake batter, but something that’s been burnt on for probably several years. This is going to be harder than he realizes. He’s grateful he didn’t wear the shirt as he prepares for the hardest cleaning session he’s ever done. He hears Darim leave without so much as a “Goodbye.” It hurts a little, but he brushes the feeling aside because he shouldn’t have thrown that punch, even if Talal avoided it.

In the middle of scrubbing the stove, he hears Sibrand stand. “Okay, well, I’m done. I’m going to put in a few hours at work. Come, Talal. We need to talk to Richard.”

“Are you sure Altair doesn’t need our company?”

“I’m positive,” he growls. “I’ll be home by five.”

Altair nods, seeing them off (he never would have associated Talal as one to enjoy hugs, but the man does appreciate a bear hug, it seems) before turning back to the kitchen and scowling. It’s going to be hell. By the time his boys come home, he’s cleaned the bathroom and the stove and is working on the refrigerator. He’s taken everything out and has his entire upper half in the thing, scrubbing the shelves.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Sef, is your brother home? Or did he dri—”

“I’m right here, Dad.”

“Have a seat, Darim.”

He waits until he hears his son sit, then looks over his shoulder to check and keeps cleaning.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I know.”

“Then why did you—”

“Because he was practically raping you with his eyes! How could you not tell?”

He rolls his eyes. Sometimes, Darim can be completely irrational.

“They both were! Dad, if you don’t watch your ass, it’s gonna end up a victim of surprise buttsex!”

“Look,” Sef says, and Altair can hear the disapproval, “we both know that they’re more respectable than that, and it wouldn’t be Dad’s ass that’s the victim.”

“You’re wrong, bro,” Darim says. “There’s no way Sibrand would submit—”

“Boys,” he says, scowling as he pulls out of the refrigerator with grime all over him. “That’s enough. Sibrand is a respectable man.” He crosses his arms, and they at least have the decency to look away. “The man was kind enough to take us in after a few meetings for coffee and the recommendation of your girlfriend, Sef. I’ll start searching for a job, and we’ll try to move out as quickly as possible.”

“No,” Sef mumbles, “I like it here. I don’t want you to get a job.”

He jerks, a little surprised, especially when Darim agrees quietly and nods.

“I mean,” Sef begins quietly, looking at him like a kicked puppy, “I know you always think that you’ve never been able to spoil us like most kids, and you were normally busy taking care of us or the house, but you have spoiled us.”

“I like you staying at home,” Darim mutters. “I don’t want you to get a job. I like knowing you’re waiting at home for us.”

“I want to stay here, because you’ll stay at home.”

“And I don’t you fall in love again because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I liked how you always cooked for us and spent time with us whenever you could.”

“I liked how Mom was always away because your undivided attention was with us.”

“I know you loved her a lot, and I liked watching you love her.”

“But I liked how you always tried to bring us together as a family.”

“And we don’t want anyone else. Once she started staying out longer, we started having you more.”

“We like it being just the three of us. We like how she was never around, so we got more of your attention.”

“And Sibrand will change that.”

Altair blinks, surprised. Darim is sitting with his arms crossed, his face down, and Sef is standing beside him, looking at Darim’s feet. He’s never heard his boys say that before.

“We never really liked Mom once we were old enough to understand.”

“She was always a bitch to you.”

“You’ve always been the one we liked more.”

“You’ve always given us everything you had.”

“You’ve always loved us, regardless, and pushed us hard to do better than you have.”

“And we’re starting to see that you’ve raised us as best you could.”

“We admire that. We want to show you you’ve raised us well.”

“Now’s our chance, ‘cause you’re hurting.”

“We just… have to figure out how. We have to get over our selfishness.”

“Because we are spoiled. It’s no longer just about us.”

“It’s also about you, and we want you to be happy, too.”

“But we don’t want to lose you.”

“And that’s what we’re afraid of.”

His boys fall silent, and he’s having trouble digesting everything that’s been said.
He had thought that he had always fallen just a bit short. He likes staying at home because he can spend time with his boys, and Maria did pull them closer while she was gone. He always felt as if he were one of the annoying parents, always standing a bit too close, always being a bit too “touchy.”

“We could’ve stayed out with friends if we really wanted to.”

“We liked coming home.”

He frowns, looking at his boys. Darim looks as if he’s pouting, looking up at him even though he’s hunched forward. Sef has his arms crossed, standing with his back to his father, and right next to his brother. He shakes his head. He’s seen this a million times before.

“You always do this.”

They both look at him, the expression of shock almost making him want to laugh.

“Always. Even when you two were little.”

“What?” Sef asks.

“You always teamed up on me. Every single time. And Darim would always end with his pouting, and Sef would always end with his back turned and his arms crossed.”

They both still look shocked. Altair shakes his head again.

“I could never stand against you two when you teamed together.”

There’s a smile crawling at Sef’s lips, and Darim looks amused. Altair sighs and turns back to the fridge.

“I’ll watch my ass if you two clean up your act. No more accusing our hosts, no more throwing punches at our host’s guests.”

He can hear Darim grin. “So… if I meet them on the streets…”

“As long as I don’t find out, you can beat them to a pulp.”

Darim laughs, and so does Sef, and the tense atmosphere dissolves.

“Now go do your homework.”

“What are you making for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Make that casserole you made before?”

He shrugs. “I’ll see if I have the ingredients.”

“Awesome. We can go to the grocery store if you don’t.”

“We’ll see.”

Altair is hopelessly lost. His son just threw a punch at someone the man who’s taking care of him is hiring for one thing or another. The two men are staring at him, and he doesn’t know what their problem is. He must be going crazy. He turns around and leans over the sink, resting his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Sibrand.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite okay. I can see your fire in him. He’s just trying to look out for you.”

Altair grunts. “Just want do you do? In terms of work.”

“Richard and I are merging businesses. Talal is an old friend of mine who will be designing the new building.”

Altair hums as he squats down and gathers the supplies. Maybe he should try to get his cleaning supplies from the settlement. He needs his bucket again.

“If you need, I can get you an apron with pockets. Or a tool belt.”

“A bucket would work fine.”

The maid must have been cheap given the extensive amount of cleaning supplies that the man bought. Or perhaps she brought her own—professional service. Now free labor. He’s scrubbing down the stove—the burnt-on pancake batter is ridiculously tough to get off.

“Are you sure? The pockets might be handy. Less digging. Are you handy with tools?”

He can work with those. He’s done his own repairs on the home. He knows the landlord should, but he doesn’t care, and it was something else to do. The more he thinks about it, the more appealing the apron sounds. He could switch out the cleaning supplies without having to root around in a bucket. And he wouldn’t have to find place to store them when he needs the bucket.

“If you want,” he grunts.

He realizes, in fact, that the maid did a horrid job of cleaning, and that that isn’t burnt pancake batter, but something that’s been burnt on for probably several years. This is going to be harder than he realizes. He’s grateful he didn’t wear the shirt as he prepares for the hardest cleaning session he’s ever done. He hears Darim leave without so much as a “Goodbye.” It hurts a little, but he brushes the feeling aside because he shouldn’t have thrown that punch, even if Talal avoided it.

In the middle of scrubbing the stove, he hears Sibrand stand. “Okay, well, I’m done. I’m going to put in a few hours at work. Come, Talal. We need to talk to Richard.”

“Are you sure Altair doesn’t need our company?”

“I’m positive,” he growls. “I’ll be home by five.”

Altair nods, seeing them off (he never would have associated Talal as one to enjoy hugs, but the man does appreciate a bear hug, it seems) before turning back to the kitchen and scowling. It’s going to be hell. By the time his boys come home, he’s cleaned the bathroom and the stove and is working on the refrigerator. He’s taken everything out and has his entire upper half in the thing, scrubbing the shelves.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Sef, is your brother home? Or did he dri—”

“I’m right here, Dad.”

“Have a seat, Darim.”

He waits until he hears his son sit, then looks over his shoulder to check and keeps cleaning.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I know.”

“Then why did you—”

“Because he was practically raping you with his eyes! How could you not tell?”

He rolls his eyes. Sometimes, Darim can be completely irrational.

“They both were! Dad, if you don’t watch your ass, it’s gonna end up a victim of surprise buttsex!”

“Look,” Sef says, and Altair can hear the disapproval, “we both know that they’re more respectable than that, and it wouldn’t be Dad’s ass that’s the victim.”

“You’re wrong, bro,” Darim says. “There’s no way Sibrand would submit—”

“Boys,” he says, scowling as he pulls out of the refrigerator with grime all over him. “That’s enough. Sibrand is a respectable man.” He crosses his arms, and they at least have the decency to look away. “The man was kind enough to take us in after a few meetings for coffee and the recommendation of your girlfriend, Sef. I’ll start searching for a job, and we’ll try to move out as quickly as possible.”

“No,” Sef mumbles, “I like it here. I don’t want you to get a job.”

He jerks, a little surprised, especially when Darim agrees quietly and nods.

“I mean,” Sef begins quietly, looking at him like a kicked puppy, “I know you always think that you’ve never been able to spoil us like most kids, and you were normally busy taking care of us or the house, but you have spoiled us.”

“I like you staying at home,” Darim mutters. “I don’t want you to get a job. I like knowing you’re waiting at home for us.”

“I want to stay here, because you’ll stay at home.”

“And I don’t you fall in love again because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I liked how you always cooked for us and spent time with us whenever you could.”

“I liked how Mom was always away because your undivided attention was with us.”

“I know you loved her a lot, and I liked watching you love her.”

“But I liked how you always tried to bring us together as a family.”

“And we don’t want anyone else. Once she started staying out longer, we started having you more.”

“We like it being just the three of us. We like how she was never around, so we got more of your attention.”

“And Sibrand will change that.”

Altair blinks, surprised. Darim is sitting with his arms crossed, his face down, and Sef is standing beside him, looking at Darim’s feet. He’s never heard his boys say that before.

“We never really liked Mom once we were old enough to understand.”

“She was always a bitch to you.”

“You’ve always been the one we liked more.”

“You’ve always given us everything you had.”

“You’ve always loved us, regardless, and pushed us hard to do better than you have.”

“And we’re starting to see that you’ve raised us as best you could.”

“We admire that. We want to show you you’ve raised us well.”

“Now’s our chance, ‘cause you’re hurting.”

“We just… have to figure out how. We have to get over our selfishness.”

“Because we are spoiled. It’s no longer just about us.”

“It’s also about you, and we want you to be happy, too.”

“But we don’t want to lose you.”

“And that’s what we’re afraid of.”

His boys fall silent, and he’s having trouble digesting everything that’s been said.
He had thought that he had always fallen just a bit short. He likes staying at home because he can spend time with his boys, and Maria did pull them closer while she was gone. He always felt as if he were one of the annoying parents, always standing a bit too close, always being a bit too “touchy.”

“We could’ve stayed out with friends if we really wanted to.”

“We liked coming home.”

He frowns, looking at his boys. Darim looks as if he’s pouting, looking up at him even though he’s hunched forward. Sef has his arms crossed, standing with his back to his father, and right next to his brother. He shakes his head. He’s seen this a million times before.

“You always do this.”

They both look at him, the expression of shock almost making him want to laugh.

“Always. Even when you two were little.”

“What?” Sef asks.

“You always teamed up on me. Every single time. And Darim would always end with his pouting, and Sef would always end with his back turned and his arms crossed.”

They both still look shocked. Altair shakes his head again.

“I could never stand against you two when you teamed together.”

There’s a smile crawling at Sef’s lips, and Darim looks amused. Altair sighs and turns back to the fridge.

“I’ll watch my ass if you two clean up your act. No more accusing our hosts, no more throwing punches at our host’s guests.”

He can hear Darim grin. “So… if I meet them on the streets…”

“As long as I don’t find out, you can beat them to a pulp.”

Darim laughs, and so does Sef, and the tense atmosphere dissolves.

“Now go do your homework.”

“What are you making for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Make that casserole you made before?”

He shrugs. “I’ll see if I have the ingredients.”

“Awesome. We can go to the grocery store if you don’t.”

“We’ll see.”

There are two sets of identical laughter as his boys leave the kitchen. He pauses, thinking on what they said. He wonders how long it was they knew Maria was cheating on him. He wonders how long that hatred has been in them, boiling and roiling until they decided to ask Monika for her help. He flinches. He could have happily continued not to see the fact that she was cheating on him, but when Sibrand made his offer, he knew he had to move out. He knew he had to for his boys. He wishes that he could’ve continued to live in happy denial and spared himself the hurt, but it wouldn’t have happened. Not with children.

And despite the hurt he feels at the thought of Maria, he still has this unbidden happiness blooming in his chest. All his life, he’s been worried that he hasn’t raised his boys right and that he’s pushed them too hard, but here they are, admitting that he’s done a good job. And he feels happy that his sons prefer him enough to enjoy spending time with him. They’re teenagers, the age where kids are supposed to hate their parents. They enjoy being with him. He feels proud that he’s raised kids that enjoy adult company.

And they’re trying to care for him. It’s almost funny. He’s always been the one to care for his boys. Ever since he was picked off the streets by Maria, he’s realized the importance of a family. He’s learned to enjoy touch and cuddling, and Maria thought it was wonderful. His boys loved it when he would wrestle with them, or when Desmond would come over and they would pair off and have Nerf fights. And now they were trying to take care of him. It’s admirable.

He lets that thought fuel him long enough to get the fridge clean. His sons are back in the kitchen, Sef working some form of math that all looks like a foreign language and Darim reading a textbook with confusing looking diagrams. He’s proud his boys are still in school. He’s proud that Darim is in college and Sef is going to be applying soon enough. Darim’s first year is paid off, but this year, he’ll have to apply for government aid. He won’t ask for Sibrand’s help.

He puts everything back in as Sibrand comes walking in, looking at his boys’ schoolwork.

“Did your maid never clean the kitchen?”

Sibrand glances at him briefly as he watches Sef work the problem in his math book. “No. I always cooked. Never very well, but I don’t like someone else preparing my food.”
Altair quirks an eyebrow, and Sibrand points at the problem.

“Check your work.”

Sibrand continues watching him, and he sees Sef’s eyes narrow when he discovers his mistake. How he even understands what he’s doing is beyond him. “Yet you trust me?”

“You feed your boys from the same dishes you’ll feed me. I can trust there won’t be poison or a razor in it.”

“Paranoid?”

“A little. I’ve had problem with contract killers before.”

Altair scoffs. There’s no reason for him to fear with him here. Of course, he doesn’t know that.

“You doubt me?”

“No, I doubt the skill of the killer.”

“I fear someone—Robert—will hire another. Someone more skilled.”

“You are safe.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“How can you?”

He meets Sibrand’s gaze, hard and unyielding, cold and unemotional, and Sibrand’s eyes flicker back to the scars. If he suspects something, he says nothing, just turns back to Sef’s homework, watching him work.

“What are we having?”

Altair rolls his eyes and turns to the cupboards. “My boys want casserole, but I think I’m going to have to go to the store.”

He hears rustling behind him as he digs through the shelves, making a mental list of things to buy. He roots around until he finds a pen and paper, scrawling down everything on the tiny pad. He checks the fridge, writing down more.

“Boys, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“I can drive you,” Sibrand says. “Then we can get you set up with the checking account, so I don’t have to feed you money when you need it.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s of little problem to me. I’ll trust you—especially with all the stories I’ve heard about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maria always boasted the cleanest house and all sorts of things. She was proud of your work.”

Altair scoffs as he walks out of the room. “I doubt that.”

He washes himself down in the sink. He can’t find it in himself to believe anything that Sibrand said. If she was truly so proud, she wouldn’t have cheated on him. Unless, perhaps, a maid service was all he was good for. He’s already resigned to the fact that his scars are hideous (he’s always thought that). Maybe if he offers to work for her, she’ll take him back, and he can be with his wife again.

He stares at himself in the mirror, the rag in his hands as he pauses in wiping down. He frowns, watching the scar move with his lips. He reaches to touch it gently. When they first started dating, she loved it. She loved trailing her fingers over his scars. She thought he was best. He pauses, swallowing thickly. He wonders if Sibrand will trade him out once he tires of him. He wonders if he is even worth something.

He wasn’t in bed, apparently. Or for anything involving a relationship. His frown deepens, setting the rag down as he runs his thumb over the scar again.

“I like it.”

He sees Sibrand in the mirror, leaning against the frame of the doorway.

“So, why shouldn’t I be afraid of contract killers? I would think that I should fear them.”

“Don’t be.”

“Why?”

He says nothing, looking away from him and hanging up the rag. He doesn’t flinch when Sibrand’s arms appear on either side of him, pinning him to the sink. He knows he can take Sibrand down as simple as “one-two-three.” He’s been trained, and even though he doesn’t work on the streets anymore, when Desmond comes over, there’s always a fist fight, a training session, or something of that nature. He’s a professional. He meets the man’s gaze in the mirror, steady and unwilling to break first.

“Why not?”

Still he says nothing, and he can feel Sibrand searching his eyes.

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“Must I?”

“Considering I’m paying for Darim’s college, so I would think so.”

“You are?”

“It would only be fair. The boy agreed to go into business.”

Altair blinks, his face showing no emotion as he adjusts to the feel of Sibrand against his back. This man has no qualms with getting into someone’s personal space.

“I’d say you were the contract killer hired, but I killed him.”

The man’s voice has dropped lower, almost to a growl, and Altair doesn’t even blink. He watches him reach to run a finger over the missing part of his ear.

“How did this happen?”

He shudders at the feel of his fingers dipping into the scar. It’s sensitive.

“Was it a knife?”

He jerks slightly at the feel of the nail brushing over it.

“Probably not. Probably a bullet that almost hit its mark.”

His breath leaves in a mighty woosh as he feels his breath on the scar. No, Maria never paid attention to the scar on his ear.

“But didn’t, because you were just a little bit ahead of the game.”

The breath doesn’t leave his ear as a hand comes up and traces the outside of the bullet wound on his shoulder. He refuses to show even the slightest bit of bending—but to Hell if it doesn’t make his skin crawl. Sibrand is watching him, waiting for him to give.

“So tell me, what gang did you belong to?”

He scoffs. “Gangs are pathetic. They have no pride in themselves.”

“So not a gang man. Perhaps… just a contract killer, then?”

He scoffs again. “While more noble, still no. They ill-informed usually, and unable to do higher priced murders.”

“So then, organized crime?”

“Perhaps.”

He sees the man smirk. “You were on the streets twenty years ago, if the stories Maria weaves are to be believed.”

“Is it not hard to believe that I got into street fights as a heroin user.”

Sibrand quirks an eyebrow. “Heroin? Okay, closer.”

He jerks when he feels lips on the nick in his ear. Sibrand steps a little closer. He growls: this is a bit too close. The man laughs.

“You were into organized crime, then. I’ll have to refresh my memory on that.”

“Why do you insist I was into crime?”

“A man like you? There’s no way you were domesticated easily. That fire in your boys’ eyes doesn’t come from Maria. And it most certainly doesn’t come from anger issues or the drugs.”

“Step back.”

Sibrand listens to him and give him some room. “You must have been part of organized crime. There’s too much power in you.”

He scoffs, turning to face him. He hasn’t backed off completely, and he’s still trapped against the sink, but at least he has room to breathe now. The man is still looking at him, almost as if he were sizing up an opponent. When the man leans in again, he growls, and Sibrand smirks and backs off completely, walking to the door.

“Come on, your boys are getting hungry.”

Altair rolls his eyes and walks out, pulling off the pants and changing quietly into something else. He can feel Sibrand watching him: the man truly is paranoid. He pulls on some nicer jeans and a t-shirt following him out quietly to the car after grabbing the list from the kitchen. As they pull into the market, he pulls out the list.

He sends Sibrand from one side to the other, getting the list done twice as quick. He scowls as he unloads it onto the check-out belt. There’s so much. It’s going to take forever. Sibrand grumbles as he pulls out the credit card and signs away over two-hundred dollars for groceries. Altair isn’t to blame: he offered to take him in, and the kitchen was unbearably empty. It would never feed four men. They pile them into the car, and Sibrand takes him to the bank. He’s surprised when he’s handed a credit card and signs his name on the papers. He holds the small plastic thing in his fingers, twisting it and twirling it.

“Would you look at that?”

“I’m impressed.”

He looks up to see the banker and Sibrand watching him twirl the plastic card. It’s not really all that impressive: he used to twirl knives and guns like this when he would practice with Desmond. He’s just not used to having a credit card. With Maria, it was a checkbook. He could write checks.

“How do you use it?”

There’s silence. He waits patiently, ignoring the fact that they have dumbfounded expression on their faces.

“You… swipe it in the credit card machine at the checkout lane then sign your name.”

Altair nods. Simple enough.

“You’ve never used a credit card?”

He shrugs. “Thank you, Sibrand. Especially for trusting me enough.”

Sibrand nods, and they say goodbye. He’s still twirling the card between his fingers as he walks through the door with the most important bags of groceries for the casserole.

“Alright, boys, carry in the groceries.”

His sons abandon their studies to help Sibrand carry in the groceries as he starts cooking. Two hours later, he’s pulling the food from the oven, and his boys are cheering, helping themselves before he can set it down on the counter. He tries to warn them it’s hot, but they don’t listen and end up burning their mouths on the first bite. He sighs, resting his forehead in his hand. They each have a glass of milk to sooth the burning, grumbling as they wait for it to cool down.

“I’s alrea’y nine,” Sef says, looking miserable.

“I tried to warn you,” Altair says as he hands a plateful to Sibrand, who is sitting at the table, looking every bit like a businessman. He spoons himself out some and catches Sibrand’s wary glance at the plate. “Would you like mine?”

Sibrand looks, then shakes his head. “Ah, no. I’m still getting used to this.”

“You were fine yesterday and this morning.”

“Actually, I didn’t eat much this morning or last night.”

“You’ll starve yourself if you wait too much longer to eat.”

“I’ll get over myself, eventually.”

He blows on his food, taking a bite as his sons finish half of their plate, either too hungry to care or their mouths too numb. They’re helping themselves to seconds as he sits down at the fourth chair, marveling at how quickly their books are pushed aside to make room.

“If you don’t want it, Sibrand, I’ll take it for you,” Darim mentions offhandedly. “God, I’m so glad we stayed with you.”

Altair rolls his eyes. He watches as Sibrand tries some of it and looks shocked. “It’s really good.”

“He always cooks like this. The roast from yesterday was just because he didn’t have anything to work with,” Sef says between bites.

Altair smiles softly, watching as Sef and Darim talk amiably to Sibrand. He doesn’t understand much about what they’re talking about (business and schooling), but it’s good to see his sons getting along with the man taking care of them. He cleans the dishes once they’re done, bids good night to them as he retires to Sibrand’s room. When Sibrand walks in, he’s sitting in the bed, one of his books in his hands. It was a Christmas gift from Sef, a book called Game of Thrones, and it’s good.

“That food was good.”

He looks up to see Sibrand standing there in silk pajamas, and he blinks before looking back down to the book. “It’s nothing. The least I can do for you giving us a place to stay.”

“I seem to be benefitting more from this than you are.”

Altair scoffs as Sibrand climbs into the bed. “We’re getting a place to stay.”

“I’m getting a personal chef, body guard, and maid. I’m getting a new man to take over the business for me. My niece is dating a wonderful young man, so I don’t have to worry. I do think I’m getting more out of this.”

“Well, all I can say is that I’m thankful for your generosity. And your patience. I must be a wreck right now.”

“It’s okay. It must be tough.”

They’re silent a little bit more before he realizes that Sibrand has fallen asleep. He turns out the light, then puts the book down, climbs in, and falls asleep quickly.
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Oh Lord, I'm so sorry for the posting fail, but this new system is fucked up, combined with all my rage about the new Prototype game, and I'm going to beat something up. T_T I hope you enjoy, dearest readers.

I understand, anon. ProtoCreed is my vice. Especially with the way these games are heading... D: It's my solace. I do enjoy Desmond, but others are always fun to see. XD I actually sent a request out to someone hoping to get an RP partner for ProtoCreed. I hope I hear a response soon....

Anyway, to show I haven't forgotten...
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Altair doesn't know what the Hell Desmond is thinking when he comes in with the man. Recruitment, okay, yes, fine, whatever, but...

"Look, we skip the initiation ceremony. It'll be worth it."

"How did you find this man?" he asks as a member of the council.

Desmond snorts. "The man's sister is allied with us. You asked me to check in with her, I did. Here is her brother. Alex Mercer. He's hot shit, man."

Altair's lip twitches, and he can see those icy blue eyes on him. The others are silent. "I don't think that's wise, Desmond."

"Look," Desmond says with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. "It was either I bring him along, or else he probably goes crazy and destroys all of Manhattan. You remember Heller and the Infection?"

"Yes."

"Say hello to the original Alex J. Mercer. Altair, you just gotta believe me on this. He's gonna be worth it. I promise."

"But to skip all of the initiation—”

“Look, if you don’t believe me that the initiation won’t do shit for us to ensure his loyalty, then why don’t you take him to the training ring and see for yourself?”

Altair scoffs, leaning forward and pressing his knuckles to his lips. “This man could pose a threat to us.”

“Dude, he wants to become a better person. I think this may be what he’s looking for.”

“Dana blackmailed you, didn’t she?”

Desmond laughs. “Yeah. She did. But look, I’ve spent time with him before bringing him here. I think he’ll be great for us to have on the team. Hell, we could put you and him together, and there’d be twice the invincible.”

Altair frowns, looking at the man from under his hood. The man looks like a sociopath. The man is. He knows about Alex Mercer. From here, though, he doesn’t look like the monster others have depicted him to be. He looks almost normal. Altair sighs. Another of the council speaks up.

“Fine then. It’s time for lunch anyway. Altair’ll take him out and get to know him more. If he seems decent enough, we’ll all take him out and get to know him. Desmond, you should know by now—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah,” Desmond says, looking irritated. “You obviously don’t get it. This man knew where we were. He can kill us at any time with that knowledge. We either treat him nice, or bye-bye assassins.”

“We should have you demoted for talking to us like that.”

Desmond quirks an eyebrow. “Go ahead. See what I care. Remember: I ran away from the assassins. He’s all yours, Altair. Have fun, Alex: try not to consume him.”

The man scoffs as Altair rises slowly and approaches. He knows why he’s the one volunteered for this. He’s the oldest of everyone—the only one immortalized by the Apple aside from Desmond, who is already walking out. He can fight the absolute best out of any of them.

“Ready?” he murmurs as he walks by.

Alex shrugs and follows him out of the hideout. “I suppose. I was just curious for Dana’s sake.”
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Any good, Anon?

Need bubbled and set Malik’s nerves ablaze. He pressed and rocked and pressed again, and oh-- how he desired those lips to be just a fraction lower. Even now Malik would struggle to unbutton his pants with just one hand but somehow the man before him could perform it with nothing but tongue and teeth.

And he did.

A nose nuzzled aside the flap of Malik’s jeans as arms embraced his frame. He kept pulling as if trying to eliminate any centimeter of space that formed between them.

“Is..t…this how you got your License Altair? Did you …ah..did you woo the men and women at the DMV and do to them what you’re doing to me now…?”
He caught his breath before continuing.
“nn..Because you certainly couldn’t have passed the written exam..l..let alone the…driving one.”

He arched and gasped when he felt lips graze the head of his cock and the hem of his shirt fell from Malik’s lips and settled on Altair’s head, hiding those sinful lips from view.

“I can’t be good at driving a car, and driving you wild with desire Malik, the world wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“aah, you’re so witty Altair, how..nn.. long did it take you to come up with that?”

“As long as it’ll take for me to get you to cum.” He responded flirtatiously.

Those lips dove down again, taking the head into his mouth and Malik’s toes curled against the seat.

---
sorry for the tiny update, never knew i'd be writing gay porn while relatives visit for the holidays.
Merry Christmas!

Op!Anon's mind went blank when she saw this in her inbox... although it was a tad difficult to figure out what fill it was to what, stupid new setup. Anyways, I can't wait for more! I really wanna see what's to come with Alex and Altair, and how Dana blackmailed Desmond.... >.>

Well, awesome work anon! Hope to see some soon!

By the way... Merry Xmas!

Thirding! I wanted a glimpse of him too! It would've been so easy, they even had his original VA around and all. :

Seconded!

This is awesome writeanon! Though I'm not really liking Sibrand...it feels like he's just using Altair, and Talal seems to be following along. I kinda want to see Desmond and the others (Salai?) pop in and also team up w/ Darim and Sef in "protecting" Altair from those two.

Course, that may be due to the fact that I really want Leo/Altair. :3

OP here:

Oh I loved this! It was very interesting and gave me some closure that the game didn't provide

Write-Anon, I am willing to follow where ever you go. All three of them hunting Altair like this is pretty amusing.

Lorenzo Medici/Suleiman

I don't know how, but I want to see these two brilliant politicians interacting.

You'll need a little applied time travel, or, I dunno, after-death experience? For these two to talk to each other, but the concept is super intriguing to me. *tilt* Anyone know if Suleiman was better with money than Lorenzo?

http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/726345/

For a second I thought I wouldn't be able to find it!

OP here, and I am so pleased!!!

I leave for a week and THIS appears. I could not be more happy. (Also, you are right -there is not enough Rauf love in the k-meme (or anywhere else, for that matter, which is a shame).)
I wanted to list aspects that I loved, but, really, I couldn't, because I love EVERYTHING.
Something I loved in particular, though, was your Malik Voice, and I especially love how you wrote his relationship Kadar and how he so obviously loved him, but they were still SIBLINGS, which I, admittedly, don't exactly *forget*, but I do tend to overlook because there was just so little Malik/Kadar interaction in the game, and I love it when I am reminded of that aspect of their relationship. It just adds MORE to their characters and breaks my heart just a little bit more, and I'm RAMBLING, SORRY.

Just wanted to say thank you so much, write!anon, for filling this and making it perfect :]

I'm not even done playing the game and I had an intense urge to request this. I want some young hot stud to epic swan dive into a crush/obsession/twitter-pattion with the revelations older Ezio. Make them self-conscious of the fact that Ezio is older and totally confused about WHY they like him (except not because, lets face it, he can charm the pants off of anyone). Basically I would like the character to be blind sided by it all.

It can be with a known character or one you make up. I'm not picky. My only specifics besides is make it slashy.

And I must say, I love you all dear Anons and hope the rest of your holidays are as awesome as mine have been.

Oh SECONDED so hard. I didn't even know I wanted this until I suddenly did.

I don't really know if I have the time anytime soon (until next week is 'required family bonding time' with me sneaking out on new years to do 'required friend time') but do you have specific time period? Is 20s prohibition good or would you prefer it a little later because I can totally picture Claudia as a flapper.

Seconded!

Op here. Just glad you're considering to do this. :D

I don't mind the time period, but I have a fondness for the post-WWII era, which was America's golden age.

Thanks once again.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Not!OP

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