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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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Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 1/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-21 03:30 am (UTC)(link)And now here he was.
Chained in a bedroom.
With Robert staring straight at him.
And he was acutely aware that his side felt weird, from the hip to the bottom of the ribcage. It was as if someone had run their fingers up and down there. He hated being touched. He would kill someone if he had been touched. His wrist felt empty without his hidden blade, and he twisted to the side, trying to rub away the feeling of being touched. He hated being touched. He could feel it against his skin, because someone had the gall to partially undress him, like mud being smeared across his skin. It made him feel filthy. He hated feeling filthy. His pants were the only thing on his body, and he felt so naked.
He growled, struggling at the binds as he rolled back onto his back, and Robert laughed.
“So then, assassin, you have waken.”
He snarled, tugging again and feeling the trail where someone had touched him. He twisted again, curling in on the spot, as Robert rose and walked over.
“Interesting,” his captor said before laughing and bending over him, giving him that smirk that he just wanted to wipe off his face.
When that hand reached out to graze across his stomach, Altaïr snarled and twisted out of his touch. His arms were tied, but his feet were not.
“Don’t touch me, filth,” he snapped, earning yet another laugh from the man.
“I see. Then you are more sensitive to touch than I realized,” the man said standing up and snorting. “I will change that.”
Altaïr growled again as Robert walked out. Only after he was alone in the room did he allow himself to relax. He should have kicked Robert when he had the chance. He grunted, maneuvering to sit up and bring his arms into his lap as he gazed around. It was a nice room, probably the room of some unfortunate noble that he had stolen in passing through with the army. Pillows and blankets were lavish and overly-decorated on the bed, and he saw a table with two chairs, a desk with numerous trinkets, and the entire room had animal skins on the floor. He wrinkled his nose, almost relieved when he saw the bathtub sitting there. He would hate to think that he was going to be left to collect dirt and grime. He already needed to scrub the feeling of being touched off his side. He could still feel the feeling of his fingers ghosting over his stomach.
His lip twitched at the idea that he would be used as a prostitute. Surely Robert, no matter how base and disgusting, would at least have some honor.
Still, he mused as he sat there, being touched by someone in that way would not be a bad thing.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t sure he could just submit to Robert like that. Touches like that were far too intimate for his tastes—even wrapping an arm around someone’s shoulders made him uncomfortable. Only Malik and Kadar could get away with touching him, and that had taken six years of his life before they could even so much as hug him from the front so he could see them.
Then he stopped himself. He was seriously considering letting Robert touch him, after just being captured. There was something wrong here. He needed to move past this. He needed to escape, but these chains were solid, and he was here for the long haul. He was stupid to even consider letting Robert touch him. It would be a weakness. He couldn’t allow that.
With a grunt, he settled against the wall and fell asleep.
When he woke with his foot smashing into someone’s throat and a snarl leaving his lips, he was almost alarmed to hear the chuckle coming from the man. He could feel the trail of fingertips across his chest, the dirty trail they seemed to leave leaving him feeling just as filthy as the touch from before had.
“Come now, assassin, I have even bathed for you, and you will not let me touch you?”
Altaïr spat in the direction of the voice and subsequently hit Robert in the face. He jerked, blinking with wide eyes as the man smirked and wiped the saliva away. The man clucked his tongue and shook his head like a mother might do a young boy.
“I see this will be a problem, then, assassin,” Robert said, wiping the saliva on a kerchief as Altaïr took just a moment to admire the way the word “assassin” rolled off his tongue. “A problem we will have to work on.”
Altaïr sneered. “Should you be so lucky as to keep me here for long, I will never allow you to touch me.”
Robert laughed. “You fight to the end! It is not I who will force my touches upon you. By the time we are through, you will beg for them.”
Altaïr snorted. “You assume that I will still be here after ten years are up.”
“That long? Very well. I have patience for such a task.” He watched the man’s eyes grow darker. “Because it will be worth the wait to have you begging, assassin.”
Altaïr snarled again, and Robert simply snorted. He jerked his leg back when Robert patted it, trying not to focus on the way it felt or the fact that he could still feel it tingling on his skin. The man laughed, rising and shaking his head.
“Yes,” the man said as he left, “it will be more than worth the wait.”
Altaïr was left alone, or mostly alone, for the next two days. He saw someone only when food was brought to him, but otherwise, he was left alone to his thoughts. After two days, when he fell asleep, he had the best dream he had ever had. He dreamed of someone sleeping along his back, the arms strong and the body solid. He rolled into the person, exhaling gently. He wasn’t going to open his eyes and ruin the dream, or even try to rouse himself out of it, and he was just going to inhale deeply and enjoy the smell of the fragranced oils the person—the man, he was sure by the feel of the body—was bathed in. It was a beautiful dream—a rare one that he let himself indulge in, but chained to the bed, he could let it slip this time. He would crack down on the dream later, berate himself later.
He let a contented burble bubble passed his lips, moving into the man’s body and sliding one arm around the person’s waist as he pressed his forehead against the collar bone.
After a few minutes of just utter bliss, he felt himself drift off into a deep sleep, much deeper than anything he had felt before.
When he woke next, he could feel energy bubbling through his system that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to work out, to burn energy, to fight Robert, or something. When Robert brought in his breakfast, his eyes narrowed and he shifted in his seat. He almost twitched with energy. He was about ready to pop his seams. He hadn’t slept this well in years.
“There is a fire in your eyes not there before, assassin. I take it you slept well?”
Altaïr growled as the man held the food just out of his reach when he sat up.
Robert laughed. “You never cease to amaze me, assassin.”
He remained silent, his eyes trailing back and forth from the bowl to Robert, who was just out of kicking reach.
“Your assassin friends are in a tizzy. I have seen their white hoods running about, trying to locate you.”
He jerked, grunting. Robert laughed and sat at the foot of the bed.
“This time, if you wish for the food, you will let me touch you.”
When he refused, he was denied breakfast.
The next morning, when he refused, he was denied breakfast and lunch.
He wasn’t entirely sure this fight was worth it anymore. He was hungry, and his stomach was growling again by the time he settled down for sleep after being given his dinner. Part of him just wanted to give into Robert, to let him touch him. He was sure it would feel good, and to be quite frank, this idea of fighting himself because he was certain that the touches would let in a huge weakness. He had often toyed with the idea of asking Kadar to sleep with him, to let him cuddle him, but—
His skin crawled at the idea. Cuddling with another man in bed was a ridiculous notion to entertain. Letting another touch him, much less someone he hardly knew and was his enemy, was out of the question.
Still, that dream from two nights ago had been pleasant.
Nevertheless, he was denied all three meals the next day when he refused.
After that, he was given dinner, but denied water.
This was hell.
Finally, on the fifth day, when Robert entered with two warm breakfasts with every intent to eat them in front of him, Altaïr caved.
“So, will you let me touch you, assassin?”
Altaïr grunted, turning his head to the side. He was tired and hungry. He hadn’t slept well with his stomach growling so much. He heard Robert hum, almost puzzled when he didn’t laugh, but it was all taken from his mind when a hand landed on his calf. He tensed his muscles, his lip twitching, and he curled his toes. He could feel Robert studying him, watching his reaction, and he could feel his fingers moving slightly against his skin over his pants.
“Does this really make you so uncomfortable?”
He grunted, curling his foot inward and bending his knee slightly. He was hungry. He just had to deal with this until he had his food.
“Fascinating. Why does it make you so uncomfortable? Do you not long to feel another’s touch on your skin, to touch another in return? Would you not want to feel another against your back, the warmth of another’s flesh against your skin? Or have you simply never experienced it?”
He could feel warmth spread down his cheeks and throat when a soft whine escaped him. Of course he had thought of it, of course he had dreamed of it. But he couldn’t just let anyone touch him. He jerked his leg away, bringing his legs up and pressing them close. He squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he had thought of it.
No, Robert couldn’t touch him.
He snarled when a hand touched his leg again, lashing out and earning a laugh as the man left him.
Nevertheless, he got his breakfast and his dinner, water no longer withheld.
The next morning, he was honestly surprised to see Robert dropping his breakfast off and sitting at the far end of where he was chained to. He eyed it suspiciously. It must be drugged, or poisoned, or perhaps even both. There was no telling.
“Do not worry, assassin,” Robert said, leaning back and eating his own meal. “I did not realize that being touched was of such great terror to you. I will not do it again.”
Altaïr’s eyes narrowed. There had to be a catch. What was it that the man had said—“By the time we are through, you will beg for my touch.” That was it. Something like that. He would never give in to him, no matter how much his body begged for it.
“I have decided that I simply wish to get to know you,” the man said, smirking. “And perhaps even have you speak to me.”
“Never,” he hissed.
“I was afraid you would say that. I would hate to keep food from you again. I am not asking for details about your castle’s weaknesses. I am looking for a companion.”
His eyes narrowed. There had to be an angle that Robert was coming from. There had to be a purpose. No man in his right mind would befriend an enemy just to be able to touch him. That was madness. That was stupidity at its finest. Robert was a madman. He was not worth the trouble of getting to know just to place a hand on his knee. He had his men to talk to, the king to talk to. He had no problem getting companionship.
And yet, Altaïr mused silently, still frowning at Robert who was eating slowly, watching him with a softer look, as if he wasn’t judging and analyzing, perhaps having Robert as a companion wasn’t such a bad idea. Perhaps he could afford to bend a little. After all, the man seemed to be willing to go through all the time and patience to make him comfortable. He wondered if Robert would actually wait ten years to touch him, or if he would simply restrain him and do what he wanted. He had to wonder why he was so willing to be patient with him. There had
to be a catch. There had to be a reason.
“So, let us start out simply, assassin. What is your name?”
Altaïr’s eyes narrowed, thinking of the meals he’d miss, and murmured as he maneuvered to pick up his bowl for breakfast, “Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad.”
----
This is remarkably easy to write, given that I have the same problem. Want more?
Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 1/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-21 04:04 am (UTC)(link)Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 1/? REVISED
(Anonymous) 2012-09-23 11:42 am (UTC)(link)And now here he was.
Chained in a bedroom.
With Robert staring straight at him.
And he was acutely aware that his side felt weird, from the hip to the bottom of the ribcage. It was as if someone had run their fingers up and down there. He was dressed in just his pants, which would explain why he could feel it so strongly. He hated being touched. He would kill someone if he had been touched. His wrist felt empty without his hidden blade, and he twisted to the side, trying to rub away the feeling of being touched. He hated being touched. He could feel it against his skin, because someone had the gall to partially undress him, like mud being smeared across his skin. It made him feel filthy. He hated feeling filthy. He glared at the man across the room, despite his swimmy vision. He tugged at the chains, realizing he had quite a bit of wiggle room, his wrists bound together, but enough chain to allow him to move them around—instead of keeping them above his head the whole time.
He growled, struggling at the binds as he rolled back onto his back, and Robert laughed.
“So then, assassin, you have waken.”
He snarled, tugging again and feeling the trail where someone had touched him as he shifted. He twisted again, curling in on the spot as Robert rose and walked over.
“Interesting,” his captor said before laughing and bending over him, giving him that smirk that he just wanted to wipe off his face.
When a hand reached out to graze across his stomach, Altaïr snarled and twisted out of his touch. His arms were tied, but his feet were not. Robert would never touch him. He bet that that filthy pig of a man had touched him while he was out.
“Don’t touch me, filth,” he snapped, earning yet another laugh from the man.
“I see,” he said, straightening up and smirking. “Then you are more sensitive to touch than I realized. I will change that.”
Altaïr growled again as Robert walked out. Only after he was alone in the room did he allow himself to relax. He could kick himself: he should have kicked Robert when he had the chance. He grunted, maneuvering to sit up and bring his arms into his lap as he gazed around. At least Robert had the decency to give him wiggle room and put in him a nice bed. It was a nice room, probably the room of some unfortunate noble that he had stolen in passing through with the army. Pillows and blankets were lavish and overly-decorated on the bed, and he saw a table with two chairs, a desk with numerous trinkets, and the entire room had animal skins on the floor. It had to be a noble’s. He wondered just when they would have to leave here to continue on the march. He wrinkled his nose, almost relieved when he saw the bathtub sitting there. He would hate to think that he was going to be left to collect dirt and grime. He already needed to scrub the feeling of being touched off his side. He could still feel the feeling of his fingers ghosting over his stomach.
His lip twitched at the idea that he would be used as a prostitute. Surely Robert, no matter how base and disgusting, would at least have some honor. The idea of Robert using him like so made his breath hitch and his skin crawl. He would just have to hope. He was in for hell.
Still, he mused as he sat there, being touched by someone in that way would not be a bad thing.
His mind was a traitor. His mind was insane. He couldn’t just submit to Robert like that. Touches like that were far too intimate for his tastes—even wrapping an arm around someone’s shoulders made him uncomfortable. Only Malik and Kadar could get away with touching him, and that had taken six years of his life before they could even so much as hug him from the front so he could see them.
Then he stopped himself. He was seriously considering letting Robert touch him, after just being captured. Robert was his enemy. There was something wrong here. He needed to move past this. He needed to escape, but these chains were solid, and he was here for the long haul. He was stupid to even consider letting Robert touch him. It would be a weakness. He couldn’t allow that.
With a grunt, he settled against the wall and fell asleep.
When he woke with his foot smashing into someone and a snarl leaving his lips, he was almost alarmed to hear the chuckle coming from the person. He could feel the trail of fingertips across his chest, the dirty trail they seemed to leave leaving him feeling just as filthy as the touch from before had. If this was what he was going to wake up to, he would rather die.
“Come now, assassin, I have even bathed for you, and you will not let me touch you?”
Altaïr spat in the direction of the voice and, when he bothered to actually concentrate on who was talking, realized he had subsequently hit Robert in the face. He jerked, blinking with wide eyes as the man smirked and wiped the saliva away. He wasn’t offended in the slightest. The man clucked his tongue and shook his head like a mother might do a young boy.
“I see this will be a problem, then, assassin,” Robert said, wiping the saliva on a kerchief as Altaïr took just a moment to admire the way the word “assassin” rolled off his tongue. “A problem we will have to work on.”
Altaïr sneered. “Should you be so lucky as to keep me here for long, I will never allow you to touch me.”
Robert laughed. “You fight to the end! It is not I who will force my touches upon you. By the time we are through, you will beg for them.”
Altaïr snorted. “You assume that I will still be here after ten years are up.”
“That long? Very well. I have patience for such a task.” He watched the man’s eyes grow darker. “Because it will be worth the wait to have you begging, assassin.”
Altaïr snarled again, and Robert simply snorted. He jerked his leg back when Robert patted it, trying not to focus on the way it felt or the fact that he could still feel it tingling on his skin. The man laughed, rising and shaking his head.
“Yes,” the man said as he left, “it will be more than worth the wait.”
Altaïr was left alone, or mostly alone, for the next two days. He saw someone only when food was brought to him, but otherwise, he was left alone to his thoughts. It was certainly better than he had been taught to believe being captured would be like, but he had to admit that he was beginning to get lonely. He wasn’t social by any means, and he didn’t like being touched, but he did miss the continuous bustle of the castle, the ever-present life around him. He missed narrowly avoiding novices running down the hall or the packed streets of the cities.
With a sigh, he settled down to sleep his way into his third day. Nothing was going on.
He dreamed of someone sleeping along his back, the arms strong and the body solid. He rolled into the person, exhaling gently. He wasn’t going to open his eyes and ruin the dream, or even try to rouse himself out of it, and he was just going to inhale deeply and enjoy the smell of the fragranced oils the person—a man, he was sure by the feel of the body—was bathed in. It was a beautiful dream—a rare one that he let himself indulge in, but chained to the bed, he could let it slip this time. He would crack down on the dream later, berate himself later.
He hummed, contented, moving into the man’s body and sliding one arm around the person’s waist as he pressed his forehead against the collar bone.
After a few minutes of just utter bliss, he felt himself drift off into a deep sleep, much deeper than anything he had had before.
When he woke next, he could feel energy bubbling through his system that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to work out, to burn it off, to fight Robert, or something. But when Robert brought in his breakfast, his eyes narrowed, and he shifted in his seat. He almost twitched with energy. He was about ready to burst at his seams. He hadn’t slept this well in years.
“There is a fire in your eyes not there before, assassin. I take it you slept well?”
Altaïr growled as the man held the food just out of his reach when he sat up. He eyed the bowl carefully. He would have to be cautious of drugs in it. He wasn’t going to bend over easily. No, he wasn’t going to let Robert touch him at all. The idea that he thought that he could made Altaïr want to laugh.
Robert laughed. “You never cease to amaze me, assassin.”
He remained silent, his eyes trailing back and forth from the bowl to Robert, who was just out of kicking reach. He wanted the food, even though he didn’t need it, and considered just luring him close so he could get one good kick in. He needed to escape. This was just ridiculous.
“Your assassin friends are in a tizzy. I have seen their white hoods running about, trying to locate you.”
He jerked, grunting, when a hand passed over his leg. Bare skin against his pants. That wasn’t going to sit well with him. The man must have removed his glove prior to coming in here—so that he could make him feel as uncomfortable as possible. Robert laughed and sat at the foot of the bed.
“This time, if you wish for the food, you will let me touch you.”
When he refused, he was denied breakfast.
The next morning, when he refused, he was denied breakfast and lunch.
When he jerked his leg away a third time, he was denied all three meals.
The same happened for the next two days.
He wasn’t sure this fight was worth it. He was hungry, and his stomach was growling by the time he settled down for sleep. He couldn’t sleep with his stomach moving with hunger. It was almost painful. Part of him just wanted to give into Robert, to let him touch him. He was sure it would feel good, and to be quite frank, this idea of fighting himself because he was certain that the touches would let in a huge weakness was ridiculous. He had often toyed with the idea of asking Kadar to sleep with him, to let him cuddle him, but—
His skin crawled at the idea. Cuddling with another man in bed was a ridiculous notion to entertain. Letting another touch him, much less someone he hardly knew and was his enemy, was out of the question. He would just have to be on his guard. Perhaps he could let him touch him briefly, then jerk his leg away.
Still, that dream from several nights ago had been pleasant.
Nevertheless, he was denied all three meals again the next day when he refused.
After that, he was given dinner, but denied water.
This was hell.
Finally, when Robert entered with two warm breakfasts with every intent to eat them in front of him the next day, Altaïr decided to cave. A man could survive a week without food if he was not in bad shape, but he was nearing the end of that time limit. He was going to die of exhaustion first from his stomach rumbling.
“So, will you let me touch you, assassin?”
Altaïr grunted, turning his head to the side. He was tired and hungry. He hadn’t slept well with his stomach growling so much. It’s rumbling and gurgling made loud noises that he could feel reverberating throughout his entire body when he moved. He heard Robert hum, almost puzzled when he didn’t laugh, but it was all taken from his mind when a bare hand landed on his calf. He tensed his muscles, his lip twitching, and he curled his toes. He could feel Robert studying him, watching his reaction, and he could feel his fingers moving slightly against his skin over his pants.
“Does this really make you so uncomfortable?”
He grunted, curling his foot inward and bending his knee slightly. He was hungry. He just had to deal with this until he had his food.
“Fascinating. Why does it make you so uncomfortable? Do you not long to feel another’s touch on your skin, to touch another in return? Would you not want to feel another against your back, the warmth of another’s flesh against your skin? Or have you simply never experienced it?”
He could feel warmth spread down his cheeks and throat when a soft whine escaped him. Of course he had thought of it, of course he had dreamed of it. But he couldn’t let just anyone touch him. He jerked his leg away, bringing his legs up and pressing them against his chest as he snarled. He squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he had thought of it.
No, Robert couldn’t touch him.
He snapped when a hand touched his leg again, lashing out and earning a laugh as the man left him.
Nevertheless, he got his breakfast and his dinner, water no longer withheld.
The next morning, he was honestly surprised to see Robert dropping his breakfast off and sitting at the far end of where he was chained to. He eyed it suspiciously. It must be drugged, or poisoned, or perhaps even both. There was no telling. Just being around the man was making his skin crawl. He could almost feel the man’s eyes on him, waiting and watching, as if to judge when he could touch him again and not be kicked.
“Do not worry, assassin,” Robert said, leaning back and eating his own meal. “I did not realize that being touched was of such great terror to you. I will not do it again.”
Altaïr’s eyes narrowed. It was not a terror. It was uncomfortable. He hated being touched by anyone other than Malik or Kadar. There had to be a catch. What was it that the man had said—“By the time we are through, you will beg for my touch.” That or something like that was it. He would never give in to him, no matter how much his body begged for it. It was mind over matter at this point, and Malik always did say he was quite stubborn.
“I have decided that I simply wish to get to know you,” the man said, smirking. “And perhaps even have you speak to me.”
“Never,” he hissed, using his feet to pull the bowl closer so he could get at it with his hands.
“I was afraid you would say that. I would hate to keep food from you again. I am not asking for details about your castle’s weaknesses. I am looking for a companion.”
His eyes narrowed. There had to be an angle that Robert was coming from. There had to be a purpose. No man in his right mind would befriend an enemy just to be able to touch him. That was madness. That was stupidity at its finest. Robert was a madman. He was not worth the trouble of getting to know just to place a hand on his knee. He had his men to talk to, the king to talk to. He had no problem getting companionship.
And yet, Altaïr mused silently, still frowning at Robert who was eating slowly, watching him with a softer look, as if he wasn’t judging and analyzing, perhaps having Robert as a companion wasn’t such a bad idea. Perhaps he could afford to bend a little. After all, the man seemed to be willing to go through all the time and patience to make him comfortable. He wondered if Robert would actually wait ten years to touch him, or if he would simply restrain him and do what he wanted. He had to wonder why he was so willing to be patient with him. There had to be a catch. There had to be a reason.
Nevertheless, he missed the castle. He wanted, at the least, noise in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t know where he was or where the men were, but here it seemed that would Robert would be his only companion.
“So, let us start out simply, assassin. What is your name?”
Altaïr’s eyes narrowed, thinking of the meals he’d miss, and murmured as he maneuvered to pick up his bowl for breakfast, “Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad.”
It became routine. Every meal, a new question. It was almost scary how he could catch his lies, and after several missed meals, he gave up with lying. They were pointless questions anyway.
Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-23 11:48 am (UTC)(link)“What is your favorite color, assassin?”
“Red.”
Lunch:
“Your favorite animal?”
“An eagle.”
Dinner:
“Favorite perch?”
“The guard tower just outside of Masyaf.”
Altaïr had to watch himself. The man was luring him into a false sense of security.
Breakfast:
“Do you drink?”
“No.”
Late lunch:
“Have you ever slept with someone?”
“No.”
Breakfast:
“Has there been anyone who has touched you?”
“Yes.”
Dinner:
“Who was your most reliable friend in Masyaf?”
“A boy named Kadar and his brother.”
Breakfast:
“Favorite flower?”
“None.”
“You’ve never thought about it.”
He grunted, almost stopping Robert from leaving just for a little bit more company.
Dinner:
“Favorite city?”
“Jerusalem.”
Breakfast:
“Favorite food?”
“Whatever is handy.”
Late lunch:
“Do you like fruit?”
“Yes.”
Breakfast:
“Tart or sweet fruit?”
“Sweet.”
It was getting harder and harder to relax around him. With every question, he could feel himself giving himself a little bit more away. He didn’t like it. They were stupid questions, the kind that just randomly happened in conversation. He didn’t like questions like that. He couldn’t relax, unable to figure out why Robert asked him such menial things for a meal. Still, when Robert would sit there, watching him as he ate for a few moments before leaving, Altaïr could feel himself beginning to relax against his will. It was almost as if his body was forcing him to relax, the same relaxation that made him tense.
He had been right: Robert was honorable until the last. He was true to his word and hadn’t touched him.
Now if only he could figure out why the man seemed so intent on toying with him.
Nevertheless, when Robert walked in one day between his breakfast and his late lunch with a small bowl of dried fruit that he couldn’t identify, covered in what looked like some sort of crystalline substance, he decided that maybe Robert had just lost his mind.
Of course, he was losing his muscle and gaining just soft belly. Perhaps his plan was to weaken him, then forcibly take him.
“Assassin, today we will have some extra fun.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I ask you a question, and if you respond, I will give you a sweet.”
“And if I have questions of my own?”
“They may or may not be considered worth enough for one.”
“I feel like a dog to you.”
“Ah, and the sad part is that you will as long as you are kept here.”
“Why do you keep me here?”
“Simple. I will have you, eventually.”
“You have more arrogance than I to assume that everyone will bend over for you.”
Robert smirks, leaning against the bedpost. “No, I do not assume that, assassin. I know that you will eventually beg for me to touch you. It is nothing more than a game of patience at this point.”
“Why me? Why not another?”
“It is quite clear you are not like the others. Why should I not?”
“I know you have taken others of our kind. Why wait for one, when you force yourself upon the others?”
It was reflex when he caught the candied fruit. Perhaps not quite so much of a reflex when he stuffed it in his mouth. He had always been fond of sweet. That may have been why Kadar idolized him so much. Altaïr used to steal from others on his missions, and then take him down to the market to buy him a honey bun or two. It would always be just the two of them, because Malik didn’t share the fondness for sweets that he did, so they would sneak away, buy the honey buns, and then talk under a tree or something. It was a fun relationship they had, and Kadar was the only one that he knew of who shared the same fondness for sweets that he did.
His eyes widened at how sweet the fruit was. The flavor was different, and the crystalline coating was intensely sweet compared to honey.
He liked it.
“What is this?” he asked around the fruit, ignoring the stare he was getting.
It took his captor a few moments before he could speak, a lazy smirk crawling across his lips.
“Sugar covered dried fruit. It is a specialty that one of my men showed me using the sugar crystals from an Indian caravan. I am glad to see you like it.”
“Why do you share such things with me? Why bother trying to win me over? We are enemies.”
“Why bother? Oh, assassin, you have much to learn. Some things are worth waiting for. You will be completely worth the wait. I am sure of it.”
“You are extremely sure of yourself to think that I want you to touch me.”
“Me? Perhaps not. But your body will crave human touch—and I will be the one who you beg it from.”
“As my master has said, ‘You are a fool to think so highly of yourself.’”
Robert hummed. “I do not delude myself, assassin. You may not want my touch, but I will be the only one you will let touch you.”
He frowned.
“And who knows, as we go, you may even get those chains lifted from your arms.”
He blinked. Robert was mad, giving his enemy freedom to move. He caught the piece of fruit when it was tossed to him, and he had to admit that he was more than eager to bite into it. He loved sweets, and he was more than eager for the foreign treat.
Of course, he felt more like a dog catching a treat from his master.
And that traitorous, deep part of his mind said that Robert would pet him, too, if he would just ask.
He growled inwardly and scowled.
“Oh? You seemed amiable just a few minutes ago.”
“I am nothing more than a pet to you.”
Robert snorted. “If that is how you choose to see it, then yes.”
“You are training me like a dog, using meals and sweets as leverage.”
The man smirks, meeting his gaze as he growls. “Perhaps, but either way, you respond to it. Food is not something that you can live without, and my requests before I give you food have not been unmanageable, have they?”
His eyes narrowed. As much as he would like to admit that his requests had not been unreasonable, it was only a matter of time before they were.
“Well? They have been petty questions one might ask a child. I have not even pushed you for conversation until now.”
“What is your purpose, pig? Why do you do this to me?”
“Why? Altaïr, I have said why. I can see through your façade of isolated arrogance. You miss the hustle of your castle, the noise that surrounds you. Just as easily as I can see through your lies, I can see through your masks. You wish for companionship, no, not companionship, but company. You wish for life. And your body wants to be touched, whether you consciously want it or not—you wish for humanity, for life, for that reminder of humanity. And I will bring out that sleeping side of you. I have already seen it, and I want more.”
His eyes narrowed. He was not going to give in. He knew that he longed to have someone touch him, but the idea of a person’s hands on him, much less his greatest enemy’s hands on him, made his skin crawl and his stomach twist into knots. He didn’t need to be touched. It was a weakness that he would just have to skirt around.
Of course, as he caught another piece of the sweetened, dried fruit, he thought that he might possibly be able to consider the idea of letting Robert touch him. He could always blame it on the fact that he was taken captive later.
But that was just ridiculous. He had a reputation to uphold. He couldn’t just let Robert touch him, no matter how much his body wanted it.
That was, until he walked in a few days later with a bottle of alcohol and a nice meal. The conversation with the sweets had ended shortly after that, nothing more getting done as he mentally warred with himself about letting himself even consider being Robert’s subservient pet of all things. He knew that he would eventually lose the war against himself and his hatred of being touched, but he had also thought that it would be with the one person that he just fell in love with. He wasn’t entirely sure that would ever happen, but he was willing to wait. He could wait. Patience was a virtue of the assassins.
“I know that you said you don’t drink, but you are not religious, if your behaviors are any indication. Perhaps I could persuade you to drink while you are in a safe spot? Nothing will befall you while you are drinking here. I swear on it.”
He knew it was a bad idea to drink, but Robert had held true to his promises on everything else. As much as he hated to admit it, the man was honorable, and while perhaps not respected for consorting with women as the rumors went, he was still a “good” man.
“No. It inhibits your self-control.”
“Would you not want to do that? Just once? It would help you forget your worries, the mental war that has taken up your thoughts since I captured you.”
“Mental war?”
“I told you: you will not win against your body.”
He snorted.
“Or are you too afraid that when you drink that you will not be able to hold your alcohol as well as I?”
His eyes narrowed. Robert was playing him like a fine-tuned instrument. He couldn’t back down from such a blatant challenge.
“I will drink if you unchain me.”
“And how do I know you will not snap my neck?”
“You have kept me here, unable to work out, at first starved and later fattened. I have no muscle to speak of.”
“You make it sound as if you have been chained up for years.”
“It does not take long to make a man lose his form.”
Robert snorted, but Altaïr was relieved to have the chains off his wrists for the first time in several weeks.
Of course, Robert probably also figured that he couldn’t hold his alcohol worth a damn at all as he straddled his captor, humming softly and rubbing his face against the crook of Robert’s neck. He pressed their chests together, pushing against him as he inhaled deeply, noticing how, yes, the man did bathe for him. Four goblets of wine was probably too much for him, but at this point, all he could think about was how warm Robert’s flesh was beneath him.
“I’m flattered you’d clean yourself so thoroughly for me,” he murmured.
“I told you, assassin: you are worth it,” his captor said.
His arms found their way around Robert’s chest, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that his goblet was probably laced with drug, but he was feeling so gay right now he just didn’t care. His hands fisted in the back of the Templar’s tunic, and he exhaled gently as he pressed his eyes against the man’s shoulder, rubbing his head back and forth and just enjoying the feel of his shirt against his skin.
“I am glad I thought to take off my armor,” Robert muttered, sliding his arms around Altaïr’s waist. “You are far cuddlier than I had anticipated.”
“You smell nice,” he uttered, sighing softly.
Robert laughed, and he settled down in the man’s arms. “I was ridiculed for washing and perfuming myself with oils. They will see just what they are lacking when this is all through.”
“You mean your plans to turn me into your dog?”
“Dog? Hardly. I would not even consider you a slave or a servant.”
“Then what are your plans?” he asked, his tongue darting out to taste the man’s skin on his neck simply because he was curious.
He wouldn’t remember in the morning anyway.
“I have told you: to have you.”
“And how am I not a pet, then?” he asked, licking him again and thinking that he likes it.
Robert’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “Ah, many will see you as such, but I would simply prefer to see you as the submissive half of a relationship. Not a pet, not a slave, but a companion.”
“Why me, then?”
“Because you are far more than any exotic beauty I have seen here.”
He hummed, adjusting himself once more and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed as he relaxed.
“Have you never held a woman before? Most men of your age are married.”
“I am an assassin. I am married to my work. Touch is a weakness.”
“You seem to enjoy it quite a bit.”
“I will regret it tomorrow. Right now I am drugged and inebriated, and you are warm and good-smelling.”
“I will loosen the hold your mind has on touch yet. You will be begging for it by the time I am done,” he felt breathed against his bare flesh.
He moaned softly when Robert kissed his skin, and he knew that he would feel it in the morning as his captor’s hands ran up his bare back to pull him close. Yes, he though briefly, this was what he wanted, this was what he would have asked Malik or Kadar for. This cuddling, this touching, he hummed again when one of Robert’s hands grabbed his chin and forced their faces to look at each other. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked lazily. Yes, there was a drug in that wine.
“Have you ever kissed someone, Altaïr?”
“I like the way ‘assassin’ rolls off your tongue,” he murmured, blinking again.
“Very well, assassin, I will take that as a no.”
He groaned softly as he felt Robert’s lips cover his, his eyes fluttered closed and he moved one arm around the man’s neck. He felt a tongue push passed his lips, not as if he was fighting it and thoroughly enjoying the feelings he was having, and responded with a mellowed sort of enthusiasm. Robert’s arms wrapped around his back, and he adjusted to cradle the back of his head, wishing he had hair so that he could run his fingers through it. He could feel the tongue in his mouth, taking up so much space yet moving lazily and making sure to thoroughly enjoy him before brushing over his own tongue and luring it out into a kiss that Altaïr would never forget. He was already addicted.
When the man finally pulled away, Altaïr was breathing slightly heavier, watching as Robert laughed quietly.
“Your tongue is sticking out,” the man muttered, but before Altaïr could pull it back in, his captor had already captured it between his lips, his tongue running over it, luring him into another kiss.
By the time Robert was done kissing him, Altaïr was practically asleep. His body was thrumming with pleasure at the new-found contact, the invigorating feeling of the man’s lips on his and the fingers against his skin, but the drug was running its course, and he was falling asleep. He didn’t protest when the man picked him up and carried him to the bed, setting him in the covers and pulling him close. He fell asleep enjoying the arm around his waist and the kisses against his shoulder and neck.
Phew. Okay. I think that's a little better. What do you guys think?
Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-23 12:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-23 12:29 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-23 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-24 07:26 am (UTC)(link)I'm not OP of the prompt, btw, just a random anon who's totally into it.
Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-24 11:45 am (UTC)(link)*cuddles fic and purrs*
I'm really looking forward to the next part, words can't express how much!
Love the sleepy cuddles and Altair's (drugged) observations.
“Ah, many will see you as such, but I would simply prefer to see you as the submissive half of a relationship. Not a pet, not a slave, but a companion.”
I now have an urge to see this happen and how the Roberts men would react to having an assassin running loose. I get a picture in my head of Altair seemingly popping up in random places scaring the guards.
Re: Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 1/?
(Anonymous) 2012-09-21 09:05 am (UTC)(link)