asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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I want Kanen'tó:kon to be the one to end Washington too! and then take care of poor Connor ):

Sorry for the wait! My knowledge of amnesia is pretty shaky, I only studied psychology for about a year and a half, and amnesia wasn't on the syllabus... Luckily memory models and cognitive conditioning was, otherwise I wouldn't be able to write this! ^_^

He ran, head aching, feeling sick. His legs barely worked, and his ears rang. What had just happened?

His foot caught on something, and he stumbled. He fell heavily, and a jolt of pain lanced through his ribs. One of them was probably broken. Musket shots rang out, though he could not tell how near or far they were. He heard footsteps, lots of them. Some were heavy, some were light, all were quick, and all were hurried. There were shouts in English, but he could not concentrate enough to translate.

He picked himself up, clumsily, and staggered forward, fast as he could. He did not remember why he was running, only that he had to get away, and he barely had time to think before a hand shot out of the shadow in front of him, pulling him into the safety of a bush.

"What have we here?" a voice sneered. All he could do was groan weakly in response, suddenly feeling the chill in the air that movement had kept away.

Hands shook him roughly, and he found himself opening his eyes (when had they closed?) to see a scowling Colonist glaring down at him. His hair was greasy and his eyes cold and- to be frank- he smelt awful. His lips were pressed into an angry line.

"Who… are you…?" He managed, weakly. The other man looked taken aback, but his face was starting to blur and everything was slowly spinning into darkness.

"You don't recognise me?"

The other man's words echoed around his head and he tumbled into a dreamless abyss.

…

He woke up to dim dawn light filtering through a half-shuttered window. He was warm and comfortable, his headache barely noticeable.

His clothes had been changed- instead of torn robes, he was clad simply in loose breeches and smalls. There were several bandages and dressings bound to his body, and he pressed a few of them experimentally. They hurt. So he had been injured somehow and taken to a doctor. This must be a safe place, with friends and allies, then. Who else would have him patched up?

He sat up, slowly, trying to think. What exactly had happened before he had fallen unconscious?

Try as he might, he could not remember anything except noise and pain and… well that was it. He sat up, slightly worried by this. Perhaps he had brain damage.

He cast his mind further back, and still there was nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. There were some images, some phrases, some snippets of memory. He remembered very vividly a woman, beautiful, leaning over him to kiss him goodnight when he was very small. He could hear an old man's tired voice: "Connor". He could remember the wind whispering and chilling him to the bone as he climbed a tree during a blizzard.

The door creaked open, and he found he recognised the man entering.

Father.

Try as he might, he could not recall a name, simply that this man was (probably) his father, and that he was English.

"Hello," he said, hesitantly. He was sure he could speak English, though he could not remember actually being taught it. It was time to see if his muddled memories were correct. The man's expression shifted, from faint worry to a hopeful smile.

"Connor."

"My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said, automatically, and he realised that yes, that was correct. Connor was a nickname, though who gave it to him he was not sure.

The man- no, his father- sighed impatiently.

"You know I can't pronounce that."

"No, I do not. Who are you?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, pointedly.

"I'm your father," he said, looking somewhat horrified. "Don't you remember?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes. Was this man stupid or something?

"Would I be asking if I did?"

His father looked stricken.

"You've lost your memory," he murmured.

"It appears so."

Ratonhnhaké:ton was not sure why he was being so curt towards his father. Habit, perhaps? He could not remember any previous conversations with this man, maybe they were usually on bad terms. He ought to fix that.

"Oh, my son…" his father murmured, pity in his eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"Bits and pieces," he replied, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

His father raised an eyebrow, clearly wanting him to elaborate.

"I remember being very young, living in a remote Mohawk village with my mother. Then things get… muddled. There are gaps, and they get larger and larger the closer to the present I try to remember," he said, after a moment of thought. "Does that make sense?"

His father nodded.

"Describe your most recent memory," he said.

"Aiming at a stag with a bow and arrow," Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, almost instantly. "I hit it in the eye. It died almost immediately. It was spring."

"Do you remember your mother's death?" His father's eyes seemed cold and distant for a moment, and cold dread settled in Ratonhnhaké:ton's stomach.

"Mother is dead?"

His father looked sorrowful, in a stoic sort of way.

"You were four," he said, quietly. "It's probably better you don't remember. It was very traumatic."

"How?" His voice was barely a hoarse whisper.

"There was a fire," his father began, then stopped.

Ratonhnhaké:ton squeezed his eyes shut. She was dead and he could not remember that. He could barely remember her, full stop. What a terrible son he was.

"…No," his father said, after a long moment. "Let's not speak of such sad things. We were testing your memory, weren't we?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, silently. His father looked deep in thought for a moment.

"You know your name," he said. "What's mine?"

"I do not remember."

"Haytham," he said. "It's an Arabic word for 'eagle'. Our surname is 'Kenway'."

"It sounds like a good name."

"Thank you," his father gave an amused smile, and handed him a shirt and shoes.

As soon as he was dressed, Haytham led him to the parlour, explaining that they were in one of his properties (a townhouse in northern New York) and that an associate of his had found him in a terrible state and brought him here. In the parlour awaited a different associate, a doctor named Benjamin Church.

...

"It seems as though you have amnesia," Church said, after a lengthy examination. Ratonhnhaké:ton was not sure he liked the man. He was not cruel or rude, but he had a certain air about him, in his behaviour, that made Ratonhnhaké:ton feel as though Church cared more about his money than his patient.

"I could have told you that much," the man from the night Ratonhnhaké:ton lost his memory snapped, standing near the door. Haytham had introduced him as Charles Lee. He decided that he ought to make an effort to be nice to the man, even if he was unfriendly. He had likely saved Ratohnhnhaké:ton's life, after all.

"Luckily, your head injuries left most if not all of your mental faculties intact, only affecting personal memories extending backwards from the time of said injury. Often, lost memories will return with time and healing, although you will almost certainly still have missing memories of the time immediately prior to the memory loss."

"How long is it going to last?" Haytham interrupts, to Church's obvious annoyance.

"Anywhere from a few days to a few decades. I can't give you a proper estimate right now."

"Hm," Haytham said, looking deep in thought again. "Connor, can you remember where you live?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head, slowly.

"I am afraid not."

"Then you may stay here as long as you like," Haytham said.

"I could not impose upon you for so long--" Ratohnhaké:ton started, but was cut off.

"Nonsense!" Haytham said. "You're always so busy, swanning off doing this and that and never leaving any time for yourself… I hardly get to see you. A terrible state of affairs. No, it's best that you stay with me and you indulge yourself in all your little hobbies and whatnot. It might even speed up your recovery, eh, Church?"

"Oh, yes," Church said, after a split second. "It's not really as if we can send you off home, none of us know where you live. Could do you the world of good. Best do as your father says."

That was that, really. There was no room for any argument. After all, Ratonhnhaké:ton would do no good trying to leap back into a life he could not remember, nor would he do himself any favours by irritating his wounds so early in the healing process. At the very least, they had made him agree, he was to stay with Haytham until he at least knew the basics of his own life, even if he could not actually remember them.

I really haven't seen any Firefly/AC x-overs around...
I mean, Alliance=Templars, clearly.

Omigod! It's early! OP is so excited by this. I was expecting it roughly tomorrow, so this is like a special treat!

And what a beginning it is. I'm loving how Connor still has some inclination of how he used to act, but that it's largely a giant fog. And his reaction to finding out about his mother's death is perfect!

Do I see Haytham already being strategic about Connor's memory loss? Hehehe. On another note, I am loving your Charles Lee's snark towards Church, and Church's answering frustration with all these people cutting him off. Also love how Connor is already getting the sense that Church is more about the moolah than the patient. Perceptive, even in the midst of confusion.

Looking forward to the next installment!

OP is good with anything that brings them together, mwahaha. :D

Simply because I think it would be hot. Perhaps Aveline seduces Haytham for information? Up to whoever is kind enough to fill this!

Would also strongly prefer if it wasn't non-con also.

100% want.

I'd love to see Haytham and Malik snarking at each other. I would prefer apple-or-any-other-artifact induced time travel shenanigans, but complete AU works as well. Their sass would work so beautifully together.

If you choose to include any pairings, I'm a sucker for Altair/Malik, but really, gen or any slashy pairing works as well.

I love your writer-anon! This was perfect, can't wait to see how Connor bonds with his 'Templar' family

OP
I imagine that Malika would where a veil over her face, so while Altair does know of Malika through Kadar, he has never seen her face and rarely talked to her, so he wont reconize her without lots of prompting

Once again Connor finds himself surprised by the laxness of the fort's security. Its outermost wall is tough, yes, but the cityward side doesn't even reach the water. There's a good foot or two of solid land left on either side of the thick, stone battlements which makes it relatively easy to slip into the fort from Boston, and vice versa. That makes a sort of sense, he supposes, Southgate's function is to keep attackers out of the city rather than keep people in. Something of a flaw in design, but it is a useful flaw nonetheless.

His whistle barely has a chance to sound before the first hooded figure detaches themselves from the shadows of a clump of buildings across the wide, empty square. A second, slightly shorter individual, is quick to follow. Thanks to the infiltration party there appear to be no guards left on this side of the gate to get in the way. It is a deceptively easy start for the pair. Connor wonders if they have any idea of what awaits inside the fort, of what potentially stands in the way of their assignment here. Regardless, he is glad to see them again. Some of the unease he's felt these last few days dissipates, although he knows that he won't feel entirely comfortable again until he has his own weapons and his own robes back. He still feels far too exposed to be at ease.

Worry is clear on both faces when they join him at the wall, the delay was noted. Neither of them looks particularly impressed by his condition, although he knows it could have been a lot worse. Apart from a bruise to the face and the painfully chaffed wrists the teenager is essentially fine. In fact, he's ended up with much more serious injuries in training, they all have. But this is different, of course, and so it stirs up all of his older companions' protective feelings. He is tougher than they give him credit for though. Fortunately the relief of seeing him walking around in one piece works quickly to dispel any lingering concerns.

While Connor is slightly the worse for wear, neither Duncan nor Dobby have changed in the least. His attempts to grow a beard are still bearing limited success, while her hair is just as short and raggedly cut as ever. Even the mud splatter on the hems of their robes seem unchanged. It shouldn't surprise him but these three days in captivity have felt like months. He feels tired.

Something serious must immediately show in his expression, as the pair exchange a quick glance before the Irishman leans in closer and lowers his voice to inquire: 'What's wrong? Did somebody see you escape? Do they know we're coming?'

'No, no, nothing like that. There is...' It takes a few moments to figure out how to adequately sum up the situation. He sighs. 'There has been a complication.'

'A complication?' Raising an eyebrow and folding her arms, the former pickpocket is clearly unsatisfied with the attempt at an explanation. Beside her Duncan's frown deepens.

Very conscious that giving them the whole thing from the start will take far too long, Connor knows that he has to be blunt. There isn't any way he can put this that will soften the impact after all. Taking a deep breath, he gives voice to the word that has been plaguing him since he first caught sight of the watcher on the rooftop. 'Templars. Six of them.'

The effect is immediate. While Duncan instantly goes as pale as a sheet, Dobby gives a long, low whistle. Naturally they all know the gravity of this 'complication', they know that just how much danger that word carries with it. They've heard all the stories, but as of yet none of them have ever encountered anything more than mercenaries acting on behalf of the Order. This is something for which they are essentially unprepared. Even Achilles or one of the other fully fledged Assassins would hesitate here.

It is Duncan who finally breaks the silence. 'In the fort?'

Connor nods. 'Looking for Silas.'

'Christ.' His hands go to his head as he begins to pace backwards and forwards. The oldest of the three, by only a few years, he is considered to be the de facto leader here and thus responsible for the others. It's a duty that Duncan takes very seriously. 'You're absolutely sure they're Templars?'

'Certain.' As much as he wishes he weren't. There simply is no other explanation. 'I have seen them kill, there can be no doubt about it.'

'Then we need to get moving.' Straightening up, Dobby takes several steps in the direction of the main building in which their target is holed up. The decision is made as far as she is concerned, but as it becomes clear that they aren't following she turns and adds: 'I don't know about you two, but I don't much fancy the idea of going home empty-handed. Not from this one.'

Her meaning would have been clear even if she hadn't glanced tellingly at Connor when she spoke. Admittedly the idea of having spent days in captivity for nothing is an unpleasant one, but he also remembers the ruthless efficiency with which these men kill. Yet if they turn back now they will lose the chance to obtain valuable information. And that is a setback the Brotherhood can ill afford considering.

Duncan meanwhile stands his ground, very much concerned by the possibility of a conflict. 'Half a dozen Templars weren't part of the plan.'

This argument could easily go in circles for hours, both of them are certainly stubborn enough. So really it falls to Connor to break the deadlock, and quickly. How Assassins can ever work in even numbers when on equal terms is quite beyond him. Some degree of stubbornness seems to be pretty much an obligatory characteristic for entry into the Brotherhood.

'Plans change.' He cuts in firmly. 'Their aim seems to be to free the captives first, which is going to take time. If you can get Silas to talk fast then they shouldn't have to know we were ever here.'

Even with the majority opinion against him, Duncan hesitates. But the fact remains that he is outnumbered, and the assignment remains an important one. He spends some moments weighing up the options before he holds his hands up in defeat. 'Okay, we'll try it. Dobs, you'll come with me to have a little chat with the commander. Connor, you keep an eye on these Templars of yours. If they start heading our way cause a distraction, buy us as much time as you can. But stay safe.'

Inexplicably pleased with the decision, Dobby smiles and claps the taller novice round the shoulder. 'Atta boy. This'll be over before you know it.'

'That'd be what concerns me.' He shrugs her off gently, wasting no time as he swiftly sets about scaling the rampart. Surprisingly that appears to be the quickest surreptitious route to Silas' rooms, not that it's an easy task by the looks of it.

Together the pair of them watch him scramble up the masonry. Upon reaching the ledge he pauses momentarily, listening, before abruptly hauling himself up and over onto the top of the battlement. His robes have barely swished out of sight when the body of a redcoat tumbles to the ground in front of them. A quick, silent kill.

'All things considered that tomahawk of yours isn't the best idea right now, so you're gonna have to make do with this for the time being.' Turning back to her remaining companion, Dobby pulls a knife from the inside of her boot and offers it to him. She must have picked it up off a target. As he takes it she pats his shoulder and lowers her voice to offer a final piece of advice; 'Stick any of the bastards who come near you.'

'Deborah.' Coming from above, Duncan's harsh, impatient whisper startles them both. His hooded head is visible craning down at them from one of the battlement's gaps.

There is little that annoys the female novice so much, or gets her so quickly back on task, as calling her by her given name. She bristles slightly, glaring back up at him. With a last, parting pat on the arm Dobby strides purposely towards the wall and launches herself up the stonework. Already knowing where to put her hands and feet, she scales it quickly and soon vanishes over the top. He is left alone again.

All in all that went about as well as expected. Connor can't say that he's thrilled to be consigned to the grounds of the fort, but at least he's finally armed. On closer examination the knife proves to be nondescript, anonymous, yet of a good quality nonetheless. It's the sort of weapon that won't give him away as anything more than he appears to be. Perfect when he's liable to run into the Templar infiltrators again before the day is done. Reassured, he slips quietly away from the wall.

Cautiously he retraces his earlier steps, acutely aware now of the quietness that seems to hang over Southgate. Hopefully freeing captives poses more difficulty for the invaders than picking off redcoats did. Flattening to the ground to avoid a patrol, Connor tries to figure out just how much time Duncan and Dobby will need. Interrogations take time and Silas does not seem the type to give ready answers. He settles on a course of action, deciding that it is better to stake out the gate than go actively searching for the Templars. Picking a good spot from which he has a clear view of the approach to the fort's wall, and the building in which its commander resides, the teenager makes sure to swipe a stray musket, which lay discarded beside a pile of hay, before settling down to watch and wait.

For several good long minutes nothing happens. Connor sits and tries to stop his mind from constantly wandering back to the watcher, the Templar leader. The man didn't seem all that evil. But appearances can be deceiving, he knows that. Liberating captives cannot be their true aim here, there has to be an ulterior motive. What is it they could possibly stand to gain by this? What game are they playing?

He is no closer to an answer when the sound of footsteps disturbs him. Two redcoats walk past his hiding place, heading towards the gate. Only half listening to their conversation as they move away, he initially doesn't pay them much heed.

'Say, ain't that the delivery cart over there?' One interrupts the other.

As he sees the men stop in their tracks, both frowning in the direction of the abandoned vehicle, Connor's heart sinks. After some consideration the second soldier replies; 'That it is. I thought Jones was supposed to come get us when the merchandise arrived.'

'I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all day. And that cart looks awfully empty to me...' He pauses, clearly thinking and weighing up options. Abruptly he turns to his comrade and orders; 'Raise the alarm.'

Before he can think to stop himself, Connor has thrown the knife. It buries itself neatly in the back of the first redcoat and he rather wishes that Dobby had given him more than just the one. It's certainly one way to create a distraction.

Ugh wow yes these are great. I especially love the first prompt (Connor coming back to his father to be pleasured is so hot oh my goddd)

LOVE THIS! I hope it hasn't been abandoned, it's wonderful! And I adore this pairing so much!

Is it strange that the first thing that came to my mind, should king Washington be captured, is that he would try to invoke the right of parley? (probably just me thinking this but he seems like the kind of weasel who would do anything to stay alive or win.

I need this in my life, i haven't stopped thinking about this since i did the mission about the Headless horseman! As for a way to get Haythem into the story, well... whoever has the Horseman's head/skull controls him, that has Templar written all over it :P

I'd fill this my self but...
1) I don't think it would turn out very well if i did
2) I haven't watched the movie in a few years so I can only remember bits and pieces.
3) my grammar and spelling and punctuation is just awful... (or at least i think it is)
4) it would be my first time posting a story on here and yeah, nerves.... >n>

I may try to do a mini-fill, but please don't hold your breath. i make no guarantees...

DO WANT.

omg OP gives you all of her love THIS IS SO PERFECT wow!!!!

http://youtu.be/1MNllfr6wVY

Anon would love to see Connor speaking squirrel, preferably when with Haytham, while searching for Benjamin Church. >u>

With Church still around (what about Johnson, Hickey, and Pitcairn?), I'm guessing this diverges from the canon story line which is perfectly fine, I'd like to know how Connor and Haytham actually met in this timeline and how Haytham (who appears genuinely concerned for his son) manipulates amnesiac!Connor to the Templar cause.

Not OP, but it would be interesting to see how the Templars react to Connor's display of skills and high level of intelligence, proving that he's not some ignorant savage. It's a headcannon of mine, but I do picture Connor being fluent in other languages other than Kanien'kehá:ka and English; such as French and/or German since he's had to gather information from diverse groups of people within the colonies and he has Stephane and Jacob who could have tutored him.

Anyway, I'm so hooked on this Fill - please update soon!

I'm not the artist, but I found this while looking for Assassin's Creed slashy stuff on tumblr
http://bellarts.tumblr.com/post/39973876214

Paul Revere/Connor handjob on horseback! This artist has done us all a great service.

oooh, I am excited to see where this goes!

Anon loves this idea! Sadly I don't think I can fill this but I can see it now! (part of me does want to but I'm worried that I'll forget about it) However until someone does fill it i leave you with a gift :D

"Alright, now put it in reverse like I showed you." Haytham told his son, as he watched him from the passenger seat.

"Like this?" Connor asked slowly, applying his foot to the gas then shifting to Drive.

"No! Connor stop before you-" Haytham flinched as he heard the sickening crunch of his Camaro's bumper meeting the cement barricade in front of them.

"Oops..." Connor mumbled, unbuckling and standing up in the convertible trying to see how much damage he'd done.

"My car..." Haytham whispered to himself in a daze. "my beautiful car..."

The assassins of Serenity could be the characters from
AC, preferably from Renaissance-era. Or the characters from Firefly. Or both.

So. Anon has noticed that there's not a lot of truly kinky stuff in this meme, aside from bondage, incest, and rape.

Therefore, anon would like to see some pants wetting. I'd really prefer everyone involved to be getting off on it, even if it's initially an accident. And I'd really rather there was no humiliation involved.

The two ideas I had were Des/Shaun, Shaun is guiding Desmond through a field mission while the girls are conveniently not around, and he has to stay on the line with Desmond so he can't use the bathroom. He ends up pissing himself, and Desmond hears it and ducks into a secluded corner to masturbate.

The other is kind of extra kinky, 14-15 year old Connor peeing himself in Haytham's lap. Bonus points if Connor freaks out and Haytham comforts him and shows him it's okay.

TL;DR: Consensual pantswetting where everyone is enjoying it and no one is humiliated.

Ahahahah, this is pure PWP. I wasn't able to fit in your last request, but I think I managed to cover the other two points. ...Enjoy? /face in hands

***

Day and night, night and day, the thought plagued him in a way that no other had: he wanted the Assassin at his mercy in the basest, most humiliating way possible. Too many times had that brat ruined the Order’s plans, too many times he had hurt their cause. Charles knew all too well that Connor sought his head, and while many individuals would have been frozen with fear by the prospect of having such a trained killer after them, he found it terribly arousing.

In this way, Assassin and Templar were similar: they were obsessed with each other.

Drawn together in conflict time and time again, he had bided his time and waited for the opportune moment, waited for when he could strike, and now, at last, Charles had his chance. Connor had arrived, like a neat package, on his doorstep earlier that day, courtesy of Hickey’s side activities and the trouble that it had earned him--not that he particularly cared for what the man did on the side, so long as he completed his tasks for the Order.

Six hours later found Connor naked in his room, hands bound to the headboard with the red sash he wore as a belt. The Assassin was slow to rouse from his drug-induced sleep, and briefly, Charles found himself wishing that they had used less of it. The medication had been necessary, see, for transport, but he doubted anyone else would have thought he’d use the effects for such nefarious purposes afterwards...

“Wake up, boy,” he muttered, now tired of waiting. Charles brought his hand down, hard, against his cheek, and Connor yelped, eyes flying open, body jerking against the ties that bound him. His lips curled into a sneer as Connor struggled, drowsiness all but evaporating from the lines of his body, and his smile only broadened when those eyes finally settled and focused on him.

There was anger in his gaze--a bright and fierce fury--but he found only delight in it. What was the point of breaking something already broken? Connor had spirit, and that would bring him far more delight to take.

“Lee. Release me,” Connor growled, pulling against the sash to the point that it bit into his wrists. Charles did nothing to discourage him from doing so and merely pressed his hands against his thighs, just in case he got the wise idea to try kicking him. The Assassin, he had to admit, had a beautiful body: all bronzed skin and powerful muscle--all untouched, too, he imagined. After all, what time would he have to play when he was so busy ruining their plans?

“I’ll do no such thing.” He leaned in, hovering inches away from Connor’s face, who frowned and looked as if he would try to bite if he got any closer. “I’ve yet to have my fun with you, boy.”

“You will not break me with physical torment.”

He almost had to laugh at the comment. Here he was, bound and naked, and Connor was thinking of an entirely different sort of torture. Such naivete! Oh, Charles had no doubt that the Assassin had a high pain tolerance and would keep his lips sealed should a blade be applied to his skin, but what he had planned... Well, Connor would have no training for this.

With no preamble, he grabbed Connor’s cock, which earned him a startled noise and eyes wide with surprise. The verbal protests started a moment later, shifting fluidly between English and Mohawk, and at the risk of getting bitten, Charles bent and kissed him--hungry and demanding, tongue pushing into the other’s mouth. And when he could not vocalize his discomfort, Connor took to shifting beneath him, a writhing mess that only went to arouse Charles all the more. Clothed though he was, he relished the press of hips and chest against him, brief it might have been, and the warmth that he felt...

He needed to speed up his plans, if only to satiate his own desires.

Hands fumbling about, he managed to find the tie in the Assassin’s hair and pulled it free. Charles sat back then, tasting copper on his tongue, but it didn’t really matter, didn’t bother him that the boy had drawn blood as he wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. Connor was staring at him now, eyes wide with disbelief, and Charles could see understanding slowly but surely dawning upon the Assassin.

And then there it was: the flicker of fear.

“You would not--”

“I would,” Charles answered, moving swiftly to straddle Connor’s abdomen. In hindsight, it would have been better to bind the Assassin’s legs, but it would prove to be a hindrance later--and later was the event he looked forward to the most. No, for now, he would tolerate the kicking and flailing, and it was with a calm touch that he took the hair tie he’d removed and circled it around the base of Connor’s cock and around his balls, knotting it neatly when he was done.

Connor stilled as he finished, and he could practically feel the tension radiating off of the Assassin’s body. The boy drew up his knees, tried to shift his legs into a number of different positions in hopes of shielding himself, but Charles would not be so easily put off, not when he wanted and craved and desired for so long. His own cock ached within the confines of his breeches, and he huffed in irritation.

“Desist your fruitless struggles,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder at Connor, who only redoubled his efforts to buck his captor off. Charles muttered an oath and took hold of the boy’s penis, his grip tight in warning. Connor stopped struggling then, breath catching in his throat, and while there was still anxiety written into every fiber of his being, he behaved for the time being. It was then and only then that Charles loosened his grip a little, even stroking his cock as if to assuage him.

Behind him, Connor bit his lip and turned his head to the side, ashamed, as his body betrayed him.

Satisfied for the time being, Charles allowed his free hand to slide down past the Assassin’s balls to toy at his hole. His fingertip circled the ring of tight muscle and then pushed at it, making a pleased sound at how little give there was; Connor shuddered, knees automatically drawing up and toes curling in the sheets. The boy squirmed oh so delightfully, but to progress further, Charles would have to stop teasing him--for now.

He slipped off the bed and rummaged through one of the drawers in his dresser, producing a small bottle of oil, which he proceeded to toss onto the bed; Connor’s eyes followed its path through the air with great agitation and proceeded to stare at it, as if it were a bomb, when it came to a rest between his legs. “Consider yourself fortunate,” Charles said as he stripped, easily discarding one item of clothing after another; they lay strewn across the floor as he returned to the bed. “I’ve half a mind to take you dry.

“Roll over.”

Connor did nothing, said nothing. His mouth was open, but it seemed that his shock had stolen his voice. Finally, Charles grabbed the Assassin by the hips and forcibly flipped him over. He cursed softly when, again, Connor put up resistance, tugging at his bonds and pushing with his feet, but when he applied his hand to the boy’s backside, he yielded. Though the skin reddened under his touch and his palm stung, Charles did not doubt it was the surprise that quelled Connor, not the pain.

“On your knees, boy.”

“No,” Connor bit out, but there was no force behind his voice. In fact, Charles was of the mind that there was a quiver to it, and his cock twitched at the thought that the boy was afraid--afraid of him. He delighted in being able to wield such power, and again, he pressed a finger against the Assassin’s entrance, threatening.

“Do as I say, or you’ll have nought for slick when I take you,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark promise. “And I will have you.” His lips split into a smile as Connor obeyed after briefly glancing over his shoulder. The embarrassed flush that had first appeared a few minutes ago had now reached his ears, and Charles pressed a hand to his spine, stroking in a mockery of gentleness. He could feel the boy’s body twitch beneath his fingertips, could feel the tension that strung him out.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 21/???

long-term loss (1/?)

Assassins of Serenity

OP

OP

Haytham/Aveline

Re: Haytham/Altair

Haytham+Malik, Out-sassing each other

Re: long-term loss (1/?)

Re: Altair/Fem Malik

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [2/?]

Re: HayCon pic prompts

Re: 2/?

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 21/???

Re: Crossover: ACIII meets Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow

Re: Haytham/Altair

Re: L'aigle et le révolutionnaire 1/?

Connor speaking squirrel

Re: long-term loss (1/?)

Paul/Connor art!

Re: L'aigle et le révolutionnaire 1/?

Re: Driving AU

OP clarifies

Pisskink

Fill: A Sweet Litany on Your Lips [ 1/2 ]