Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
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Discussion

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The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN

[(Anonymous)]

Mercy.

Mercy.

Couldn’t there be any of that for the man who had given him a kiss and a friend?

He crashed into Master Miles, fisting his hands in his shirt and blathering senselessly as his entire body burned with pain he had thought was long behind him. His master turned to look at him, and he could almost swear he saw upset in his expression. Desmond tugged at his shirt, screaming to pull them out of the fire, and he struggled and sobbed against his master’s chest when the man hugged him close. He had to pull them out—couldn’t he hear them screaming in pain? He screamed at him, telling him to stop the fire and save them as he refused to look. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t step into the fires again. He couldn’t risk everything again when he had three new friends and someone who cared about him. He could hear again as he felt the heat of the flames and sobbed against his master’s chest. He could hear the roar of the fire and the screams of the people trapped inside. He could feel the fire licking at his skin and chewing him up. He couldn’t let them die. He couldn’t let them burn. He had to save Altaïr.

He didn’t know how long he screamed and cried into Master Miles’s arms, but finally, he felt his tears run out as he curled against his master. He could still feel the heat; he could still feel the pain. He was in pain. He couldn’t save Altaïr. He blew his nose on the handkerchief pressed to his nose before he saw signed, “I’m sorry, Desmond.”

He curled up, sitting in his master’s lap and feeling a hand brush against his scalp. It hurt. Altaïr was dead. He was nothing more than a black lump like the other bodies in the fire from when he almost didn’t escape. Altaïr was dead, completely dead. He would never come up and grace him with his beauty ever again. He wanted to cry. He had loved Altaïr. Altaïr had been his first crush. Altaïr had given him his first taste of freedom. He had given him that golden coin he used for the stand on his doll. He had slept beside him. He had offered him a different life.

“Desmond, they had to die for all the lives they had taken,” he saw coming from Adha’s hands. “They were bad people.”

He just hunkered down, completely numb to everything as he was led back to his tower. He couldn’t believe they had just let Altaïr burn. They had killed his first outside friend and his first kiss. He lay on his bed, pulling his legs against his chest and crying again. His head hurt. His scars hurt. His insides hurt, and his heart hurt. He wanted Altaïr back. He wanted him back now. He didn’t want to know that he was dead. He didn’t want to know that Altaïr was a black lump of crispy flesh like the burnt meat he had seen. He wanted his friend back. Of course, he was being too greedy. He knew this. Altaïr was a plant that needed lots of freedom to grow and thrive. He was not. But still, Altaïr was dead now, and he would never get to see him ever again. It hurt.

It hurt worse than the scars that seemed intent on burning themselves again. He thought that pain was behind him.

And even when he finally got around to ringing the bells again, or eating with the others again, he didn’t think he’d ever enjoy it the same way again. Even when he rang the bells for his master’s marriage to the pretty gypsy lady that he had seen with Altaïr, he couldn’t feel happy again. He couldn’t watch the marriage because of the bells, but that was okay and fine with him. He knew that he wouldn’t get to see Adha much anymore, but that was okay because at least she was okay.

Altaïr, however, was dead.

And even Kadar’s cuddles did nothing for him. Even his dolls did nothing for him. Even the prayers and the reading that Master Miles taught him and brought him did nothing for him. Altaïr was dead, and he had seen him burn at the stake in agony. Altaïr may have done bad things, but he didn’t deserve being burned. Being burned hurt, and that Desmond knew well.

It was almost several years later before he began to heal, when Kadar pinned him against the Paris replica and started kissing him and touching him. He knew it was wrong. Master Miles had told him so, and he had read it in the Holy Word, but it felt so nice to have that kind of attention, to explore the depths he never would have gotten to with Altaïr. He could feel himself taking comfort in the way the brothers lured him into the beds, got him all messy, but made him feel so good and took a bath with him. He felt a deep-seeded contentedness lodged deep in his heart and made the pain he was accustomed to lessen as they gave him all their attention. He knew that God would confront him when he died, but as he felt Kadar moving inside him, touching him and making his blood sing, he couldn’t care less. He was healing because of the brothers and their “love.”

Even when Master Miles almost caught them a couple of times, Desmond would wait to confront his sins at the gates of Heaven.

And hopefully, he mused as he cuddled into the bed with Kadar and Malik, all of them messy and cooling down, he would get to see Altaïr again.

I hope you liked it, anons. :3

Re: The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN

[(Anonymous)]

THIS WAS BOOOTIFUL! But I'm just as sad as Desmond that Altair had to die... weh...

Re: The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN

[(Anonymous)]

Oh my gosh. I was beginning to think I had royally messed it up somehow. I hadn't heard anything!

I'm so glad you liked it! :D