asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-11-16 12:25 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-11-16 12:25 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4
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Part 1
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Part 5
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Discussion
Re: Pillars of Sand
(Anonymous) 2012-02-09 06:43 am (UTC)(link).IV.
Alex stares at the hooded man before him in disbelief.
When Desmond had spoken of ancestors and magical artifacts and time travel (“It’s not time travel, it’s like…like a video game. Except it’s more real because it actually happened and you’re not holding a controller because you are the controller.”), he had been understandably skeptical. To be honest, Alex had deduced after their first encounter that Desmond was quite unstable. Not dangerously so, but perhaps in a way that should prompt a few questions and a professional’s opinion considering he had been standing on the precarious edge of the Manhattan Municipal building with a glowing metal ball clutched in his hands when Alex found him.
The first – and nearly the last – words Desmond had ever said to him were, “Templar scum” before he leapt right off the building into open air. Alex would have let him drop like a brick, and almost did since it was of no concern of his that some lowly human felt the need to end his life, had it not been for the sudden unnatural pull behind his navel that jerked him, hard. He toppled over the edge after the other as if hit by a train.
The Apple engulfed the both of them in a bright light. It was quite an unconventional way to go about recruiting, but, as Desmond later told him, Alex was a special case and the team was not quite certain of how to coax him into joining the cause despite their common interest (that is, destroying Templars – and by extension, those who drove Alex to be what he is today). However, free falling with his eyes seemingly burning out of his skull from the incandescent light, the Apple…’searched’ him more or less. Its influence scorched through his body, through the writhing biomass, into the stolen memories he had collected, and dissected him in mid-fall.
The process did not take maybe a second, but it was enough. Alex had shut his eyes and yelled, twisting away from the strange phenomena for escape with images of past lives searing through his brain. He could see army factions’ numbers rising and falling, striking blades, wars long lost in the throes of history, enemies that weren’t his own and allies he knew nothing of. It was strange and dizzying, the knowledge he obtained, as if he had merely reached out and consumed the object itself.
When it was over, he was on his back on the Municipal’s roof once more and Desmond was crouched next to him offering his hand. The rest, as they say, is history.
Of course there were hours spent explaining what the hell had happened to Alex, and days slugged by as he was told about Templars (Gentek) and the Assassins (“We’re the good guys.”). It was…interesting, to say the least. Moreso when Desmond sat him down with the Apple and told him all that it could do, all that had been done already because of it. He had followed the Assassins simply because he was curious and their objectives were parallel. It was convenient.
And now…now his curiosity is proving to be something of a hazard, he supposes. Combine that with the odd, somewhat dangerous, reaction the Apple seems to always have around him – due to him being viral, Rebecca hypothesizes – and it is simply one disastrous, probably fatal, situation.
“You should not be here,” Altair says, and Alex knows it’s Altair because Shaun let him see pictures once, along with the more recent ancestor, the Italian Casanova, and Desmond had talked of this man enough that Alex almost feels as if he already knows him on a personal level. “Leave.”
Alex considers him for a long moment, remaining silent. The assassin is not tensed for any type of confrontation, nor is he even showing any real displeasure at Alex’s presence. He looks tired, if anything. As if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders alone and all he wants to do is shrug it off onto someone else.
“I said leave. Or I will force you out and risk the chance of killing you in the process.”
Annoyed with the threat, Alex growls, “I don’t know how.”
The assassin blinks, scarred mouth twisting in mild irritation. “The same way you came in. Use the Apple.”
Alex glances around him quickly. The terrain that the Apple had dropped him in is peaceful, if a little dull. Alex supposes for one that is not used to the chaos of the city, however, this must seem like heaven. The room is generic and spartan with a few tapestries hanging from the walls and rugs on the floor decorated with plump cushions worn into grooves of a familiar body. The walls are lined with shelves crammed with books, scrolls and other paraphernalia common to a scholar’s library. Centered at the front of the room is a heavy oaken desk weighed down with more papers and leather bound journals, stained with ink from an impatient hand.
He recognizes the place as the Grandmaster’s quarters, though distinctly lacking the milling assassins and training novices. Desmond had been oddly fond of describing this place at times.
“I can’t.” His eyes cut back to the imposing figure standing before the intricately decorated window behind the desk. Altair’s golden eyes, so much like his decedent’s, reflect liquid honey in the afternoon light. “I didn’t use the Apple. It pulled me in on its own.”
Altair scoffs. “The Apple is not a conscious being, it only reacts when prompted. You must have touched it and projected yourself here.”
At that accusation, Alex bristles. During his time spent with the modern assassins, many strange things had happened when the Apple was brought into play with the runner in close proximity. None of it was Alex’s fault, really, but neither could it be explained and fully blamed on the weird machinations of the ancient artifact. It just was. Lucy was at as much a loss as Rebecca, whom was so technological savvy it seemed unheard of that she not have an inkling of what was going on. So it became in part his virus’ biological makeup mixing with the ‘magic’ of the Apple’s fault in the end.
They would have done tests to see to what extent the Apple would go with its reactions to Alex and his touch, and just how in depth or how far those reactions would go, if Shaun had his way, but the other three were in agreeance that it was too big of a risk. Alex could lose his life – or, rather, his second attempt at life. Or was it his third? Alex isn’t sure anymore.
“I didn’t do anything,” Alex says again, eyebrows drawn together in an annoyed scowl. “This is just what it does to me. Nobody has been able to explain it.”
Altair makes as if to refute him again and Alex rolls his eyes and throws his arm out as biomass writhes viciously over the appendage, shaping and conforming into a ferocious blade arcing with deadly grace at his side. He steps back on one foot to even the sudden heavy weight, bringing his arm up in front.
The assassin stares at him in stunned horror, still and ready for a fight. Alex smirks.
“It reacts differently around me,” he says. “Because I am not human. At least, that is the popular belief amongst the others. Desmond has another theory.”
Altair stiffens even more and Alex notices the barely noticeable twitch of his wrist where his hidden blade is. “How do you know Desmond?”
Alex pauses. The sharp and deadly cut of Altair’s voice is almost as threatening as the blade he wears on his wrist, brimming with something Alex isn’t quite sure he can understand. The assassin stands on the defensive with legs apart and head tilted downward to hide his face from Alex’s piercing gaze. His lips press into a thin line as Alex watches him, throwing the jagged scar into sharp relief.
“He found me. He’s the reason I’m here at all.” Altair’s shoulders stiffen even more. “He believes the Apple does these things around me because I’m a dick.”
This time, Altair looks up at him with a confused frown. Alex smirks and recedes his weapon back until only a normal human hand remains.
“He calls everyone that, actually.”
“…I know.”
The runner raises an eyebrow which forces another scowl from Altair once more. “You know?”
“Desmond has visited me on occasion and on his first time through, that is what he called me as well. It seems to be more of an endearment than not.” The last part is said quietly and Alex can see the flash of resentment and uncertainty in Altair’s gaze. “Are you close with him?”
Alex nods wordlessly, crossing his arms with a quirk of his lips.
Altair visibly bristles at the admission, stalking forward until they are nearly in each other’s face though sufficient room is spared to draw a weapon. “If harm comes to him – “
“I’m not going to hurt Desmond,” Alex growls, cutting him off and narrowing his eyes at the proximity. He does not know the repercussions of himself being here nor if Altair will somehow be affected by his viral state. The ambivalence of the situation both excites and troubles him, bubbling in his gut and sending a tantalizing buzz throughout his fingertips. Not being able to draw forth an outcome from these happenings seems dangerous, and, were he human, perhaps he would be frightened. But since he is not and he has thusly learned to embrace the gift he’s been handed, the anticipation of a fight, or something more, excites him.
It has not escaped Alex’s notice how roguish and appealing Altair is to the eye. Corded muscle wraps around bone and sinew beneath tanned skin burnt from the harsh Syrian weather. He is attractive in a dangerous way, still and silent with a grace perfected through years of hard training and cutting down targets with the most barest of assets. Survival has carved the sharp flow of his body and fine angles define the delicious build he sports. It’s a killer’s body – someone familiar with the cruel side of life and has come out stronger in the end. In short, he’s attractive, and Alex has been around humans long enough to recognize this and appreciate it.
A slight smirk teases the edges of Alex’s mouth. Altair’s sharp eyes flick down and back up, their previous fire dimmed around the edges with uncertainty. “Do you love him?”
Altair jerks away as if burned. “What?” he spits.
Caught you, Alex thinks. The smirk grows wider into a clever grin, foreign on his mouth. “I wondered why he obsessed over your journals and biographies so fiercely. But I guess I should’ve realized as much when it was your name he moaned while I fucked him into the mattress every night.”
Although not entirely true, the mix of emotions that play on Altair’s face in that moment amuse Alex to no end, and the falsehood ceases to matter in light of this new entertainment to poke at. In the next instant, Alex suddenly gets an armful of assassin shoving him to the hard stone ground, a blade pressed to his throat. He smiles wider with narrowed eyes.
“How dare you come here with false accusations, novice. Allah have mercy on your soul when I slice it from your chest,” he growls, his usual cool composure gone as jealousy rears its ugly self behind his blazing eyes. “You were told to leave and you will suffer because of it.”
Whether the resentment be borne from bitterness at the idea of Alex truly lying with Desmond, or just an intense sense of protectiveness over his descendant isn’t clear, yet Alex finds it interesting nonetheless – a clinical sense left over from the scientist he used to be.
He grabs Altair’s strong biceps and flips him over as easily as a cloth doll. Before the assassin can react, Alex straddles his lean hips and pins his wrists above his head. At some point during the scuffle Altair’s hood had fallen askew. His eyes widen with shock and anger at the turn of events, and Alex can practically see the lessons and strategies flying through his honed mind on how to reverse the situation.
“I’m not human,” Alex reminds him, tightening his stone hard grip and inwardly chuckling at the wince Altair tries to smother. “You can’t beat me.”
For a moment it almost seems as if Altair will fight anyway, but then the resignation turns his thundering expression into one of grim acceptance, and Alex dips his head in approval.
“Let go of me.”
“No, I like where I am.” And just like that the anger is back and Altair thrashes like a wild animal beneath him. Alex doesn’t budge. “You’ll only wear yourself out doing that.”
The assassin curses in his native tongue before slumping back again. “There is no point to this childish game. Get off of me!”
Alex shakes his head. “Do you picture Desmond over you like this? Or someone else you’ve known before?” The two of them stare at each other, both thinking of the one-armed man with the sharp tongue from Altair’s past. The only indication Alex is toeing a line is the thinning of Altair’s lips as he glares up silently. “Ah, so you have thought about it in one way or another then.”
“This does not concern you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I do wonder how long it’s been since someone besides your own hand pleasured you.”
Altair’s eyes widen in disbelief. Alex merely smirks. Normally, he wouldn’t care at all of a person’s sex life, least of all a long dead assassin, and happily be on his way to other, more important matters. But the fact still stands that he has a handsome man between his legs, thriving with heat and feral energy just waiting to be unleashed. And that kind of power coaxes up desires he hasn’t felt in a long while, if ever. It feels nice; hot and throbbing in a way that Alex doesn’t want to ignore.
.IV.
Should I keep going? :/
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-02-09 11:41 am (UTC)(link)Do you want it airmailed or just shipped?
Re: Pillars of Sand
(Anonymous) 2012-02-09 12:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Pillars of Sand
(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 07:23 am (UTC)(link)Re: Pillars of Sand
(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 04:26 pm (UTC)(link)MORE. PLEASE.
BEGGING.
Re: Pillars of Sand 2/3
(Anonymous) 2012-02-17 08:16 am (UTC)(link)Taking advantage of Altair’s shock, Alex releases his wrists – which remain pinned due to writhing tendrils snaking their way around them, holding fast together – and grounding his palm at the apex of Altair’s strong thighs. The assassin’s breath hitches as his entire body freezes, ceasing to struggle before he even begins.
“What are you doing?” Altair demands. Alex glances up at the forcefully calm tone, able to hear the barely restrained hatred spiking just beneath. It sends a thrill straight down his spine.
Alex spreads his fingers and pushes down past the coarse folds of Altair’s robes, slipping his hand even further between the tensed legs, and cupping Altair in his palm with an amused chuckle. The heat of the man is addictive in a way Alex did not expect. He finds himself sifting through his collected memories in hopes of pinning just one down on the most pleasurable way to continue. The possibilities are endless and each more desirable than the last, causing physical arousal of which Alex has up until this point never experienced. That is, before Blacklight. Alex Mercer, the real one, he’s sure, must have felt this kind of reaction at some point in his life. Maybe.
Altair’s leg muscles twitch with restrained fury and Alex shoots him a warning look, tightening the biomass around his wrists with barely a thought. “I’ve learned this is an adequate way to release tension.”
“There are more conventional ways, I’m sure,” Altair snarls back. His arms strain against his binds even as he jerks and twists with a choked sound of surprise when Alex rubs his flaccid cock with the heel of his palm, pressing maddeningly against the back of his balls. Were the tendrils not keeping his arms to the floor above his head, Alex is sure the assassin would be trying to choke him. And with his weight settled on Altair’s legs, the man is nearly completely at his mercy. Once Alex manages to divest the man of his armor and weapons, however, there will be no ‘nearly’ about it; Altair will be his.
The possessiveness of the thought is sudden and delicious in its strangeness, spiking his arousal with a shivering lick of heat. Beneath him, Altair bucks again, trying to dislodge the runner and make an escape. The movement rocks Alex’s hips forward against his own arm and the friction is slight but enough to punch a breathy noise from his lungs. He drops his free hand on Altair’s chest to stay upright and curls his fingers like claws, controlling the waves of biomass that want to form just that.
Altair’s eyes are sharp when he looks up, realizing what he’s done. Much to Alex’s disappointment, he stills once more, defiant. Alex frowns.
In the next moment, Alex is sliding down the length of Altair’s body to kneel between his legs and snapping the buckles that hold the large leather belt strapped around the assassin’s torso. Altair’s protests fall on deaf ears as the ties of his trousers come undone next and Alex pulls them down over quivering hips to the tops of Altair’s knees.
“Don’t you dare touch – MGH!” Alex smirks as best he can around the hardening cock in his mouth, chuckling at how quick Altair is to respond when there is nothing between them. He sinks down further, pausing to allow his throat to adjust around the thickening flesh, and nuzzles the dark hair nestled at the base. Above him, he hears Altair make a choked noise of surprise. Alex notes with a pleased hum that the man’s struggles have ceased altogether. As he lifts his head back up, his gaze meets and holds Altair’s striking golden eyes and his tongue flicks out curiously to trace the underside of the flushed erection to the head.
Altair’s jaw drops around a throaty groan. Alex chuckles deeply, reveling in the full-body shudder the vibrations pull from the assassin in response, and, teasingly, grazes his teeth downward as he grips Altair’s strong thighs in heated palms, sliding them up and down in a mock gentle caress.
Above him, he can hear Altair snarling out incoherent insults. Though the words are incomprehensible, his tone is as sharp as knives and just as threatening. Alex barely restrains from touching himself at the spike of lust that licks down his spine at the rough timbre. With a breathy sigh through his nose, he sinks down once more and begins a slow, torturous rhythm punctuated with random sucks and kitten licks, teeth scraping just so up a throbbing vein and clever fingers massaging and squeezing tight balls. Alex lets his eyes slide closed and listens to the broken grunts and muffled noises of pleasure Altair tries to keep silent as Alex works him up.
The salty taste of pre-come leaks across Alex’s tongue as he suckles the head, using his hand to slide up and down Altair’s hard dick coated in his saliva. At the sharp tang, Alex chuckles and releases him. Altair immediately snaps his head down to look at him accusingly, all fire and flushed arousal. He looks menacing in a way he hasn’t thus far managed.
“What…?” he pants, unable to gather enough wit and breath to finish.
Alex grins and blows a cold breath on the angrily flushed cock, chuckling when it twitches and Altair thumps his head back down against the floor with a resounding groan of pleasure and impatience.
“You’re enjoying this,” Alex says, blinking curiously at his rough voice. Altair shivers and rolls his head to fix the runner with a purely lustful look, pupils blown so wide the gold irises are all but covered. Without being told, Alex knows he likes the thoroughly fucked raw sound of his voice. “You want me to keep going, don’t you? Keep sucking you off until you come down my throat. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Altair?” he purrs, arousal blooming hot in his stomach with each jagged word forced from his abused throat.
A growl is his only answer, along with a sharp buck of hips as Altair tries to pointedly get Alex back on task. Alex merely tilts his face away from the jutting cock with a benign smile curving his red, glistening lips.
“I want to hear you. Beg me for it.”
By this point, Altair is writhing and beginning to thrash against his bonds again, damp with sweat and baring his teeth with rising fury at being commanded to beg like a lowly whore. Alex watches with an electric gaze. Often, he has heard Desmond refer to Altair as an untamed eagle; so graceful and deadly in his silent beauty, a dangerous predator masked behind pristine white feathers and flashing talons waiting to sink into a new target. However, in this moment, with the assassin snarling for release and all but tearing into him with his bare hands, Alex believes he is more like a lion.
Still graceful, but with an evident power thrumming beneath his skin and a wild nature that has no hope of ever being harnessed or controlled. The scent rolling off him is too masculine, too invigorating and wicked to be that of a pretty bird. Altair is untamed. He is as fierce as any stalking lion, as savage as the rippling muscles indicate over his pulsing body. Alex’s mouth waters at the delicious sight, wanting to run his tongue over every inch of that golden skin, rake his blunt nails down scarred flesh from a lifetime of war, and sink inside that vicious body – into that sinful heat.
Alex moans and nuzzles the painfully hard cock, panting hot breaths against the shaft and delighting in the cut off shout from Altair.
“Beg, or I’ll leave you like this.” Which Alex doubts he would be able to do not simply because his intense lust keeps him rooted to the spot, but because he is not there willingly. The Apple still remains the sole ruler over this escapade, and the thought that he could be ripped away at any moment sparks a desperation in Alex’s gut. He digs his fingers into Altair’s hips and bites the jut of his hipbone with sharp teeth. “Now, assassin.”
“Please.” It is not said nicely or with the same desperate air Alex feels rising within. It is more of a demand than a request, yet more than enough when Altair repeats it between gasps for air as his fingers scrabble for a hold on the rough stone above his head. His arms will be terribly sore when they are released, Alex thinks. “Please. Don’t…don’t stop.”
With that, Alex swallows him down to the hilt and does not let up even as Altair arches beautifully under him, straining against the tendrils wrapped around his wrists and holding him to the floor as well as his own self, of the scorching pleasure storming through his veins. A growling yell tears from Altair’s lips in the same instant that the bitter and salty taste of hot come splashes on Alex’s tongue and slides down his throat.
Alex swallows the issue without complaint, milking the assassin completely until he slumps in an ungainly sprawl on the floor. Alex lets the slowly softening dick slip from his mouth and fall against Altair’s thigh, spent and exhausted. The runner laughs roughly and crawls up Altair’s shivering body, licking his lips with a cheshire grin.
“It’s not over yet,” he whispers, before surging down and claiming Altair’s mouth as surely as he plans on claiming his body. The kiss is brutal and hungry, full of fire and pent up tension. Alex is straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans and at the thought of getting release, the pressure intensifies ten-fold. Altair makes a noise of protest in the kiss at being able to taste himself on Alex’s tongue and the sensitivity of his shivering body, but, against the onslaught, begins to fight back despite the tiredness trying to take over.
They battle with teeth and tongue and Alex’s hands finally get the chance to claw at Altair’s chest as he removes the rest of the infuriating clothing. Altair does not protest. Instead, he arches against Alex as best he can manage, trying to switch their positions. Alex chuckles against kiss-bitten lips and shoves him back down.
“I’m going to let you go,” he breathes.
Altair’s lips twist into a mocking smirk. “Then get on with it.”
He does. The tendrils slip away and dissolve as if they were never there, and immediately Altair surges up and tries to overtake Alex. Though, he is weakened by his orgasm and slow in his movements, making it too easy for Alex to grab him and flip him onto his stomach. He leans down over the strong back and nips at the sensitive skin just behind the ear.
“Don’t try that again, baby lion. Or I’ll tie you down once more.”
Altair twists his head to give Alex an annoyed look of confusion. The scuffle is brief as he tests just how serious Alex is, but immediately ceases when Alex’s arms writhe with blackened ropes itching to wrap around his limbs and spread him wide again.
“At least let us move to the carpets, the floor is uncomfortable,” Altair mutters darkly.
Alex only hesitates a moment before moving back onto his knees, watching as Altair slowly gets to his feet and walks the short distance to the plush pillows and soft carpets scattered in the corner. Alex licks his lips and rises to follow. He moves behind Altair and kisses the nape of his neck, scraping his teeth over the skin and delighting in the shudder Altair gives in response. Standing, it is even more obvious of Altair’s punch drunk state, though he fights against the laziness brilliantly. In fact, Alex notes upon looking over the assassin’s shoulder, his soft penis is already feebly trying to harden once more. A malevolent grin stretches his mouth as he consumes his clothing, leaving him naked and wanting.
“Get on your hands and knees.” The words are no sooner out of his mouth before Altair is whipping around and grabbing him by the throat. Alex expected as much, however, and allows it only to throw his inhuman weight forward and throw them both onto the soft cushions. Altair’s snarl tampers off into a grunt as their bodies slide together as easily as water over stones, his hold loosening uncertainly just enough for Alex to shake it off and attack his iniquitous mouth once more.
“I said, hands and knees.” The growl is sharp and reprimanding, yet Altair still does not comply. Doing well on his threat, Alex allows slick tendrils to snake out and bodily turn Altair over onto his belly.
The rage at having his back to a potential enemy is evident. Alex can feel the heat of the man’s anger through his skin, hot and inviting. He curls over Altair’s back, sucking in a sharp breath as the cradle of his hips settle against Altair’s backside and his dick slips snuggly against the deceptively softness of Altair’s ass.
In this position, Altair stills completely and glares with so much ire that Alex feels his insides twist with unbearable pleasure. The anger in the man is addictive on impossible levels, driving the runner near insane with want and need. He craves to be buried so far inside Altair he won’t be able to tell where one ends and the other begins.
.IV.
Yay or nay? The next, and final, part should be out shortly. Writing in sudden fits and spurts thanks to work and school. Thank you to those who are leaving such nice comments so far :'D I'd like those internet childs airmailed. I can sell them for top price on the black market if they're healthy.
Please don't butcher me for the poorly written smut =__=;
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)The internet children are currently in priority mail, marked as fragile, and should reach you by the time you return to post. If they are not to your liking, please fill out the complaint form and resend it back. I will send more.
I will go cry in this corner over here from happiness.
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2012-02-18 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)Pillars of Sand 3/3
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)“I’m going to fuck you,” he nearly purrs, more for his own benefit than giving Altair any insight since his intentions have been clear for quite some time now. Just to hear the declaration out loud, to know that this is actually happening to himself instead of flicking through thousands of collected memories, has Alex’s hands clenching impatiently on Altair’s hips and pulling him up to stuff a pillow beneath.
The muscles in Altair’s arms and back strain as he fights against the relentless tendrils. He heaves under Alex, dropping back down like a brick when the runner grinds against his ass and bears down his whole weight, sliding his tongue up from the middle to top of the beautiful, strong dip of his spine. Alex emits a dark chuckle and repeats the motion of his hips, rocking against the inviting heat just waiting for him to sink inside.
Altair grunts. It only takes a minute before he is pushing back, restless and becoming aroused once more. Alex breathes out a pleased hum and drags fingers shivering between human and biomass-changed claws down the assassin’s side, scratching four red lines through the skin and watching with hungry eyes as the cuts bloom with thin trails of blood shortly after.
The tendrils wrapped mercilessly around Altair’s wrists and forearms slide away, caressing over his sides to the swell of his ass and upper thighs. Alex shifts back on his knees and presses a grin below the sharp jut of a shoulder blade.
“Stay still,” he murmurs. Altair tips his head so that narrowed, suspicious eyes can lock onto Alex. In the next instant, his lips draw back over bared teeth as tendrils trace his entrance before pushing right through. Before any other reaction can surface, however, the tendrils thicken to about the girth of two fingers, steadily getting larger and stroking Altair from the inside out. The assassin pushes himself up with his hands and judders helplessly, taken completely by surprise as if he had forgotten that the man behind him truly isn’t a man at all. The initial sting of being entered by something so foreign intensifies enough to pull a grunt of pain from him, but nothing more. Not yet.
Alex smiles. Once he feels the man is properly stretched, the tendrils retreat with sensual teasing of sensitive, slick muscles. Altair shivers.
He growls something against the damp skin of Altair’s back, what, he’s not too sure, just that something needed to be said to help release the suffocating tension swelling under his skin. He feels Altair tremble, and it is too much like the movement of a frightened, cornered animal that Alex groans and jerks his hips forward, thrusting into the assassin with an ease that feels all too easy and welcoming.
“Bastard!” Altair shouts, though Alex is almost sure the word was yelled in Arabic and not English.
The wave of pleasure and heat that barrels into Alex leaves him dazed and starving for more, demanding he move. So he does. Suddenly, he is pulling almost completely out of the scorching, wet heat only slam back inside again and again, hard enough to jolt the assassin beneath him and punch out groans that morph into shouts of rage and pleasure, bouncing off the stone walls to come back and slam into Alex’s ears, making them ring like a thousand voices in one.
Distantly, he feels Altair collapse beneath him. Feels himself fall after him, the two of them writhing and twisting, undeterred by the painful drop. Through his cloudy vision, Alex can see Altair’s fingers clenching hard enough into the gaudy pillows that his knuckles turn bone-white and tremble, his shouts and curses and rumbling noises of pleasure muffled by the blood roaring in Alex’s ears. The sun…the sun is a computer generated version of light filtering through the high stained glass, nothing but a memory recorded by the Piece of Eden, but he can see dust motes dancing in the yellow light. It all feels and looks so real, this place. Until it doesn’t.
The first shock blows over them in a rippling, blinding line of pale golden light. The jarring crash of heat and sheer desperation floods Alex’s system and he snarls, the rhythm of the two predators not even broken. If anything, the simulations from the Apple spur on the heated fuck to the point that Alex is shaking like a leaf, can feel everything – Altair, his sweat, his blood, their pulse – pressing against the back of his eyeballs and rushing through his veins.
Altair vibrates against him and shoves back, meeting thrust for thrust with the kind of conviction and animosity only a hunter can possess, never the hunted. The second shock hits them with white-hot intensity, slamming against Alex until he is molded against Altair’s back, panting against his neck. The assassin pushes from the ground, seemingly grateful for the arm Alex wraps around his stomach to haul him up further until they are both on their knees, back to chest, moving, fucking, snarling and blind.
Alex feels out of control. Biomass writhes and snaps with each impact of Altair and the memory of a life crashing around them, leaving nothing but white in its wake. His eyes are wide shut. His teeth are bared, fingers twisted into Altair’s hair and clenched around his middle. He can feel something slipping…slipping…infecting. The third and final blow is catastrophic – sucking all noise out like a vacuum before blasting it right back out in a deafening collision. The world heaves a shiver in tune with their tumult of release and confusion, sending them reeling and clutching to one another to stop from drowning, suffocating with the weight of nothing pressing down on their chests.
Alex knows the exact moment it all changes, knows it’s because of him and that there is no reversing what has been done. Altair’s eyes fly open.
In their depths, a smoldering fever burns with a second chance among the living. He opens his mouth on a silent scream as the virus scorches through his exhausted limbs and the power of the Apple rips the both of them back out into reality.
.IV.
IDEK. I tried to get as close to the prompt as I could with this entire thing, so yeah. Sorry it took so long, working with the public tends to send one into constant bouts of rage and writer's block.
Enjoy? :'D
Re: Pillars of Sand 3/3
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)That....
That was really hot. I'm...
That was brilliant. I loved how defiant Altair was through the entire damn thing, and how Alex just couldn't help himself.
Anon, don't stop writing for this kinkmeme, please.