Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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Touchy-Feely Shit Won't Cut It 1/? REVISED

[(Anonymous)]

He wasn’t sure how it happened, or why it was happening to him, but Malik and Kadar were safe, and Al Mualim would be pleased that he had the treasure and his two assassins. Somehow, but he wasn’t sure how, he had gotten Kadar and Malik out. He had, in turn, gotten into combat with Robert and his cronies, and been knocked out.

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.