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

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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I was watching a play-through and saw Eizo dive into a convenient pile of straw to hide- and it occurred to me, that the way it was heaped looked a little more... used than clean, if you know what I mean.

I just want a little suffering, misery, and the sudden realization that the assassin has picked the wrong haystack.

gratuitous bathing scene would be an added bonus.

D: oh my god, Daniel...anon, this is PERFECT. This is beautiful, this is exactly what I thought would happen if Daniel ever found out what had been done to him.

I cannot wait to see what happens next, because Daniel...oh, Daniel...

Being associates with Thomas led one to ask questions that weren't in the usual repertoire of pleasantries. Usually, people walked into a tavern and inquired after the weather and the (inevitably abysmal) combination of sausage and mash available at the moment and thereafter meandered on to marginally more useful topics, such as the best way to get thoroughly drunk. Thomas’s company brought a refreshing immediacy and variety to the concerns articulated, among them:

- Why are there twenty chickens in our rooms.

(Not enough space for twenty-four.)

- Where have our beds gone and why is there a battered sofa with tassels and an assortment of dresses in their place.

(A business opportunity.)

- To whom does this limb belong to and will they be wanting it back.

(Didn’t have a name on it, and probably not.)

Naturally, these questions were largely rhetorical, as tracing back the line of reasoning that led to chickens usually got mired in increasingly creative leaps of—‘logic’ was too generous a word, though ‘drunken whim’ accorded too strong a degree of randomness to these actions, failing to encapsulate the particular animal cunning that always seemed to engineer a creative application of whatever farm animal or unusual object had found its way into Templar possession. No, there was usually a reason for the chickens, however circuitous.

Which was all to say that William had difficulties ascertaining exactly how he had ended up in a surprisingly spacious bed with Haytham’s arm around his waist, Charles’s moustache tickling his chest, and Thomas waving cheerfully at him over Charles’s shoulder, but the latter almost certainly had something to do with it.

William was reasonably sure no farmyard animals had been involved, thankfully.

William carefully disentangled himself from Haytham’s arm and took stock of his surroundings. A glance around the room managed to pinpoint exactly two items of his clothing among the scattered items, one of which was a stocking draped over the edge of the mattress. William sank back into the blankets and decided that laying in bed a little longer was a perfectly viable option.

A grunt to his side warned him that Thomas was attempting to clamber over Charles, taking care to place a knee in Charles’s gut on the way by. (Charles made an abortive attempt at pushing Thomas out of bed before realizing that Haytham was still asleep, and deciding that a healthy amount of glaring would do. Charles was not particularly amenable to mornings.) Once this accomplished, Thomas settled in William’s lap.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

“Good morning,” William said, resting his hands on Thomas’s thighs. “I would ask how you are, but it seems like an extraneous pleasantry right now.”

“Pretty bloody sore, thanks for asking,” Thomas said, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his joints. He still had his hat on, somehow. In fact, William was fairly sure that he had had his hat on the entire time, except when it had made a brief excursion to Charles’s head while Thomas was riding him senseless.

“I’m not surprised,” William said, and muffled a yawn into his shoulder.

“Couldn’t resist getting a piece of this, could you, Mr. Johnson?” Thomas said, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that managed to convey a thoroughly obscene abstract of the various goings-on of the night previous.

“Truly, you are an irresistible force of seduction,” Charles grumbled, turning over to bury his head into a pillow, possibly in an attempt to smother himself.

“Oi, if you’re done cataloguing, naming, and composing odes to every one of Haytham’s chest hairs, I’ve got a cock needs sucking over here,” Thomas said, poking at Charles’s thigh with his toe.

“Suck it yourself,” Charles muttered into the pillows.

“Tried,” Thomas said mournfully, looking down at his cock as though it had personally betrayed him. “Wrenched me back doing it, too. Mr. Kenway, sir, you wouldn’t want a valuable member of your team getting unnecessarily injured, would you?”

(Haytham did not respond, being resolutely asleep. William thought this was a very wise course of action.)

“Let the poor man have a rest, Thomas,” William said.

“Well then, you’d best keep me busy, shouldn’t you?” Thomas said with a smirk, wriggling in William’s lap in a way that should have been ridiculous—and was ridiculous, because coy flirtatiousness suited Thomas about as well as lace and ribbons. (Which, William considered, was perhaps to say that the sheer contrast was surprisingly compelling.)

“That was a euphe-whatsit, in case you were wondering. What I’m saying is that you should put your hand on my cock and your cock in my ass,” Thomas said, apparently intent on annihilating any vestige of subtlety from the exchange.

“Thank you for the much-needed clarification.”

“Anytime.”

William settled his hands on Thomas’s waist, his thumb tracing along the line of his hip. “ Well. Here’s what I suggest. Charles is going to fuck you—”

“Y’hear that, Charlie-boy?” Thomas said, poking Charles in the back none too gently.

“Ungh,” Charles said.

“Just making sure you’re up to date on the plan of attack. You better hold up the end of the bargain too and fuck me good and proper—I could hardly feel it last night.”

Charles kicked Thomas under the covers, but also looked far less grumpy about the prospect of facing the morning.

“—And I believe you should give Mr. Kenway up a pleasant wake-up call, as well. And if you’re good, well, then I’ll apply my mouth as necessary. Clear? ”

William moved his hand back to curve around Thomas’s ass. Thomas took his fingers easily, still slick from not so very long ago, and shifted his hips back, urging him on shamelessly.

“Clear as crystal,” Thomas said, his voice gone low and rough. He smirked. “Sir.” The man had a talent—well, he had a talent for many things, mostly things that resulted in arrest—but especially for making the word ‘sir’ sound as insubordinate as possible.

It was an indulgence, perhaps, to push his fingers into Thomas a few more times, Thomas’s hips rolling back into their easy slide, before Charles moved up behind Thomas.

“Oh, interested now, are we?” Thomas said, grinding back against Charles, who replaced William’s fingers with his own slick ones.

“You make yourself difficult to ignore, Hickey,” Charles said with a growl, his hand firm on Thomas’s hip.

William, for his part, disentangled himself from the fray and sat up to place his hands on Haytham’s shoulders, who shifted beneath his touch, his breathing still deep and sleep-steady despite all the movement around him. Charles pushed Thomas forward, prompting a laugh and a hissed breath at the change in pressure from Charles’s fingers, his head hanging down between his braced arms for a moment before he took Haytham into his mouth.

Thomas sucked cock like he did most other things: unabashedly, messily, and with no regard for what was right and proper. If any of them were under the illusion that having his mouth full would stem the commentary about Charles’s sexual prowess—well. Thomas moaned like a whore around Haytham’s cock when Charles filled him, the sheer exaggeration of it half-mocking.

Haytham blinked awake in a moment, jerking against William’s hands, his body tense and ready. Thomas’s head dipped, however, and Haytham’s head fell back with a long shiver.

“Good morning, Mr. Kenway,” William said mildly.

“Mr. Johnson,” Haytham said, his sleep-roughened voice remarkably level, with only the slightest tremor upsetting its course.

It had been a thrill, the night before, to pin Haytham’s broad shoulders to the mattress and feel him shudder and arch into the touch. William had long resigned himself to having a scholar’s build, whereas Haytham had the leashed power and the scars of one well-accustomed to a blade—yet Haytham had not broken his hold, smiling ruefully up at him and saying, “Carry on, Mr. Johnson,” his voice thick with arousal.

There had been something strange, perhaps, in seeing Charles hang back, so evident in his desire to touch and so reticent despite it. It had taken some urging for Charles to understand what Haytham wanted, his touches tentative and too-worshipful, until Haytham impatiently snapped, “For God’s sake, Charles, I won’t break.”

(Thomas, for his part, had taken his mouth off William’s cock long enough to say, “Bloody fuck, Charlie, man up and bugger him properly, like I do with your ma.” Uncouth, but practical, like most of Thomas’s strategies.)

William bent to kiss Haytham, catching Haytham’s quiet gasps inside his mouth and feeling the stutter of his breath when Thomas evidently swallowed him deep, enjoying the way that Haytham’s arms flexed against his grasp , his fingers curled. He knew what it must feel like—the wet, hot clutch of Thomas’s mouth and the wicked curl of his tongue—and smiled against Haytham’s mouth in understanding.

When he broke the slick contact with Haytham’s mouth, William found Thomas looking up at him, something hot and focused in his gaze, even as he shoved his hands under Haytham and made him fuck his mouth more roughly. William found himself caught for a moment, before Charles thrust into Thomas hard, as if to remind him that he was very much present.

Thomas broke his gaze, pulling off Haytham and catching his breath enough to toss his head over his shoulder and say, “Ooh, Mr. Lee, fuck me harder.”

The breathy, mocking timbre of his voice, and his mouth opened—wordlessly, this time—when Charles gripped his hips harder and thrust into him in earnest.

“Don’t forget about Mr. Kenway, Thomas,” William reminded him.

Thomas laughed breathlessly. “Right you are, sir.” He bent his head to the task once more with an ease that seemed to say that he wanted nothing more than a cock to fill his throat, and that they were merely here to oblige him.

Charles’s eyes fixed on Haytham as he pushed himself into Thomas’s mouth. William heard him hiss a breath through his teeth when a thrust echoed through Thomas and wrenched a groan out of Haytham, the proud line of his back arching, and when Haytham came, every muscle of his body pulled tight, hair clinging to his sweat-damp forehead, Charles watched him like the light of a revelation and spilled into Thomas’s body helplessly.

“Bloody hell, Hickey, you wouldn’t have been gainfully employed in this task at some point?” Haytham said, once he had found his breath again.

“I am a man of many talents,” Thomas said, almost modestly, earning a snort from Charles. His voice was ragged and hoarse, and William could not help the shiver that coursed up his back at its sound, at the way that Thomas raised a hand to his throat to rub at it.

Thomas collapsed on the mattress when Charles pulled out, his hips hitching against the sheets for a moment before he gathered himself and crawled over to drape himself over William.

“So. Have I been ‘good’?” Thomas said, licking his lips clean and rocking up against William’s leg, the line of his cock hot and wanting.

“I don’t think I would ever call you ‘good’,” William said in a considering tone.

Thomas rolled his eyes, a thread of desperation in his voice. “Close enough? Throw me a bone, here.”

Somewhere beside him, Charles groaned. “William, kindly shut him up so that we won’t be subjected to more brilliant innuendo.”

Thomas bit his lip when William curled his hand around his cock. He squirmed against William, the lines of his muscles wound tight and his hands clutching at William’s shoulders. “It’ll do,” William said, finally, his mouth to Thomas’s ear.

Thomas groaned when William let go of his cock, no doubt about to complain, but snapped his mouth shut and let himself be rolled over as William slid down the bed, taking hold of his hips.

William slicked his fingers and pushed them carefully into Thomas’s body as he bent his head to Thomas’s cock. For all of Thomas’s enthusiasm, he had to be sore, by now, having taken them all before and now again, and William fucked him slowly, steadily.

“Harder, come on,” Thomas whimpered, hitching his hips up, his fingers curling and uncurling in the sheets.

William pulled back off slowly, but continued to press his fingers into him deliberately, unrelenting. “My way, or not at all, Thomas.”

Thomas shivered under him, his elbows giving way as he sank down to the mattress. “Christ, you’re bossy as hell. Fuck.”

William took that as acquiescence, and took Thomas into his mouth once more, enjoying the solid, hot weight on his tongue, conscious that his every move seemed to reverberate through Thomas, his body arching off the mattress and his thighs pressing against William’s shoulders helplessly.

And that was a sight, wasn’t it? Thomas with his tongue lost to moans, utterly shameless and selfish in his pleasure, unabashedly hedonistic.

“My god, you’re loud,” he heard Charles grouse, muffling Thomas with a hard kiss, his hand fisted in Thomas’s hair. Thomas jerked into William’s mouth when Charles twisted one of his nipples between his fingers, earning him a gasped “Fuck, Charlie, you know how to treat a girl.”

“Oughtn’t someone take care of you, William?” Haytham breathed into his ear, his hand pressing against William’s belly and then curling around his cock, the firm line of his body against William familiar and welcome.

“My thanks,” William said, pulling away to press his mouth to Haytham’s in a brief, grateful kiss and rolling his hips into Haytham’s grasp. He gave Thomas more, another finger, until Thomas was stretched tight around his knuckles, fever-hot and asking for still more with every shuddering breath.

It didn’t take long for Thomas to come, his body seizing in a tense line, and if he said anything, it was lost in Charles’s mouth. William fucked him through it, pressing his fingers deep until Thomas squirmed away from his touch, oversensitive in every way. William pressed his forehead to Thomas’s belly, feeling its rise and fall as Thomas fought to find his breath once again, and joined his hand with Haytham’s to pull at his cock.

Thomas gathered himself enough to surge down and pull his head up and kiss him, his tongue sloppy in William’s mouth and utterly imperfect, and that, that was far more than enough for William. He came with Thomas’s lips pulling into a smirk against his mouth, no doubt something impertinent on his tongue, so close that he could almost taste its bite.

For a moment, things were still, the room hot and close.

Thomas flopped back onto the mattress, the lazy angles of his body even more haphazard than usual. “Well, I think I’ve pulled something,” he said appreciatively, “Bloody fuck, I’m hungry. I could eat an entire pig. Two. You should get me two pigs to eat in bed.”

“You have a way with words like no other,” William said, failing to resist the urge to kiss the immensely self-satisfied smirk off Thomas’s lips.

“I’m a poet. Like Charlie here! Master Kenway, allow me to regale you with—“

Haytham looked over curiously as Charles attempted to throttle Thomas before he could break into a rendition of a sonnet featuring slightly florid, but very earnest metaphors concerning Haytham’s eyelashes (newly-set to a catchy shanty tune). Said attempt resulted in Thomas falling off the bed, much to Charles’s satisfaction.

Thomas climbed gingerly back under the sheets to drape himself over as much of William as possible, perhaps aiming for obnoxious and hitting ‘strangely cuddly’ instead. William took Thomas’s wrist, his fingers overlapping the bloom of bruising already ringing Thomas’s wrists from the night before.

“Ow,” Thomas said, smirking at him and pressing his wrist into William’s grip.

“You truly are a menace to society,” William said mildly, running his finger over the spur of bone at the joint.

“Well then, it’s a good thing there’s you lot to keep me well in hand, yeah?” Thomas said. He paused. The tendons in his arm shifted lightly in William’s grip, but Thomas made no move to get away.

Despite the smudged windowpanes, the morning light seemed very clear, all of a sudden.

“But seriously, someone get me some pig by-products to eat.”

With that, William resigned himself to not getting very much done today and not minding very much at all.

This.Just this. This anon would like to take a small shot at it, but promises nothing. It's been a while since I've played AC2, so the boys might come out a little OOC. :C

---

If Ezio had ever wished he had the ability to turn back the clock and redo something, it was right now. Waist-deep in something warm and far too disgusting to suit his tastes, the assassin raised hidden eyes to the sky and wondered if this was some sort of cruel revenge against what he'd done in the past. Maybe this was his father's way of telling him from beyond the grave he didn't condone what Ezio was doing every night with the many women of the brothel, or maybe his brother was playing a cruel trick on him. Either way, he had clearly chosen the wrong haystack.

And of all the days too. His target had been especially feisty, and when Ezio had finally tracked them down and killed them, the guards had come running by the hoards. Ezio had been desperate and hadn't looked the haystack over before he'd leapt - it was only once he was in mid-air, unable to turn back, that he'd smelled the scent of the pile he was fixing to land in. And now here he was, twitching and trying not to think about what he'd landed in.

He needed to get clean. NOW.

--

Leonardo's eyes were wide as he took in the still-twitching-in-disgust, covered-in-unspeakable-things assassin standing in his room, reeking of feces, piss and something Leonardo might be able to pass off as vomit if he wished hard enough. Knowing just how hot-tempered his friend was, Leonardo cautiously gestured to his person. "Um... what-?"

"Haystack." Ezio's tone was short and clipped, expressing his utter distaste in the subject at hand. Not his fault of course. "Bath?"

"Oh yes, of course! Let me just--" He nearly tripped over one of his own paintings in his haste to get the wooden tub he used for bathing. Ezio sighed as he watched his normally graceful friend stumble about. Normally he would have gone to one of the bathhouses to perform this task, but he had to wash his clothes as well, and the bathhouses were usually full of different people - some who were guards. The last thing he needed was to be caught while he was bathing. Hence, Leonardo's house.

"Ezio! The bath is drawn; go ahead and toss your clothes in a pile and I'll get them clean while you're washing up."

Ah, and there were the words he wanted to hear!

Later, once his clothes and body had been scrubbed clean of the... filth, Ezio thanked Leonardo profusely for his help. As he was heading out the window, he turned back when Leonardo called him.

"Ezio?"
"Yes my friend?"
"Try to avoid the haystacks stacked higher than most in the future. There's a reason they're like that."
"I'm aware. I was mid-air when I was hit with the realization of what lay inside. I assure you, I'll be sticking to the petal carts for quite some time."

And then the assassin was gone, leaving Leonardo with his mouth open and the words "The petal carts aren't really any better" on his tongue. Oh well. Ezio would come back soon enough.

OP HERE AND OH MY GOD?? THIS IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. I love their banter and combined exasperation with Thomas, even though they are so blatantly enjoying themselves. I adored how you wrote William and oh my goodness Thomas cuddling him at the end I JUST LOVE IT ALL. Seriously I want to pick out my favorite parts like Haytham snapping at Charles (HAHAHAH-) and really everything about how pleasant and mild William is throughout the whole thing. I WAS SO DELIGHTED AND CHARMED.

Thank you, writeanon. I'm saving this forever. :D

YES!*___*
Please!!Q____Q

Ahh, oh my gosh, thank you!! I'm so glad that you liked it, and I'm really glad that William rang true, especially. Haha, the banter was far too much fun to write--it's always a bad sign when you're like, no, dudes, you have to stop talking so that there can be smooching.

Warnings for this chapter: really sad, weird thoughts; rape; despair; and philosophizing on dust

Master of the House

Chapter 1 – Green Finch and Linnet Bird

Connor floated in a sea of comforting emptiness. Time and people passed around him, the servants scurrying about their usual chores, the faint sounds of dogs yipping in distant rooms in the manor, the swirl of dust as it floated daintily above his head.

If he strained and stirred just a little, he could hear the whispers of the head maid and her helpers as they glanced furtively at his prone form. He could see them, out of the corner of his eye, shaking their heads at him, a frown stamped across their faces, though whether that frown was for his inertia or the loss of the child, he did not know.

Perhaps, once upon a time, he would have thought those whispers subtly insulting, condescending. Certainly, when he had first arrived, he had had to fight back the rising anger in his belly and swallow the taste of bile in his mouth. But, once upon a time, he would have had reason to fight.

Briefly, Connor wondered when the person he had been had died. Was it when he was first held down by his husband’s henchmen and his legs pried apart and a loathsome pressure against him and in him as his screams ran hoarse and his desperate gaze went from the blank dead eyes of his mentor to the horrified pale blues of the man he had loved?

No, he did not think so. That man had been strong enough to endure against the shame and the self-loathing. Even as he was repeatedly forced upon during their ‘honeymoon,’ that man had remained strong, fighting back against his husband’s as that monster chained him with the safety of George, of Clipper and Stephane and Deborah, of the livelihoods of the Homesteaders. Even as the entire household gazed upon him with contempt, as the maids sneered at his skin as they tidied his prison, as the Templar lower orders leered at his form during a delivery of urgent news to Charles, as he had watched as his husband’s precious Pomeranians were walked and played with to their heart’s content when he was kept cloistered inside, blocked from fresh air and touch of rain on his skin by glass windows and red brick and patrolling swarms of red...

That man had been strong. Captive and desperate and angry, but strong.

That man was dead.

He placidly stared at a single speck of dust, as it danced languidly in the air before landing on the velvet drapes.

There were different forms of strength. There was strength of arms, of form and of feat. There was strength of soul, of heart and of conviction. And finally, there was strength of understanding, of knowledge and of intuition.

Had the man he had been had all three? Certainly the first, and some said the second as well. He was not sure about the third, for all that his brothers-in-arms had assured him so. If he had had strength of intuition and understanding, then might he had not have guessed at Charles’s intentions? Would he not have heeded his feelings of unease before the wedding and insisted on arms being made available, no matter the traditions of his beloved? Would not Achilles and Duncan and Jamie and Jacob be still alive?

He was not sure.

He was not sure about a lot of things these days. He did not know if Clipper had been given to one of the new Templar Inner Circle as his husband had threatened. He did not know if the Homesteaders were still alive and well on the Homestead as Charles hinted. He did not know why he was still alive when he had miscarried his first child.

He was not sure he cared about the last anymore.

Perhaps, when there had still been hope that his friends’ lives depended on his cooperation. Perhaps when he had still believed there to be a chance that he’d escape and, somehow, correct the path that his life had taken. When he still hoped beyond all hope that vengeance would be wreaked on the monster that captured him and tied him down.

When he’d known that beautiful, dignified, beloved George was still alive.

The image of the dust blurred, and Connor felt wetness on his cheek.

Weak.

He was weak now. His strength drained as his belly grew, as his body mutated and rebelled against his desperate wishes. His conviction fled as Charles laid a possessive hand over the bump within him, as his enemy gazed upon him with satisfaction. His hope died as he caught the maids whispering one day about George’s death.

Had he truly fallen to his knees in shock, when he had chanced upon them and their news? Had the world really spun madly before he focused on the panicked sight of the maids screaming for help? Was it his imagination that painted the fury and fear on his husband’s face as blood began to run down his legs and his sight darkened?

The movement of a feminine form interrupted his reverie. A maid leaned over to adjust the sheets protecting his nude form from the cold Boston air. As he watched, she fetched a feather duster and brushed off the dust that had landed on the upholstery.

That speck of dust he had been watching took once more to the air, dancing and sparkling with other dust motes that had been set free by the maid’s swift sweeps.

They were so pretty, those dust motes, like jewels in the air. They flowed and leapt and spun with graceful and lightness and freedom, nary a care in the world.

Connor wondered what it was like to be a single speck of dust. Would he, too, move so fluidly and so lightheartedly? Small and insignificant and beholden to no one? Darting away from the feathers of a duster only to settle once more, commanded by no one?

Not one could force the dust to stay where it did not want to. But then, he supposed that maids and feather dusters would never allow it to stay when it did. Dust was always unwanted, always chased by threatening feathers and determined maids, upended from their homes on the velvets of upholsteries, on the polished wood of bed posts, on the pale linens of bed sheets.

They were always waiting to be swept away, discarded as soon as they’d found a home.

Distantly, he heard the front door of the manor open and the low voices of maids and man-servants greet their master. Steps made their way over to his room and a rustling indicated the removal of outer garments and of gloves.

Hands lifted the sheets that the maid had carefully wrapped about him. A cool hand softly, hesitantly caressed his belly even as cool lips suckled at his throat. A body climbed on top of him, silently stripping off various articles of clothing. Buttons unfastened, a zipper slid down. Hands pushed his legs apart. Fingers parted his buttocks and smeared grease and oil into him.

He stared unseeing at the dust motes as they began to throb and pulse to the tune of the thrusts against his body.

A spurt of heat in him, a wetness sliding down his thigh and heavy breaths against his ear.

He hoped Charles would discard him soon.

OH NO THIS IS PERFECT

Thomas you are shameless and the banter and fuck it's hot too and this is so perfect oh my god every one of my headcanons, you got all of them, thank you thank you writeanon.

such a small thing too, but the ſ's in the title. I just. I love you. I love you kind of a lot.

are you still writing or did you forget about this plz neither /sobbing in despair

SA

to be honest i could probably read an entire novel about these four bantering.

Writer!anon, this was such a pleasure to read! Like the other anons have said, the banter here was just top notch and so very, very fun. And well. I like how Charles decided to try and strangle Hickey ahahahahah.

Thank you so much for writing this. Definitely one of my favorite fills that I've read on the meme so far. :D

Thank you so much, oh my goshhhh. High-fives for headcanons concerning the four of them being slightly ridiculous together.

(And, hahaha, I AM SO GLAD that the long s's made sense, because I simply could not resist that dumb nerdy detail. \o/)

Pomeranians. Although…Anon knows nothing about dogs and the rearing of dogs, so chapter may be off…

Warning: racist thoughts

Master of the House

Chapter 2 - Bonds

“Fetch, Spado, fetch!” Charles tossed the toy ball across the grassy green grass of his courtyard. A fluffy blur of golden brown and white dashed past, swiftly following the flying ball. Charles laughed, gazing at his loyal companion with affection as the dog returned with the toy in his mouth, tail wagging frantically.

“Good boy,” he scratched the dog’s ears. “Who’s a good boy?”

Spado yipped happily, rolling on his back and staring up at him in adoration as Charles rubbed the dog’s belly and hind quarters.

Spado was fierce, loyal and, above all, loving. Everything a man could desire in a companion. He was Charles’s favorite for that very reason, though he loved all his dogs tremendously. The only being who came close in his affections was Grandmaster Kenway, but Charles’s feelings for the man were of a different sort than his adoration of his canines.

Spado and his other dogs, they inspired uncomplicated love. Unfettered joy. Unspoken devotion. They put him above all else and demanded the return of equal faith and loyalty. They brightened his day, lightened his load and made him forget his troubles, if only for a little while.

Master Kenway…

Charles sighed, fingers stilling in soft fur.

Master Kenway inspired admiration and distant longing. The knowledge of what he would always want and could never attain. The bitter knowledge that this remarkable, worthy man, this dignified and handsome Alpha who had led the Colonial Templars had wasted his affections on a Native slut undeserving of him.

Thoughts of Haytham Kenway caused him to look at the window at the far corner of the manor. Though he could not catch a glimpse of the figure within, he knew that Connor was there, undoubtedly still insensate in his bed where he’d left him after he’d taken his pleasure from him.

Unbidden, the image of the boy’s youthful body came to mind. The long, finely muscled limbs. The trim waist and shapely arse.

Charles’s breeches tightened, and he grudgingly admitted that perhaps something useful had come of the ill-advised liaison between Master Kenway and that Native bitch.

Soon, soon that flat belly will soften and round as his child grows within the boy. Soon, he’ll be able to place his hand upon the boy’s stomach and feel the baby kick. Soon, he’ll have his heir.

His eyes abruptly narrowed, and Spado yipped in distressed as Charles’s hands suddenly clawed and clenched.

He apologetically softened his touch and soothed the dog, gently soothing the ruffled fur.

Connor had miscarried only a couple of months ago and, if Matthew was correct in his diagnosis, he would miscarry again as long as he remained in his apathetic state. Charles’s plan of combining the great lineage of Master Kenway with his own and leveraging the famous eyes of the Kenway line would fail. He would lose this child like he had lost the last son.

That was not to be borne.

But, for the life of him, he could not figure out how to deal with it. How does one revive an enemy without re-arming him? Charles went through too much trouble to de-claw the boy. He did not want to undo his hard work.

A series of happy barks interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced up to see one of the man-servants with the rest of his pack.

“There you are, sir,” the man-servant bowed respectfully. The other Pomeranians yipped happily around the man, following him obediently as he neared Charles.

“Are they well?” He inspected each carefully to make sure they were in the perfect of health.

“Perfectly, sir. They are happy and contented as can be.”

“And their meal?”

“Consumed with gusto, sir. Their appetites are healthy and,” the man-servant’s voice hushed in reverence, “one of them is pregnant.”

Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise. His eyes went to the only girl in his pack. “You are sure?”

The man nodded. “Positive, sir. I took them to the animal doctor earlier today, and he confirmed that she is with pups.”

Charles laughed with joy, ecstatic at the news. The breeding had taken, and his lovely girl had given him a new brood!

Suddenly, remembering the last pregnancy he had been around, he hurriedly turned to his man-servant.

“Is she healthy?”

A nod. “Yes sir. The doctor has informed me that she had formed close and happy bonds with the rest of the dogs as well as her obvious affection for you, and that, if things continue the way they are, she’ll deliver 3 puppies.”

Charles breathed a sigh of relief and lifted a reverent hand to pet his girl. She would be fine, her puppies would be fine, and she won’t miscarry or lose the litter like…

His brain suddenly halted and thought to what his servant had said. An idea formed in his mind, tempting, but dangerous.

Bonds, the man had said. Close and happy bonds and affection.

Furiously, he struggled to remember what Matthew had told him earlier.

Something to fight for…isolated…

The idea coalesced and his eyes widened.

He glanced at the lone window again.

“Take the dogs back to their rooms and be sure to give them their treats,” he instructed his man-servant.

“Sir?” the man said, puzzled. Charles didn’t blame him. He was typically a man of routine, and here he was, breaking that routine.

“I have affairs to take care of.”

He stood abruptly and called for his cloak, hat and gloves, glancing at the lonely window all the while.

It was time to make a house-call to James Collins, and see how the man was doing with his prize Omega.

It was time to see if Clipper Wilkinson could help him with his goals.

This is wonderful and I love it! You captured the characters so well, OMG. And it's both funny and really hot, damn you're good!

Heh, thanks - I probably should actually proofread before posting but that takes up time, time I could be spent writing more Connor angst ;p

Other writer anon here, and OMG... each chapter was a punch to my heart X_X especially Connor learning that George had died /cries/ then the miscarriage, then of him just finally giving up... wonder how Charles is going to use Clipper (thank goodness he's alive... and as another Templar's wife OMG) to get Connor out of this state.

Connor angst is yum, so no objections here. :)

'sides, you can always proofread later.

Oh yeah, began the 20 year gap underneath. Decided on a slightly different path (Clipper will feature in it), but the gist will still remain the same.

Glad you're not put off by the weird chapter 1. As I was writing it, I had a moment of WTF as I realized I just did 1k words where Connor's doing nothing but staring at some dust motes (plus the spousal rape at the end).

...still not sure why we torture poor Connor so much...

Clipper will actually have quite an...interesting...part to play. One Charles should regret. //smirks//

btw, will be traveling for a couple of days, but should be back on track later this week.

Well Charles did refer to Connor and his people as specks of dust, words that have stuck with him for over ten years. BTW what year does Master of the House take place in? I'm assuming the wedding was crashed in 1776 shortly after Hickey's death, imagine the event was planned at the last minute and not all of their friends such as Faulkner and the Aquila crew, Lafayette, Benjamin Tallmadge probably could not make attendance.

Oh, I forgot to add that I love the one-sided Haytham/Charles you threw in there. I plan on introducing him in the Honeymoon series but mayve near the end. It's probably going to be something similar to the conversation they had at the brewery, Connor flat out blames Haytham for everything and wants nothing to do with him.

Actually, not sure what year it is. The timelines in AC III have always been a bit screwed up (I remember at one point I tried to do the math with the birthdates given in the database, added in knowledge drawn from gameplay and put in actual historical events...and ended up with some pretty screwy math).

But yeah, event-purposes, the wedding crash happened soon after Hickey's death (Connor would not have met Lafayette yet or Haytham yet). As for Faulkner and Aquila crew...gotta admit I kinda forgot about them. //headdesk// Let's just say they were in the middle of a naval convoy run, shall we? :)

Glad you liked Haytham/Charles. :D In my head-canon, Charles has the hots for Haytham no matter what (in this case, they are both male Alphas). That might also help to explain why he wants his plan to succeed so much. Connor is the only part of Haytham that Charles will ever be able to keep.

Yeah, I remember doing the math and noticing that Duncan was supposed to be 20 or something when he watched Haytham kill his uncle, and Deborah only a couple years younger than Haytham... jeez Shaun, are you falling asleep when you enter this information?

I'm also blaming Connor and Kanen(I'm-going-to-butcher-your-name-so-bad) grown up appearances during the whole Tea Party event

ikr? I always thought that Deborah was remarkably well preserved for a woman of her age...and it totally puts her come on onto Connor in a different light. :D

Methinks Shaun must have been drunk or having delicious snarky sex with Desmond...

Connor obviously had the 'older women' talk with Ben Franklin around the whole Declaration signing.

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