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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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

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

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

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

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

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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Part 1
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Wow... I had no idea this was something I wanted but damn that was hot.

I'd really love to see someone fill this soon, it sounds absolutely lovely.

Set during Brotherhood, AU in which Ezio recruited Connor. Part 1 is gen and stands on its own if that’s more your thing. Part 2 will be a slashy sequel.

Everyone is pleased to see Connor come back from his mission in London safe and sound. He had insisted he be the one to go, having lived there before, but it was his first solo mission so far from their reach, and his brothers and sisters had been worried.

Ezio isn’t surprised to see Connor dodge Bastiano’s overenthusiastic embrace. Being crushed between the man’s huge arms while bruised and tired from his trip wasn’t an enviable fate, no matter how well-meaning the gesture was. Bastiano’s smile droops visibly, but Connor is alive and well so it comes back soon enough.

Connor shrugging off Annetta’s hand from his shoulder, that seems stranger to Ezio. The touch was kind. Surely Connor would appreciate the warmth of a friendly face after all this time alone in hostile territory. His sister wouldn’t begrudge him this much.

His sister is also quite beautiful, and one does not refuse the touch of an attractive woman.

And yet, as Ezio watches from afar, Connor refuses, as politely as he can, all physical contact from either brothers or sisters. Most don’t remark, but Luciana is obviously hurt by his perceived rejection and Stefano looks confused when Connor evades his attempt at patting his back.

Connor isn’t one for effusiveness, but he has never been cold or distant. And yet, now that Ezio thinks about it, he can’t remember Connor reaching out for someone, even by reflex. Now that he is surrounded, a spectator such as Ezio can’t help but notice how every touch is deflected.

This cannot be borne: Connor, alone in Roma, having left behind what was left of his family, cut off from even the most basic pleasure that was another human’s skin against his. As their Maestro, Ezio has to protect all of his recruits, and as far as he is concerned that includes protecting them from themselves.

Ezio moves with all his considerable skills, cautious of staying out of Connor’s sight and using the presence of his apprentices flooding Connor as a distraction, until he can snake an arm around Connor’s shoulders and lean against his massive frame. “Welcome back, Connor. I trust your mission went well, yes?”

Connor tries to free himself from the unwanted arm, but today is not the day one of his students will defeat him. Ah, if looks could kill. “It was fine.”

“Still a man of few words, are you not? As the rest of you can see, our youngest recruit came back both healthy and victorious. Sadly for him, he still has to report to me before he rests. Go on, back to your own contracts!"

The recruits disperse, some more willingly than others, but Connor doesn't relax, even when only they are left.

Ezio removes his arm. Connor immediatly puts space between them. All traces of tension disappear and he starts recounting his mission. Ezio lends him a distracted ear. Connor resents others touching him. He needs to be taught that contact isn't to be feared, but to be seeked.

Ezio knows he is the man for that job.

He cuts off Connor. “This is all very interesting, really, but you and I have other topics to cover today. I could not help but notice that you shy away from touch as if it would hurt you. My friend, that is no way to live.”

Connor frowns. “I don’t like people touching me. Anything else is irrelevant to you.”

“Shall you spend the rest of your life estranged from all, depriving yourself of the joy of a friend’s embrace or a woman’s caress? You would miss out on much, I can guaranty it.”

“I have no interest in hearing about women caressing you.”

“Then it is your loss. The point remains: touch can be pleasant, regardless of its nature.”

“For you, maybe, but not for I. Please stop bothering me about it.”

“All right, all right, let’s not fight about this.” But if he thinks Ezio will forget, he is wrong. So very wrong. This was only the start of his campaign.

_________________________________

Connor never flinches from what needs to be done. He strives to be as expert an assassin as he can be. He wants to be able to face everything without reservation.

When Ezio strides up to him and offers to train him privately in an advanced form of hand-to-hand combat, Connor accepts eagerly.

He loses the eagerness when he realises that said method of combat involves Ezio repositioning him into the correct forms. There's a hand on his lower back, pushing him forward. There are fingers around his wrist, adjusting his hidden blade to ascertain it won’t be in the way. There's Ezio's body behind his, demonstrating how he should move, what he should do.

Ezio can tell it unnerves him, but he endures, and Ezio teaches on. He continues until Connor is so focused that he doesn't even flinch when Ezio reaches to move his forearms.

In all, a rising success.

The training sessions keep happening.

____________________________________

Vittorio comes back to headquarters with an alarming amount of blood staining his robes. Most of it can be traced back to the heavily bleeding cut on his open arm, probably caused by the sword of an enraged guard that he couldn’t dodge. He collapses as soon as he crosses the threshold.

Connor reacts quickly, picking him bodily and setting him down gently somewhere safer. Salvatore tends to his wound while Annetta tries to stop Orfeo from fretting too much, to no avail.

Gently, Ezio puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The flinch is instantaneous. Why? Connor didn’t even twitch while carrying Vittorio! The hand stays. “He will be fine. Salvatore knows what he’s doing, and if he fails Orfeo will flay him."

"I am not worried."

"Of course not. That is why you are still keeping watch despite the fact that you are covered in blood now."

Ezio gets both a glare and a blush. Apprentices are so cute. Ezio congratulates himself again for his selection of students and keeps the hand where it is. It’s not batted away.

____________________________________

"No."

"What?"

"You are not going dressed like that. They will not even let us in the building. Change into these. Now."

Connor has a plethora of qualities, but fitting in high society isn't his forte. They can't infiltrate this party with him wearing what he considers appropriate.

Connor returns once changed and Ezio applaud his tastes. He does look much better with Ezio's selection on, but really.

"Come here."

Ezio straightens the hat. He buttons the doublet and arranges the fur-trimmed mantle. He manages to contain his urge to adjust the hose. He ties the drawstring of the chemise. His hands might linger slightly too long for propriety on Connor’s neck, but who will tell?

Connor suffers through the indignities done to his person without too much grumbling. Ezio considers this a victory.

____________________________________

He should have brought Alessandro. He’d have navigated the party flawlessly, charming ladies and impressing men all night long, just like his mentor. Or Zita. They would have complemented each other well. But no, Connor was the one available. Ezio is not going to make that mistake again. If he had not gotten the information they were looking for, Ezio might have feared for his life.

Connor spent the night trying, and mostly failing, at gathering information by chatting and flirting. He looked like he hated every single minute of it, which probably didn’t help.

Some young lady had been quite taken with him anyway, and had someone managed to have him dance with her, having surely insisted quite heavily. How a skilled assassin like Connor could turn so clumsy, Ezio could not even begin to understand, but he tripped. And fell. And sprain his ankle.

His fellow apprentices will be laughing at him for weeks, if not months.

Ezio gets to drag him out of the party, thanking heaven for filling the place with idiots who somehow missed their disappearance, even after this catastrophic exit.

Connor has to steady himself on Ezio to walk. He doesn’t hesitate to grasp his shoulder. Ezio puts a hand behind him to catch him should he loses his balance. It’s all almost companionable.

____________________________________

Haytham Kenway. That's the name of their next target, a powerful Templar operating in England. It's also Connor's father's name.

Connor left London because of troubles with his family that he refuses to talk about. There has been quite a lot of speculation in the hideout about what could make Connor, loyal to a fault, leave family and country behind to start anew in Italy and join their cause at such a young age.

Ezio will not assassinate Connor's father behind his back. He has to tell him.

Connor resides in a room on top of a tailor shop, in the Campagna district. At this hour, it's where he'll be.

Connor is surprised to see him. Ezio respects his students' privacy; he doesn't usually appears in their home, but this demands secrecy.

"Maestro. What is it?"

"Hello to you too Connor. Why, yes, I have indeed had a delightful day."

Connor rolls his eyes. He's so charming, this one.

"You being who you are, I believe you will prefer that I be blunt. Our next assassination target is Haytham Kenway, acting leader of the English branch of the Templars."

It's immediate. Connor's face reveals too much, anger-fear-astonishment-sadness-resignation, before turning blank.

"It was going to happen, sooner or later. Best deal with it now."

"So this man really is your father?"

"Yes."

Ezio hesitates, takes a deep breath, and then plunges. "You do not have to answer, your loyalty isn't in question, but why did you choose to fight for our cause? Weren’t you raised in the Order’s faith?"

"Maybe you should question it. Treachery is in my blood."

"Foolish. There is no one more trustworthy than you."

"All my mother's legacy. She was one of us, as was my father and his father before him. I was raised with their values guiding me, to join the Assassins one day. But he betrayed her memory when he chose to follow the enemy's ideals. He turned his back on us all and hid it from me, until I discovered him betraying our secrets to them. I left. We haven’t seen each other since.”

For Connor, this was rambling. He’s trembling, reliving every moment as he narrates them, his fingers bunching into fist. Powerless.

Ezio wraps his arms around Connor, one hand holding his head, pushing it in the crook of his neck, the other stroking his back gently.

Ezio holds him until the muscles against him loosen up, and then until Connor’s arms clutch at his clothes, and then until something wet drops on his skin, and then until it doesn’t anymore, and then some more.

This is lovely! Not OP but seriously looking forward to more :)

Thanks! I'll try not to make you wait too long.

So excited!! :D

yessssssssssss

Part 3 might become a thing that exists, but it might not. I haven't decided yet.

Ezio goes by himself. He leaves Roma to journey to Venezia, where Haytham Kenway is expected to an extraordinary meeting with high ranking members of the Templars stationed in Italia.

He waits until the meeting is over with, after the Templars have stopped anticipating an ambush, before approaching his target. Connor described him as an extremely talented Assassin, well connected and respected by the English Brotherhood before his betrayal: a dangerous man.

Kenway doesn’t travel with a huge entourage, only a few trusted allies. From the way they move, they don’t have the training Ezio and Kenway share. Ezio positions himself, unseen, shoots him in the head and makes his escape. They won’t catch him. They can’t.

An informant confirms the kill the next day. Ezio returns to Roma.

He doesn’t stop by the hideout. The others don’t have to know about another dead man. It’s routine. Instead, he delivers the news to Connor himself, who appears to take it stoically, but Ezio knows him better by now. The urge to take the burden from him, to hold him until it passes once more is almost overpowering, but he can tell Connor won’t accept it. He needs time to accept his new reality.

Ezio will respect his wish. He leaves.

____________________________________

Connor isn’t seen around for a few days, and Ezio tries not to listen to the voice in his head that says he might be gone for good, but he shows up again like nothing happened.

It would be a lie. All of it breaks a dam. Connor becomes, well, not exactly friendlier, but a little more approachable, less reserved toward him. There’s weight in them sharing something hidden from others. Connor doesn’t react to him so explosively anymore. In fact, Ezio believes he started making a conscious effort not to reject him. That’s still far from casual enjoyment, but it is progress.

Maybe it is time to let the recruits in on his quest.

Or just some of them. That would be safer.

____________________________________

Annetta invites Connor to share dinner with her, her husband and their two-year old daughter. It turns out Connor likes playing with children. The family and he get along well. It becomes a recurring event.

Candida bothers Connor until he reads Machiavelli’s writings. Ezio thinks she just wants to argue about it with someone other than the writer himself. Finding them fighting about books, or rather finding Candida screaming and Connor waiting until she’s done before saying something that starts the tirade all over again, becomes normal.

Alessandro tries to bring Connor along to a visit at the Rosa in Fiore, which, no, what was he thinking, Ezio shouldn’t have talked to Alessandro about this, just has Connor staring at him, uncomprehending, before he becomes so red he must be burning, backs away from him slowly and starts avoiding him for the foreseeable future.

Zita, because Zita is a lady after his own heart and isn’t above imitation, starts sparring with Connor. This is probably the closest he ever was to a woman. It should be sad, but somehow isn’t. No, Ezio does not understand why either.

Ezio chose no idiot as his recruits. The others catch on, or they heard. Finding new ways to fraternise with Connor turns into the local sport. Ezio saves him from time to time, when all the attention overwhelms him. Together, they lurk into the alleys of Roma and run across its roofs. Sometimes they stop to appreciate the view or to stare at the stars. It reminds Ezio of spending time with Federico, but there is something different about it, something Ezio can’t quite pinpoint. He talks to Connor about him. Connor tells him about England: his mother, his grand-father. His father. Most of the time they end up pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, Ezio with an arm around Connor. Sometimes Connor even initiates it.

Life goes on. When Connor doesn’t give a second glance at Vittorio grabbing his arm and lets him drag him toward his latest inadvisable scheme, Ezio considers his quest accomplished and savors his success.

____________________________________

Luciana is standing in the shadows of the armory, Connor close to her. Ezio, having been the star of such scenes more often than he can remember, can almost hear her words as she confesses her affection to Connor. Alessandro will be pleased; he's the winner of that betting pool.

Ezio might be happy for them if he thought there was any chance of Connor returning her sentiments.

Here. Connor is obviously uneasy and the way he's crossing his arms, creating a barrier between Luciana and himself, speaks volumes about what he says.

Luciana flinches, but nods and leaves quietly. Good.

Wait. What is good in the scene he just witnessed? Luciana is heartbroken and Connor probably is still lonely. Maybe he needs support. Ezio should go meet him, maybe give him another hug.

This makes no sense. Why comfort Connor and not Luciana? She's the one who suffered the most in this ordeal. But, somehow, she’s not the one he wants to be close to.

He's been looking forward to touching Connor, to finding new ways of reaching him. Every day. For weeks, if not months. Feeling Connor finally relax under his hands is the highlight of his day.

He can't quite remember the last time he bedded a woman. It might have been Caterina. Or Fiorina from the Rosa in Fiore. Or Eloisa who lives near the Mercati di Traiano. His memory is faulty.

He does remember the last time he bedded a man, but it was a very long time ago and best forgotten.

How long has he been in love with his apprentice, barely a man compared to him for God's sake, without acknowledging it in any conscious way?

The answer depresses him. Too long. Far too long.

He can't reject him. He can't go to Connor and tell him he must distance himself for both their sakes, thus shattering the slowly built trust, maybe sending Connor back to those days where he dodged all touch or flinched as if a mortal wound has been inflicted. But he can’t continue like this. Now that he is aware of how he feels, he has to be the responsible one, the Maestro, and confront this.

____________________________________

Ezio does not deal with the situation very well, if he says so himself.

Reacquainting himself with the ladies of the Blooming Rose does not really help, even if they all are very charming. His appearances are remarked. Claudia starts throwing questioning glares his way. If he becomes a recurrent guest, she will tell Mother about it. Ezio has no desire to have them both nagging him. He becomes careful.

He can’t help it: he makes himself scarce around Tiber Island. Time mends all things, surely this will be no exception. It is not difficult for him to be busy elsewhere: he is always needed.

He ends up missing everyone, quickly. Hopefully he will get over it just as quickly.

____________________________________

He’s being followed.

Whoever is following him is good, he almost missed them, but not up to his level.

He turns, enters a small alley, passes a building and waits against the wall. He’s confident he can take care of whoever will show.

It’s Connor. He’s been ambushed by his own student, that he did not even recognise. One more reason why he’s a failure as a teacher, he guesses.

“Connor. How nice to see you. What is it? You must have a good reason to stalk innocent people through the streets of Roma.”

If only Connor was easily baited. He just rolls his eyes. “I would not be stalking you if I could talk to you, but you have been avoiding me. What have I done to deserve this?”

Why has Connor chosen now to become perspicacious? “You’re being ridiculous. I have been busy. It is a thing that can happen when one leads an organization at war.”

“You have been omnipresent for months, touching and prodding and teasing whenever you can, then disappear for weeks and expect me to believe it has nothing to do with me?”

Said like that, it sounds really obvious. “Well-”

“Because I thought…” and the rest of the sentence is lost in inaudible mumbles.

“Excuse me? Could you repeat that?”

“I said I thought you had been... courting me. Annetta and Salvatore thought so too. You haven’t spent that much time with any of the others apprentices. It is not that I am not… interested, I just needed some time to get used to the idea, but then you started shunning me. I am sorry, I am not used to such things, so if I did something wrong you must tell me.”

Oh God. What. He has been so obvious that even his student could read him. Do all the recruits know? Is there a betting pool about them too? “Connor, you did nothing wrong. None of this is your fault. It is I who is sorry to have made you feel that way.” A breath. He needs to be honest about this. Connor deserves this much. “It is true, I have been absent by design. I… only understood recently how I feel about you. I am your teacher, much older and more experienced than you. If I chose to pursue this, I would be taking advantage of you. I was trying to wait until it passes, for both our sake.”

Connor is not impressed. “So I am mature enough to kill people and fight for our freedom, but not enough for this. With the lives that are ours, isn’t trying to protect me at this point futile? You don’t get to make those decisions from me. Let me make my own choices, just like I will let you make yours.”

Connor could barely stand to have someone pat him not so long ago. He has no idea what he is demanding. Ezio chooses a course of action. What he is intending probably makes Ezio a bad person, but with time Connor will see he wasn’t ready and he will thank Ezio for it. Maybe in a few years they can talk about it. Until then, it will be a nice memory to cherish.

“Fine, if you are going to be stubborn about this.” He grabs the back of Connor’s head and crushes their lips together. He forces his tongue past Connor’s lips, trying not to dwell on how this might be his first kiss. He kisses with all the passion he’s being struggling to ignore, as if he’s devouring him.

Connor freezes. He’s going to push him off, realises how terrible an idea this is, and that will be the end of this foolish venture.

Except that is not what happens. He’s pushed against the wall and thoroughly ravished, by Connor. Ezio moans into it immediately, presses his whole body against his, coherent thoughts having fled him, fingers twisting in the fabric of Connor’s clothes.

It’s Connor who cuts off the kiss, who detaches himself from Ezio and grins at him triumphantly. “Are you still going to argue with me after this? I feel this is an argument you will lose, Maestro.”

That backfired rather dramatically. Connor is not scared, or troubled, or hesitant. He knows what he wants.

Maybe Ezio is the one who is scared. Time to be courageous, then. “I feel so too. Well. I will agree to try this, us, only if you promise me you will tell me if you ever, and I do mean ever, make you uncomfortable, in any way. Do so without fear. I shall do everything in my power so that there are no consequences for you, either as an Assassin or personally.” He’s already thinking of having Machiavelli assign Connor missions, or maybe Annetta. Someone who is not him.

“I thought I proved I could take care of myself. I do not fear you, I never have, but if it soothes your mind, I swear it.” The unconditional trust is part of the problem. How can he be so trusting after having been betrayed so deeply by his own father?

Ezio will just have to be careful. Connor has never been afraid of speaking his mind. He hopes it will be enough.

Ezio takes Connor’s hand. Such a simple gesture, a new one, Connor’s callused hand in his, warm. “Let it be so, then.” They walk the road back to the hideout, together.

hm, didn't know i myself accept this pairing as i always ship haytham/connor but now i think this pairing will be added to my list :)

thanks for writing it :D

Hey, it's not my OTP either, but new pairings can be fun.

Thank you for commenting!

Hey uhm my name is Sophie and I've been reading your fanfic on the past 23 hours without pause. Im addicted to it and I nearly died crying on the fact that's been a year since you last updated it.
PLEASE, CONTINUE THIS. Its the most beautiful and well written fanfic I've ever read, and you must continue it! The psicological progression of the characters, all the subtle things about Haytham's and Connor's personality are perfect! Its so perfect and real and ended up confusing it with the game. Its never OOC, never not accurate, and I must say that I really really really loved you whole job here!
Its so full of details (especially on the emotional improvement of the characters) that I have the certainty of this to be an awesome good. Dear, you wrote something so beautiful that I cant even explain it right.
I cant described it, the descreptions, the characters (again, that was the most important topic to me), the sceneray, the plot - EVERYTHING IS PERFECT!
Please, dont let this to be forgotten! Continue it! Its been a year, I know its hard to continue old fanfics (Im a ficwriter too - a lazy one -q)but make this little effort and please, PLEASE, continue it!
It would really make my whole life better if you would continue it.
And I love you for creating something so beautiful, I love you and you're a damn of a talented artist! Thanks so much for all that you've alredy wrote, and im sorry for beg you for more like that, but I must!
Greetings and thanks again!
Sophie.

New chapter over at ff.net and ao3!

This will be the last time i will update or check this thread. If you would like to read new chapters or leave a comment, please do so at either ff.net or ao3

At this point, my biggest hope is that no one will see this, but that this was left unfinished just bothered me endlessly. Here’s an ending. I have so many mixed feelings about it.

____________

He's here. Right in front of him. Charles Lee, the murderer of his mother and the new leader of the Templars.

If he was anyone else, Connor might let himself be moved by the too obvious grief the man displays at the idea of his father's death, but this is Lee. He deserves everything he feels right now and more. He's never been this open or this vulnerable before. This is his chance.

Maybe a frontal attack wasn’t the best move. He’s quickly arrested by the guards and brought to Lee. He can’t fight back without endangering the civilians surrounding him, but submitting in front of Lee of all people leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The man is devastated. His first words to the presumed murderer of his… leader? friend? whoever Haytham was to Lee betray how close they were, how much Lee cared. That affection obviously was returned, Haytham’s last act having been protecting Lee. How like Haytham to make sure Connor’s plan be thwarted even if everything goes wrong for him. It’s not like he ever showed such attention to Connor, who’s not envious. At all.

Even when threatening Connor’s loved ones and his life, one can hear how affected Lee is. Maybe too affected. Connor knows quite well how omegas are judged by the alphas around them. Such a display of irrationality will only urge his fellow Templars to overthrow him. He’ll be considered too weak, too emotive. Postponing his death for personal reasons and having him guarded only by a few guards until an undefined moment in the future doesn’t exactly demonstrate well-planned leadership and control.

Not his business. It only makes escape easier.

Finding more clues about Lee’s current location is child’s play with so many of his soldiers spread around, as if they’d been left there for him to find. They lead him to the ship. Now, he only has to wait two days until Lee comes out of hiding once again. The chase goes on.

At least he can console himself with the knowledge that his long-term plan went off without a hitch. With Lee out of hiding and Haytham safely tucked away at the Homestead, things are going his way.

_______

He tried to reach Charles before the end of his own funeral, and how strange witnessing this would have been, but he left the Homestead quite a bit after Connor and had to take care not to be discovered, and thus arrived too late. All his allies have already departed, but Haytham didn’t get where he is today by letting circumstances stop him. He is, or, to be exact, he was the leader of the Order, and he knows Charles better than anyone. It takes him a few hours, but he finds Charles holed up in one of the lesser known outposts of the Order, a small isolated house in the northern part of New York, nursing a bottle of substandard rum.

He’s predictably wrecked. Poor Charles was always too attached to him.

“Charles.”

Charles turns his head in his direction, snorts, and goes back to his bottle.

“Charles !”

“Shut up ! Neither hallucinations nor the dead talk !”

“How glorious ! This must means I’m real and living, doesn’t it !”

Charles blinks. “Haytham ?”

“Yes, that would be me.”

“You’re dead.”

“Obviously not. You’ve been bested, my friend. The Assassin faked my death, but I assure you I’m alive and well.”

Charles rises, stumbles toward him and raises his hand to caress his cheek. His eyes widen as he feels the warmth beneath his fingers. “Haytham.”

Haytham ends up trying to soothe an overwhelmed omega back to his senses. He can’t work with Charles when he’s like this.

Somehow, what should be familiar feels strange, wrong. He’s had Charles’ frame nested against his so many times; done this, or something similar, so often it should be second nature, but today it leaves him uncomfortable. He has to fight the urge to push him off. He shouldn’t be the one here.

Damn it.

Once Charles is pacified, Haytham enquires about the state of the Order and of their plans. Charles assures him everything is going smoothly. The transition of power wasn’t as rough as Haytham feared. It was common knowledge that Haytham had been grooming Charles as his successor. The few that opposed him were apparently dealt with without too much trouble. Reassured, Haytham gently removes himself from the embrace and bids him farewell. Or tries to.

“You’re leaving ?”

“I must.” Why? “Everyone thinks me dead. My reappearance would only cause chaos and discord.” Nothing that couldn’t be controlled. “You can take care of things. I believe in you.” He does. “I’ll contact you again if,” If, not when. “I need to, but I must take care of the problem of the Assassin before he ruins us.“ You. Me.

“Haytham, be reasonable ! He almost killed you ! You were gone for weeks ! Stay. We’ll dispose of him together.”

“Them. The Brotherhood is growing. We have to find out just how wide their reach is before open warfare starts. We can’t afford to risk everything we worked for because of … my son.” my omega. Connor.

“There is no changing your mind, isn’t it ? Never has Master Kenway not go after something he wanted, consequences be damned.” So much bitterness in Charles’ voice; it startles Haytham. Charles takes a deep breath. “I know I can’t change your mind. I never could.” Haytham opens his mouth, but Charles cuts him off. “I won’t even try. Just. Please. Come back safely.”

Haytham rarely finds himself without words, but at the moment, they have all deserted him.

“Goodbye Charles.”

____________________

Next on the list : find Connor. He’ll be looking for Charles, and if Haytham himself isn’t at the head of the Templars, he has to make sure their leader will be safe. Their plans can’t unfold without a Templar at the head of the country.

That shouldn’t be too hard. He has to be in the city still. Haytham just has to follow the pull linking him to Connor, almost undetectable now but getting stronger by the moment as he closes on his son.

It has been a while since they’ve been alone, or at the very least without the interference of Connor’s posse. Despite spending what seemed like an eternity of days in Connor’s territory, they barely saw each others, both preferring solitude while tending to their wound and, quite frankly, neither of them eager to reveal more than necessary to bystanders. They were close enough for their purpose.

Ah, there he is, approaching in the distance. Bruised, battered and soaking wet, Connor has seen better days. It’s no surprise that a scowl mars his face, but then again, when doesn’t it? "So, I take it your search hasn’t being successful ?"

"I highly suggest you do not try me right now. What are you doing here ! If you dared hurt any of my friends, you won’t leave this place alive this time, I swear it."

"As if I even needed to attack those spectacularly inept novices. They probably didn’t even realize I left. But that’s not important right now. Did you manage to find Charles ? You probably did, even you should be able to discover a public funeral. How is he ?" It’s better that Connor doesn’t find out that they already met. Also, antagonizing Connor is always both easy and quite entertaining.

Connor snarls, but answers. He'd hate himself if he grasped just how often he obeys Haytham’s orders without question. "If you rely on him to carry your legacy, you’re out of luck. The man can barely control himself; he’ll never control your beloved Order. One would think he’s the one who just lost his alpha. I’ll be surprised if rumours of just how exactly he got his position aren’t flying everywhere by now."

"Of course there are. He’s an omega in a position of power. Most alphas find such a reason much more plausible than the idea that they’ve been bested by someone they consider inherently inferior. You yourself should know a thing or two about that." Connor doesn’t have to know that those rumours have been around for much longer, or that he was bedding Charles. Haytham isn’t stupid enough to promote someone just because he’s sleeping with them, and so those rumours are meaningless. Haytham only took Charles to bed after he had joined the Order; only after he was sure that Charles wasn’t planning to use him or felt coerced in any ways. He came willingly, and that was all there was to it. ”Where is he ?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know ? After all those hours? How spectacularly inept. This is my fault; I allowed myself to expect something from you.”

“I know where he’ll be in two days.”

“So we have to wait until then. Oh well, it’s not like wasting my time all day will change much to my current routine. Let’s find accommodations.”

Connor doesn’t seem to respond well to his suggestion. Such a sensitive boy. “Just like this ? You appear, having escaped my custody, and expect me to roll over and do as you say ? Maybe you should have stayed in bed; your wits are still addled.”

“Do you have a better plan ? A concrete proposal to make ? God knows I can’t stop you from speaking your mind. You complain and grumble constantly, and yet, you abdicate. When did I force you to do something you didn’t want ? When did I take the ability to make your own choices from you ? Are you so weak-willed that I must take responsibility for your actions ? You can follow me; you can leave; you can attack me right here in the streets. But you can’t blame me for the path you choose.”

Silence is his answer, and after that, it’s to be expected. That is a lot more than he intended to say, and definitively a lot more than Connor needed to hear.

Haytham didn’t realise how Connor’s omnipresent blaming and disapproval weighted on him. This surprises him; Haytham prides himself on knowing his own heart and mind perfectly.

“How nice it must be for you. Not having to deal with those impulses wrecking havoc with your reasoning. Your mind is always your own.”

If only. “You’re an assassin. You decided to become one and so you became one. It is not exactly a typical path for an omega, but you chose it. So did others before you. There are omegas who chose to join the army, or to enter politics. None succeed when they start blaming their failure on their nature. They work with it. So should you.” Haytham can see Connor open his mouth. This will degenerate. Haytham doesn’t think he can handle it right now. “Also, if you need to know, impulses are hard to handle for us too.” These were all the weaknesses Haytham is going to expose tonight. Enough.

Connor chooses now to become perceptive. He understood his admission as what it was. The fight leaves him.

Silence falls between them. It isn’t awkward, just present.

It takes a few steps for Haytham to admit to himself he’s literally dragging Connor toward accommodations by holding his hand, and that Connor allowed it. It was one of those impulses they just fought about, the unconscious need to touch imposed by both their nature and their bond.

It is comforting to feel Connor so close. Their joined hands are so different from every other touch they shared, always violent if not always harmful.

Being here, with Connor, even after they argued, even if they don’t fit, it feels like belonging. It is what’s missing between him and Charles, what’s missing between him and everyone else.

He wishes he didn’t know.

He wishes he hadn’t know.

______________________

If Connor didn’t tell Haytham where Lee was, it was by design. Lee must die, no matter what. Haytham will never approve, but Connor doesn’t require his approval. Assassins are familiar with many drugs, and Haytham forever underestimates him. Slipping him a soporific is child’s play. It’s not enough of an attack for the bond to impede him. He leaves Haytham’s sleeping body in their room and departs for the Green Dragon.

The man is not there, but his lackey is. Finding out where he really is isn’t a hardship. Though, why is Lee leaving the country ? Shouldn’t he stay here, leading the Order ?

Lee’s future plans don’t matter. Dead men don’t have a future.

The fool runs the moment he spots him. Connor doesn’t care. He’s only delaying the inevitable. He pursues him through the city and a burning ship until the scaffolds crumble under them.

Lee recovers before him. He seems better than during the funeral. More settled. “What did you do to him ?”

What. “Who ?”

“Haytham. I know you held him. He’s different.”

That bastard. He went to Lee.

But he didn’t tell him about Connor. “Nothing that will matter to you now.” He shoots. He passes out.

______________________

When he wakes up, Lee is nowhere to be found. He gathers his strength. He follows his trail, all the way to the inn.

He’s exhausted, but Lee is dying. He won.

There is a strange kind of surrender in Lee’s eyes when he passes the bottle, no fight left in him when Connor stabs him and ends his life.

When it’s over, it still doesn’t feel like a victory.

______________________

To say that Haytham is angry when Connor comes back to their room would be too much of an understatement. He’s raging. Connor can tell. Others might not. He looks perfectly in control of himself.

When he speaks, his voice is like marble : smooth and cold. “He’s dead, isn’t he.”

“Yes.”

“Where is he ?”

“I don’t know. Someone probably disposed of his body by now.”

Haytham’s hands curl into fists; loosen; tighten. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Connor will help him with that. “Hit me.”

“Excuse me ?”

“Hit me. I killed him. Left his body to rot. He might not even get a decent burial. Do it.” He’s quite aware that he’s looking for the fight he didn’t get. Aggression is still running through him (it wouldn’t in a good omega). Lee’s death was too anticlimactic. He needs release.

Haytham refuses him, as he always does. “No.”

“Why not ! You cared about him, more than you ever did about me. Are you not going to avenge him ?”

Haytham’s rigid frame slackens and slumps. Something is… wrong. “Why ? He’s dead. You spent your whole life looking for revenge. It led you here, so unsatisfied that you’re already looking for an enemy to replace him.”

That leaves him cold. “I…”

“We don’t have to fight anymore. My ambitions as a Templar are over. You eliminated all my allies. Charles can’t lead this country; Washington will take over. The Templars will continue no matter what, but without me. I lost.”

Connor was prepared for Haytham’s anger, his sadness, his distrust or even his hatred. This total surrender leaves him helpless.

Haytham isn’t done. “You’re also wrong about Charles. I liked him, but I should have cared about him more. It was common knowledge that he desired me to be his alpha. It was less known that we were sleeping together. But I could never be what he wanted me to be. I didn’t need to; he gave me everything while I had to give nothing back. Would that the two of us be this easy.”

Connor moves before he can stop himself. His bondmate is hurt. He was never faced with this before. Haytham never let himself be this vulnerable in front of him. He hugs Haytham, his face buried in his neck. It’s strange. unusual. perfect.

He can’t see them, but Haytham’s hands fumble around his waist before settling, fingers twisting in the fabric.

Connor’s voice rises against his conscious will, softly. “I am also done. My goals have been reached. We will find a way.”

Haytham snorts. “I sincerely doubt it.”

Connor smiles, hidden. Haytham not trusting him is the most normal thing to happen tonight. “Maybe you’re right. We’ll find out.”

Oh, oh, oh. I had to admit i have forgotten about this piece. It's very rare nowadays for haytham/connor fics and i do miss them a lot. I really thank you for you to finish this, anon. Appreaciate it deeply :-)

Alright, I realize this post is way old, but this prompt wouldn't leave me alone. (Not the anon above.) I did write that one night stand, but I'm not sure if it works better at the beginning or on the side (or if the prompter even wanted that part included??), so I'll add it at the end for now and mebbe some of you fine folks can let me know what you think.

Wee bit of angst, as is my wont.

========

Shaun sighed and shifted his balance on the ladder when he realized the room was quieter than it should be and glanced around. He and Rebecca were setting up their new hideout only days before their teammates would join them. Or rather, he was setting things up, running cables to their monitor station and Rebecca was... well, she was supposed to be setting up Lucy's work desk (she'd set up the animus first, naturally) but instead she was sitting at her own computer, reading something that was most definitely not the results of animus tests, as he knew those weren't even finished yet.

"Shaun, do you remember New York?," she asked, and Shaun sighed down at her from his perch on top of the ladder.

"Really? Do I remember New York? That is a question that needs an answer right now?," he asked, dropping his arms to shake them out. The cables didn't fall, so he was just going to assume the fasteners were soundly installed.

"Yeah, you remember that last night?," she continued, but he knew what that sly tone actually meant.

"I know what you're really asking. You mean, do I remember the bartender? The man you practically threw me at because 'A) you might get free drinks, and B) he was the hottest man I'd ever manage to bang so I should definitely try to tap that'?," he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, that's what I meant!," she agreed, without a trace of shame. "It worked, didn't it? We drank free that night and he is the hottest guy you've ever slept with."

Shaun didn't bother hiding his scowl. "And you bring this up because? We're supposed to have this hideout ready by tomorrow, and you," he growled, then paused, because Shaun knew how to connect facts, and the main fact was that Rebecca wouldn't ask without a reason - and if she had a reason, it was connected to the computer she was currently sitting at, the only computer currently connected to the network, which meant... "Oh god, Rebecca, you're not saying...," he trailed off, because he couldn't say it. It was too ridiculous to say.

"I am!," she crowed gleefully. "You managed to bang the boss' son without even knowing it, and he's going to be here in less than two days!"

Shaun felt the blood drain from his face, but couldn't exactly decide what the appropriate reaction would be. He knew Bill had been looking for his son, and somehow, somehow, Shaun had managed to hook up with him in a city of millions of people on a random night, all without knowing? The odds of that were astronomically stacked against such a coincidence. That bartender certainly hadn't given the name 'Desmond', but he didn't think Bill would appreciate that distinction. "You're joking. There's no way, Rebecca, no way," he murmured, scurrying down the ladder and moving to her side at the computer to peer over her shoulder at the files provided about their new project - or more specifically, the person at the center of said project.

He ignored the text of the dossier to peer at the photo of Desmond, and nodded. "No, yeah, that's...definitely him," he said faintly, and Rebecca just threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, I know," she said. "Think he remembers you?," she asked, cocking her head. "I mean, it was over a year ago now, maybe closer to two..," she trailed off.

Shaun shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? Unless he refuses to work with me - and I really, really wouldn't want to have to explain that to Bill," he said, "So, I hope not."

Rebecca gave him an appraising glance. "Do you just have no confidence in your skills or are you just that bad in bed?," she asked, and Shaun growled at her.

"I'm not going to dignify either of those with an answer," he said as primly as he could manage. He'd been a little tipsy, but hadn't been incapacitated, and his memories of the night in question were pretty clear. Neither of them had been bad in bed, not at all, and when Shaun snuck out of his own hotel room early the next morning, it had actually been with a little regret. He hadn't even left a note, of course, just slipped out with Mike - or rather, Desmond, really - still asleep. "Anyways, we'll see what he says - if he doesn't bring it up, maybe he doesn't remember, and no one will say anything about it," he stressed, glaring at her.

Rebecca shrugged. "Sure, if he doesn't bring it up, I certainly won't," she said, but she was still smiling. Shaun knew her better than to think she wouldn't push it just a little bit.

"Good. Now, why don't you finish setting up Lucy's station, instead of being a nosy gossip?" They still had a lot of work to do, after all.

========

The warehouse was set up on time, but only because Shaun was quite experienced at nagging Rebecca into actually getting work done. They'd been working together a long time, and despite appearances to the contrary, they worked well together; they were actually friends, though they both knew it sometimes seemed otherwise. Shaun was nervous about the new arrivals, and Rebecca snapped at him more than once to stop fidgeting and pacing. Whatever happens will happen, she said, like that was actually any help at all.

By the time Lucy pulled into the warehouse, Shaun had mostly pulled himself together. He'd reviewed the Abstergo footage - or some of it, at least - and there was absolutely no doubt that Desmond was the same bartender he'd slept with that night. Same face, same voice, same body... only the name was different, and it wasn't like Shaun couldn't piece out why. He hadn't exactly given his own name, after all.

Soon enough Desmond followed Lucy in, watched the girls' affectionate reunion, and his eyes slid over Shaun quickly, without any sign of recognition whatsoever. That was a little disheartening, actually, because Shaun was certain he didn't look that different at all. Desmond himself looked much the same - that is to say: fit, a little rough, and a lot delicious.

"So, this must be the infamous Subject 17. Desmond Miles, was it?," Shaun asked as he stepped forward, keeping as much snark out of his tone as he could manage. It had been a long time ago, after all, and mabye Desmond had had some drinks, too. So if he didn't remember it, Shaun definitely wasn't going to remind him. He'd say nothing.

Desmond glanced around at the girls, then sent a puzzled glance to Shaun. "Who are you?," he asked, and yep, that sealed it. There was no sly tone, no knowing expression, nothing at all, and you know what? That kind of stung a little. Maybe Desmond did that sort of thing all the time, and Shaun really hadn't been memorable for him at all.

But Shaun was a professional, and he could certainly act like one, so he rushed through introductions, added something about getting to work and time being precious and then fled to his work station. No time like the present to get started, after all.

========

Thing is, Desmond didn't exactly leave him alone. Whenever he wasn't in the animus, he was always pestering Shaun, asking him questions about what he was doing, how'd he become an assassin, what had he done before, what were his interests. Basically, it felt like he was always around, always hovering. Maybe that was just the confined space, because Desmond definitely did hang out with Lucy and/or Rebecca, too, but they were always in the same big room, and he could hear Desmond whenever he spoke to either of the girls.

But despite the constant bothering, Desmond never eyed him with recognition. Never gave him a sly look or a smirk or a hint that he remembered anything about their shared night together at all, and it was maddening, because it was suddenly all Shaun could think about. Rebecca wasn't helping, either - she never brought it up when Desmond was around (or conscious), but she'd said enough that even Lucy had started giving him questioning looks. Looks that Shaun refused to meet, if he could, and studiously ignored if he couldn't.

It certainly didn't help that Desmond proved to be exactly Shaun's type outside of bed, as well. Sarcastic and quick with his remarks with a willingness to listen to Shaun's rants on just about anything? Yes, please. If there weren't so many reasons for him to keep his distance, Shaun would be all up on that in a heartbeat. But there were many reasons for him to keep his distance, and the worst part of it all was, Rebecca knew that, too. But she encouraged him anyways. In fact, she would not shut up about it.

So, Shaun thought about him. Them. That night. He thought about all of those things a lot. He especially thought about that night when he was alone in his room, and all of those reasons seemed so meaningless when the man in question was just down the hall, just as alone, and maybe, maybe...

But Desmond didn't remember him, didn't remember that night, and that was the biggest reason Shaun wasn't going to make that trip down the hall and find out if Desmond maybe anything.

It was Shaun's watch that night, but Shaun was often up late working, so he'd have been up this late anyway. It sort of came with the territory, providing support for teams all over the world. Time zones waited for no man, and all that.

Shaun stretched and stepped away from the computer for a moment, then moved towards the kitchen with his long-empty cup. He refilled the kettle and flicked it on, and leaned on the counter as he scrolled through the latest notifications on his phone. It was a quiet night, which wasn't that unusual, though he expected a disturbance at some point since Desmond's sleep was getting irregular; often interrupted, sometimes loudly so.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and Shaun glanced up to see Desmond, frowning at him thoughtfully. He was wearing only a loose white t-shirt and the soft sleep pants Rebecca had purchsed for him before he'd arrived. Shaun glanced at the kettle, but the water wasn't boiling just yet, and Shaun realized he had no idea how long Desmond had been there. There was the possibility that it wasn't Desmond who was looking at him like that, and he slid his phone into his pocket immediately.

"Did you need something?," he asked, careful not to call Desmond by name - if he was experiencing a bleed, something like that could have unknowable consequences.

Desmond cleared his throat and shook his head, slightly, eyes becoming a little more focused. "Couldn't sleep," he said, and nodded at the kettle. "Tea?"

"Yeah. You ah, want a cup?," he asked. It was hard not to fidget without his phone in his hands, so he reached for a cup before Desmond answered.

"Sure," Desmond murmured, finally stepping into the kitchen. He looked nervous, or maybe just unsettled, and he stopped at their little table, hands resting along the edge. "So, um, can I ask you a question?," he mumbled, sounding more unsure than Shaun had ever heard him before.

"I can't promise an answer," Shaun replied, because there were some things he was absolutely not allowed to discuss with Desmond, and there were some he simply didn't want to, but barring those subjects, he'd probably answer honestly.

"Have you... have you ever been in New York?," Desmond asked, and Shaun turned to look at him so sharply that the answer was obvious without him having to speak. Desmond nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. Like, more than a year ago, wasn't it? In June?," he pressed, and Shaun just sort of stared, because he hadn't expected this at all. He'd thought Desmond had forgotten, had tried to forget it himself.

"I, uh, yeah, a... there was a.. a mission," he stuttered, but Desmond just kept nodding, gaze sharp and body tense.

"Yeah, only you said your name was David," Desmond bit out, and he actually sounded angry, which was baffling.

"Well, since you told me you were Mike, I don't think you actually get to be angry about that. Oddly enough, I think we both lied for the same reasons. Sort of," he said, with a shrug. "So what do you want?"

"What do I want?," Desmond asked, as if the question made no sense. "What do I want? Shaun, why didn't you say anything?"

"What does it matter? You didn't say anything! Hell, I thought you'd forgotten, I mean, don't you... you know?," he asked, making some sort of nebulous gesture at Desmond's person that apparently infuriated the man.

"Don't I what, Shaun?," Desmond demanded, releasing the table to stalk around to Shaun. He stopped only a few feet away.

"Don't you do that sort of thing often? I mean, you went along so quickly, I just assumed...," he trailed off, but he faltered, because Desmond was only getting angrier.

"You assumed? What, you think I'm some sort of slut?," he all but shouted, and Shaun held his hands up, because as awful as this was, he absolutely did not want to have witnesses. Desmond apparently agreed, however, because his next words came out in a harsh whisper. "What, like I slept with a new person every night? Fuck you, Shaun!"

Shaun almost laughed, inappropriate as it was, because his brain immediately supplied the response of you already have. "Look, how was I to know? I mean, I don't know, it's New York, and you're, y'know," he gestured again, because Desmond had to know he was hot and Shaun didn't want to have to say it, "And it was... I mean...," he trailed off, because telling Desmond that it had been easy seemed like a bad move.

Desmond, however, had no intentions of letting Shaun off the hook. "It was what?," he demanded, and Shaun sighed.

"It was easy, okay?," he asked, and yeah, that sounded a lot worse when he said it out loud, and it had already sounded bad in his head. Desmond looked like he was ready to shift to a whole new level of offended, so Shaun moved quickly to explain. "I don't mean it like that, I just mean, you know, it's usually not. For me. To have someone, ah, interested," he explained, and Shaun could feel the tips of his ears heating up, knew the rest of his face would soon follow.

Desmond just stared at him for a long time, long after Shaun had broke the gaze because he already felt awful about his assumption now, despite the fact that it had seemed to make the most sense only a few moments before. Desmond relaxed after a moment, though, and laughed quietly. "Yeah,I can see why you'd think that," he said. Shaun wanted to bristle, to defend himself, but that didn't feel quite right here.

"Look, I... y'know, I'm sorry. It was... I don't usually do that sort of thing, and it was mostly Rebecca's idea, and I'm still shocked that it worked." He glanced up at Desmond; most of the anger seemed to have drained from him. "Why... why didn't you say anything? Before?," he asked, and Desmond sighed.

"You were, y'know, a little... you weren't as sober as I knew you should have been. I felt like maybe I took advantage, and if you didn't remember it, I wasn't going to call you out in front of the girls," he said, and Shaun frowned. Suddenly, Desmond's anger made sense, because Shaun hadn't been one hundred percent sober, sure, but he hadn't been incapacitated.

"You didn't take advantage," he murmured. "Desmond, even if I'd never have gone for it on my own, I.. I definitely wanted to." Shaun flushed even further, and he wasn't going to remind Desmond of how eager he'd been once they were in his hotel room. It wasn't that he was embarrassed or regretful, just that he'd been really enthusiastic, and okay, maybe that was a little embarrassing, now. He'd been tipsy enough to be shameless with a total stranger, and he'd really, really liked it.

But Desmond smiled, slow and sincere. "Really? Why wouldn't you have? Gone for it, I mean. I was certain I'd been pretty obvious all night," he murmured, stepping closer, and Shaun swallowed.

"What?," he croaked, because this sudden turn made no sense to him. He couldn't parse Desmond's sly grin, his inviting expression.

"The drinks, the come-ons, the attention I made sure to pay you. Obvious. If you'd been paying attention, that is," he said, and Shaun frowned again, because maybe, yeah, okay, looking back he could kind of see it, but at the time, he'd laughed when Rebecca had said the same thing that very night.

"You...so you do...," he trailed off, because he couldn't finish that sentence. Desmond clearly remembered, after all, but the other option, to suggest that he was still interested seemed presumptuous, despite current evidence to the contrary.

"Yes, Shaun, I do," Desmond replied, stepping that last bit closer. "So, I guess I have an offer of my own. We could do again, probably more than once, if you're still interested." Shaun made a choked sort of noise, because Desmond was practically flush against him at this point, and yes, Shaun was still interested. Definitely still interested. "Or, we can keep pretending it didn't happen. You didn't come to New York, I didn't buy your drinks, we didn't go to your hotel room," he whispered, voice dropping as he leaned closer, lips all but brushing Shaun's ear, "You didn't suck me off against the door and I didn't fuck you through your mattress," he breathed, and Shaun actually whimpered at that, shuddering slightly as every ounce of blood in his body rushed south. Desmond pulled back suddenly, all that lean warmth sudddenly gone, and he smiled like he hadn't just sent Shaun's pulse skyrocketing with only a few words and the press of his body. "Didn't happen," Desmond said, spreading his arms. "But I'm just saying, if you want it to, you know where to find me." Desmond grinned then, all confident invitation, and sauntered out of the kitchen, towards the room that held his bed. Which... was the animus room, and that meant if they did do this, there'd be no hiding it. No forgetting or pretending.

Shaun didn't even hesitate.

Wow, that last paragraph is all kinds of hot. Yeah. I'm interested in seeing what happened during that one night stand if you're inclined to post it after this part is finished.

Man, I should never post things when they're not finished yet. I had to do some re-writing and now it DEFINITELY makes more sense if you read about that first night first. UGH. Well, I'll post this last part anyways, and then the prequel a little bit later, I guess. WHOOPS!

========

Shaun caught up to Desmond before the man had made it halfway to his bed in the big room. "Wait," he said, and Desmond stopped and turned to him with one eyebrow raised. Shaun stopped a few feet from him and just stared at him a moment. "I don't," he began, then shook his head. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen," he said firmly. Desmond stepped closer to him, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips and Shaun flushed a little, because he might have fixated on them a bit, back then and now. "I want," he said, and stopped there, because it said everything, didn't it? "I want," he repeated and the smile appeared fully on Desmond's face at that.

"You do, hmmm?," Desmond asked, placing his hands on Shaun's hips and waiting. He didn't pull Shaun closer, like Shaun had expected. "What exactly do you want?," he murmured. "I like it best when you tell me," Desmond admitted with a wicked grin, and Shaun sucked in a breath because he definitely remembered that. He'd remembered that a lot lately.

"I want your mouth," Shaun replied, a little shakier than he meant. "I want you on your knees, your mouth stretched around my cock," he added, just in case Desmond hadn't gotten the picture. Desmond's eyes widened, like maybe he was surprised Shaun went with it, but he shivered slightly, too, hands gripping Shaun's hips a little tighter.

"Yeah, I can do that," Desmond breathed, pupils wide and dark - honestly, he looked a little dazed. "One thing," he murmured, grinning, and Shaun laughed because he knew what came next. Desmond pulled him close and leaned in and kissed him. It was different from before, a little slower at first, a little sweeter, but before long it was just as hungry, just as needy. Shaun's hands were in Desmond's hair, on his shoulders, restless and eager to touch as much as he could. He pulled away, though, because he did need to breathe, and he was worked up, and he really wanted Desmond to follow through on that promise he'd made. So he smirked and moved towards Desmond's bed, where he sat on the edge and spread his legs and leaned back with one brow raised.

Desmond only grinned. "Yeah," he said, though Shaun hadn't said anything. He placed his hands on Shaun's thighs as he sank to his knees and nuzzled at the prominent bulge in Shaun's trousers. Shaun choked back a noise, because he hadn't expected that. Desmond closed his eyes and mouthed at Shaun's dick through the fabric of his slacks. It was the most wanton thing Shaun had ever seen, and he couldn't help but shudder. One of his hands moved to Desmond's head, using the barest amount of pressure to pull him closer. Desmond only moaned softly, laved his tongue over the material as if he simply couldn't wait to taste.

"C'mon, Desmond, pull me out," he breathed, and Desmond did, pulled back enough to unzip Shaun's trousers and ease his cock out of his pants with gentle, reverent movements. Shaun let out a content sigh, watched avidly as Desmond leaned in and mouthed at his cock directly. Shaun had expected licks at first, but no, Desmond just used his lips, dragging them up and down the hot flesh of Shaun's dick like it was doing things for him. It certainly did things for Shaun, precome beading at the tip of his prick and dripping down when there was enough, only for Desmond to catch it with his mouth and smear it along the shaft until he was slick and shiny and mad with desire. "That's good, Desmond, so good. Go on, now, use your mouth proper. Take me in," he ordered, and Desmond shivered, one hand dropped to his lap as he followed Shaun's direction.

Desmond opened his mouth and lowered it over Shaun's prick, tongue sliding over him eagerly, like he'd just been waiting for permission to taste like this. Shaun's hand was still on Desmond's head, and he urged Desmond to take more, more, until Desmond's lips were at the base - he'd taken all of Shaun without the slightest complaint, those generous lips stretched well about the base of his shaft and Shaun just held him there for a moment. Desmond closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, and his shoulder moved slowly, massaging himself through his jeans.

Shaun suddered. "So good, Desmond," he murmured, then remembered. "Such a good boy," he said again, and that earned him a shudder from Desmond, a soft moan that vibrated against the prick in his mouth, and Shaun gasped and urged Desmond back. "Not gonna last long," he panted, feeling suddenly out of breath. "Go on, make me come. Use only your mouth," he breathed, shifting his hips forward and his legs further apart to give Desmond a bit more room. "Keep touching yourself, but through your jeans," he urged, as Desmond bobbed his head, slurped and swallowed around his prick like he needed it to live.

"I want you to come like that, in your pants," he breathed. "Want you to feel as crazy as I did, fuck, Desmond," he gasped, hand still on Desmond's head, gripping his hair tighter. "God, I'm gonna come in your mouth, make you swallow all of it. Now, Desmond!," he gasped again, and he moved his hips, too, and Desmond was moaning helplessly, sucking and slurping as best he could, but he was a mess of drool and precome and he didn't even hesitate at all. Shaun thrust into that mouth as he came, held Desmond down for the first few spurts, but eased him back after, finished on Desmond's lips and chin. He was panting like he'd run a marathon, still shuddering with the aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm, and Desmond just laid his head on Shaun's thigh - just as out of breath, a wet stain starting to spread on his jeans.

"Fuck," Shaun breathed, because that was so much like their last night together had been - only their positions had been reversed - and it was just as hot from this end, really. He ran his fingers through Desmond's hair idly until he'd caught his breath, and glanced down only to find Desmond looking up at him, smiling softly with half-lidded eyes.

"I did," he breathed, and god, he sounded so rough, and Shaun did that. The thought made Shaun shudder a little, lick his lips. "You make me feel crazy," Desmond clarified, and Shaun huffed out a laugh.

"I can see that. Jesus, that was... intense," he murmured. "I didn't think you'd actually...," he gestured at Desmond's groin, and Desmond shrugged, but the smile didn't leave his face.

"Yeah, well. You told me to," he murmured, and that smile turned into a smirk. "And just like I said: I like it when you tell me."

Shaun shuddered slightly. "You're a menace," he breathed, but he knew he was smiling, too. His hand moved from Desmond's hair to his face, brushing over his cheekbones to his slightly swollen lips. Desmond closed his eyes and Shaun sort of smeared the come on his face towards his mouth, and Desmond licked his fingers clean, humming softly at each swipe of his tongue. "Christ, what you do to me," Shaun murmured, and Desmond smirked up at him, eyes open again and full of mirth.

"We kind of switched places," he said, shifting to give the bed a significant look, raising one eyebrow at Shaun. Shaun had noticed, of course he had, and he'd love nothing more than to finish that previous night's events like this, but he shook his head.

"We did, but... I don't have supplies, Desmond. I didn't... I didn't think you remembered, and I certainly didn't plan on this. I'll do the next supply run," he said. "Normally, that would be a week or so away, unless you can think of a compelling reason to convince the girls to let me go sooner," he added, and Desmond grinned.

"They're not cruel, you know. We could just tell them," he said, finally pushing himself to his feet. He stripped off his shirt and sat beside Shaun on the bed to pull off his shoes and then his socks. Shaun took the opportunity to tuck himself away, though he was far from presentable. "I don't... Shaun, look, I don't know where all this is going, but I don't... I don't want it to be a secret, I don't wanna have to hide it and snatch moments only when we can, alright? I want more than that, and I know we haven't exactly known each other long, it's just..," he sighed, shaking his head and for a moment he just looked so defeated.

Shaun reached out, hand touching Desmond's shoulder, and he was surprised when Desmond leaned into the touch. "Yeah, I get it," he said. "I... truth be told, I'd be terrible at hiding it, and Rebecca knows anyways. I'm certain Lucy suspects something, so I'm saying we don't. Have to hide it, I mean," he offered, face more than a little warm. "I followed you in here knowing that it... it wasn't just one time, if you didn't want it to be."

Desmond turned to look at him, expression so full of hope it almost hurt to look at him. Shaun didn't look away, and he was glad he didn't, because Desmond gave him this almost bashful smile, like nothing Shaun had ever seen on him before. "Yeah, I don't want it to be. Stay here tonight," he offered, and Shaun nodded. He had his own room, but they had cameras all over this room to track Desmond in case of bleeds - it would be irresponsible to ignore that risk, to not take that precaution.

"Oh, I'd planned on it," Shaun replied, as arrogantly as possible, but Desmond only grinned at him before sliding his hand behind Shaun's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Shaun didn't even hesitate, groaned softly at the taste of himself on Desmond's lips, in his mouth. But he pulled back before it got too heated. "I'd planned on sleeping, Desmond," he chided, or tried to, but he was a little out of breath, and the effect might have been ruined. "Now, I'm going to get changed. You should clean up and do the same," he murmured, and stood. Desmond grinned, and sauntered over to his little bathroom and Shaun followed his own orders and brushed his teeth and changed into his sleep pants and loose t-shirt before wandering back into the main room, checking his phone for anything he needed to respond to immediately. There wasn't anything urgent, so he set his alarm (and his backup) and double-checked his notification settings.

By the time he was back by Desmond's bed, the man in question was laid out and watching Shaun curiously. Shaun laid his phone on the bed by the pillow, and slid between the sheets easily enough, though it took a few minutes for the both of them to shift until they were comfortable, in almost the same position they'd slept in last time - Desmond curled against Shaun's back, one arm thrown over his side, hand brushing over his stomach, slowly. It took less time than usual for Shaun to relax, for his mind to slow down and ease him into sleep. He was almost there when he heard Desmond's soft chuckle.

"You know, I still don't have your number," he murmured, and Shaun couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped him.

"Desmond, you don't even have a phone, shut up. Go to sleep," he ordered, and Desmond huffed at him in return, but he settled a bit further, breaths evening out only moments later. Shaun wasn't far behind.

========

In the morning, it wasn't even Shaun's alarm that woke them, it was Rebecca's yelling - Shaun hadn't turned off the kettle the night before, and it had burned itself out over the night and wouldn't turn on.

Of course, when she found him in the animus room instead of his own room, there was more yelling, but it was more of the 'congratulations' and 'I told you so' kind.

Shaun was still 'forced' to make a supply run later that morning.

No one objected when he said he needed Desmond along to help.

It's interesting learning about the one night stand before it's actually posted through the hints dropped in the last part. Hot ending here though. And there is at least one anon looking forward to the prequel when you can manage it. ;)

Desmond barely has to do any work to keep the synchronization up. Something about being in a coma makes any conscious choice from him nearly impossible while the Animus program is being run. He's tried, many times, and it's only when the Animus is in standby that Desmond can move around freely. The loading screen, unmonitored as far as he can tell, is easy to manipulate on his own and builds the worlds he wants with ease. The second a memory is actually loaded up it all disappears, and then Desmond is just along for the ride as someone else moves what he still thinks should be his body.

An oddity going by what he's learned from the audio clips that have started showing up more frequently since he's been moved from Altair's life to Ezio's. Subject 16's voice is familiar by now as he rambles on about the things he saw. It's half story time with the insane man, and half disturbing horror movie moments when the pre-recorded ramblings actually seem to answer him when he can't help but speak up.

It's a bit worrying that 16's starting to make more and more sense the longer Desmond is locked into the Animus. He's read up on the Bleeding Effect through the database in the long stretches of time between memories he's being given now that he's out of Abstergo's obvious hold.

He'd tried so hard to wake up during that rescue. Tried to open his eyes, move a finger, do something when he was finally disconnected from the Animus and his body hauled away under a hail of bullets. Lucy's fingers digging hard into his left arm with each scream. Not letting up even as he was shoved into some vehicle that squealed as it sped away. He could almost feel her eyes fix on him, hear her breath evening with relief the longer he couldn't wake up.

That stretch of time was the worst thing he's gone through yet. Desmond had been stuck in his head for the entirety of it. A world of darkness with the sound of the world the only thing he could cling to. The hum of an engine, the crunch of tires, and the too low murmur of people talking. No one offering up any information to him once Lucy moved away. It might have been days, or maybe hours. Desmond's grasp of time was nonexistent without the desktop of the Animus to keep him grounded. He lost track of transfers and how many people were around him before they appeared to have reached their destination.

Getting back into the Animus had been a relief. Grounding him into an interface that was new but familiar all the same. Rebecca's voice had been proud as she explained her Baby to Lucy over the snarky interruptions of Shaun. Two new people that Desmond has grown to know as he's pushed through Ezio's life at a slow pace that's almost maddening after the rapid fire of Altair's life. He'd protest, but the new machine isn't any better than the old at allowing him to reach out.

It's obvious no one realizes exactly how much of the real world he's aware of. If they were, they'd never say the things they say to him.

Lucy talks to him daily. Before the others have finished breakfast and after they've retired for the night. Staying with his body past midnight some days just to talk. Desmond's not sure how he feels about that though. He knows she was sent in as a double agent, and that she went native on the Assassins. He's not really surprised by that, Lucy had explained herself once when Vidic was taking a long time coming back from some meeting. The kind of isolation she'd been put in must have sounded good on paper, but it's obvious to him that if you don't give someone something to hold onto they'll go looking for something better.

And for Lucy, that something had been Vidic who was proud of her and praised her. Treated her like a human being, and Desmond knows all too well how very much people will do for that kind of treatment.

She doesn't talk to him about Abstergo or the Templars anymore, not willing to risk being found out perhaps, but she still keeps him updated on the events in the world. The big things and little things. It's a lifeline as much now as it was the first three times she ran him through Altair's memories in one long, uninterrupted session that nearly made him beg for death to the white screen that wouldn't understand the command. Vidic's insistence they make sure they missed nothing waring with her cautious reminders of Desmond's health. Reminders that she never really tried to insist on too firmly.

Lucy tells him about the things they're going to try to bring him out of his coma, but Desmond doesn't bother hoping they'll work. Lucy put him down, and she's not very likely to let him come back up before Vidic's goons can track them down. She can bring him out any time she wants to really. It's just easier to manipulate an unconscious subject. Desmond forces himself to remember that even as Lucy talks about breakfast over the clicking of keys as she sets up the first session of the morning. She cares about him, he can hear that in her voice, but it really doesn't mean much when she's not going to do a damn thing to help him.

He's seen some of the fragmented files left by 16. He's read the email she left for him. Apologizing even as she told him she couldn't let him live. Desmond doesn't think saying sorry really comforted him much when he opened up his veins in the cell Desmond never got to see.

"Someone's been eating all of my yoghurt," Lucy says and the bar he'd been lounging around in fades as the loading screen reasserts itself around him. The countdown for the memory starting up slowly. "I think it's Rebecca."

It's Shaun, actually. The man is a restless sleeper and often comes in to the room Desmond is in to work at odd hours. He rarely says what he's actually doing, but he is oddly proud to share his exploits in yoghurt theft with him. It fits with what he's learned of the man from the database he keeps updated, despite the fact that Desmond's pretty sure none of them think he uses it. Which might be why some of the database entries read more like personal reminders than an actual guide to help him navigate the memories he has no control over.

"We good to go?" Rebecca's voice echoes oddly before he can hear the scuff of her shoes. Cool fingers wrap around his wrist. She's the only one who touches him. It's a bit distant, like he's feeling it through three or four layers of clothing. It fades if he doesn't pay attention to it. Like the feeling of the cushioned surface he's on, the scratch of his clothing, and the prick of the needle in his arm that's never removed.

He focuses on Rebecca's fingers as they go through the usual routine. Checking whatever it is they need to check as the loading screen morphs around Desmond. Stone streets pebbling up and code spiraling up into buildings. Italy growing around him as he slowly spins to take it all in. Listening to the others murmur around him and not looking at his hand so that he can pretend they're right behind him. That Rebecca is holding his hand and seeing this too. That Lucy is pacing back and forth on the street while Shaun complains about the lack of butter.

It's almost enough to make it bearable when the memory loads and his control is yanked away from him. When he sinks beneath Ezio and his quest for vengeance.

Alright, here's the actual night in question.

========

"Shaun, did that bartender just give you another free drink?," Rebecca asked, laughing, her own drink nearly empty. Shaun knew she'd ask him to get her a freebie, too - he could tell by the glint in her eye. Or the conspiratorial grin. Or maybe because she followed it up with, "D'ya think he'd give me one? Maybe you should ask," she suggested, like she thought she was being subtle.

"I'm not asking him to give you free drinks," Shaun replied, like he was above that kind of thing, but they both knew he'd cave if Rebecca pushed hard enough. He glanced at the bartender in question - tall, dark and handsome certainly fit the bill there. He looked fit, a bit rough, and absolutely delicious. So of course Shaun wasn't going to do anything about it at all.

Rebecca leaned into him. "C'mon, Shaun, live a little! It's our last night in New York - so what if you have to sneak out of your own room? You've done it before," she added, and Shaun groaned, because she wasn't exactly wrong. But this mission had been a clusterfuck, and Shaun had honestly just looked forward to a few drinks and maybe some dancing to let out his pent-up aggression, and then sleeping it off on the plane. Inviting the bartender back to his room - no matter how hot - was not part of his plan.

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsment." Shaun arched a brow, and Rebecca shrugged, shameless. She'd been dancing off and on with a really built guy and his stunningly hot girlfriend, and they kept glancing back at her. His usual arrangement with Rebecca on these missions was that only one of them would 'get lucky' on their last night in town - no sense in both of them taking the same risks, after all. The other would sober up and make sure they both left on time and didn't forget anything important.

"Pffft, look at you! We both know you need to relax, and we both know he can do it. So go over there, talk to the man, and get me free drinks! While you're at it, you should get yourself his dick if you can," she added, slurping the last of her drink before heading to the dance floor again, right into the arms of the disturbingly good-looking couple who welcomed her back eagerly.

Shaun waited, though. He finished some of his drink, danced a bit, and only approached the bar when his drink was empty. Hot Bartender was there immediately, generous lips shaped around a very friendly grin. "Another?," he asked, reaching for a glass.

"Actually, my friend's a bit jealous," Shaun replied with a grin. "Told me I should let you know you're being amazingly unfair. She wants free drinks, too, and is willing to pimp me out to get them."

Hot Bartender laughed at that, and gestured to the dancefloor, right at Rebecca who was writhing between the same couple as before."That your friend?," he asked. All three of them had become very generous with their hands, so Shaun nodded and turned back to meet Hot Bartender's gaze. "Yeah, she looks like she's having a horrible time. Definitely needs free drinks to make up for it, but I can't just comp things left and right. Willing to pimp you out, you say?," he asked, and there seemed to be genuine interest there. Shaun laughed because it really couldn't be that easy, could it?

"Yes, apparently so," Shaun said. "I'm certain we could come to some sort of agreement on fair terms, though we'll have to start with your name, because I really can't enter into an agreement with someone I'm calling Hot Bartender," he offered, and the man in question laughed again, easy as before.

"Mike," was the immediate reply, and a hand offered, which Shaun took. Mike's grip was firm and secure, and he didn't let go immediately. "And yours?," he asked.

"David," Shaun replied, because of course he didn't go around giving his random hook ups his real name. He'd be gone in the morning, and it wouldn't ever matter. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last. But Mike smiled and nodded, and only then released his hand.

"Well, David, tell you what, the drinks are on me, no repayment necessary. But if you're feeling grateful, we could meet up later, maybe you could buy me dinner?," he asked. Shaun's eyes widened, because that sounded an awful lot like a date, and that was both impossible and impossible.

"I, uh, actually, we're.. this is our last night in New York," he said with genuine regret. Mike's grin faltered a little, so Shaun forged on. "I was thinking something a little more along the lines of instant gratification," he said, eyes never leaving Mike's. "I've got a room and a bed and a sincere desire to show my gratitude," he added, licking his lips.

Mike's eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up, and he nodded. "Alright, yeah. Shift's over in two," he replied. "If you can wait that long, I'll make it worth your while," he promised, and Shaun grinned.

"It's a deal," he said, and both his and Rebecca's drinks were suddenly on the counter, like Mike had been making them as they talked. Like he'd been sincere about the whole thing. Mike met his gaze and nodded once before turning to a customer who had been waiting, and Shaun wandered back to the table he shared with Rebecca. He didn't even need to get her attention, because she saw him with her drink and returned to the table quickly, a knowing grin creasing her face.

"You dog, you; look at you go! So? You goin' to your room alone tonight?," she asked, and Shaun actually flushed a little now, so long after the fact.

"No, looks like I won't. You sure you wanna miss out on those two?," he asked, gesturing to the couple grinding against each other again.

Rebecca laughed, shameless, draining almost half of her drink before setting it back down. "Eh, I think they'll be fine," she said, grin immediate and easy. She was usually the one getting 'lucky' on their last nights, so he knew she wouldn't begrudge him tonight's indulgence at all.

"Wish me luck, then," he said, waggling his brows at her because they both already knew he didn't need it.

She grinned even wider somehow and punched his shoulder lightly. "Good luck, buddy!," she offered, flouncing back to her paramours and inserting herself between them seamlessly, and Shaun rolled his eyes and glanced over at the bar, where Mike had apparently been watching him. Shaun raised his glass and Mike grinned, and that was that.

Shaun didn't order any more drinks for either of them, despite Mike's generous offer, and Rebecca checked in with him before she left - alone, and not before giving him a wink and a nudge. Shaun moved to the dance floor to kill time and work himself up - sometimes he danced alone, sometimes with other people, but he kept moving. He wasn't really aware of the passage of time, but it didn't seem that long before there was a solid body behind him, followed by strong hands on his hips, and before he could turn and berate the stranger for being so familiar, there were lips against his ear and Mike's voice asking if he was ready to go.

Shaun was more than ready, and Mike turned him around, pressed against him and stared down at him for a moment. "One thing," he said, and he pressed in, lips against Shaun's, and Shaun parted them immediately. Mike kissed like he was starving for it, and Shaun felt much the same, pulled Mike close and licked into his mouth like he was entitled to it. But Mike pulled back then, despite Shaun's protest. "Nope, that was a test. We're good, let's go," he said, and grabbed Shaun by the hand and pulled him off the dance floor, out of the bar, and into a waiting cab where Shaun gave directions to his hotel. That was all he managed to say, before Mike was pressing against him in the back seat, lips grazing over his jaw, his neck, murmuring delicious little promises that Shaun was definitely going to hold him to, once they were behind closed doors.

In what felt like no time at all, the cabbie was clearing his throat and Shaun actually pushed Mike away, long enough to count the bills he handed to the driver. Mike scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the atmosphere had calmed a little, so they could actually walk into the hotel like normal adults and not crazy people. The elevator ride was quiet and tense, but the good kind, with the two of them just looking at each other, hands at their sides, desire so thick in the air Shaun could practically see it. Mike followed him to his room and waited patiently while Shaun unlocked and opened the door, but inside, it was Shaun who moved, who pressed Mike back into the door and kissed him fiercely. Mike went willingly enough, but his hands weren't passive, grabbing at Shaun and pulling him close, mussing his hair and gripping his ass. They rutted against each other like that for a moment before Shaun pulled back, one hand on Mike's chest to prevent him from following.

"Christ, you're hot," he panted, dragging his eyes up Mike's form. "I'm going to show you my gratitude right here," he breathed, dropping down to his knees in front of Mike and attacking his zip desperately. "I need to have you in my mouth, god, I've thought of nothing else all night," he babbled, and Mike groaned, dropping his head back against the door as his hand combed through Shaun's hair.

"Fuck, David, you can't just say things like that," he breathed, gasping as Shaun's fingers gripped his cock gently and drew him out of his boxers. "Fuck, you like that," he breathed, because Shaun did like that, he loved cock, and Mike's was perfect: uncut and growing as Shaun stroked him, became hotter and thicker in his hand. Shaun licked his lips, breath ghosting over that hot flesh on purpose, and Mike moaned again. "Yeah, c'mon, suck it, take it, please," he begged.

Shaun thought about teasing, about taking his time, but they didn't really have time - it was already late, his flight was early, and he wanted to do so much to this man. Wanted Mike to do all sorts of things to him. So he took that gorgeous prick into his mouth without any preamble, sucking it down to nearly the base and pulling back just as easily. God, he loved this, the weight of a cock, the tangy-salt taste on the back of his tongue, the way he could reduce a man to whimpers and desperation with only his mouth alone. Mike's hands tightened in his hair and he could feel the man restraining himself, fighting not to thrust, and Shaun reached for his hips, pulled him forward because he could take it. Wanted to take it.

"Fuck," Mike swore, already moving his hips, but gently at first. He was looking down at Shaun with the sort of reverence nearly all men had for this kind of act, lust-glazed and a little posessive. "Yeah, like that, god, look so good like that," he growled, and Shaun groaned around the hot flesh spearing past his lips. "So greedy for it, you want all of it, don't you?," Mike continued, eyes going a little sharp and Shaun shivered slightly as another moan escaped him. "You want me to give it to you," he said a little more slowly, considering, and his hand cradled Shaun's head as his hips moved. He kept Shaun still as he fed him his cock, and Shaun groaned helplessly. He knew he looked a mess, saliva and precome drooling out of his mouth, hair rucked up from Mike's fingers, but he loved this, knew he could come from this alone.

Shaun's hips were moving slightly, seeking any kind of friction, though he hadn't so much as unzipped his pants yet. Mike shifted one leg between Shaun's, moving it slightly until Shaun took over, rutting against his leg almost mindlessly. It was too much sensation; the cock sliding past his lips, over his tongue, into his throat; the firm pressure of Mike's leg, the sure grip of his fingers on Shaun's head. Shaun moaned again, had to close his eyes, because just seeing the lust in Mike's was almost enough to send him over.

Mike's hips stuttered for a moment. "God, you're going to come like that, aren't you? Gonna come in your pants from getting your mouth fucked," he growled, and he jerked into motion again, his thrusts shorter, but harder, and Shaun shuddered, groaning almost constantly now, when he could. "Fuck, yeah, take it, David. Gonna come in your mouth, gonna make you swallow it all," he breathed, and he did, he pushed his cock deep again as it swelled and shot come into Shaun's throat, forcing him to swallow. Shaun whined a little, and Mike pulled back, let the rest of his come spurt onto Shaun's tongue instead - which was all the catalyst Shaun needed, and he gave one last thrust againt Mike's leg before he shuddered and came in his pants like some hormone-riddled teenager. Mike was sagging back against the door when he slipped out of Shaun's mouth, and Shaun swallowed the come that had accumulated there, licking his lips one last time. He knew he had a blissed-out smile on his face, and when he glanced up at Mike, he saw an almost identical expression mirrored back at him. "Fuck, that was... oh my god, did you...did you actually come like that?," he asked. He didn't sound judgemental - rather, he sounded impressed and eager, like it was the hottest thing he could imagine, and Shaun flushed slightly.

"Yep. So now I need to get out of these disgusting clothes," he said, managing to stand easily enough, and Mike grinned.

"I'll help, seeing as I helped you dirty them up," he purred, following Shaun into the room and stripped off his own shirt, tossed it somewhere into the room.

Shaun just grinned and shook his head. "No, you see about stripping yourself. Give me a show, put that gorgeous body to use," he snapped, pulling his vest over his head and working on the buttons of his shirt.

Mike only raised one eyebrow at him before grinning and letting his hands run down his neck, down his chest and over his flat stomach. He was fit, but not really cut, just lean and lightly muscled. He certainly knew how to work it to his appeal, though, as he started to sway his hips, fingers toying with the button on his slacks. Shaun flicked his eyes back up to Mike's face, and it was obvious the man was amused by Shaun's equally obvious interest, but Shaun was not sober enough to feel any shame about it at all. Shaun slipped off his shoes and socks as Mike turned for a moment. He'd shucked everything else by the time Mike was facing him again, and apparently Mike hadn't expected that. He stopped his teasing dance, and frowned.

"Hey, you beat me," he said, and tugged at his zipper like it had offended him before shoving his pants down - not that they made it far, because he hadn't yet removed his shoes at all.

Shaun had to laugh as Mike hobbled the short distance to the bed and struggled out of his clothing. Shaun sauntered over and laid himself out, let his hands play over his own body, because it felt good and also because Mike was staring at him intensely, only one leg free of his slacks. Shaun let one hand drift down to his prick; it was half-hard again already, so he stroked it slowly, tugged at his balls gently. "Best hurry, or I'll start without you. Might not even let you catch up," he murmured. It seemed less than a second that Mike was fully naked and half atop him and kissing him fiercely.

Mike had nice hands - Shaun had definitely noticed while he'd been mixing their drinks - and now those hands were sliding up and down his torso, nails digging slightly into his skin on the upstrokes. He touched like he kissed; greedy, hungry, like he couldn't get enough, and it drove Shaun absolutely insane with lust, made him arch up into those touches, lick back into the mouth against his own, reach to touch that body right back. It wasn't long at all before he was fully hard again, and he pushed at Mike a bit, though he had problems with actually managing to stop kissing him. "Fuck, fuck, Mike, I need your fingers in me. I need them in me now," he breathed, and Mike just stared down at him for a moment, like he was faced with some terrible decision. "What is it? Why aren't you already stretching me?," Shaun demanded.

"Damn, David, just...you can't say things like that," Mike breathed, leaning in for one last, harsh kiss before pulling back. "Where's your lube? Condoms? God, I want inside you yesterday," he said nonsensically, already looking around like Shaun would just have those supplies in the open.

"Ah, hold on," Shaun said, because they were in his bags, which were of course already packed. It proved his story, of course, that they were leaving tomorrow, and it wasn't like his supplies were hard to find. He approached the bed only a few moments later, but Mike pulled him in, twisted them both and pushed Shaun back into the bed before kissing him again. Shaun wanted to comment that he seemed to have a problem with not kissing him, but as doing that would involve actually not kissing Mike back, he decided it wasn't worth it.

Mike was an able multi-tasker, however, as Shaun soon felt slick digits rubbing against his arsehole, sliding and pressing against him and he couldn't help that his legs fell further apart at that. Couldn't help that his hips bucked into the touch, or the hungry noise that left his throat. Mike smiled against his mouth for a moment before it was back to kissing, and honestly, Shaun kind of lost track of things at that point. It was all slick pressure and fullness and tongues and pleasure.

But there was an end point to that, a point when Mike was suddenly kneeling between his legs, one of Shaun's propped up against his shoulder, and a thick, blunt pressure at Shaun's hole that promised to satisfy his desire to be fucked and fucked well. "Fuck, yes, give it to me, Mike," he breathed, and Mike growled and shifted, cock sliding in quickly with a slight sting that made Shaun jump. But Mike gripped his hips and held him there as he completed that first thrust, held him as he waited. Shaun tried to wiggle, to move, to make Mike move, but Mike just held him there without any effort at all, and fuck if that didn't do things to Shaun.

"Dammit, move, fuck me, you need to fuck me," he ordered, and Mike only laughed, and suddenly Shaun's other leg was over his shoulder, too; his hips were being lifted and Mike was sliding out, then in, and oh, it was glorious. Mike was blessed with a perfect prick, just the right length and girth, felt absolutely divine anywhere inside Shaun's body that he cared to put it. Mike laughed again, much closer to his ear now, and maybe Shaun had said those things out loud.

"Shut up, don't stop moving, just keep - keep doing that, oh," Shaun breathed, hands moving to grab Mike's shoulder, his neck, as if he could somehow keep him there, just like that.

"God, you're bossy in bed, too. Should've known," Mike panted, but he sounded amused, sounded like maybe he liked that, and Shaun huffed.

"Yeah, well, you're taking direction so well. Such a good boy," he replied, and Mike sort of gasped and ruined his rhythm by thrusting harder than he had been for a moment. It didn't take him long to get back on track, but Shaun was already smirking up at him. "You like that, do you? Well, I can certainly oblige," he breathed. "C'mon, kiss me," he demanded, and it would be a bit of a stretch - Mike had to practically bend him in half - but it was so worth it, to see Mike's hungry, dazed expression as he rushed to obey. It was messy and uncoordinated, and so very, very hot. "Good boy, such a good boy for me," Shaun breathed into the sloppy kiss, and Mike whined a little and pushed at Shaun's shoulders. Mike forced him back down so he could thrust harder, and Shaun cried out, loud an appreciative. "Fuck, like that, Mike, just...fuck me like that, make me come," he ordered, and fuck if Mike didn't strive to obey, hips pistoning powerfully into Shaun now.

Shaun gasped - like this he had no leverage, but the angle was great, and he was nearly there. Mike was panting above him, and fuck - he looked really good like that! "Touch me," Shaun gasped, breathless, "C'mon, I'm close, so close!" Mike obeyed immediately, one hand moving from Shaun's hip to grasp his cock and stroke - a little uncoordinated, but it was just enough. In less than a minute, Shaun was groaning and shaking and coming all over himself, and Mike actually whined. "You can come," Shaun said, "You can, do it, come for me," and Mike did, almost as if he'd been waiting for permission. He gripped Shaun's hip harshly, shoved as deep as it was physically possible to go, and stilled. Shaun could feel him trembling a little from it, could feel that gorgeous prick throb inside him and he almost regretted that he'd used a condom. Almost.

They stayed like that for a few moments, panting and shuddering before Mike shifted, pulled out slowly and let Shaun's legs down gently before he slid off the bed to dispose of the condom. Mike went into the bathroom and came back with a warm, wet cloth and sat near Shaun and cleaned him up without hesitation. "Such a good boy," Shaun murmured, a lazy grin stretched out on his face, and Mike flashed him a quick smile. Mike finished and picked up the cloth and took it back to the bathroom. Shaun watched him go, because it was definitely a sight to see, and it wasn't like he'd have the opportunity later. But when he re-entered the room, Mike hesitated and Shaun patted the bed. "C'mon, unless you've got somewhere to be," he offered and Mike only grinned and crawled into the bed. He wasn't shy about crowding against Shaun, and Shaun just sighed and settled back into the body against his as he reached for his phone and set his alarm - he set it to vibrate and slid it against his shoulder, so as not to wake Mike in the morning.

"You should give me your number," Mike murmured, and Shaun hummed at him - he knew he wouldn't. Mike slid an arm over his side and Shaun let him, and waited for Mike to fall asleep first - it didn't take long. He waited a few moments, savored the casual intimacy, and fell asleep before any bitterness could seep in.

It felt like only a few minutes later that Shaun's phone vibrated against his neck and he woke with a small start - but it wasn't enough to wake Mike, at least. Shaun picked up his phone and disabled the alarm and slid out of Mike's embrace as gently as he could. Mike shifted and grumbled, but he didn't wake. Shaun grabbed clothes from his suitcase and dressed quickly before throwing the previous night's clothes in. He zipped it up and left, just like that. No note, no number, and maybe Mike would be disappointed, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd forget Shaun - or rather, David - in a week, or a month, or maybe even by tomorrow. Like Rebecca had said, this wasn't the first time he'd done this sort of thing, but it was the first time he regretted it when he left. He didn't regret the night, no, but he regretted that he had to leave, that he couldn't leave his number or have any contact with Mike later. He regretted that he'd never see him again, and Shaun wasn't even sure why that was; they'd only spent a single night together, after all. He didn't know the man, there wasn't any room for regrets - and yet...

He met Rebecca in the lobby and she just nudged his shoulder with his own, quiet and sober like she rarely was. Like she knew, somehow, and Shaun just shook his head. They got into their cab and made their way to the airport, and within hours, he'd left the country. If only he could leave his regret behind just as easily.

======================

A/N: Whoops, this part was longer than I thought. A lot longer. I'm still not sure if it reads better with this before or after the story. I really wanted to do good by this prompt, but I'm not sure if I actually accomplished that. But hell, it was already written at that point, so why not post? Might polish it up and upload it to AO3 later.

"I think we need to have a talk," Desmond says after they've finished dinner. A pretty bland pasta that Lucy doesn't have the courage to ask too much about, because bland is still edible and if she knows what Shaun threw into the sauce she just might find reason to reinspect it in the toilet.

"Hm?" Rebecca doesn't seem to mind the bland flavor, and has been steadily decimating more than her fair share of the food. No one has tried to stop her and risk having to eat leftovers later. Not even Shaun who had been prickly about the taste earlier.

"Yes, talk," Shaun dries his hands off and steps away from the bucket they've set up because the sink in this safehouse is plugged with something that looks like cement. He adjusts his glasses and Lucy doesn't realize they're being caged in until the men have taken up position by the only entrance into the kitchen. They stand on either side of the door, arms crossed over their chests (a much more impressive thing on Desmond, though Shaun's got a decent glare going that makes up for his smaller build) as they stare them down.

"Ok," Lucy places her fork down, and exchanges a glance with Rebecca who shrugs as clueless as Lucy. Lucy checks the room for weapons, and decides to go for Shaun first should she need to. She doesn't think it will get to that, but the checks are automatic for her. "About what?"

"We're concerned," Desmond says and uncrosses his arms to dig into the pocket of his hoodie. "About the two of you. You're our colleagues and friends."

"Not by choice per se, and I'm more upset than concerned," Shaun cuts in as Desmond trails off. "But the sentiment is basically the same."

"Are those index cards?" Rebecca says incredulously, and Lucy looks over to see that Desmond does in fact have a few bent note cards that are filled with his unreadable handwriting. He's squinting at them and doesn't bother to acknowledge Rebecca's question. Not even the follow up one that rings through the room with her voice. "Oh, god, is this an intervention?"

"No?" Desmond looks over the cards intently and doesn't look either of them in the eye.

"Yes," Shaun contradicts before swiping the cards from Desmond. He glances at them before shaking his head and tossing them towards the box they're using for trash. They flutter uselessly to the ground a few feet away from it. "Yes it is. You two have a problem and it's starting to effect us all. He," Shaun jerks a thumb to Desmond, "is 'concerned'. I, on the other hand, am getting tired of it all."

Lucy has a feeling she knows where this is going, and she's torn between laughing and wanting to bang her head on the table.

"Is this about the whiskey?" Rebecca asks with a snarl, hunching over her plate like it's the whiskey and she has to protect it.

"What whiskey?" Lucy hisses because she's told them they can't have any. A little bottle or one can is fine, but the danger of being drunk is to great to risk more than that.

"You have whiskey?" Desmond says nearly over Lucy's words, but he sounds more betrayed than anything else.

"Like you don't have some tequila in that flask you carry in your bag!" Rebecca snaps back, eyes shifty and obviously looking to pass the blame. Desmond flinches enough under the accusation that Lucy knows she's going to be going through his things as well as Rebecca's later.

"Moving along," Shaun clears his throat loudly. Breaking up the three-way stare off that's threatening to suck all the air out of the room. "No, this is about the little extracurricular activities the two of you get up to after our dive missions are over. That thing that has the two of you giggling like loons for hours on end."

"Oh, that," Rebecca snorts and shrugs. Turning back to the last dregs of her dinner.

"Yes, that!" Shaun snaps. Upset at Rebecca's casual disregard of the matter that Lucy was right about. It doesn't help her decide if she wants to laugh or reach for some preemptive aspirin though. "Did you think I wouldn't notice what you were doing?"

"Shaun," Desmond starts but gets cut off by Rebecca who surges to her feet. Eyes blazing with glee and feigned outrage. Lucy sighs and props her head in one hand to watch the show.

"Notice what Hastings?" Rebecca's grin shows off several sharp teeth as she squares off with Shaun for something that has turned into yet another of their frequent fights. "What is it that you've noticed? Go on. Say it. Out loud. Say it!"

"Mommy porn!" Shaun spits out with a snarl and anger that makes Lucy choke on a laugh. Desmond slumps against the wall next to the door and snickers into a fist. "Damn you! Quote that awful pile of sparkly shit again and I'll shave off your eyebrows in your sleep."

"You're the one who recognized the source material," Rebecca taunts with a smug smile. "And so what if we write out porn? You can't tell me you don't pull up some videos at the end of the night to watch. I had laundry duty last time, I know what you get up to."

"That, that is different," Shaun protests and swings a nasty glare at Desmond whose snickers are growing louder. "Look, I'm not objecting to whatever gets you off at the end of the day. What I am," Shaun's voice rises as Rebecca scoffs and starts to say something, "What I am objecting to is your blatant disregard to my very being by using me in this mommy porn that you share with the world at large!" Shaun throws his hand out towards where the van is parked in an enclosed garage. The building too small and temporary to set up a room. He takes a deep breath and he's calm again as he says, offhandedly, "Oh, and Desmond too."

"Thanks," Desmond drawls and Lucy can hear the implied asshole under it.

"Look," Lucy says and is proud of herself when her face doesn't heat up under the very shrewd gazes of her team. The embarrassment is eating its way through her slowly, but she's not going to show it. "If it bothers you that much we'll stop," Rebecca makes a protesting noise but Lucy ignores her for the moment. Sure, it'd been fun. Writing the stories with Shaun and Desmond after a long day of working. It'd been funny at first using their names and likeness. Using the events and arguments of the day to build up a short story --or a longer epic depending on their mood-- and put it up online for others to read. The response and reviews have been gratifying, but ultimately secondary to the fun Lucy's had working through problems and tension in a fantasy world where three simple words can fix everything in the world.

Lucy rises to her feet and raises an eyebrow at the men who are looking at her. Shaun with suspicion and Desmond with a calm acceptance. "It was just a bit of fun. There's plenty of other things we can do."

"Oh, come on!" Rebecca cries out but Lucy doesn't look at her.

Shaun's not buying it, but Lucy pays him no attention as she pushes through them. Rebecca close on her heels with protests ready. Lucy shakes her head sharply and starts walking faster. Putting some distance between them and the kitchen. She doesn't speak again until she's sure they're out of hearing range, and even then she keeps her voice very low. "We can always change the names, and description. Stop posting here Shaun knows we post. Get a new handle. It's fine, we're not working on anything that's unfinished right now."

Rebecca grins. Sly and pleased and Lucy mirrors it. Sure, it'd started out as a sort of joke, but the longer it went on the more addicting it got. Stopping is the absolute last thing on her mind.

Love is like fire. Wounds of fire are hard to bear; harder still are those of love. -Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

The flames rose higher to consume everything in there wake. The screams and shouts of terrified women and children filled the air just as thickly as the smoke did.
“Ratohnhake:ton” a voice with seemingly no body whispered gently in his native tongue. How could someone be so calm at a time of crisis? His home was turning to nothing in a mater of minutes with his mother trapped under a fallen beam. He begged and pleaded out to Ista to let him save her, but he was pushed away with the most force Kaniehtí:io had ever used on him.
“Ratohnhake:ton, wake up.” the voice now hissed in a tone hinting on urgent. Wake up? He had fallen back from the push, but he had not landed on his head. Where was this voice coming from? His right arm was tugged up and his feet were forced to set into a run. Away from his village, from his entire life, and from his Ista.

“Oi! Your friend gonna get up or not?!” A British accent cut through Ratohnhake:ton's nightmare and caused his eyes to jolt open in surprise as his heartbeat fought to slow its rapid pace. A rifle butt then stamped with a sharp crack next to his ear in warning.
“Come on, I ain't got all day for you to laze around. Auctions'll be startin' soon.” A flutter of red garment and the sound of a cage door closing firmly enough to rattle the floorboards meant the redcoat would be back with his rifle barrel pointed and a trigger happy grin on his mug. Ratohnhake:ton heaved himself up from the putrid wooden floor that he was lying on within the metal carriage. The chains around his neck,ankles,and wrists rattled as he rubbed his eyes while trying also not to elbow anyone in the ribs.
The women who had woken him up had been a friend of Ista's and she smiled up at him. That smile of hope and kindness caused a sigh to pass through Ratohnhake:ton's lips; there would be no happiness now, though, but the gesture was thoughtful. These shackles were put on each and every wrist that had sustained the fire with no medical attention required. The same fire that had took his Ista away from him.
Two days later they were forced to march through the frontier, some bare-footed, to this carriage that was transporting them to Boston so as to be sold like cattle. Some had been slain on the journey already, but Ratohnhake:ton was the prized young bull. At the young age of 19, Ratohnhake:ton had the build of a grown man. Regrettably, with the bull came the horns and the redcoats who had tried to apprehend said bull got in return cracked spines, broken necks, and raw animistic power in a single young man.
The carriage lurched forward abruptly and threw Ratohnhake:ton into the side of an older man. He muttered an apology and moved himself into the corner were the wooden panel that made up the seat for the driver and the metal bars that made the carriage up met.

Ratohnhake:ton had never been to Boston before. He remembered Ista telling him about the men outside of the tribal land and how one of them had been his father. She laughed softly when she saw the confusion that had entered her “wolf pup's” features at the thought.
Though the topic never arose between them after the discussion, Ratohnhake:ton never cared enough to question too deeply about the missing man, he was curious just to even see him. Looking at the faces who boggled at him now, Ratohnhake:ton hoped silently that none of these men were him. He quickly shook his head free of the thought. No one looked like him and he had finer difficulties to worry about; he told himself this as he saw the giant wooden platform that would serve his fate soon enough.
The bar door was opened and the twelve men and women who were crammed into the carriage were content to at last be able to stretch there bones, even under the gazes of redcoats and the gathering crowd. The contentment was short lived as they were pushed to the platform and put in a row with Ratohnhake:ton at the end.
Ratohnhake:ton scanned the crowds and used his second vision to put the crowd into a more simplistic view. Most were an innocent blue, the redcoats an obvious bloody red, and there in the middle to the left of the crowd stood a ghost. Blinking to return his gaze to normal, he looked at the figure who was blanketed in white.
His clothes spoke of almost regal roots yet he did not hold himself as one. The navy blue of his jacket, the golden buttons and thread that held it together, and the tricorn hat of the same colors adored his body. This man held himself with pride and yet had a fierceness about himself.
He was looking at the woman who was currently being sold, then slowly looked at the rest. How dare he look upon my people like that! Boredom, pity, and disgust all in one look... Finally the mans eyes rested upon Ratohnhake:ton and the look was quickly done away with what he could only describe as fascination. His eyes lingered for far much longer then it had with anyone else. Swallowing hard, Ratohnhake:ton looked down and felt heat start to creep up onto the back of his neck along with a smile.
Turning the second vision back on again, he watched as the ghost turned to say something to a man with coal black hair. The look that gave Ratohnhake:ton his heat was now gone and replaced with a stoic one as the ghost turned his back to start walking slowly down the cobbled street. Where is he going? The dark haired man came up to the auctioneer after making his way through the crowd and whispered something while handing him a purse full of coins.
The auctioneer just laughed and shook his hand while boasting “A great price for a good beast! Take him, but leave the chains for the sake of us here! He was quite the feisty one, as I was told!” The man had bought me? The same one that had looked upon me differently. Yet, why such the noticeable difference? I'm now a slave to work for him, though. The thought didn't bother Ratohnhake:ton as much as it was supposed to as he watched with a well hidden smile that the man was now longer the ghostly white, but instead a bright yellow flame.

END OF CHAP. 1

(Hopefully you can tell the first part is Ratohn's nightmare because I don't think my formating will show up. First fanfic too! If all goes well I'll post some more and will probably just move it. Let's hope it's not too bad with the indenting not showing... *Cringe* AND I PUT IT IN THE WRONG SPOT TO BEGIN WITH. It's kinda late)

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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