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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In the games, William is sort of detached from his son. They don't really have what most of us would call a "working relationship". But I read somewhere on Tumblr that Assassin parents were actually very gentle, kind loving people because they always knew that this time might be the last chance to see their children.

So I'd like to apply that to William. I'd like to see William actually loving Desmond like a father, caring about him and not just sending him out on his own. Maybe he's one of those fathers that has trouble expressing his emotions in words, and has to work at it a little bit to put his feelings into actual words and explain why he does what he does.

Huh, he kinda does, doesn't he? Sadly my friend hasn't gotten to AC3 yet, still working her way through Brotherhood's final missions.

“So this is where you sneak off to every day.”

Charles turned with a start, nearly dropping his keys on right on Spado’s head in his surprise. He could feel his face heat up when he saw the amused smile on Haytham’s face and he cursed silently. It seemed every day brought a new way for him to embarrass himself in front of his mentor.

“Forgive me, Sir. I did not mean for it to seem like I was sneaking off.”

Haytham holds a hand up to wave off the explanation and motions to the door.

“No need to explain yourself, though I would be much obliged if you would let us in. It looks as though it might rain soon and I am certain Spado would not appreciate getting drenched so needlessly.”

Again, Charles feels his face heat up and he fumbles with his keys a bit before managing to find the right one to unlock the door. Once inside, they’re greeted by an orchestra of barking and an army of dogs rushing towards them; nine Pomeranians, five others of various breeds. Charles drops to one knee with a brief glance to Haytham as half of the dogs stop in front of them, pressing their noses to whatever part of their master is closest and licking at his offered hands. When he looks over at Haytham, he’s pleased to see the smile on his face as the rest of the dogs give the Kenway man their undivided attention.

They continue focusing on the dogs for another few minutes until a servant appears in the hall to greet Charles and his unexpected guest when they don’t immediately move into the main room. Charles motions her away to prepare the tea and leads Haytham into the dogs’ room to feed them.

The room is simple, of course, with few decorations on the white walls aside from a few paintings here and there. Most of the excitement of the room is on the floor where the dogs’ toys are sprawled about in a chaotic mess. The room had a lingering smell, the kind that never left no matter how many times you cleaned, thanks to the occupants and there were seven mattresses lining the walls.

“I’d heard of people giving their dogs beds, but I never imagined anyone would be quite so literal about it. It seems you are missing a few, though.”

Charles smiles at that. It’s a little unconventional to give a dog a real bed, but Charles is not the most conventional person around.

“I only give my dogs the best. Others can throw some blankets on the floor and call that a bed fit for a dog, I beg to differ. As for the number of beds—most of the Pomeranians are able to fit on one bed. To ensure they all had enough room to themselves I added an extra bed to the room, but it is not necessary for them all to have their own beds.”

Haytham shakes his head, an amused look on his face, but any response he might have had to that is cut off by the servant entering the room to tell them that the tea is ready. They relocate to the drawing room, sitting in a surprisingly comfortable silence at first as the sip their tea. Haytham is the one to break the silence.

“Why is it that you don’t stay here? Why stay in an inn when this house would most certainly be more comfortable?”

“It is more convenient to stay at the inn for this mission, Sir. I was requested by Master Birch to ensure you have everything you need to complete your mission and that would not be such an easy if you could not reach me within a reasonable amount of time. I do stay in this house on occasion. At least once every month.”

Charles doesn’t elaborate on the “once every month” bit, but from the lack of curiosity on Haytham’s face, Charles gets the feeling Haytham knows exactly what he means.

“It is quite an impressive thing, you know. To be considered eligible to join our ranks as an Omega. Continue your good work and I will see to it that your admission into our Order comes quickly.”

Ha. If Charles didn’t know any better he would have laughed. Surely that was a joke. Even if Haytham didn’t know that Charles was engaged to Braddock, he must have known that he was engaged to someone. Even Hickey with all of his black market contacts was not allowed into the Order without an Alpha at his side. To laugh and insinuate that Haytham was not capable of doing as he said would have been an insult to Haytham and Charles was in no way willing to insult the man.

Things felt so right with them in this moment. It felt so right and natural. He didn’t want to drive Haytham away so carelessly.

“Thank you, Sir.”

The next few hours of the day go by quickly. Haytham tells Charles stories of past missions and of hopes he had for the future, both in terms of the Templar cause and in more personal fashion. Charles talks about his work in the military, talks about what he would like to accomplish by joining the Templars and he can tell from the look on Haytham’s face that he says all the right things. His dreams for the future coincide with Haytham’s quite nicely and Charles wonders what things would have been like if he hadn’t agreed to marry Braddock. Would Haytham have been his ticket into the Order? Or would he have never even met Haytham in the first place?

There’s an oddly familiar sense of loss when Haytham leaves that day. That night, Charles dreams of Haytham and of spending his life with him instead of with Braddock, of mating with Haytham, of having Haytham’s children, and following Haytham wherever he might go.

Charles never asks Haytham, but if he had, he would have been told that no, he did not feel any strange sense of loss after leaving Charles’ house that day, no he did not have any dreams of spending his life with Charles and caring for him as any good Alpha would. Charles would have been told that, but it would have been a lie. Haytham did experience those things and more than that, he knows the most likely reason for it all.

But Charles doesn’t ask. He can’t ask. He has his suspicions about what happened to cause this and he doesn’t want those suspicions confirmed. If Haytham imprinted on him, he can hide it. Oh, he’ll wish even harder than he does already that he could break things off with Braddock and stay permanently with Haytham, but he can hide that. If Haytham imprinted on him, things would be uncomfortable mentally, but if he can hide his discomfort from Braddock (not a hard thing to do—the man really never cared much about Charles’ mental health) than all would be okay. There should be no physical signs as there would be with a bond. He would not lose his chance at becoming a Templar.

Still, as anxious as the idea of Haytham possibly imprinting on him made him feel, it also made him feel—well, happy. Imprinting did not happen with just anybody. Imprinting happened with the one you’re supposed to be with and it was something Braddock was never able to do to Charles. It’s a small relief that Haytham of all people was the one to be able to imprint on him, but it is a very small relief.

He is still engaged to Braddock. Whether Haytham imprinted on him or not, he will be bonded to Braddock. To tell anyone that Haytham may have imprinted on him would raise speculations of unfaithfulness and that was something he could not risk. It would cause the Order’s trust in him to vanish and it’s doubtful if even Haytham would have the power to prevent that from happening.

So Charles pushes all of those thoughts from his mind. He might not be able to stop the dreams, he might not be able to help the feeling of being right where he belongs when Haytham is near, but if he just doesn’t think about it nothing should change. Or so he hopes.

Haytham follows Charles to the house to help take care of the dogs every day after the first time. Neither mentions the fact that Haytham likely imprinted on Charles and both are glad for it. Best to just enjoy their time together instead of trying to fix a mess they don’t want to know about.

Charles hates many things about being an Omega. He hates the way society believes he is only good for producing children, hates the way he is expected to always be submissive to the Alphas and Betas around him, and most of all he hates the heats.

The air is stifling, his blankets too constricting around him, and his clothes too heavy. He does what he can to remove the latter two, uncaring of the haphazard way the garments and blankets fall to the floor. He can deal with the mess later. Or the maids can deal with it. He doesn’t care as long as no one deals with it now. He has little patience for most everyone on a regular basis, the last thing he needs is to deal with them while he’s in heat.

If Charles were in his right state of mind, he might have heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall and the shouts of the servants telling the owner of those footsteps that he is not welcome in the house at this time. If Charles were in his right state of mind, he might have wondered just when Haytham managed to pick the lock of his room and just how his servants managed to be so incompetent that they couldn’t stop him. As he is, drunk with lust and doing all he can to keep himself on the bed instead of flinging himself at the nearest person, he can’t think of that. All he can think of is the scent of Haytham when he walks in the room and how it seems to fill the air until it’s nearly suffocating. Charles could drown in the scent. He almost wants to. It’s a scent most fitting of a man like Haytham—strong, commanding of attention, and very nearly perfect.

The scent gets stronger with every step closer Haytham takes and Charles grips the sheets so hard that he manages to draw blood from the palms of his hands even through the fabric. He lets out a strangled sob when Haytham lays a hand on his shoulder and inches away from the touch as best he can. The touch is light, light enough that it might not have been noticeable under normal circumstances, but as he is it’s overwhelming.

“Please, sir.”

Charles isn’t sure what he’s begging for. Is he begging for Haytham to take him—to fuck him so hard that Charles won’t be able to remember anything but the feeling of Haytham’s cock inside of him? Or is he begging Haytham to leave so that he might suffer this heat on his own as he has ever since his first one?

Either way, he doesn’t elaborate and Haytham doesn’t do either of the two. He removes his hand from Charles shoulder when he sees the way even that small touch affects the Omega, but he remains close. Too close. Close enough that if Charles were to shift his position just a few inches to the left he could press his nose to Haytham’s crotch, mouth at it, and maybe take Haytham completely in his mouth if he’d let Charles. Oh, how he’d love to be able to taste Haytham like that. How he’d love for Haytham to take him over and over and over again until he passes out and then maybe take him again when he wakes.

Without really thinking about it, Charles begins moving closer again, begins to act on his desires until he feels a hand on his shoulder again, grip firmer this time. it’s a grip meant to keep him in place and it brings a whimper out of Charles both because of the resistance and because of the sensation of skin against skin. Doesn’t Haytham realize how much this is affecting him?

“Have you no one to help you?”

There’s something about the way Haytham asks the question, something angry, though Charles is far too out of it to really notice it.

Charles opens his eyes—when had he shut them?—and looks up to Haytham with a shake of his head and a pleading gaze. Haytham returns it with a pitying look and that hurts more than anything. He’d wanted to impress Haytham and this was likely the least impressive state anyone could have ever seen him in.

“You’re stronger than this, Charles. You’ll pull through on your own.”

He isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Charles thinks he hears some resentment in Haytham’s words and sees a matching anger in his eyes. And maybe some measure of jealousy. Charles catches himself before he actually finishes that thought. Jealousy? Over what? Over having to lock himself in his room so as to avoid bonding himself to the first Alpha to cross his path? Over having to restrain himself with every ounce of energy he has in him, else he might not be able to stop himself from getting on his knees and begging Haytham to fuck him? There’s nothing to be jealous of.

Were Charles a little more coherent, he might have noticed the way that Haytham’s gaze was unfocused, distant, as though looking at someone far away rather than the man right in front of him. Were he more coherent, he might have noticed the tense set of Haytham’s shoulders as he tried to restrain himself from giving Charles exactly what he wanted. Were Charles in Haytham’s head, he might have known how Haytham is cursing Braddock for putting Charles through this.

Oh, Haytham knows how Charles has tried to keep the subject of his engagement a secret, but he did not come to the colonies completely uninformed. He’d asked Reginald for bits of information on the people he was to meet here and while Reginald hadn’t shared much, he had certainly shared the details of Charles’ engagement. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d thought it fortunate for the Omega that he was being given a chance at joining their ranks, but beyond that he hadn’t cared much.

Now he wishes to strangle both Braddock and Reginald. If there is one thing Haytham admires in a man, it is loyalty and loyalty is something Charles has in abundance. To make someone as dedicated as Charles suffer in this way—it isn’t right. He can understand the desire to follow tradition, to refrain from mating until after marriage, but traditions are reserved for those who lead normal lives. The idea of making Charles suffer through this makes his blood boil. All Charles wants is to serve the Order—how can he do that, bedridden as he is?

Were Haytham in Braddock’s position, he’d throw out all pretense of caring about traditions and social norms and put Charles at ease. Charles deserved to be at ease. Few people did so much for so little gain as Charles did and to make him suffer instead of giving him some form of reward for his dedication—it was disgusting.

Haytham has to push the images of just how he’d like to put Charles at ease out of his head. He knows they’re caused by the smell of Charles’ heat, knows that under normal circumstances he likely wouldn’t feel quite so strongly about the issue (it’s a lie—he knows he would feel just as strongly, but he refuses to acknowledge that fact just as he refuses to acknowledge the fact that he imprinted on Charles weeks ago), but being in the same room as Charles at this time… it’s hard not to feel this way and to think those things.

“Sir?”

Charles’ voice is weak, exhausted, and Haytham knows that as hard as it is for him to refrain from taking Charles right then and there, it must be a thousand times more difficult for Charles. He needs to leave now. For both their sanities’ sakes, he must get out of this room.

“I will see you in a few days, Charles. Take care.”

Haytham leaves no room for response after that, turning sharply from the room and pointedly ignoring the frustrated sounds Charles lets out and the creaking of the bed as Charles ruts against it, hoping to find even the slightest bit of relief.

for the long wait! Hopefully having three chapters instead of just one makes up for it. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about chapters 3. I had something a little less info-y with no imprinting involved, but then I had the idea for imprinting and I wanted to include it so chapter 3 turned into what it is now. So let me know what you guys think of that if anyone is still paying attention to this story.

---------

Charles wonders if perhaps he had been too hasty in offering to take Haytham to John Pitcairn. It wasn’t that he doubted his ability to get them to the man, but more his aversion to the location and certain people in it. He’d gone months already without seeing Braddock and only speaking with him through one or two letters and it was refreshing. The last thing he wanted was for his time away from his future husband to come to an abrupt end.

Not that it matters now. He’d already offered to take Haytham to see John Pitcairn, a man he knew they would find at Braddock’s camp and what reason could he give for suddenly taking that offer back? One of his main jobs right now is to help Haytham recruit others into their small Order here in the colonies. Not only that, but Charles has been eager to do anything Haytham asked of him thus far, a sudden change in attitude would seem awfully suspicious, wouldn’t it?

In his mind, where Haytham can’t see or hear, he sighs. He loves working with Haytham and that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to see Braddock. Charles is certain the man is likely over most of his jealousy, but he’s still possessive and if he decides that Charles has spent too much time away from him already, he may just order him to bring his time with Haytham to an end. What could he do then? His loyalties are to the Order and Haytham first and foremost, but his official occupation is with the British military and Braddock. It could be problematic if he were to displease the source of his paycheck this early on.

The walk there is mostly silent with bits and pieces of small talk in between. Charles is too distracted by his worry over having to go back to Braddock to speak and Haytham is likely remembering what his last meeting with the man was like. He doesn’t know many details—or any details, really— but from the way Braddock resents Haytham so much, he can’t imagine it went very well.

Charles is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice they’ve arrived at their destination until he hears the rough voice ordering for them to state their business. Charles takes a half step forward, straightening up and pushing his previous thoughts to the side.

“New recruit.”

He keeps his tone neutral, though if he were being completely honest the idea of being able to get them into the camp so easily excites them. Haytham’s methods of sneaking around are impressive, extremely so, but doing things like this makes it seem as though Charles truly does have some measure of power here and, really, what could be better than looking powerful in front of the man you admire most in the world? Charles only wishes the appearance of power went beyond the appearance. Aside from getting them in, there isn’t much Charles can do to help Pitcairn into their little group.

The guard smirks and offers a short, sardonic laugh before stepping to the side.

“More kindling for the pyre, eh? Go on.”

Charles can feel Haytham’s eyes on his back as they walk and he hopes it’s because he’s impressed. Charles only briefly looks back at Haytham and the few seconds Haytham spends in his line of vision isn’t enough to gauge whether or not there’s any hint of being impressed on his face.

“How’d you manage that?”

It’s not the praise Charles would have hoped for, but it’ll do for now.

“Did you forget, sir? My commission is with General Braddock—when I’m not attending to you, of course.”

And he hopes he won’t have to stop attending to Haytham any time soon. Attending to Haytham is about a thousand times more enjoyable than attending to his future mate. Until the assignment to attend to Haytham came along, Charles had nearly forgotten what it was like not to be constantly on edge, walking on egg shells so as not to say the wrong thing around his fiancé.

Charles turns again, meaning to say something else to Haytham, but he’s cut off by an all too familiar scream.

“Pitcairn, you fool! Your acts are treacherous! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now. Were you planning to announce yourself? Or were you hoping my men wouldn’t notice your arrival?”

“Sir, if you’ll allow me to explain…”

Charles nearly laughs when he hears that. Explain? Braddock has never been one to care for explanation, even if he does listen for a few seconds. Whatever “treacherous” actions Pitcairn committed are all that matter to the general, whether or not he’s actually guilty of anything.

“Oh, by all means I should very much like to hear this.”

From here, Charles stops listening. He’s nervous now. Before, his biggest concern was that Braddock’s jealousy might not have faded in the time they’ve been apart, but he’d take Braddock’s jealousy over his genuine anger any day.

The scenery of the camp suddenly seems so much more interesting than it had before and Charles distracts himself with looking around, as though he’s never seen it before. Technically he hasn’t. When he’d left, they’d only just started setting up, but from one military camp to another, not much changes in terms of sights and this one is no more impressive of a sight than any other Charles has seen.

“It’s the sort of thing best not put to paper.”

It’s the sound of Haytham’s voice that draws his gaze back to what’s in front of him and he tenses at the sight of Braddock. He knew they were going to see him. There was no way they were going to get Pitcairn out of here without seeing him. But for all the preparation Charles tried to do to get himself ready for it, the sight of Braddock still causes him to tense up.

“Haytham…”

Braddock’s voice comes out in a growl and Charles can one side of his mouth curl up in a sneer before he even fully realizes he’s doing it. Oh, how he would love to chastise Braddock for not showing Haytham the respect he deserves as he had with Thomas. He doesn’t—can’t. Not if he wants a spot in the Order. He can impress Haytham all he’d like, but it’s his marriage to Braddock that’s going to get him what he wants. He can’t do anything to jeopardize that.

“General Braddock.”

Haytham’s tone is even, clearly unaffected by the maliciousness being displayed. Charles can’t help but to admire him just a little more for that.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Wolves often travel in packs.”

“Master Pitcairn won’t be here for but a few weeks. I shall return him to his proper post once our work is finished.”

“The devil’s work no doubt.”

Braddock hasn’t looked at Charles once yet and he isn’t sure if he’s grateful or even more worried for it. On one hand, it could mean Braddock just doesn’t care about him enough to acknowledge him—the best possible situation. On the other, it could mean that Braddock is angry enough with him that he can’t stand to look at him—the most likely situation.

“It’s bad enough my superiors insisted I grant you use of Charles, but they’ve said nothing about this traitor. You’ll not have him!”

Braddock finally looks to Charles when he says his name, but the look is brief and aside from his anger with Haytham, there’s little emotion attached to the look or to the syllables of his name.

It occurs to him briefly that perhaps the remark was supposed to get a reaction out of Charles more than Haytham. He doesn’t react. He takes a deep breath, tries to relax the sneer still on his face but it’s difficult. Charles resents his future husband more and more every second they spend in the same vicinity. He wonders if he’s supposed to feel jealous that he is more adamant that Pitcairn, a “traitor” stays with him. He wonders if he’s supposed to feel back that he isn’t jealous in the least.

“Edward, listen to reason.”

It takes all Charles has not to laugh at that. Braddock? Reason? Never.

“We’re done here. See these gentlemen out.”

Charles’s sneer turns into a softer frown. It’s with a sigh that he turns and begins to follow Haytham out of the camp. At least he could be thankful that Braddock hadn’t drawn any more unnecessary attention to him as he’d been expecting.

“Charles.”

Or perhaps he spoke too soon.

He doesn’t turn at the call of his name, but he stops and listens as Braddock’s footsteps get closer and puts up little resistance when the hand now firmly grasping his arm forcibly turns him around.

“You may be working with him right now, but remember what I told you before: you are mine.”

Charles doesn’t miss the brief glance Braddock sends Haytham’s way before he’s pulled into a possessive kiss. It’s short, but no less unwelcome than it would have been if it were drawn out and Charles finds himself unwilling and unable to respond. This is the last thing he wants Haytham to see. When Braddock ends the kiss he’s smirking, keeping his grip on Charles firm, and ensuring that he doesn’t go anywhere just yet.

“Resent me all you’d like for this. I am still your only chance at being made a member of this Order. I sincerely doubt Kenway would share my generosity.”

It’s far too difficult for Charles to hold back the entirety of his sneer and he’s certain half of it manages to make its way onto his expression. Braddock isn’t paying attention to him anymore, though. No, his gaze is again directed to the area just behind Charles’s soldier, where Haytham once stood.

“Looks as though he’s left you already. Best get after him before I decide he isn’t worth your time.”

Charles feels his heart drop when he turns to see that Haytham really had left without him. He looks back at Braddock, clearly exasperated by the continued displays of jealousy, and jogs to catch up with Haytham. Luckily, his mentor had waited for him and Charles finds him leaning against a nearby wall. He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath to try and calm his sudden nerves and walks the last few feet towards Haytham.

“Well that didn’t go as I expected.”

Best to not acknowledge that last part. It was bad enough Haytham had to see it, Charles would rather not have to speak to him about it, too.

“And to think I used to call him Brother.”

Charles lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Haytham chooses to ignore the topic as well.

“What now? They’ll chase us off if we try and return.”

“We’re done with this camp. And as luck would have it, so are they. Come along.”

He follows Haytham all too eagerly, nearly overflowing with happiness that, even if Haytham did think less of him for that little display just minutes ago, he wasn’t making it known. Charles could live with Haytham thinking less of him as long as he wasn’t completely aware of it. All he really needed was the illusion of Haytham’s respect and he’d be okay.

Oh man, I feel so bad for Charles. And Haytham, even if he is acting like a complete ass. Can't wait for the next part! :)

Not OP but wow holy shit this is amazing! I do like the imprinting, and I can't wait for more! :3

OH. MY. GOD. WHAT HAPPENED ? Who is dead ? WHY ? Is it Abstergo ? It's definitely Abstergo. Was William hiding with little Desmond ? Was it William ? What the children are going to do now ? Run away ? Are they going to be accused of kidnapping and murder, or are they going to safely escape ? I C'ANT DEAL WITH IT !

OP.

SECONDED

Oooooh secoded!

Drunk!Clipper, fuck yeah

SECONDING THIS.

I like this interpretation. It's unique and different from most of the others I've seen. I'm thinking I'm really missing out by not reading the book now.

I couldn't help myself with the title when I was reminded of the similarities, okay? 8( Also, I ended up making Birch M! I hope that's okay. I'm thinking this thing will be three parts, but we shall see. Enjoy!

***

The first time they met was in Santiago, but saying that they actually met would be rather... inaccurate. The truth of the matter was that she stole his kill. It bothered him more than he let on, even if the overall objective of his mission was now completed--at the end of the day, a dead target was still a dead target--but his ego was a little bruised. (There was also the problem that he’d have more paperwork to fill out upon returning to London because of her interference.) Haytham had been planning the assassination for the better part of a month, and there she was, smirking at him from the adjacent rooftop.

Oh, yes, he could definitely confirm the smirking: Haytham had checked through the scope of his sniper rifle.

M hadn’t really cared for that minute detail about his mission, hadn’t really done anything but cock an eyebrow at him, and then politely asked him to submit a report on the situation--a report that would detail how a foreign spy had not only managed to edge her way into the detailed workings of his operation but also on how she managed to best one of the finest agents they’d ever had. The man never said a word on his failings, but the disappointment in his expression spoke volumes. Haytham had, of course, done as his superior asked without any protest and not another word about the woman he’d seen in Chile, even if his mind was abuzz with thoughts of her. No, he could control himself--after all, Agent 007 was a responsible adult who always placed work before any personal endeavors.

(His coworkers at the agency would say otherwise, but Haytham had long ago developed a rather deaf ear toward such gossip.)

Several jobs later, he’d all but forgotten about the foreign agent. Haytham was all too busy pursuing his next target in Johannesburg, the hunt ending with a rather spectacular gunfight in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Well, it would have been rather spectacular if Haytham wasn’t down to his last magazine and surrounded by about ten men with semi-automatic machine guns. When (yes, when, not if) he got out of the situation, he was going to have a very stern talk with Q about the importance of developing a weapon that had infinite ammunition instead of spending all of his time trying to impress the 00 agents with exploding pens, grappling suspenders, and pictures of his Pomeranians.

(Spado, he would grudgingly admit, was a very lovely looking dog, but pets were always an awkward--or rather, a very charged--topic of conversation with the MI6 quartermaster. Haytham tried to avoid them at all costs lest he inadvertently upset the man and ended up with some faulty equipment.)

The concrete pillar at his back shook as his enemies continued to riddle it with bullets, and then, quite suddenly, there was a shout and a loud clatter--the sound not unlike a gun hitting the floor. A smattering of English was quick to follow before Haytham heard a gurgle and then panicked shouts.

Curiosity made him want to look, but instincts told him to stay put and wait. After all, whatever was going on was making the gunmen fire rather indiscriminately, if the messy spray of bullets against the walls was anything to go by. Hands closed around the grip of his gun, Haytham calmly waited until the last of the screaming had come to a stop, soon followed by the thunk of dead weight hitting the floor.

“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” came a female voice, and Haytham canted his head slightly, eyebrows lifting; she had a distinctly American accent. Without even seeing who was on the other side, he was positive it was the woman from before--the one who’d stolen his kill back in Santiago.

“I was merely waiting for the opportune moment to strike, but you do have a certain talent for stealing a man’s thunder,” he replied, leaning back against the column. Haytham likely could have stepped out now that she was done, but he was still a spy and she an unknown. She’d acted like an ally up to this point, and yet, one never knew in this game... “Is this a hobby of yours?”

“Saving lousy English agents?” He could definitely hear the amusement in her voice and the smugness in her tone. “I’m thinking of making it one.”

By all rights, Haytham should have felt insulted. After all, this would be the second time she would make a fool out of him, and M would not be all that pleased to hear that his mission had, once again, been a success due to the interference of another. On top of that, the agent was American from the sound of it--news that was sure to make M’s scowl even darker. (The man seemed to have a rather personal grudge against the nation. Something about an old rivalry against a CIA agent named Davenport? Haytham wasn’t entirely clear on the story, but he seemed to recall that the collection of ancient artifacts was somehow involved.)

Despite all of the problems that could and would crop up because of her, Haytham could not bring himself to care. He was, to put it simply, enchanted by this woman. “I’ll have to set up future opportunities for you,” he called out. “I can’t stand the thought of depriving you of enjoyable material to work with.”

Haytham waited for a response, but the only one he got was silence. At last removing himself from the cover of the pillar, he discovered, with chagrin, that she was long gone; there was nothing to show that she’d even been here--save for the bodies that she’d left behind.

To say that her method of killing was... elegant would probably be wrong, but he couldn’t really think of another way to describe it. After all, for someone to be using knives (and rope darts, of all things!) in this day in age was almost laughable, and yet, here was proof that, in the right hands, such methods were still completely and utterly viable.

Either way, Haytham left his awe out of his report to M and listened with half an ear as the man berated him. The droning went on and on, but when he heard the words, “You’ll be working with a CIA operative this time around,” his attention shot right back into focus--perhaps a little too suddenly, seeing as M gave him a rather sharp look.

“As I was saying, 007, you’ll be working with a CIA operative on this mission,” the man continued, pushing a folder across the desk; Haytham picked it up and flipped through its contents. “Pay a visit to Q, and then be on your way. You are dismissed.”

“Sir.”

“Oh, one more thing, Kenway.”

Haytham had just turned on his heel, and he glanced over his shoulder at his commanding officer. “Sir?”

“Be careful when speaking to Q. He’s rather upset that the Pomeranian did not win best in show at Crufts.”

His lips quirked a little in amusement. “Duly noted. Good day to you, sir.”

“Good day, 007.”

http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/438.html?thread=625334#cmt625334

Reposted from Part 1:

Ezio has been corrupted by the Apple. He takes what he wants and doesn't care for the consequences. And in this case he wants Leonardo.

Warning! Dubcon ahoy!

OP here.

Wow, anon! This is getting more and more awesome with each passing chapter. I love how you're able to make Ezio an Omega while keeping him in character, that is truly an impressive feat. And your Leonardo is just precious! Thank you so much for filling this for me.

Leonardo smiled widely as the door opened to reveal one of his oldest friends.

“Ezio, my friend, it has been too long.” He threw his arms open wide, welcoming him into a warm embrace.

“Leonardo, I have been busy of late, but it is a wonder you should call me friend at all neglecting you for so long.”

“Come. I am sure you have been busy at your duties; I am only happy you could spare a moment for me.”

Leonardo cast about desperately, searching for a bare surface he could offer as a seat. Parchments and figurines littered every available surface. He blushed slightly, “You must excuse the mess, Ezio. I was not expecting company.”

Ezio did not answer immediately; he seemed to be looking for something, scanning the workshop carefully, glancing out the window.

“But where is Salai? I had thought he kept you company as you worked at least?”

If there was an edge to Ezio’s tone, Leonardo ignored it; Ezio had never seemed to care much for Salai and Leonardo had always done his best not to aggravate him.

“I am sure he is probably drinking or gambling, whatever else a young man may get up to in a city like this. I’m sure you can think of a few things, yes?”

Ezio closed the shutter firmly, “Yes.”

Leonardo’s bright smile faded, cautiously he stepped forward to lay a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. He could feel the muscles tense and release beneath his hand and wished- not for the first time- he could convince Ezio to stand in as a model for one of his sketches. So much for lost opportunities, the Master Assassin himself would never dabble in such affairs.

“Ezio, what is it? You seem troubled.”

“Not at all. I am more lighthearted now than I have been in some time.”

“You have received good news then?”

Leonardo stepped away slowly, there was something about Ezio today that had him ill at ease. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up and he could feel a growing pit of fear in his gut.

Every movement seemed sharper, his eyes more shadowed than even those dark days following the death of his family. When he strode toward the door Leonardo gathered his courage and spoke once more, swallowing to wet his dry throat.

“You would not leave so soon?”

“No, Leonardo. I will not be leaving.” Ezio slammed the bar in place over the door with a stunning finality, resting his head against the sturdy oak of the lintel, shoulders heaving with his deep breaths.

“You are not ill?” His voice was unnaturally loud in the hush. Come to it, Ezio did seem fevered; his face had darkened with a hectic flush and his hands trembled so that Leonardo could see it when Ezio turned back to him.

“Ill. There is a word for it. Yes, I am ill.”

Ezio stepped toward him and Leonardo fell back, feeling a little too like a deer confronted by a wolf in its own peaceful home. He licked his lips and Ezio groaned softly.

“You have been at the Apple again, haven’t you? Ezio, that is the tool of madness; you are better to avoid it.”

“There is much to be learned from it.”

“In much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.”

Another step, a mocking laugh, arms thrown wide Ezio gestured to the room around them. “Then you must be a sorrowful man indeed, my friend.”

Leonardo cringed when the stool behind him clattered to the floor, scattering papers everywhere. Glancing nervously at Ezio, he knelt to gather them, piling them haphazardly in his arms. Somehow on his knees like this he felt too vulnerable, like at any moment-

Leonardo gasped as a rough hand twined in his golden hair, pulling his head back to bare his vulnerable throat, forcing him to look up into the eyes of his most trusted friend.

“Why do you shrink from me, Leonardo?” That soft voice caressed his name as though it were the most delicate porcelain, the tone sent a shiver of fear and arousal slithering up his spine. He felt his breath growing shallow and suddenly his head seemed too light for his body.

“You are not yourself, Ezio. I cannot name this mood that has taken you.”

“I am more myself than I have ever been. You think this is a mere caprice? No.”

Ezio swooped down, catching his lips in a brutal kiss. Leonardo tried to twist away, but Ezio’s fingers fisted in his hair to pull him closer, teeth scraping at his lower lip demandingly.

Hey there, i've just read your whole fic and. I love it.
I mean: really, the story and, all. Especially your way of writting it, clear, smooth, great balance between dialogues and narrative part. And all the background you includes in, from the serie and it's universe. And, jesus, those nosebleedin' parts, and so are those cliffhangers, wtf.
Gosh, I can't wait for more and more ahahah! Longin' for more connor/haytham sweety things lol
Let me love you writer!anon *u*
Just, Good job, keep it on!!

Stubbornly, Leonardo refused to comply, ignoring the way Ezio’s tongue traced across his lips, resisting the urge to gasp when he nipped at the dimple just at the edge of his cheek. Ezio chuckled softly, other hand rising to take his chin in a bruising grip, forcing him to open to the invasion.

Ezio swallowed his muffled whimper, whether of fear or desperation Leonardo could not be sure. He had craved this for so long, had stifled the impulse out of respect. And now here was Ezio, determined to take from him even as he resisted.

Ezio pulled back suddenly, leaving him gasping for air, thin body heaving with the effort of drawing in oxygen to clear the black spots from his vision. “Never like this, Ezio.”

Somehow he found the strength to raise his nerveless fingers to Ezio’s hand, prying feebly. “Your beautiful mouth says one thing, my old friend, but your traitorous body another.”

Leonardo groaned, it was true and it was false. He could feel himself hardening from no more than the intense gaze Ezio fixed on his face and yet he would rather Ezio had come to him whole, free of the perversion of that blasted-

Another kiss, lingering this time. Ezio’s tongue pushed into his mouth, exploring every corner, savoring the taste. When Leonardo tried to push him away once more, Ezio resisted, teeth clacking together roughly, moving ever deeper.

He broke away again and pried at Ezio’s hand a little more forcefully, wincing when Ezio responded by tugging on his hair sternly.

“Do not. I am of no mind for your games.”

“Games?”

Ezio released his hair, hands gliding down his shoulders, over his chest, lower… Leonardo thrashed, falling back onto the wooden floor and Ezio followed closely, his fingers tangled int he ties of Leonardo’s shirt, hips pinning him firmly.

“Ezio.” He couldn’t manage much else, his throat was too tight for words and a wicked heat coursed through his body. Whatever sickness of the mind had taken Ezio it seemed to be slowly possessing him too.

“Shy glances and sweet words, those little touches. I cannot bear it.” Ezio rocked against him and Leonardo’s head fell back; he twisted and writhed, no longer sure if he was resisting or encouraging.

Ezio’s hot breath whispered through the wisp of his hair, mouth pressed to his ear; “This is a face Salai will never see. It is something we will share, just you and I. Or has he already taken you? Did you let him bend you over the desk and fuck you? Did you cry his name in your ecstasy?”

“He is only my assistant, Ezio. I swear it. A companion.”

“He is a boy. A foolish boy not to notice what lay within his grasp. I made that mistake, but no longer. You are mine, Leonardo. Let there be no doubt in your mind of that.”

Leonardo lay pliant as though strong hands pulled the shirt from his body, arching and shuddering when Ezio kissed a path down his chest slowly, rough skin abrasive against his own pale flesh.

“Look at you, eyes clouded with lust. You pant and writhe like a common harlot.”

He could not refute the claim, he was desperate for what Ezio offered, doubtless as he had intended. The man was a master tactician even here.

Ezio dipped lower, tongue tracing patterns on sensitive flesh, dipping into his navel so that he shuddered and twitched. His hands rose to tangle in Ezio’s hair, pushing him away, holding him close. Ezio rose and caught his hands, pinning them at his sides firmly.

“Do not move, Leonardo.” He flinched at the gleam of a knife, its edge only inches away from his body. Ezio would never cut him, not unless that was exactly what he intended.

“What will you do with me?” As though the answer was not obvious, but he had to ask. He had to know, it was as much a part of his nature as Ezio’s need to possess.

“I will make you see clearly, my old friend.”

“What am I meant to see?” His pants were pulled from his hips forcefully, leaving him bared to the hungry gaze of the assassin. The predator regarding his prey, deciding how it would strike.

“Me. Only me, and what I will do for you.”

Leonardo cried out as Ezio took his stiff length into his mouth, tongue lashing the weeping slit at the tip while those weathered hands grasped his base, stroking firmly, fingers darting back to massage his testicles.

He struggled to hold back his cries, hips arching desperately into the wet warmth. This was wrong, it was a sin to burn with such desire. Leonardo struggled to push him away, but Ezio ran his tongue tauntingly up the vein and his thoughts vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

“Ezio, please.” He wanted him to stop, he wanted him to finish, he wanted this torture to go on forever and to end right now.

Ezio pinned his hips, cheeks hollowing with the force of his suction. Leonardo was sure the sound he made was more animal than human when he found his pleasure, Ezio greedily taking every last drop, tongue darting out to gather that which escaped.

Leonardo reached out to him, pushing against his chest as firmly as his shaking arms would permit. Ezio’s lips traced up the line of his throat, teeth nibbling the tendons there, bruising him, marking him so that any with eyes would know he was claimed.

Ezio reached out to take his graceful hand, pressing it to the center of his chest; Leonardo could feel the shiver that ran down his body while he forced his hand to move still lower.

Leonardo’s hand closed about his length beneath the fabric of his trousers, guided and held there by Ezio’s much larger hand.

Almost unconsciously he began to stroke, feeling the hardness beneath his palm, the warmth of his skin. His tongue darted out once more to lick his lips and Ezio captured it, sucking it into his own mouth insistently, sighing softly with something that sounded like satisfaction to Leonardo’s straining ears.

Slowly Ezio pulled away, savoring the brief taste. “It is not enough. It will never be enough.”

Leonardo gathered the breath to ask exactly what he meant by that, but Ezio’s hand rose to press into his neck, thumb feathering across his pulse. “Take your hands away, Leonardo.” He punctuated the command with a small increase in pressure and Leonardo released, held still by the sheer force of his eyes.

Ezio’s other hand reached out to take his knife and if possible Leonardo became even more stiff.

“Enough, my friend. You know I would never hurt you.”

“I am no longer sure of you.”

Ezio’s face hardened, “I will teach you my measure then.”

Leonardo stumbled to his feet, yanked there by Ezio. He swayed slightly, knees trembling beneath him so that he was not sure how long he could possibly stand.

Ezio swept the parchments from his desk in one smooth motion and Leonardo moaned in despair. Much of the work would be ruined, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

Leonardo gasped at the unexpected cold of the wood beneath his bare chest, hips unconsciously thrusting into the side of his desk, seeking any release.

One of Ezio’s broad hands pressed between his shoulder blades, holding him down. The rustle of cloth warned him that Ezio was stripping the loose trousers from his legs, pushing his robes aside.

He dared not breath as that calloused palm settled on the flesh of his ass, fingers slipping between to taunt him.

“Come for me once more Leonardo.”

“I cannot.” He panted, already half-erect.

He could hear the smirk in Ezio’s voice; “You will for me.”

Ezio’s hand grasped him firmly, running down his length with purpose, thumb ghosting over his tip and palm massaging softly into his length. It became a struggle to hold back the release he knew was coming, but Ezio would have none of it. A second hand joined the first, teasing, playing, slipping down his perineum to nudge into his asshole.

“No.”

Ezio ran a finger around the pucker there, leaning his weight onto the artist to whisper in his ear once more. “You will come for me.” He bit into the curve of Leonardo’s ear and the battle was lost. His release overwhelmed him and what little strength he had was swiftly drained.

Ezio gathered what wetness remained on his fingers, pushing into him once more, searching, finding that place inside him that made him arch and beg, mindless with lust.

“Ezio, please.”

“Whom do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Not that weakling boy or some rich patron?”

“You, Ezio. Only you. I swear it.”

Leonardo’s fingers gouged into the smooth wood when he felt Ezio’s length pushing into him slowly, stretching him impossibly. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t do any more than accept his attentions. A whimper escaped him when Ezio sheathed himself fully, showing no mercy, the rough fabric of his shirt abrading Leonard’s back.

“I will never let you go.” Ezio’s teeth sank into his shoulder, warmth spreading through him and their rhythm grown increasingly erratic as Ezio found his peak, jerking gently against him.

Leonardo shuddered when Ezio moved away from him, pulling him away from the desk and resting him on the floor once more. He felt the warmth of Ezio’s cloak settling over his form, warm and familiar before the assassin lifted him gently.

“Rest, Leonardo. I am not through with you yet.”

The sensual promise in his voice was not enough to keep his lover from drifting into an exhausted sleep, but Ezio was pleased to see the small smile that quirked his lips and a warmth spread through him as the artists curled trustingly into his chest.

This was right. This was as it should be. They would share the burden of wisdom, they two.

This is my first time writing slash; concrit is greatly appreciated. :)

So one thing I noticed about Braddock was that he seemed to be kind of possessive of Charles, what with the way he was so pissed about having to let Haytham use him and the way he demanded Charles return to him. And, noticing that, I got to thinking-- what if there was something going on between them that made Braddock jealous of Haytham? Or maybe Braddock had feelings for/lusted after Charles and the feelings were not mutual, making him even more jealous.

Really, the circumstances don't matter. I just want smut involving Charles and Braddock.

I'm loving this fill more and more, writeanon! Poor boys, with Ezio obviously spooked by what is considered "normal" Alpha behavior, and Leonardo more than likely not going to push the subject with him...this relationship is gonna take a while.

And Leonardo figured out an better tasting alternative to the heat suppressors. :D

A/N: Feeling like crap. Was tortured by allergies while I was outside the whole day. Nature, why do you hate me? So yeah, typos and grammar mistakes everywhere ~~like always.~~

Connor watched with bated breath as his father's hand hovered over his own. It still but did not reach to pluck the offered ring from his hand. He wondered, if maybe his father suspected the trinket to be a fake; a user would have to put themselves in a firing range in order for it to work (and sometimes the ring wasn't always effective). But there was one way to prove to the Grandmaster that this wasn't a hoax...

"If you believe this to be one of the precursor artifacts," Connor began while meeting his father's curious gaze, "then Inspect it using your second sight."

Those cautious eyes regarded him for a moment, before glancing down at his hand. Connor inhaled sharply as he saw a glimmer of gold shine with within the pools of silver. Did his eyes - which the Clan Mother remarked were brighter than his mother's - shine like that? Were his eyes the last thing they saw before eternal sleep claimed them?

The Assassin did not wonder long as the hitch in Haytham's breath indicated that he to, saw the bright rays of light and shimmer of precursor symbols only their eyes could see. Connor swallowed hard at how entranced and utterly silent his father had become.

Perhaps this was a mistake after all. Even if the Templars released Washington and his recruits, how would he guarantee they wouldn't be recaptured and executed? Could he trust his father? Trust the man who claimed to not know of the Templar involvement in the attack on his village all those years ago?

Haytham suddenly leaned his head back, and took a deep breath. The absence of gold in his eyes indicated that the elder Kenway's vision had returned to normal. Connor hoped his Alpha parent had made a decision before he lost his nerve.

The hand lowered, nearly covering Connor's own. Then, surprisingly, withdrew. But not before pressing his back; closing his hand over the precursor artifact, and shielding it from sight.

Connor blinked, stunned for a moment before staring back at the grim-faced Templar.

"Why?"

The Grandmaster folded his arms behind his back once more and shook his head. "As much as the artifact you hold would be a boon to the Order; releasing Washington or your recruits, is out of the question. Those brothers of yours are a troublesome lot. As for the former Commander, thanks to you, he knows of us and would no sooner reveal the Order to the world."

"He knows of the war between the Templars and the Assassins," Connor admitted. "But aside from Charles interrupting our wedding, he knows nothing of the Inner Circle or your plans to..."

"Don't lie to me, child."

The Omega went cold all over and shut his mouth as Haytham closed the distance between them again, and glared disapprovingly at him. Connor mentally struggled to bring his stubbornness and anger back to the forefront; but for some reason he couldn't. Not when the Alpha before him was scrutinizing him for a long moment.

"You told him everything," Haytham said as a matter of fact. "About our desire to be finally rid of him and have Charles take his place. You spoke to your beloved George of the Inner Circle, of our roles in society, and showed him our faces..."

The Grandmaster gestured to reclaimed portraits of himself and Charles that were mounted on the wall.

"And I'm certain you told him of what happened to your village all those years ago. I'm curious to know how he reacted."

Connor slid the ring back on his finger and managed to glare back at the man who sired him.

"He was horrified," the Master Assassin finally admitted. "Horrified that Charles Lee, a man he thought knew and trusted, could commit such an abominable crime."

Haytham gave a humorless bark of laughter that only infuriated the Assassin even more.

"Oh was he now? Let me tell you something, Connor. That man knows just as well as we Templars do, who is innocent and who is truly guilty."

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before growling in anger. What was his father insinuating this time? First Achilles and now George. He was sick of it. Sick of these cruel mind games Charles and his father seemed to enjoy putting him through.

"Enough," he hissed while turning on his heel to face the door. "I will not listen to anymore of your lies..."

He heard Haytham snort in annoyance, and his voice was so cold - Connor shivered involuntary.

"I am many things, son, but I am not a liar."

This AU is really not letting me go...so have a little drabble before the prison fic. :)

Of Fairytales

Haytham Lee never asked Father about his mother. At first, it was because he didn’t know he had one. There was only Father. There had only ever been Father. The concept of mother didn’t exist, and it wasn’t until he met with children his own age and heard them talking about their mothers that he thought to ask Father if he had ever had one and what had happened to his.

He didn’t though. Father was loving, but stern and did not like excessive questions or having his schedule disrupted. He liked to eat his meal in silence and in peace, and would only allow a few questions to be asked during the sacred time.

Haytham had heard the servants mutter that things used to be different. Before Mister Lee died.

Haytham asked them who Mister Lee was many times, but the servants always clammed up and refused to tell him. It was like they were scared of telling him.

It was like the people in Boston. Haytham would hear them talking about how tragic it all was, that the queen died in childbirth and that the king has refused to take another bride, but whenever he’d ask them, they refused to tell him which queen it was that they were talking about.

They’d even look at Haytham’s guards nervously, back away and apologize and then run off.

It was curious. They always enjoyed speaking with Haytham, who they considered their little prince, but whenever he overheard them speaking about that queen who died, they always seemed to get scared.

Haytham Lee was a little prince of many questions and no answers.

And so he began making his own answers.

Once upon a time, there was a powerful king who married a beautiful queen, and together, they had a little prince named Haytham.

Sometimes, little Haytham would imagine that his mother had been a fair and delicate Omega like most of the other children of the court. Was she pretty, he often wondered. A princess from one of the Native tribes?

Sometimes, he would conjure up a strong woman Alpha like some of the townsfolk. She would be bold and would have challenged Haytham’s father, and she would be the best queen around, fighting at Father’s side. She would have been a huntress! No, a warrior! Powerful and deadly and really, really.amazing.

And sometimes, but not very often, little prince Haytham would dream of an Omega man, gentle and fierce, strong like the woman Alpha but sweet like the lady Omega. He would hold Haytham and rock him in his arms and whisper softly in his ear that I love you.

Haytham always felt strange after he woke up from those dreams. It was probably not true. There were a lot more girl Omegas than there were boy Omegas.

But no matter what happened, no matter what Haytham imagined or thought or dreamed, there was one question that he could never answer. One question that persisted in his mind day after day after day.

Why wasn’t his mother with him now?

And so Haytham Lee continued to spin fairytales to comfort him, even as he yearned to ask his Father what really happened.

Once upon a time, there was a little prince who wondered why there was no queen.

Finis.

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Page 262 of 385

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

William is a good father

Re: Don't mess with me

Fill: No Danger (Haytham/Charles Omegaverse 3/?)

Fill: No Danger (Haytham/Charles Omegaverse 4/?)

Fill: No Danger (Haytham/Charles Omegaverse 5/?)

Re: FILL 2/? Onesided Charles/Haytham

Re: Fill: No Danger (Haytham/Charles Omegaverse 5/?)

Re: Fill: Orphaned 4b/?

Re: Chief Kanen/Connor

Re: Assassin's Creed/Merlin BBC crossover

Re: Clipper learning to handle his alcohol

Re: Gagged Malik

Re: OP

The Spy Who Enchanted Me [ 1 / ? ]

Fill for Old Prompt- Dark!Ezio

Re: FILL: The Gentle Alpha 3/?

The Burden of Wisdom Part 1

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

The Burden of Wisdom Part 2

The Burden of Wisdom Part 3

The Burden of Wisdom Part 4

Braddock/Charles

Re: FILL: The Gentle Alpha 3/?

Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 31a/?

Continuing Fill - AU - Of Fairytales