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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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A/N: Here's a break from angsty porn... have some more angst

The mid-morning sun shining through the bedroom windows was beginning to annoy Connor. At first he enjoyed the warmth that seeped into his skin, but soon the insistent glow became far too bright. He just wanted to sleep, not caring that he had missed breakfast hours ago. With a groan, he flipped over onto his stomach, and buried his face into the pillows. However, sleep refused to take him, and he probably should get up. Any moment now Achilles would barge in through his door, and demand he not lay about all day and do some work... oh...

Oh...

That's right. He would not be seeing the old man ever again. Achilles Davenport was dead. Murdered by Templars only a few days ago at his only student's wedding.

Connor buried his head further into the pillow, letting it soak up his tears as his shoulders shook while he sobbed in silence. All the grief he was not able to express before, finally came pouring out. He did not care if this made him a weak, sentimental fool. Connor needed to grieve, and he did - for Achilles, for his brothers, for his friends, for the loss of his marriage to George and the family they would never have, and finally for the old life he would never live again.

The Assassin wanted to wail out loud, let the sunny unchanged world outside know of his existence and pain; but Connor bit down on his lip and held it in. He shouldn't care if any of the manor's occupants heard him or saw him in such a pathetic state; but there was one individual who Connor did not want to come barging back into the room

So he continued to weep quietly, until his eyes were puffy, red, and could no longer produce anymore tears. Perfect timing to, as he heard a gentle knock against the bedroom door. His tense body relaxed a little, knowing it wasn't Charles (since the Master of the house would just barge in whenever he pleased). He sat up straight, modestly wrapped the sheets around him, and quickly rubbed his eyes.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Connor glanced over as a young maid, a little older than Connor, entered the room.

"Good morning, Mister Lee," she greeted with a polite but distant smile.

"To you as well," he responded stiffly. Being addressed by his hated enemy's surname, really grated his nerves. However, he was too busy noticing the items the maid brought into the room, to correct her.

She carried a washbasin in both hands, with washcloths and towels slung over her arm. Connor perked up a little. He was eager to clean off the filth his husband had left behind from the other night.

Setting the basin down, she turned towards Connor but did not meet his gaze. "I will go fetch your clothes now. Do you require anything else, sir?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully, running a hand through his tangled hair. "A brush, please. My hair seems akin to a bird's nest right now..."

Her lips quirked upwards a little but she nodded and curtsied before leaving. Once he had his privacy, Connor quickly dropped the sheets and crawled out of bed. Picking up a wash cloth, he submerged it into the cool water before wringing the excess out. He started with his tear-stained face first before the rest of his torso; scrubbing frantically until his skin burned.

Bruises marked his body, especially around his hips, thighs, and upper arms; all of them caused by Charles' cruel grip. There were also scratches, where nails had raked over his chest and back. The worst were the new marks on his throat that his Alpha him graced him with. They were clearly visible for all to see even if he wear a cravat.

Sighing, he quickly dried himself off with a towel before wrapping it around his waist. It wasn't long before he picked up the sound of light footsteps and the courteous knock at the door that followed. The maid had returned with a new set of clothes (since Lee had destroyed the ones he had been wearing in his study the previous day) undergarments, and the hair brush he had requested.

After turning down her assistance to help him get dressed, Connor assumed she would give him privacy and leave, but the maid remained there quietly. He dressed quickly, uncomfortable with changing when a complete stranger of the opposite sex, was in the room with him. At least she was occupied with making the bed rather than simply staring at him.

"Shall I assist you with your hair, Mister Lee?"

He cringed this time.

"I can manage, thank you... and please call me Connor."

"I cannot, sir."

Connor blinked at the quick and blunt reply. It was strange. Save for the Aquila's crew (who, despite his insistence, would only refer to him fondly as their Captain), people preferred addressing him by his first name.

"You cannot?"

"I cannot, sir," she repeated firmly.

"Perhaps, 'Mister Kenway' then?" he suggested while brushing the tangles out of his hair.

Connor could not help but remember a time when he had flat out refused taking the surname belonging to the man who sired him. He wanted no more connections to their Brotherhood's greatest enemy, and did not know why his mentor was even trying to convince him otherwise. However, Achilles assured him that he had nothing to be ashamed of by taking on the last name; for it and his eyes, tied him to a lineage greater than Connor had ever imagined. His surname may not have been Ibn-La'Ahad or Auditore, but the Kenways were descendants of these two great Mentors. An Assassin lineage he could feel immensely proud of.

Lost in his thoughts, he had not been aware that the maid was looking directly at his face now, with an astonished and scrutinizing gaze. "By any chance are you of relation to Master Kenway, sir?"

Oh right... He was currently held captive in the enemy's den after all. The servants may not be aware of the Templar affairs happening around them; but they would be familiar with the members of the Inner Circle dropping in on occasion.

"He is my father."

Connor admitted he would rather be Haytham Kenway's bastard son, than Charles Lee's wife.

"Yes, I can see the resemblance now." There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. "Please excuse me, sir, I must see to the rest of my chores."

"I nearly forgot..." The maid paused before the door. "Master Lee wanted me to remind you that dinner will be at exactly one o'clock."

"I will be there, thank you."

He nodded briefly, though a little hopeful and began to tie up his hair in a simple pony tail. The half-native wished he could style his hair to how he had always wear it before. But like his clothes when he woke up in Charles' home for the first time, his hair beads and feathers were gone.

"You are welcome, Mister Lee."

Connor visibly deflated after she curtsied, and finally left him alone.

Awww...Charles is stripping everything of Connor away from him. It's a great detail that really adds to the story. Just the knowledge that Connor's beads and feathers are gone...that hurts. Oh my heart...

Hopefully, they're locked away in a desk drawer somewhere and not totally destroyed...that would be too sad.

I know, I'm am really cruel to Connor right now. As for the beads and feathers, picture Charles actually keeping them.

Methinks I may love angst and drama a bit much. Just a bit.

Master of the House

Chapter 8 - Hope and Despair

Despite overhearing James and Davies that one time, despite listening raptly to Lee himself when he cajoled with him for his aid and despite his own, unfortunately vivid, imagination, nothing prepared Clipper for his first sight of his mentor.

Connor, normally so strong, so vibrant and full of life, always moving whether it was running or leaping or climbing walls and trees...He laid there, almost engulfed in the too-large bed. So pale and still that if it were not for the soft rise and fall of his chest, Clipper would have thought him dead.

“Oh, sir,” he whispered in horror.

He knelt by Connor’s bedside and carefully took one of his hands (too thin, far too thin) in his own. Those brown eyes stared vacantly at the window, blank and unseeing.

For a moment, Clipper was worried that he had lost his sight, but recalled that neither Lee nor Davies had said anything about blindness.

He felt inexplicably relieved by that. For a man with such special vision as Connor, the loss of sight would be devastating.

But what had happened to him? What had happened to the man he so admired?

What had Lee done to him?

Clipper swallowed painfully, staring at the man before him. He waited for...for something. For a movement perhaps. Any movement. A twitch of the fingers, a shifting of the eyes, a rustling of bed-sheets, anything. He needed to know that the man he looked up to, the man he had followed—that they had all followed—was still there. He needed to know that Connor was still there.

A minute passed, then five, then ten.

Nothing.

Connor laid there, like a marionette with its strings cut, glassy eyes staring out the window as clouds slowly hid the sun away.

It was as if Clipper were not there at all.

Clipper had thought he had felt true helplessness before. When he had been dragged away from the church, when he had been separated from Stephane and Deborah in their jail cells, when he had first learned of Connor’s miscarriage.

None of those compared to the gaping hole that made its home in his chest and sought to drag him in. Nothing compared to how small and useless he felt at that moment, faced with the impossible task of bringing back a man who may already be dead.

-----

Back in his office, Charles paced relentlessly, driven by manic energy and hounded by demons in his heart. He wanted to burst into the room where Connor and James’s Omega was, he wanted to tear out of the house and drag Matthew back, appointments be damned, he wanted to ride to New York and find Master Kenway and rage that it wasn’t fair to put this on him, and how could he reward his unending loyalty with this, he wanted to fall on his knees in front of Master Kenway and beg forgiveness...

He—he was coming undone. Everything was coming undone. That Clipper would have unsupervised access to his Omega...

(oh God, he was mad, he was going mad, the boy was driving him mad)

...and Master Kenway blamed him for the miscarriage...

(but it wasn’t, he hadn’t thought Washington would die, he hadn’t known that grief would kill the man, he’d been taken by surprise and didn’t see Connor there until one of the maids—was it Mary? Was it Amelia—had screamed and there was Connor and blood, so much blood soaking the seat of his trousers)

...and he was going to be King, but they would all see how crazy he was becoming and that would be taken away too...

Charles collapsed in his leather chair and stared at the portrait of Master Kenway hanging on the wall.

It used to give him comfort. It used to make him feel proud and valued...

(but never loved)

...and useful, but...

A welling of rage rose within him. Swiftly he grabbed one of the inkwells laying about his desk and hurled the bottle against the portrait.

With a sharp tinkling crack, the bottle broke and released inky black fluid against the man Charles so admired and...

(yearned for)

...looked up to.

As the dark ink ran over the dark blues and tans and pale browns of the oil painting, Charles seemed to wake from his anger and despair.

And he was horrified.

“Mary! Ronald!” he called for his head maid and man-servant, hurriedly grabbing spare bits of cloth and dabbing frantically at the portrait.

No. No, no. He wasn’t going to lose this too. They could still save it. Oils were resilient and a bit of cleaning, a bit of maintenance, and it would be fine.

He would not lose this too!

Ronald burst into the office, Mary swift on his heels. They took one look at the ruined painting, at their desperate, frenzied movements of their master and the crazed look in his eyes and moved as one.

Grimly, Ronald grabbed a hold of his master, the old man soothing him, petting him as he had when Charles had been a boy and he newly entered into the Lee’s service. Mary carefully took the painting and handed it off to her helpers to be cleaned and preserved.

Charles grasped after the disappearing painting, unwilling to let it go, unwilling to...

“Sir!”

He turned wild eyes upon Ronald, upon one of the few people who had served him and been by him near his entire life.

“Sir,” Mary repeated and laid a gentle hand upon her master’s.

“It can be restored.”

It? Charles wasn’t sure what she was talking about anymore. The painting? His Omega? His relationship with Haytham? His child?

But Mary was patting his hand, gently, confidently.

“What’s been broken,” Ronald began, “can oftentimes be fixed. Have patience, sir.”

But Charles wasn’t sure he had any more patience.

-----

Back in Connor’s quarters, Clipper came to a decision.

It would do no good to stand petrified by the enormity of the task he had set himself. Altair didn’t retake Masyaf by avoiding Abbas. Ezio didn’t avenge his family by mourning his life away. They both faced their difficulties, their sorrows and their regrets.

As an Assassin, Clipper could do no less.

And so Clipper raised the hand he had been cradling, laid a gentle, chaste kiss on it and set it back on the sheets.

He took a look around the room, paying attention to the double-lock on the door, to the heavy, almost stifling air within, to the light gathering of dust that had gathered on Connor’s shoes, something the servants had missed as no one thinks to dust shoes.

Connor hadn’t been out of the room in a while and, from the sickly pale cast of Connor’s skin, Clipper wasn’t sure he’d ever been let out of the house.

He turned to the admired and beloved form on the bed.

“I’ve missed you, sir. I’m not sure where Deborah and Stephane are, but I’m sure they miss you too. And I just want you to know...I’m not giving up on you.”

He closed his eyes, imagining Connor as he was, with Achilles, Stephane, Deborah, Jamie, Jacob, Duncan...

“I am not ever giving up on you. So please, sir, when you’re ready. Wake for me.”

Awesome! :D

I might have them play a small part in the Charles POV verse.

btw, just finished newest chapter. I think I need some fluff in the verse. How about playing with the Pomeranians in a few chapters? :)

I was actually going to have Connor meet Spado eventually, maybe even save the pup from accident. Then some Homestead flashback ... and maybe crack with the infamous Turkey Assassin.

Wow anon... you really know how to play my heartstrings like an instrument. Poor Clipper. Poor Connor... and Poor Charles - I actually feel for him in this, even though he dug his own grave. As badly as he treated his Omega, he cares for his mate though he's reluctant to admit it... and then there's disappointing Haytham, his unrequited love and idol. I do hope you bring him in the story... maybe even to see Connor in his current state, and let Clipper kick him his in the FEELS to.

Oooh perfect! And that helps me with a problem I've been having. Awesome! :D

Thank you so much! I'm hoping I can keep them in character even in the AU setting. :3

Lol, will do. Not sure when (Haytham is...difficult...to write. Only guy worse is Hickey and his...interesting...turns of phrase).

Actually, Charles might confront him at some point, possibly at his coronation...and then the guilt might bring Haytham to actually call upon them...

Thank you so much! Hopefully Clay can in time channel your hug urges.

Beautifully written and very sad. I love how you stitched the past and the present together. The change in their relationship was also handled very well, with them being pushed reluctantly towards this end by their respective beliefs and factions.

Ooooh I can't wait to see that confrontation, and maybe see how the new Templar inner circle members interacts with one another (assuming Haytham has replaced Hickey, Pitcairn, and Church)

Yeah, I know what you mean about Hickey. Haytham would be difficult to considering his mix feelings for his son - whom I'm guessing he learned had learned about either from Charles or just put 2 and 2 together. It is pretty obvious in this verse since Connor uses the Kenway name and has eagle vision.

Someone please?

Not quite fluff, but at least it’s not angst! Yay! And hopefully semi-amusing. And there will be Pomeranians next chapter. :)

Master of the House

Chapter 9 – Dinner Conversation

By the time it was time for dinner, Charles had managed to compose himself again. The ink stains were cleaned, though the servants were still working on recovering the painting (Charles made a mental note to give Mary and her best helpers a bonus come Christmas), and he had much benefited from a splash of cold water against his face and a cup of calming hot tea in his hand.

Upon thinking the matter over, he could even laugh at himself a bit. What an absurdity his passions had led to! What insanity he had wrought!

And it was all due to his Omega, of all things.

Charles sighed and made ready to join the dining room table. Hopefully, one of Mary’s girls will have found James’s Omega and requested his presence at dinner.

Before exiting his office, though, Charles stopped and quickly glanced at the empty wall where Master Kenway’s portrait had been. He raised a hand and caressed the open space.

His temper was too quick. Oh, he had always known that his passions ran high, but he had thought he had them under control.

He snorted. How disgraceful. How inelegant. How ungentleman-like.

He had always resented the name Connor’s village gave him when he sent them word of his nuptials with the boy, but, ruefully, he began wondering if perhaps they hadn’t been on to something.

‘Boiling Water’ wasn’t particularly original, but it seemed those savage Natives had seen what he had not. And now he may have ruined one of the few things he had to remind him of Master Kenway.

Particularly if the man never acknowledged or called on him again.

His heart squeezed painfully at that, but he forced the feeling down and away.

He would not let it be. He would fix this...problem...with Connor and prove himself to Master Kenway again.

He relaxed minutely.

Master Kenway was a reasonable man, dignified in his bearings, cautious in his passions. He would forgive him.

He must forgive him.

Charles pushed open the door to the dining room and waited for his ‘guest’ to arrive.

-----

When one of the maids (not Mary, Clipper noted), arrived to fetch him for dinner, Clipper had already begun to plan his time with Connor.

Sadly, he was no doctor and knew very little about ailments of the body or of the mind. But if he could gain access to Connor’s doctor (though he shuddered at the thought of being anywhere near the greedy, ambitious Davies), then they might potentially puzzle out how to bring Connor back.

And in the meantime, when he was not allowed near Connor, he could study medical books on his own! Surely the Templar Order’s private collection of books must be enviable. All he would need to do would be to convince Lee to lend them to him. Or perhaps he could write to James...

But his first action must be to move Connor to a less...oppressive...room. His quarters felt like decay and death, and Lee really thought Connor could recover in here? Where Connor was, no doubt, forced upon nightly?

Clipper shuddered at the image and once more forced down the anger he felt for Lee. Lee would undoubtedly resist any attempt to move Connor, and his anger would not help him win the odious man over.

And, perhaps, Clipper remembered the way Connor’s eyes fixed on that window, perhaps it would do him good to breathe some fresh air. The window, he had already checked, were bolted tight, but if he could convince Lee to let them spend some time outside, against one of the trees that Connor used to love climbing or perhaps rest his head against a comforting pile of leaves...

The maid pushed open the grand doors before him, and Clipper spied Lee sitting at the head of the table. The man’s face was carefully blank, the insanity Clipper had seen in his eyes before when he had been accused of wanting his mentor gone.

Well good.

Swiftly, Clipper seated himself in the chair the maid pulled out for him. Immediately, man-servants entered bearing food, breads and meat and fresh vegetables and sauces.

Clipper made sure his face was as polite and his manner as non-threatening and relaxed as possible.

It was time for him to do battle.

-----

“I would like to request access to Connor’s doctor.”

Charles paused, a bite of mutton (imported from England, he wasn’t going to touch that lobster business) halfway to his mouth.

“Oh?” Feigned disinterest.

“Yes. I believe that, if we pool our knowledge, we can better help Connor.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, and Charles saw no reason not to grant it.

“I shall pen a missive to Matthew requesting his presence tomorrow, if possible.”

The Omega nodded. Then, “does your library contain any medical journals?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, slightly discomfited. He chewed for a moment, thinking and suspicious. Finally he swallowed.

“James seems to have confided a great deal in you,” he prodded, carefully.

The Omega only smiled at this.

“Oh no,” he replied. “James cares for me, and he is wise enough to know that were I to know too much, you or the Grandmaster would have me dealt with.”

Smart man. Accurate, very accurate.

The Omega continued. “Since the Assassins have tales of an exquisite library full of knowledge, it made sense that the Templars would have a similar library. And you yourself seem to be of a background to be able to collect books.”

Again, all true. Charles was fortunate that his father and his father’s father had known the value of books, and Charles himself had expanded the collection immensely...some of them from Connor’s old manor.

He nodded again, not seeing any harm in the request.

“I have no medical ones within my collection, but I will add a request for Matthew to lend you his.”

He returned his attention to the mutton stew. It was quite lovely today, all tender morsels of meat and rich broth. He shall have to ask that it be served more often in this style.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Omega fidgeting nervously.

He narrowed his eyes and set his spoon aside. He had the feeling he would need his full attention soon.

“You clearly have something you wish to say. Say it,” he ordered.

The man fidgeted for one more minute.

“I want to move Connor to my room.”

Charles saw red.

Trembling in fury, he abruptly stood and shouted, “So you admit you have intentions towards him!”

The man had the gall to shake his head in disagreement!

Briefly, Charles pondered the benefits of stabbing him with the cutlery.

“No, I do not! I only want him to get better and for your child to survive safely.”

Oh, but that was a low blow.

“Explain yourself.”

Clipper nodded.

“He’s stayed in that room for as long as he’s been with you, no?” While that was true, Charles didn’t see what it had to do with anything.

As if reading his mind, the next thing that came out of the Omega’s mouth was, “that means most of the times he’s been upset or—or intimate with you has been in that room.”

Ah, Charles was beginning to see where the Omega was going with this. Still, he would not abide his Omega staying with the man. Not when Clipper’s affection for his mentor was clear for all to see.

He thought for a moment, but could see no way around it.

Damn them both. He needed his Omega to get better and birth him that child too much, and it was forcing his hand.

He didn’t like it one bit.

“Connor will stay in a different room if you believe the change in atmosphere will help. But not yours.” Because he couldn’t give him that. His Omega was his.

James’s Omega looked as if he wanted to argue, but one look at the resolute expression on Charles’s face made him reconsider. Reluctantly, he closed his mouth.

Charles once again turned his attention to his stew, but found that the flavors were not as enticing as they had been. Somehow, it seemed bland on his tongue.

Pity, he had been so looking forward to mutton too.

“I hear,” he heard the Omega begin again.

Blasted! Would the man never leave him to eat in peace? Charles sorely regretted inviting the Omega to table with him. Even Connor knew better than to interrupt his meal!

“I hear you normally spend time with your dogs outside after dinner.”

What an inane statement.

“Yes,” he confirmed, wondering where the Omega was going with this.

“James always spoke admiringly about your dog Spado. He’s very loyal and affectionate and a great companion.”

Well.

Charles felt his cheeks redden. It was true that Spado was his favorite. A better dog had never lived.

“Do you think,” the Omega’s voice was soft, wondering, almost...innocent. “Do you think that being around Spado would help Connor?”

Charles immediately opened his mouth, ready to refute the ridiculous idea but...

He stopped. And he thought about it.

Connor had seemed fond of Spado those few times they had met, one of the few things Charles gave him credit for (it was certainly in better taste than many of the boy’s former companions). He supposed that it couldn’t hurt to see if Spado could help with the situation.

Certainly, his fine Spado was capable of many amazing things. What was one more on the list?

Slowly, he nodded his assent.

The Omega broke into a smile.

“Excellent,” he cried. Then he turned to Mary. “We shall have to make sure that Mr. Kenway,” (Charles twitched at the name), “is appropriately attired for the weather.”

Mary bowed. “I shall have him clothed in a warm cloak.”

The Omega smiled fondly. Then he turned back to him.

“I must find my own cloak. Please excuse me.” He stood, bowed slightly and left.

Charles was left sitting at the table, mostly uneaten mutton stew quickly cooling in front of him, and with the strangest feeling that he’d just been played.

Oh, Matthew Davies is basically Church. :) No one really likes him much, but his medical knowledge makes him invaluable, even if he is a, in Clipper's words, "greedy" and "ambitious."

OMG Clipper... you wonderful, wonderful human being. I loved how he was able to manipulate Charles like that (and loving Charles' jealous outbursts) he's going to have to pass these skills onto Connor.

BTW I am loving at how quickly you crank these chapters out, because I cannot get enough of them! //begins mashing the refresh button//

Thanks! :)

Though I may have to warn you that I am expecting a rejection letter... ): So may soon be too depressed to update.

...partly the reason I'm splurging now, I'm afraid.

...but since no one calls or sends work emails out over the weekend, that means a few more chapters before I'm in depressed zone. :)

But yes, I heart Clipper. And more to come on where Clipper learned these skills later on. :D

//HUGS ANON// I know your pain, believe me.

And yes, more Clipper - I love how you write him, he's just adorable. Can't wait to read the cute Pomeranian scene... and any potential flashbacks.

Well good news, I rushed and finished the next chapter.

He probably should not have not told the maid about his relation to the Templar Grandmaster. In a matter of hours, the news had spread like wildfire among the servants. As he wandered about his gilded cage, his sensitive hearing would catch bits and pieces of gossip from room to room. Like the day before, he could still feel their eyes regard him with tolerance and caution; much as the patriot soldiers had when the Assassin appeared in their camps. However, now there was curiosity, and understanding as to why their Master had taken a half-breed as his bride.

Connor's stomach churned and decided to avoid any contact with the servants for awhile. The gossip did not bother him. His only concern was that the news would spread to the master of the house, and the young Omega did not know how Charles would react. Would his husband be angry? Or perhaps he wouldn't even care. He could only hope for the former, knowing fully well the Templar would take his aggression out on Connor's loved ones.

Knowing that there was nothing he could do now, Connor continued to wander around, bored out of his mind. He felt incredibly homesick since there was always something to do around Davenport. When he wasn't hunting (sometimes with Myriam), he would often visit the other settlers. They always greeted Connor kindly, with genuine smiles, and would call him by his name. They had been surprised by how willing he was to lend a hand, and came to rely on his help. He did not mind running errands for them, since it helped the community in a long run.

When they had the time to spare, the artisans would even teach him their trade. Before he had left for New York to track down Hickey, Connor had spent a lot of time with Ellen who helped him improve his sewing skills. Sometimes she would supervise him, or they would work side by side, to create a variation of assassin robes for his recruits. All six of them were incredibly skilled, and would eventually become masters themselves one day. Connor had hoped to pass down the robes to his students as his mentor had to him, and in time they themselves would carry out the tradition with their own recruits. In time, the Brotherhood of the Colonies would be restored...

His eyes burned again, and Connor stubbornly blinked them back. No, he was done with weeping. At least for the today. The Omega needed to be strong if he was going to survive this ordeal.

Sitting down in an chair within the empty parlor, Connor traced the polished wood arm-rests and fondly recalled Lance's excitement over an upcoming project of his: a chair that could fold. The carpenter had been more eager to work on his own unique invention, than repairing his model of the flying machine invented by Leonardo da Vinci. The model, Connor had regrettably crashed into the bay. The memory of he, Lance, and a couple of his sailors dragging the flying machine across beach while laughing, brought a small smile to his face...

"Look what have we here, lads."

A mocking voice quickly drew him away from his pleasant memories and back to the present. The smile quickly vanished as he spotted three men in the hallway, all leering at him. Activating his second sight, Connor's eyes narrowed at their brightly shining crimson forms.

Templars

The Assassin quickly got to his feet, and glared at them in warning.

"So this is the leader of the Assassins?" one asked while sizing Connor up like he was a piece of meat.

"Was," another corrected. "That little group is done for. He's nothing but Master Lee's Omega now."

"Hardly threatening without all them weapons," the third one commented while licking his lips and stepped forward. "Pretty lil' thing, aren't ya?"

Connor growled in warning. Were these his husband's henchmen? Why were they here? What did they want with him? He may not have his weapons; but Connor had been trained to defend himself and kill with his bare hands if necessary.

"Hey Edwards, you should back off," one of the smarter Templars cautioned. "That Assassin isn't your typical Omega."

The man named Edwards turned a deaf ear to the warning as he invaded Connor's personal space and sneered down at him. In his head, Connor began to count to ten, hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Ah was at the wedding. Don't remember me do ya?"

Oh, but Connor did remember as his glare intensified. He remembered this man very well all of a sudden. Remembered his rough, calloused hands pinning his arms down with a few others henchmen as he was...

"The name's Tom Edwards," the cocky henchman introduced himself and offered that same offending hand out towards Connor. "Gotta say, it's a pleasure..."

"No," the Assassin quietly interrupted as placed his hand over the thug's wrists and grabbed hold of it tightly, before slamming a other fist into Edwards' abdomen. As the Templar double over, Connor yanked his knee up and caught him in the jaw. Edwards went down hard, twitching in pain while gasping for breath, until the heel of Connor's boot pressed down lightly against his throat. "The pleasure, is all mine."

"CONNOR!"

The Omega went tense all over, and he looked up from Edwards' ashen face to the furious red one Charles Lee wear as he stormed into the room.

Damn!

A/N: Really wished the Assassin recruits had their own robes like Ezio's apprentices had in both Brotherhood and Revelations. Also, Connor got a little tired of angsting

Forgot to add that I love you mentioned Charles' native given name Ounewaterika "Boiling Water" in this, fits him perfectly.

Possible writer anon here...
Might not be exactly what you are looking for, but I started free writing and four pages later I have a few drabbles I can clean and post soon.
Look forward to it!

Wow, I wasn't expecting anybody to actually have an interest in the prompt! I would love to see whatever you've come up with, I'm sure it will be brilliant :)

oh my god anon i almost missed this!! *_*
asd;lkfj;oijasdf That was so amazing! I really hope to see more!

I love you Connor, but I can't help but enjoy reading these fills. XD

Anon here would like to point out that fill 3 was posted below fill 1, in case some people missed it. =]

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Page 179 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Master of the House - part 9

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Re: Master of the House - part 9

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 12/?

Re: Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (3/?)

Re: Master of the House - part 9

Re: Clay/Desmond: Homecoming (3/?)

Re: Fill: And While Our Paths Have Diverged--

Re: Master of the House - part 9

Re: Haytham/Connor; William/Desmond

Master of the House - part 10

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Re: Master of the House - part 10

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Re: Master of the House - part 10

Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 13/?

Re: Master of the House - part 10

Re: Hunger Games fusion

OP

Re: Fill 3/? - Bridewell Prison: Connor gets stripped

FILL 3 POSTED - LOOK UNDER FILL 1