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

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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

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

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

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

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

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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Part 1
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YES this prompt is genius. I mean, Charles took a few months to find Ziio for Haytham in the game, I'm sure he would do the same for his little fluffballs. I want the Pomeranian to end up liking Connor more than Charles though, just to see him flip out about it.

I would love to see Altair with one then - maybe he bought it thinking 'hehehe, wait till Malik sees my badass new dog' and then it gets completely owns by a Chihuahua and Alty has been super protective of it since he doesn't want people to find out he has a pushover for a dog (which he secretly really loves).

Yeah, Johnson's cruelty may not be as blatantly obvious as the others, but his treatment of Connor as an object instead of a person is just as damaging as physical violence and is (as of part 13) the worst abuse Connor is having to suffer through, imho.

Suddenly, tables are turned !

Oh man that reveal..

Great way to introduce Connor's weakpoint, writer anon ~

I like it. I really really like it.

asdflkjhg you're too nice to me, passerby anon, far too nice... <3

I'm scared for Connor, too, mostly because I'm the one writing the horrible things happening to him. CONNOR SWEETIE I'M SORRY!!

Those scenes and those descriptions... whoa.

I think I just died from a massive dose of sexy steamy scenes from your fic, writer anon.

Thank you very much for writing it!

Seriously, noncon ahead. And a side of violence.

By the next evening, Connor is seriously considering just murdering Lee, consequences be damned. The man is doing everything in his power to make this week as hellish as possible for Connor.

Firstly, while he's technically being given nourishment, lukewarm tea and watery soup is neither filling nor a decent source of energy. He's hungry and tired, and the servants just look nervous and say they can't go against Mr Lee's orders when he asks for actual food.

Secondly, their training sessions are anything but. It's an excuse for Lee to vent his frustrations, to punish him for winning Haytham's heart. He makes little effort to teach Connor how to correct his mistakes, save for scathing remarks about his weaknesses.

Thirdly, whenever they meet, Lee talks a lot, usually about the 'backwardness' of Connor's culture or making fun of his 'unpronouncable gibberish' name. Connor learnt from an early age to ignore such comments, but Lee has a way with words. Somehow, they get into his head, make him wonder if perhaps there is something wrong with him before he catches himself.

He can't wait for Haytham to return. When he does, Connor will wait in his rooms for Haytham to come in and he'll be quiet and play up his melancholy. When asked what's wrong, he'll be curt, saying little until Haytham inevitably tries to delve deeper into the matter. He'll finally snap, venting and raging about Lee's horrible behaviour, almost-but-not-quite blaming Haytham for his troubles, maybe even shedding a crocodile tear or two. And after the comfort and the cuddling and kissing, he'll apologise and wait for Haytham to say something about speaking to Lee or the like.

It's a good plan, considering the circumstances.

...

The third morning after Haytham's departure is different. Connor gets up early, ready to vent his frustrations upon Lee for a change, despite feeling weaker than usual. He's wide awake, from hunger pangs mostly. Today he's going to kick Lee's ass and be the one making snide comments instead.

"Mornin', sweet'eart," Hickey's voice calls suddenly, from the other side of the door. "You up and ready yet?"

Connor opens the door.

"I am," he scowls. "Where's Lee?"

"In the trainin' 'all already. I'm helpin' out today."

Connor doesn't waste breath trying to argue or get more information. It's pretty straightforward- either he kicks Lee's ass with an audience (unlikely) or he gets twice the amount of bruises (likely). Hickey doesn't bother making conversation as they go to the hall. That, at least, Connor is thankful for.

He was right. This is no more a training session than any of the others with Lee. Hickey is here as an excuse to do more damage.

"Ganging up on me isn't fair," Connor snarls, after being kicked to the ground by Hickey while reeling from a punch to the jaw from Charles which landed while he was deflecting a blow to his ribs from Hickey. Bastards.

"Life ain't fair, darlin'."

"You'll have to face more than one enemy at once sometimes," Lee shrugs, as if he's doing Connor a favour. "They won't go easy on you just because you're a savage."

"Shut the hell up," Connor snaps, launching himself up as he kicks out to sweep Lee's feet from under him. Hickey stomps on his shoulder to stop him, and Lee looks unamused.

"That's rude," he says. "Get up and apologise."

Hickey removes his foot, and Connor reluctantly stands up. He glares at Lee.

"You do know what 'apologise' means, don't you?" Lee asks, disdainfully.

"I'm sorry," Connor says, as sarcastically as he can.

"For?" Lee asks, as Hickey prods his hurt shoulder. Connor hisses in pain, but says nothing. He has nothing to be sorry for.

Lee rolls his eyes and pushes Connor backwards by the sore shoulder.

"For?" he demands more forcefully this time. The colonists have a saying- the straw that broke the camel's back, or something. Connor breaks.

"I'm sorry for only being half civilised," Connor snarls. "I'm sorry for being captured by your Order in the first place. I'm sorry I didn't kill you when we first met. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but the thing I'm sorriest about is your petty jealousy because Haytham loves me more than he will ever, ever love you."

Lee is very, very still and very, very quiet. Connor continues.

"You are pathetic. You use fancy words to dress up your hatred, but let me tell you that you are more of a beast than I am. We are done here. No more training sessions. No more speeches. Nothing."

And with that, Connor walks away, slowly. He gets about eight metres before somebody hits him hard over the head. He falls to his hands and knees, mind reeling in pain and shock.

"It seems we need to teach you a lesson," Lee spits. "Hickey!"

Hickey is beside Connor in a second, kicking him in the stomach before Connor can rise and defend himself. He follows with an elbow in the small of his back, as Lee stands on a hand and attempts to tear a chunk of hair out of his scalp. Connor tries to roll over, to deflect some of these blows, but his mind is muddled, his body weakened by a lack of proper nourishment, and his nerves are screaming in pain. He curls into a ball, as much as he can, and tries to protect his head.

After what seems like a very long time, he is dragged across the stone floor. He can hear Hickey and Lee talking, but he can't quite make out the words. He's unceremoniously flung across a wooden box, and it's only when he feels hands fumbling at his clothes that he realises just what this 'lesson' is.

"No," he croaks.

"What was that 'e said?" Hickey sounds genuinely confused.

"Speak English, savage," Lee snarls in his ear.

Connor has to think, really think before he manages a small, desperate "don't". No sooner has the noise left his lips than his breeches are being forced down over his hips.

He tries to move his arms, to stop those hands undressing him further, but his fingers are agony and he can barely move them. He tries to kick his legs, but manages only a feebly twitching. One of his thighs feels bruised right to the bone, and he'll honestly be surprised if none of his bones are broken. What are they thinking? Haytham will be back in a few days. He'll know these injuries aren't normal.

"No," he tries again, as a hand, slick with something, slides between his legs. His words are slurred and he knows they won't understand him but he can't remember the English. "Please, don't do this..."

Someone hits him above the ear and sneers in English, and he can't tell whose voice it is. There's a ringing in his ears, and a part of him hopes that he's going to lose consciousness. The hand is hot, and presses into him, and heoses all control of his mouth. He babbles in the language of his mother, and feels hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes. This is bad. There are no words for how bad a situation this is.

"Don't do it, don't do it, I'm sorry," he moans, and he feels so small and weak and helpless, like a child again. Like on the day his mother died. There's more than just one finger inside him and it hurts and a different part of Connor is thankful that his hair has come loose and obscures his face. The English voices are speaking again, and one of them laughs.

The fingers leave his body and Connor tries to jerk away as hands settle on his hips.

"You don't have to do this," he pleads, hating himself for not being stronger, for being so arrogant, for letting this happen. "Get off me, please, please don't..."

Suddenly, something pushes into him, and Connor screams. It hurts, but the pain is nothing compared to the violation, the feeling of weakeness, of being a thing. He curses and tries to free himself, but like before he can do little but twitch and jerk. His voice is starting to crack and he begs to be let go.

Without warning, something else digs into his throat. There's pressure on his back, and Connor forces his eyes open. It's a wooden pole, held by slick fingers, and he realises that he's being strangled into silence by his violator. The pole moves back, and he has to snap his neck back to keep breathing.

His violator pulls out of him, nearly all the way, and for a moment Connor thinks perhaps the 'lesson' is over. No such luck, the man rams himself all the way back in and it burns. He cannot cry out in pain, only a choked gurgle escapes his crushed windpipe. The man thrusts in and out, forcefully and fast. There is no consideration to keeping the pain to a minimum for Connor, only for making the experience pleasurable for the monster choking him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about the last time he was strangled, how the air smelled of smoke and things that should not burn. He wonders if he's imagining a faint smell of charred wood. The man moans, his hips jerking more desperately. His back feels as though it's about to break from being forced in this unnatural position for so long.

The man is getting close, he can feel it. He can hear the moans and the stuttering breath and finally the man releases, hotness flooding and burning him still further. He drops the pole and Connor flops forward, smacking his face on the other side of the boxes. He gasps for air, coughs for breath. The man pulls out of him, and something drips down the inside of his thigh, and Connor thinks he's going to be sick.

Yappy ball of fluff was exactly what I was going for. It's so crackish. (I can see Alty getting a small yappy dog and deciding to name it Malik because it's mean and snappy and loud.)

Giant pushuver dog would be just as adorable. And funny.

;w; You guys are awesome. That is an adorable doggy, that there wolfhound.

i had had to mentally prepare myself to read this. It didnt work.
connor my poor bby ;A;

Charles does not respond, simply stares at Connor like a hawk as the boy rubs his lower lip suggestively with his index finger. He fully expects his mate to either attack him or storm out; and hopes for the latter, because he is not coordinated enough to defend himself. So it's somewhat of a shock when Connor sighs in resignation and begins to remove his bracers.

"What are you doing?" Charles asks, eyebrows arched upwards in an inquisitive manner as the Assassin placed his weapons in a neat pile on the nearest table.

Connor shoots him a look of exasperation but his voice remained calm and leveled in spite of his earlier outburst. "I've already told you. I'm here to consummate our bond, and thought you might appreciate the sharp implements of death out of the way."

"How considerate."

He does not give the Omega a chance to retort, closing the distance between them once more. Reaching down, he grabs Connor's chin, and pulls his head up for another demanding kiss. A kiss that the younger male hesitantly returns.

It was a strange new addiction. In the past he had taken scores of women and men to bed, and never bothered with something as simple as a kiss; he found the action to be was meaningless and unsatisfying. Of course, with his mate it was different. After the imprinting, he had spent most of their encounters, staring at those lips; longing to taste them even when they argued or insulted one another. But now, now he could indulge himself without having to receive a tomahawk in the gut.

After several long minutes, however, he was no longer satisfied with just kissing. His hands began to wander, sliding around the boy's waist once again, before moving further south. Stroking his mate's back, he could feel the muscles tense beneath the layers of clothes. He suddenly breaks the kiss and pulls Connor flush up against his larger frame.

Connor's breathing speeds up. Charles could actually both hear and feel the other male's heart beat against his own chest. His large hands finally come to a stop, resting upon Connor's arse. The boy gasps his name in surprise. It's a pleasantly arousing sound. However, he wants his name to be screamed out for all the world to hear. His lips twisted into a wicked smirk as he begins kneading the flesh beneath form-fitting black breeches, causing Connor to jerk against him, and groan into his shoulder.

Connor raised his own hands, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat, and accidentally pulling at a loose thread. The Major General frowned in response, as he shoved his Omega onto the bed before mounting him. The boy grunts and made an attempt to sit up, only for his wrists to be pinned down at either side of his head.

"Be careful, child," Charles hissed lowly. "This tailored suit costs more than what your little village eats in a month."

The Assassin glared back up at him, unimpressed. "Then you should take better care of your clothing. Perhaps even wash them for a change."

"That's rich coming from you, savage."

Despite his predicament, Connor sighs again, appearing to look completely bored. "Fine, if vanity means so much to you, I'll ask a seamstress I know to repair your coat and cover the costs."

Charles relaxes his grip a little, placated by the fact that the boy was willing to take responsibility.

"Now..." Connor shifts underneath him, but does not attempt to break free. "May we please continue? I'd like to be done with this matter before dawn."

The Templar releases a derisive snort, before lowering himself down upon the body beneath him. His lips eagerly seeking to ravish his mate's once more. Connor boldly responds in silent challenge, and tries to keep his face neutral so not to betray the anxiety he's feeling on the inside. The Omega's control and unwillingness to submit wholeheartedly was commendable; but utterly pointless.

After tonight, Connor would be completely his.

----------------

A/N: Okay, I apologize if there were parts that didn't make sense. Finished writing this at 2am after finishing Forsaken and wrrrrryyyy... Okay, sorry for the wait but the next part will have smut ::goes back to rereading Forsaken::

I third this!

A/N: A few of the lines of this part come from the game – couldn't get around it. I apologize in advance. Also, this is kind of a transitionary chapter.

~ ~ ~

Enoch watches her from the top of one of the buildings overlooking the lush garden. She does not know that he is there.

There is another, older woman walking with her.

“But they can be so much more than what they are, Uni. And yet, we continue to subjugate them.”

“It is for their own best interests, Menrva. Left to their own devices, they are nothing but the animals we uplifted them from. They seek only to fight and procreate, and those that are not under our control are becoming a plague on this world. It is a mercy what we do for them. We provide order and direction where there is only chaos.”

“But that's not true! They can learn, adapt, and some of them can resist our instructions! I have seen --”

“What? What have you seen in your short life that I have not seen in mine? Perhaps you have grown fond of one of the slaves, then? Kept one as a pet? Dallied with one, even? Disgusting.”

“But --”

“Enough, Menrva. Enough with your foolish and dangerous ideas. Your extraordinary wit would be better put to use in solving the issue with the Tree, so that we may continue with our tests.”

~ ~ ~
Ezio waits until he can see movement beneath the lids of Desmond's closed eyes before he pounces, jumping on the other man in his sleep. He half expects the younger assassin to keep dreaming, but Desmond's subconscious instincts seem to be surprisingly much better than the ones he has while awake and alert. Desmond's hands are around Ezio's throat before the younger assassin even opens his eyes. Ezio's own hands are forced to cover Desmond's in an attempt to pull them away. When Desmond's eyes finally do open, they are dark and intense and cloudy and not really focused on Ezio at all.

“La shaiq' waqee mutlak bi kollin mumkin!” Desmond spits, increasing the pressure on Ezio's neck. Ezio is very aware that he has precious few seconds before he loses consciousness.

“Desmond. Svegliarsi!” Ezio somehow manages to gasp, using the rest of his available air supply. He can feel the hands around his neck tense for just a second, and then the pressure is gone and Ezio falls back, hands on his own tender neck, swallowing large breaths of air. Desmond shoots up, pulls his hand through his hair, and stares at him in something like horror.

“Remind me to let sleeping eagles lie, my friend,” Ezio finally offers, after he regains his breath.

“Ezio – I... I'm so sorry, dude,” Desmond says, voice soft. “I mean... I get what you are trying to do and all... but my head is a fucked up place, and I'm not always the only one in it.”

Ezio coughs and offers the other man a soft smile. “Well, at least we know that you are safe from Templars in your sleep,” he says, rubbing his neck. He stands, offers a hand to Desmond, who regards it with no small amount of wariness. Ezio laughs.

“Do not worry, my friend. No tricks, I give you my word. Now come. There is much to be done before tomorrow.”

Desmond looks at his hand, blinks, but does not take it. Instead, the other man sits up in bed, eyes wide and alert.

“Hey Ezio, there's something I forgot to tell you --”

“Desmond? Mario? Are you lads awake yet?” Oliver interrupts, speaking through the door.

“Later. Perhaps we should see what Oliver wants, no?” Ezio responds, cutting Desmond off and throwing open the door. Desmond squeaks and pulls the covers over himself like a shy maiden. Ezio cannot help but to roll his eyes; a habit he has picked up from the younger assassin. “Good morning, signore,” he says to Oliver.

Oliver nods at him, clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, Mario. Good. Come with me, I need your help with the firewood.”

Ezio turns, offers an apologetic smile to Desmond, and follows Oliver, closing the door behind him.

~ ~ ~
Ezio spends the better part of the morning chopping firewood before Oliver nods, calls the task done, and offers him a bottle of ale, of which he accepts gratefully.

“You lads are certainly settling in well,” Oliver comments. “Have you given any thought to making this homestead a more permanent place of residence?”

It is the second time Ezio has been asked that question this week, and he still has yet to give an answer.

“I would very much like to, but our circumstances require us to have a certain amount of mobility.”

Oliver huffs and clasps his hand on Ezio's back.

“Our boy Connor spends but a small fraction of his time on this land. And yet, it is his to call home. Something for you to think about,” the older man says, squeezing his shoulder just slightly before letting his hand drop. “Besides, if you were to leave, I think it would break the missuses heart. We were never able to conceive, you understand. I think she is starting to see you lads as family.”

Ezio smiles softly as the older man walks away.

When he returns to his room to retrieve his guitar and Desmond's music player (he considers most of what has been recorded on the device dubious at best, incomprehensible and vulgar at the worst, and completely unworthy of the term 'music'), Desmond is already gone. Ezio spends the rest of the afternoon deep in the forest listening to and rehearsing the grand total of three songs (all under the playlist entitled 'Emergency Use Only – a.k.a Car Rides with Shaun') that he finds appropriate for the wedding. Working Desmond's music device turned out to be remarkably easy and intuitive, which he doesn't really want to question because he's never seen anything like it before, up to and including the apple of Eden. Ezio finds it somewhat amusing in a way that on the back of the device there is also an apple; one with a bite out of it, and he wonders if there is some significance to that. Perhaps the craftsman that made the device was an assassin or a templar with a sense of humor. It would not surprise him. From just the glimpses of Desmond's technology that he's seen, he knows that Desmond's devices have been influenced by the inventions of those who came before. The term reverse-engineering comes to him, but he dismisses it almost immediately. His mind contains knowledge that he does not remember obtaining, and it always brings a feeling of unease and a sensation of being trapped within the apple itself when it is accessed. Better not to think on it at all.

~ ~ ~

Achilles approaches Connor outside the manor house as soon as he returns from the hunt, a strange contemplative look upon the old man's face.

“Is there a problem?” Connor asks automatically.

“I am not entirely sure,” Achilles answers, narrowing his eyes as if debating something. Eventually, he shakes his head. “It's nothing that you need to worry about right now, boy. At any rate, we have a guest.”

Connor follows Achilles inside, where there is a colonial in a blue waistcoat seated with a cup of tea.

“Connor, this is Benjamin Tallmadge. His father was one of us, so no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say.”

Their guest nods at Connor in acknowledgement, takes a sip of his tea and clears his throat.

“Achilles tells me that you have uncovered a plot to murder the commander-in-chief,” the man says, getting straight to the point.

Connor sighs and drops his shoulders.

“Yes, but I have only false starts and dead ends to show for it.”

Benjamin puts his tea cup down and places his hand on Connor's back. Connor tries not wince and drops his head, avoiding eye contact with the man.

“Not anymore, my friend,” Benjamin says. “Thomas Hickey is your man. And I aim to help you catch him.”

“How?” Connor asks.

“I'll explain on the way. You and I will need to go to New York.”

“I will need a little time,” Connor responds. “A couple of my friends are getting married tomorrow, and I am to give the bride away.”

“You are standing in for her father then. She must have a lot of respect for you.”

“Myriam is a good friend, I am honored to be asked,” Connor admits. “Let me take you to the inn. We will leave for New York together first thing Sunday morning.”

~ ~ ~

veryone on the homestead is busy with preparations for the wedding for the rest of the day, and Desmond finds himself unable to corner Ezio for even a second. Worse, he can't talk freely to him even in his own room anymore, as the walls are thin and Corrine had set up another guest in the room directly next to him; a guest that Desmond knows better than to start talking about Achilles and assassins in earshot of. At least with the presence of Benjamin Tallmadge, he knows exactly when they were in Connor's life, and he also knew that they couldn't interfere with what was about to happen to him. It was necessary for Connor to start working with Haytham on his own, to develop the camaraderie and the beginnings of a fragile truce before they dared to do anything at all to mess with the timeline. Therefore, Desmond felt that he would be better off avoiding Connor as much as possible until he leaves with Tallmadge. Besides, Desmond can't afford to look at Connor right now, knowing what he knows and feeling about it as he does. Bridewell prison was no picnic, even in the animus. And he can still remember Connor's fear as he was lead to the gallows.

In the evening, he assists Corrine with decorations around the inn, and helps set up tables, avoiding Tallmadge entirely as the colonial sits at the bar and proceeds to make a heavy dent into the bottle of Oliver's best scotch. Desmond doesn't know how perceptive the man was, and doesn't care to find out. Just knowing that he was the son of an assassin was enough to know that he had some sort of basic training, and he didn't need to be on the radar of any more of Connor's allies.

He's sweeping the floor when Ezio returns from Doctor White's, having had his stitches finally removed. The older assassin nods at Desmond, and heads towards their room. Desmond almost lets him go, but he can see from the corner of his eye that Ezio is carrying not only his guitar, but Desmond's freaking iphone.

His brain processes halt in sheer incredulity, and he drops the broom to go confront the man, because no.

Sure enough, when he returns to his room, Ezio tosses the iphone and earbuds to him with a smile.

“Dude, what – ”

“I never did get a chance to thank you, Desmond,” Ezio says, shrugging out of his waist coat and shirt. Desmond's eyes go straight to Ezio's scarred but toned chest, and he swallows heavily. What was he going to say? Oh yeah, the iphone.

“-- were you doing with my iphone?” Desmond forces himself to continue. He counts it as a point for him that his voice is steady and even. “That thing has a limited battery life, and no way me to charge it for, oh, about the next two hundred years or so,” Desmond continues, but even as he says it, he checks the battery status on the front of the screen. Fully charged. Huh. “How long were you using it?”

“Not long. A few hours a day for the past week,” Ezio shrugs.

“A few hours a day for the past week??” Desmond responds incredulously, checking the battery again. Weird. He shrugs, unlocks the chest, and puts the iphone back in his hoodie pocket with the apple.

Oh. Duh.

“I do not like most of what you call music,” Ezio says through Desmond's epiphany, “although Lady Kim must be very talented with her mouth for this Eminem to write about it in song, no? I would very much like to have such a lover someday.”

Desmond coughs and sputters all over the floor. When he regains his breath, Ezio is leering at him and much, much closer.

“Thank you,” Ezio says, his voice low and heated, “for your assistance.” Ezio runs a finger over Desmond's lips, tracing the scar so similar to his own, and then brushes his lips against Desmond's own in a soft, simple kiss. Ezio tastes like a mix of forest air and Oliver's best ale and smells of leather and sweat and Desmond wants more. But as he leans in, Ezio pulls away with an all too familiar smirk.

“Patience, mio caro. I have learned a song especially for you and wish you to hear it,” Ezio says, as he grabs his guitar.

Ezio breaks out the first bars of 'Here Comes the Sun', and Desmond groans, sliding down against the wall, all thoughts of warm lips and soft kisses gone.

Freaking Shaun. Somehow, this is all his fault.

"Cease all this squirming, at once, Connor!" Haytham commanded, already beyond irritated with the squirming assassin in his lap, as he held a tube of lip-gloss in one hand and with the other, he tried to keep the younger from escaping with his palm planted firmly against Connor’s lower back. The warmth of Connor sitting atop him—legs astride his hips, chest so close that Haytham could feel Connor’s heartbeat so precisely, that it was almost as if the two of them were one entity—was torturous enough, but with all the squirming and struggling he was doing, Haytham had found himself so aroused that he could barely focus on the task at hand.

Connor was fully aware of this—Haytham’s fraying control—he was no fool. He could feel the older man’s cock beneath him; hot and heavy, straining against the tight confines of Haytham’s breeches, and Connor had felt it the moment he was wrestled into the older man’s lap. From the very moment the offending maquillage was presented to him, Connor had set out to get Haytham so hot and bothered, that the older would abandon this foolish endeavor to satisfy his desire.

Even if their coupling turned out to be horrid—with Connor painfully sore and left to bring his own self to climax—it would be infinitely better than being manhandled and made to put on powder and paint, he thought.

Not that the assassin disliked being made-up. Oh, no, he did. Connor often indulged in the use of cosmetics if given the time; he just didn't want Haytham doing it for him. It was degrading, being manhandled and forced to sit still, so he could be painted up like someone's pet. And, perhaps, that was why Haytham wanted to do its much—to teach him a lesson for some discretion past. That, or Haytham was a fucking prick. More likely it was the latter, which made Connor grit his teeth and struggle all the more, not wanting to give the older man the satisfaction of subduing him.

Connor was very aggressive, when it came to quite a few things, but there was nothing akin to his aggression when he didn’t want to do something. Haytham knew this to be unquestionably true after another fruitless moment passed, struggling and cursing, as he tried to grab Connor’s chin and hold his head still. His hand with the gloss in it was grabbed in both of Connor’s and Haytham swore colorfully at the assassin, as he tried to wrench it free. The scuffle was an intense one, almost escalating into violence, as Haytham’s temper got the best of him.

A moment away from smashing his forehead into Connor’s and laying him out on the floor, the older man finally admitted defeat. Not really. Haytham was just as stubborn—if not more—than Connor, and when he set out to do something, he wanted it done, no matter what the cost may be. For appearances sake, however, Haytham conceded. "Alright, I give. You have proven to me, once and for all, that I should never underestimate how childish and selfish you can be."

Connor pulled an unattractive face, before retorting angrily. “Oh, I am selfish—? Says the man who would force his will upon another just for his own gratification. You are many things, father; a hypocrite being one of them.”

Haytham rolled his eyes. His body had begun to ache from having Connor struggling atop him so much. And with his erection not getting any less hard, his remaining patience was nearly nonexistent. “You honestly think I would waste my time on something as trivial as painting you up, for my own pleasure?”

“And just how is this for my enjoyment? Do I look to be having fun with this?” Connor seethed.

Haytham sighed, shifting the best he could under Connor to try and get the feeling back in his numbed legs. “If you had just let me do as I had planned, this would be pleasurable for the both of us.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, mouth setting in a firm line, as he assessed Haytham’s words. Just when the older man thought Connor had gone and broken his brain—and even though that was impossible, as far as Haytham knew, the grandmaster thought, somehow, Connor would be able to do it—the assassin finally spoke up. “Very well… do as you intended.” Connor agreed, finally; his tone clipped, as he held his displeasure at bay. “However, I shall be the judge of whether or not—”

Haytham wasted no time listening to Connor’s conditions, gripping the assassin by his chin; the older man brought the tube of lip gloss to his lips and squeezed it with a bit more force than necessary. Connor’s expression soured, as the shimmering, soft solid spilled onto his lips in tiny, albeit thick, dollops. The faintly colored, almost iridescent gloss was cool and smelled faintly of something sweet, and the more of it Haytham put on Connor’s lips, the more the assassin found himself pursing his lips, relaxing into the hold on his chin, as he allowed Haytham to do as he pleased.

When Haytham was satisfied with the generous amount of lip gloss used, he dropped the tube onto the floor and reached up to smooth the faint, rosy-colored crème along Connor’s bottom lip with his index finger, his dark eyes holding the younger man’s gaze, as he worked diligently. Resisting the urge to lick the calloused finger massaging his mouth, Connor felt heat pooling in his lower abdomen.

Astonishment made him blush, as Connor hadn’t the slightest notion that he could find this process to be erotic, but as Haytham dragged his finger along his surprisingly soft skin lips, the assassin felt his skin break out in goosebumps—proving to him, once and for all, that he very much was enjoying the simple intimate contact.

As Haytham worked slowly and deliberately, equally distributing the gloss on the bottom and then the top lip, he pretended not to notice how Connor was now holding his breath; how his pulse had begun to race; how the younger man’s erection was poking him in the lower abdomen. Though he wanted nothing more, at that instant, then to put Connor his back and have him, Haytham wasn’t quite finished.

Sitting back and admiring his work, Haytham smiled, as he traced Connor’s colored lips with his thumb and reveled in the way the assassin let out a shaky breath against the pad of his finger. When Connor’s pink tongue flicked out and captured Haytham’s thumb, pulling it back into the warmth of his mouth, so that he could suck on it, the grandmaster nearly forgot to breathe.

Connor’s lips looked absolutely obscene; shiny and colored as they were, and with his thumb trapped within its moistness, being languidly stroked by Connor’s tongue, as the assassin practically pleasured his finger, Haytham couldn’t shake the thought of putting the younger man’s mouth to use with a body part of a more explicit nature.

Still, he wasn’t done with this little game—his self-control was practically nonexistent, the will to come sheathed deep within Connor almost too overwhelming too ignore, but somehow, Haytham was able to detangle his mind and sanity from the heavy tendrils of lust. Pulling his thumb free from Connor’s mouth, and chuckling at the breathless whimper the assassin made, Haytham leant forward and kissed him deeply.

Haytham’s blood boiled and nerves sang with desire, as Connor carded his fingers through his graying-hair and clung to him desperately—the younger having had long since succumb to his yearning, as he rutted and arched fervently against Haytham; actions pleading louder than his words ever could.

Letting Connor devour his mouth, Haytham discreetly reached down and retrieved the discarded lip-gloss. With their intense necking, the lip-gloss on Connor’s lips surely had either rubbed off on his own mouth, or had been inadvertently consumed by either party—which, all in all, was too bad; as the cosmetic was advertised as being edible, and had a delicious, albeit faint, taste to it—and, so the grandmaster only thought it right to reapply it.

Connor, however, had other things in mind. When Haytham disengaged from the kiss, he only got a chance to breathe, before the assassin was pulling him back—reconnecting their mouths and sucking on his tongue, as if Haytham was the most addictive thing in the world. And at first, the older man didn’t mind being interrupted—as Connor had become a capable kisser in the time they had spent together and certainly didn’t spare any finesse when doing so—but, when the younger man shifted his position atop of him, and began robbing him of his clothing, so very eager to get things going that he was moments away from ripping Haytham’s clothes to shreds, the grandmaster had had enough.

Planting his free hand onto Connor’s lower back, Haytham surprised the assassin, by putting him onto his back. The floor was hard underneath Connor, but his knees no longer ached, and for that he was thankful. Looking up at Haytham with clouded eyes, he panted breathlessly. “I…”

“Quiet.” Haytham interrupted, pressing a searing kiss into Connor’s lips to silence any possible complaints. Pulling away from the kiss when he was sure that Connor had been pacified, Haytham sat back on his haunches and realized, with a scowl, that the tube of lip-gloss had burst in his hand. The shimmering, rubicund soft solid stained his palm and fingers, making his entire hand sticky, as the remnants spilled from the punctured plastic container. Great… just fantastic.

Prepared to discard the ruined tube and retrieve another from his desk, Haytham was somewhat surprised when Connor captured his wrist and brought his sullied hand to his mouth, so that he could taste sweetness that stained Haytham’s fingers.

It only took a few especially lewd licks of his tongue across the sensitive palm of Haytham’s hand, before the older man decided that enough was enough—that he wanted to come buried deep within Connor’s mouth. And with the way the youth serviced his hand, it didn’t seem as though he was opposed to the notion, himself.

The tell-tale rustle of fabric, as clothing was moved or removed, could most likely be heard outside the door, but neither of them cared to silence themselves, as they settled into their respective positions—Connor poised on his knees in front of Haytham’s standing form—and the assassin tugged at and unfastened Haytham’s belt clumsily.

Haytham expected what was to come next to be good—great even. But, amazing… no. Connor did a great many things great, even Haytham had to admit, but the grandmaster simply had yet to witness the youth do something amazingly—that is, until the assassin pressed a hot kiss against the glistening head of his cock, passion burning in his eyes, as he licked away the slick fluid welling there, before following the thick pulsating vein that ran along the underside of it.

Haytham dug his nails into the base of Connor’s neck, knees almost giving out on him, as he was assaulted with wave after wave of pleasure. The assassin, apparently, had been practicing, because never before had this been incredible enough to make the grandmaster see stars. A half-stifled growl escaped Haytham’s gritted teeth, as Connor took him into his mouth entirely.

Connor breathed easy through his nose, as he gripped at the belt that dangled loosely from Haytham’s hips and pulled, urging the older man to thrust—to fuck the dark, moist heat of his mouth. And when Haytham finally began setting his own pace; urgent, hard, and forceful; like he was making a concerted effort to give the assassin a sore throat—deeper and deeper, until he almost couldn’t breathe—Connor let go of the belt with one hand in favor of gripping his own erection through the confines of his trousers.

Stroking and squeezing himself in time with Haytham’s savage thrusts into his mouth, Connor groaned feeling about ready to climax; not caring if his trousers would be sticky and uncomfortable afterwards. His jaw ached deliciously, muscles straining, as Haytham pressed in deep. The hands on his neck relinquished their hold, one going on to twist in his dark brown hair, whilst the other traced a line around his shimmering, faintly crimson-stained lips, Haytham marveling in the way Connor’s mouth stretched out accommodatingly around his cock.

Smearing what little remained of lip-gloss on his hand onto Connor’s lips, Haytham groaned at the obscene nature of this encounter—at how eager and skilled the assassin’s tongue was, licking and massaging his cock the best he could, as the grandmaster thrust it in and out of the younger man’s mouth—at the muffled little noises Connor made against him, as the assassin stoked himself to completion. Haytham’s sticky hand joined its sweat-slicked counterpart in Connor’s hair, and the older trembled, as he felt his orgasm come upon him.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, rendering him breathless, as pressure soared passed the threshold and exploded into almost unbearable ecstasy. Haytham’s taut hold on Connor’s hair tightened to the point that it actually brought tears to the younger’s eyes, as the older man emptied himself down the assassin’s throat; groaning breathlessly as he did so. Trying to catch his breath, as he pulled softened cock from Connor’s slack mouth, Haytham opened his eyes just in time to see the door open.

The wicker laundry basket at Diana’s hip dropped abruptly to the floor and broke, spilling freshly cleaned clothes onto the floorboards, as the woman brought her hands to her mouth to muffle her shocked gasp. Haytham almost felt bad for her, as the blonde looked wholly traumatized, at having caught them in the act. However, as he felt that she got her just-desserts for not knocking, Haytham cleared his throat and saved his words of consolation for later; when Connor was throwing a hissy-fit at him for not first locking the door. “Were you never taught you to knock?”

Connor snapped out of his current state of shock, at hearing Haytham’s taunting voice. Standing brusquely, the assassin strode to Diana and, not knowing what to say or do, pushed the blonde from the doorway before slamming the door shut. Expression a mixture of embarrassment and fury, Connor shouted every swearword he knew at Haytham.

If the assassin was lucky; Diana would pretend that she hadn’t happened upon what she had, and never speak of the matter again. If he wasn’t… Connor’s hands balled into fist at the thought, rage gripping him somewhere behind his ribs. He was going to kill Haytham.

“Oh, relax… I’m quite sure they suspected—” Haytham interrupted himself, as he ducked right in time to avoid a potted plant that was flung indignantly at his head.

This Anon has been feasting here eyes for too long on Connor's delicious Captain outfit, and wants a Pirate/Naval!AU (possible a Pirates of the Caribean crossover or fusion?).

Just bless this anon with the Aquila sailing free with her most awesome captain being awesome.

I fucked this prompt up... I blame the copious amounts of caffeine I consumed this morning.

Is it bad I'm just imagining Desmond and Ezio getting dragged along to witness the whole hanging/taking part in saving Connor? What a world of emotions that would be. Would be interesting definately but you're probably not going to go there.

Despite you using actual in-game lines I find them quite well fitted (for a lack of a better word). It's kinda nice to see the timeframe of said story to give it all a better perspective.

Anyhow nothing more to say other then this story is utterly amazing and I can't wait for the next part because this is one of the best stories I've read on the Kink meme in a long time.

That was so much worse than I thought it was going to be--and I say that in a good way. I'm seriously amazed at how realistic you made it without going into too much graphic detail. For instance, Connor's reaction is so, so human, and is what makes reading this part so hard. I'm both excited, and terrified, for the next part.

You're doing such a great, great job, fillanon!

Haha yes I imagine Charles would like the " sharp implements of death " far away from his junk. Looking forward to seeing how Connor handles his first time. So in love with this fic!

Jfc, you build the atmosphere and creepiness so well alongside a naive Connor that I had to work up the will to click 'expand' for a good half minute, knowing this was coming. My god, you are a master.

Are you secretly me, Anon? Cause I've been perving over Connor's naval costume for AGES. :)

I really do want to fill this, but between finals week and the fill I'm currently doing, it may take a bit of time. :( If someone else wants to fill this in the meantime, be my guest!

I SOOOOO TOTALLY AGREE!
OP would love if anyone does some sort of sequel.
A!A if you see this and come up with a sequel, than i would love you even more.

I ALSO WANT CONNOR TO BE HAPPY. :(

Thirded.

Age of Sail geeks, unite!

Thirding. Because the noises I made when the naval warfare was announced were not in human range of hearing. I literally ran through the house, much to the confusion of my dog.

This is hilariously adorable! Yes, this must be filled!

My heartstrings, dear WriterAnon. You tug at them so. ;-;

I knew this was coming, but OH MY GOSH it was so horrible. And I don't mean horribly written at all, of course - this was written amazingly. You did not hold back at all, Anon. It was brilliant. Painful to read, but brilliant.

(ILU Anon. Have my babies.)

Connor, my darling... *hugs*

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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