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

Will fill.

OP loves you already, Anon.

Okay anons, here's one I hope we can all enjoy:

One of our Assassins is VERY loud in bed (noisy as three cats in heat, as a friend of mine is wont to say) and his/her significant other is amused/aroused by this to the extent that they play him/her like a musical instrument; kiss here for purr, suck there for groan, stroke that for moan, etc.

Give me noisy pr0n, please!

Phew. not!OP thinks this fill = (HAWT HAWT HAWT)^9000+.

With obligatory time-treavel. The Assassins are stuck watching over little!Desmond, who spontanuously appeared in the bureau one day
Bonus points for:
1. Desmond landing on Malik
2. Mommy!Altair (much as he tries to protest the tittle)

Leonardo is standing over him with a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. He smiles before turning back to his table, and Ezio gets up as well and stares down at the mess on the desk, the shuffling of which had lulled him to sleep. Atop of the mess sits his hidden blade, and Ezio reached for it and puts it back onto his right wrist, testing the mechanism within a couple times. It'd taken a few hours, but the blade was no longer catching halfway, it slid into place as smoothly as the first day he'd worn it.

"Thank you, Leonardo. It is much better." The assassin smiles warmly to his friend, who smiles back.

"Say nothing, Ezio," his eyes dart away then back, "wait here, I have some tea a friend brought for me from China." Leonardo scurries off before Ezio can reply. Ezio chuckles under his breath, dropping his hand to the desk and idly running his fingers over it. A map shifts with his touch, revealing a mess of personal sketches. Ezio looks up as though he'd been caught looking at something private, but Leonardo is still nowhere to be found.

There are sketches of people in the market place, some more detailed than others, and some focused on entirely on hands, like a hand dropping coins into another, or a pair of hands resting on a lap. There are about ten drawings before Ezio sees them.

Fresher drawings in a heavier material, charcoal most likely. There are only three but they all depict the same thing; Ezio, asleep in the very position he'd woken in about five minutes ago. At first, he is embarrassed, his mouth is slack and his legs spread open carelessly, is this really what he looks like when he's asleep?

But then he feels a flooding of warmth in his chest, and a feeling as though something within it was expanding and pressing against his ribcage.

No wonder it'd taken so long for Leo to fix his blade.

Footsteps approach the room and Ezio quickly places the sketches down again, and the map on top in the same position as before, hopefully.

There's a tap on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Ezio just smiles. The artist before him smiles back just as warmly, holding out a cup of tea to Ezio.

"Haven't you got anything better to do, besides ruining my work?" His tone is accusing and cold, and Ezio is confused.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, what I meant to say was 'Piss off'."

Ezio isn't wearing his armour and robes anymore. He's got a white hoodie and jeans on, and a tattoo over his left wrist. He is Desmond.

"A-ah. Right." Desmond laughs a little forcefully and shaking his head to clear it, looking down at Shaun's desk. It's covered with documents, folders... A map.

"Stop faffing about, you moron. And stop touching my desk!" Shaun hits him on the back of his head with a rolled up newspaper before walking away towards the small kitchen.

When he's gone, Desmond lifts the map up carefully with two fingers, peaks under it and sighs with relief.

Nothing.

----

tldr; Ezio/Leo or Alt/Mal memories blending seamlessly into Desmond's life, starting off subtly like above but then becoming intenser and more obvious. Until finally desmond accidentally wastes like four hours in his Monteriggioni break because he was lost in a memory. BP: Shaun/des
I would write this myself but I've got a bit of the Drabble Syndrome and I can't write anything longer...

Oh yes want this.

Taht is a lovely drabble there. I especially like the description of Ezio's reaction, and Desmond taking it in stride.

“What in--.”

Malik returned to the back room of his home, the secret meeting place of those assassins who came to him for information—the heart of the Jerusalem Assassin’s Bureau. The town warning alarms had been going off for nearly four hours now, a surefire sign that not only had something momentous occurred, but that the danger had not yet dissipated. He’d spent his time since staying in the main room of the house, placating the guards who’d come to check his home and ensure that no one would be scrupulous enough to find the hidden door that led to his secret meeting place.

The alarms had finally gone silent, but the threat was still about them. They’d either given up the chase or the culprit had been apprehended. If it was the latter, Malik had reason to worry that this was somehow connected to an Assassin—three separate missions had taken place that day, and none yet had reported in. The very secret of this location, as well as the lives of the men were at risk, even now.

It was for this very reason that Malik’s suspicions were high when he entered the Bureau. Someone had been in there while he was busy, which should have been impossible. Until the alarms stopped ringing, he kept the retractable lattice roof of the Bureau’s courtyard firmly secured. None would be able to get in or out that way. It ensured the secrecy of the Bureau, both from curious guards and assassins careless enough to make this a haven during the most hazardous of times. It was obvious, though, that someone had entered unbidden by a clump of crushed and demolished foliage on the ledger counter. He barely looked at it before rushing out to the courtyard. Sure enough, the roof was retracted, though after close investigation, he noticed it wasn’t forced. He grumbled in frustration and his own stupidity, still cautious about the occurrence.

After a cursory search and stabbing into the more suspicious lumps in various pieces of furniture, he deemed the Bureau safe and went back inside to investigate the leavings, still undisturbed from its spot. The plant turned out to be a torn branch of hibiscus, a rather proud flowering bush that members of the aristocracy occasionally grew in their gardens. If Malik had to admit it, the flowers were beautiful, one of his favorite plants, though he never grew them himself. The items, though, were roughed up, the flowers torn or missing petals, the branch seemingly ripped from the rest of the bush.

Was this a threat? Had someone been watching him enough to know he favored these plants, and if so, what did it mean that they’d been tor--

“Flowers.”

The simple and quiet word caught Malik in surprise, and quick as a flash, he rounded about, knife still in hand- only to be caught mid-swing by a man in the garb of an assassin. After the shock died down, Malik calmed enough to let his anger rise with the realization that it was Altair.

“You idiot novice!” he admonished, though the countenance of the former master assassin never changed. “You of all people know that it is wise to announce your presence before bothering one such as we are!”

“It is done,” Altair replied simply, pushing past Malik to place a single bloodied eagle’s feather on the table next to the flowers. “The flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Malik scoffed. “Beautiful? That’s what you have to say about the message from an enemy? We’re in danger, Altair. I need you to go to Masyaf immediately and inform the Master that our presence here has been compromised. The Templars may attack soon.”

“What makes you think it was a Templar?” Altair asked as he turned to face Malik, though his hood hid his expression. He cursed under his breath. That hood hid his expressions just as well as his voice. It was part of the reason why Malik had come to be so frustrated by him. He always carried such mystery with himself, never letting anyone in. It was as if the hood was his own shroud, protecting his sensibilities from the rest of the world.

“Who else could it be? Why would someone wish to leave flowers of all things here?” Altair merely shrugged and pushed his way past the Rafiq of Jerusalem. He paused in the courtyard, plotting a way out of the confines of the Bureau.

“That is something you need to figure out, Malik. If you think the Bureau’s being threatened, send a message, yourself. A bird flies faster than I ride. I am going for a bath if you need something.” Malik chased after Altair as far as the courtyard walls, but chose not to pursue him when he left. Something had fallen from his sash as he fled, red and fluttering to the ground.
Malik bent over and picked it from the waters of the courtyard’s fountain and frowned.

It was a flower petal.

I swear I felt my mind snap from the ideas that flooded my mind when I read your prompt... Mainly because I can just see Desmond getting scared during a thunderstorm and totally ruining Malik's advances on Altair one night... *sigh* If I could right anything like this I would snatch it in a heartbeat... but I can't.

/cries

So, I can just second this worth a million burning suns... and I will.

“The people in Damascus enjoy it. I thought that maybe you would like to serve it to guests.”

Malik considered the proposal. Aside from his duties as rafiq, Malik had to maintain a cover life. For this purpose, he eventually drew upon his own talents for keeping records, and occasionally worked as a scribe in order to keep up appearances, especially since he could speak not only Arabic, but the languages of the Hebrews and Christians that came and went through the streets. It also served the Assassins, because few expected treachery from the lame. This meant he often entertained guests when not tending to the needs of the Bureau, and though he seldom admitted it, he enjoyed playing the role of hospitable host.

He picked up the flaky bread, filled with fruit and nuts, and slathered with some sort of syrup. He took a moment to sniff it before looking at Altair. “And the people of Damascus, they call it baklava?” Altair nodded twice and watched Malik with mild interest, an action that slightly took Malik by surprise. It was rare for the man to be interested much in anything. He reminded himself that Altair made it. Perhaps he was seeking some sort of praise.

He took a bite from the treat and paused as he felt the taste melt over his mouth. Altair was right—this snack was definitely delicious, and he’d make it a point to learn the recipe for when he next entertained guests. He continued eating the treat, savoring every moment of it when something began to overtake him. It was an itching sensation that crept across his body as he digested the food, and it wasn’t long before Malik found himself scratching at himself in a futile attempt to quell the sensation. As time went by, and Altair leaned forward to see what was the matter, his eyes began to water and realization dawned on the rafiq. “Malik, what is wrong?”

“Altair!” His voice came out in a throaty growl as he continued to try and scratch himself. “Are there dates in this food?”

“Yes!” he responded with a hint of emotion unfamiliar in Altair’s normally subdued voice. “The syrup is made fr—“

“YOU IDIOT! Are you TRYING to kill me?” Malik burst from the place they were sitting in the courtyard and ran to the fountain, trying to wash the remains from his mouth before retching over the sewer grating. “I cannot eat dates!”

After several long minutes spent over the grate, Malik had managed to release his belly from the poisoned treat. Sweating and flushed, he turned over to his side, ready to verbally assault Altair.

Once again, he was gone.

Despite knowing that he probably didn’t have the best control over his temper, Altair was absolutely sure getting pissed at his waiter was the reasonable reaction this time around. Maybe it had been a bad day for both of them, or a misunderstanding, or maybe Altair just didn’t see eye to eye with the man from the moment the waiter had opened his mouth and asked in the most derisive tone possible, ‘will you be waiting for someone—oh, my mistake, I can tell it’ll be a table for one.’

It was a wonder why Altair hadn’t immediately turned around walked out the door, but he wasn’t the type to back off once he had set his mind on the only bistro in town that served a great Mediterranean dinner for a price that wasn’t going to clean out his wallet with a single dish. One rude waiter wasn’t going to change his mind.

So, yes, a table for one, and there wasn’t a damn single thing wrong with that, thanks.

He held on to the dim hope that maybe it was an accident; that the waiter made a social slip, followed by a facial cue slip that involved rolling eyes, and then maybe the poor choice to turn away and mutter something unpleasant not quite out of earshot – because, if he was being completely honest, Altair was no stranger to the practice himself. Hell, he was probably better at being a jerk than the waiter if he put his mind to it – but, no, the point was he was willing to forget the bad first impression, even though it was painfully clear that the waiter meant all the ill-will in the world on him for no good reason.

Granted, Altair never thought he was one for masochist tendencies, but it was clear that if he got up and left without eating, the waiter would have won – and god forbid the waiter gain any sort of gratification from Altair.

It became a half-hour long war, and it ended as quietly as it began. Altair had to put up with being seated next to the restrooms, meat in his vegetarian pilaf, water sloshed over his sleeve, and his every hand-wave and deliberate eye-contact pointedly ignored. Of course, the waiter didn’t have it so easy either, as Altair made sure he wasn’t the only jackass in the restaurant. By the time the Altair’s hastily ordered dessert flan slammed down in front of him, the both of them were so incensed with each other they failed to notice that the custard never survived the journey from the waiter’s hand to the table. As such, their shirts were liberally splattered with dessert, but that wasn’t the point at all.

“What took so long, Malik?” Altair asked, since they have long since established a first-name basis, along with other unflattering names.

“I thought it was perfectly clear that we serve our food fresh, Altair,” Malik replied, every word clipped and sickly polite. “Maybe you should have ordered your dessert sooner.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t gotten my previous orders wrong, I would have.”

“I had them perfect,” Malik hissed, since they had never raised their voices to disturb the other patrons as another unspoken challenge. “You should have specified what you wanted more clearly. I only write the orders down.”

“Then clearly you weren’t listening,” Altair said, standing up.

“I think you should leave-“ Malik began, gesturing, but Altair shoved past him.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he snapped, heading towards the door. “I am.”

“Finally, something sensible!” Malik said, yanking the cleaning cloth from his hip to furiously wipe at the desecrated table.

And, despite refusing to answer back, Altair had to agree.

---

It wasn’t until the next morning that Altair realized he had completely forgotten to pay for his meal. He supposed it was Malik’s fault for not bringing around the bill, but that was no excuse to leave the poor cooks unpaid. Malik obviously did not deserve a tip, but they sure did, for all the pain Altair must have put them through.

Swallowing his pride and unwilling to have the local authorizes after him (again), Altair made sure to take some time off his admittedly flexible work schedule to revisit the bistro that afternoon, banking on the idea that the waiter only worked the evening shifts. And it wasn’t that Altair couldn’t stand to confront the guy – because he would, he so would – but it would be easier if he could just pay for the dinner, drop a complaint to the manager, and have the whole thing quietly dealt with like any normal adult.

It was really a karmatic feeling when he saw Malik lounging out on the bistro’s patio under an umbrella. Altair slowed to a halt, not five steps from the entrance. They stared at each other in baffled silence.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Malik said finally, and he almost sounded impressed.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Altair retorted. He paused for a moment in feigned revelation. “Oh. Wait. That’s right, you don’t.”

To his surprise, Malik gave him a rueful smile and didn’t seem inclined to rise up to the bait. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“And it will probably be permanent after I’m done talking to your manager.” Altair shrugged, all in fair warning. He hadn’t quite expected for Malik to jump up from his chair, his smirk gone and turned into something that bordered on calm determination.

“What if I apologized?” Malik asked, walking quickly to block Altair from going inside.

“I doubt you’d mean it,” Altair replied, undeterred. He nudged Malik out of the way.

“True,” Malik admitted and looked so unrepentant that Altair struggled not to laugh in disbelief. He grabbed on to Altair’s shoulder, firmly turning him away from the storefront. “All right. How about if I bought you lunch?”

It really shouldn’t have sounded appealing in the least bit. It probably wasn’t, knowing that he was in for a meal filled with nothing but snide commentary and possible food slinging, but Altair thought he saw a flash of bashfulness in Malik’s expression, the kind of simmering embarrassment whenever Malik glanced down at his shoes and then back up as if nothing happened. It should have made Altair smug, seeing that Malik was a little ashamed of himself, but instead it made him curious.

“Hm,” he said, weighing in on the pros and cons on the situation. On one end, another free meal, and on the other — lunch with an unforgiving asshole. “Not here, is it?”

Malik frowned, correctly assuming that he’d have to sweeten the deal. “Somewhere nicer,” he said, not looking very happy about it. “How about the sushi bar across the street?”

Which was suitably more expensive, with the added bonus of being a bar. If things got too aggravating, Altair figured he could always wipe out Malik’s waiter-figure salary on sake bottles. “Deal. But only if you’ll be civil.”

“As civil as you,” Malik promised vaguely, not helping his case at all, but Altair was already gearing up to take the challenge.

He moved away from the bistro’s main entrance, glancing at the sushi bar with a smirk. “You do realize this means paying for two of my meals, right?”

For a second, Malik’s brow furrowed in confusion and then, laughing, he shook his head. “Oh, you’re talking about last night’s dinner. No,” he corrected, pushing Altair back into the bistro. “You’re still blacklisted for dining and running. I suggest paying at the front counter.”

“You,” Altair growled, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, “are a conniving asshole.”

“Thank you,” Malik said. “Now hurry up; I’ve got less than half an hour of break left before I have to get back to work. I doubt you’ll be able to eat much sushi in that amount of time. With any luck, the bill won't be a problem at all.”

I remember the old days, now long past
Of two young boys who played like the dancing winds in Masyaf.
They were the King of Swords and the Son of None.

* * *

Malik snorted when he read the words on the piece of parchment. Altair had dropped the sheaf as he left the Bureau that morning, and curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. He’d left for Acre to take care of some sort of business there, though he’d been vague when Malik asked exactly what he needed there. The two had reconciled some time ago, and were once again on speaking terms, though sometimes the other man frustrated him. He’d find Altair occasionally staring at him, only to look quickly away when Malik noticed. Malik would ask what was wrong, and Altair, as usual, would say nothing and continue to pointedly look elsewhere until Malik continued on with his duties. And thus the cycle would continue.

Occasionally he hoped it meant that Altair was trying to show some form of affection, a childish fantasy based off of an attraction that he shouldn’t have for his brother-in-arms, but there it was, all the same. In all likelihood, Altair was trying to ogle the stump that was once his arm, though Malik knew he would never admit it. It made him self-conscious and worried how Altair truly saw him, even though the assassin never mentioned his disability in conversation.

He shook the thought off and continued reading, occasionally laughing at the lack of flow or structure in the text. If this was anything to go by, Altair should never try and leave the Brotherhood.

* * *

The days went on, and the boys became men
With lessons never learned and feelings never met
The two winds became as leaves and drifted in other ways,
The Son of None to become cold
The King of Swords to hate the Son

Oh, how the Son wishes to once again fly with his King
To be his Wind when he had fallen
But such things can never pass,
The Son of None wishes for a Lover,
But all he will ever have
Is his Brother.

* * *

Malik froze when he read the last line. It was obvious Altair meant himself and Malik in this poem. He used the meanings of their names, and the lines spoke of their shared history, of the loss of both Kadar and his arm. Their falling out, and their eventual reacceptance of one another. But these last lines, did they mean what Malik hoped? Or was he wishing for something that Altair mentioned in passing fancy? Pretty words to improve an otherwise terrible poem?

He didn’t have long to wait as sounds from the roof suggested a frantic approach. He quickly stuffed the parchment into his pocket as a man in Assassin robes leaped over the edge of the building and into the courtyard, barely missing Malik as he rolled to a stop. Quickly he began scrabbling across the floor of the courtyard as if searching for something.

“Please, brother! Safety and peace! What troubles you?” Malik spoke in a placating tone, not daring to interrupt what may possibly be a madman. The assassin froze when he heard the voice and whipped around. Much to Malik’s surprise, it was Altair, his face wild behind the hood of his robes.

“Malik!” he seemed caught off guard by the fact that he was here, and Malik nearly insulted him for it. “It—it is nothing.” Malik scoffed.

“Truly? Then it is certainly every day that you come into this bureau as if Allah himself is chasing you. What’s the matter, brother? You should be halfway to Acre by now.”

Altair calmed and almost visibly slumped. When he next spoke, his voice was once again soft and subdued. “I left something here. It is important to me- to the mission Al Mualim wishes me to run. A piece of parchment that only myself and the rafiq of Acre were meant to have read. I cannot address him without that note.”

Malik frowned and pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket. “I found this soon after you had left here. Could this be it?” Altair snatched the parchment from Malik’s grip, unfolded it, and read it before nodding his confirmation.

“You have not read it?” Malik’s throat tightened at the question, and after a few moments’ hesitation, he shook his head. Why do you hide this from me? Altair seemed pleased by the response and stuffed the parchment into one of his many pouches. He stared at Malik, and something in his face finally struck a chord inside of him. How could he have been such an idiot about this? “Safety and Peace, Malik.”

“To you as well, brother. Return as quickly as you can.” With that, Altair turned from the rafiq of Jerusalem and scaled the wall, leaving the bureau. As he did so, Malik watched silently.

“The King has always belonged to the Son.”

I HEART Shaun for saying "faffing about"! I haven't heard that one since I left Uni years ago.

I love Ezio's reaction, embarrassed and then suddenly pleased - he must be lonely working as an Assassin, with so few he can actually trust, so I love me the Ezio/Leo lovey-dovey stuff ;-)

YES!

And also 2) WINS! I can so see Altair trying to leave wee!Des with Malik ALL THE TIME and protesting that he doesn't know how to look after/love a child, but Malik had a brother to give him practical experience - and Malik's having none of it! ;-)

Great prompt! If only I could do kid!fic...

The second and final instance will be posted later. I'm kind of tired.

YAY! Authoranon hasn't written het in at least a decade (and isn't *that* making me feel old!) and wasn't sure if I was doing it right (LOL virgin author = blind leading the blind)

THANK YOU 9000+

It's a term that Yahtzee uses a lot to describe AC, as far as calling ti Faffing About Creed, and I love it because yeah that's really what these games are about.

I love this story so very much. The muzziness, the withdrawals, even the way you make Eagle/Vision/Sense make sense while its' *not* working :-)

*babbling*

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO filling this bonus prompt. You mind if I continue the story from where you left off?

Is it just me, or did Malik just issue a challenge to Altair? XD

*Mashes F5 for more*

OP; that's actually where I got "faffing" from. haha

OP; Yay! Thank you! I don't mind what you do with that drabble, you can rewrite it, continue it, chop it up, leave it out, whatever you want :)

OP; thank you :)

That was awesome!, thank you kind sir.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Re: Awkward child-like wooing

Re: Awkward child-like wooing

If Sex Be The Music Of Love, Play On!

Re: Fill: A Roll In The Hay 1/1

Malik/Altair

This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: If Sex Be The Music Of Love, Play On!

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

In which Malik is Oblivious- the First Instance

Re: Malik/Altair

In Which Malik is Oblivious- the Second Instance

Best Served [1/?]

In Which Malik Finally Understands- the First Instance

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: Malik/Altair

Re: In Which Malik Finally Understands- the First Instance

Re: Fill: A Roll In The Hay 1/1

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: Poison of the Mind 5/?

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: Best Served [1/?]

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

Re: This is a Drabble!prompt..? Bleeding Effect Ezio/Leo + Desmond

OP HERE Re: Fill: A Roll In The Hay 1/1