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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BWAHAHAHAHAHA :) I love that idea! Pardon me, Desmond, but your technique needs a little help -- WHACK --

I am definitely going to give one of the conhayth prompts a crack, but most probably when this story is finished. I have to get the damn thing out of my head first before it explodes, LOL.

I'm so glad you're taking this :D I look forward to reading it, and don't worry you don't need to make it graphic some hints are fine, too. ;P

a/n: Nice long chapter today. Shit just got real ;). Auth anon apologizes in advance for evil cliffie.

One time, Enoch is caught by one of Menrva's people before he reaches her. The man who grabs him is tall and slender, with golden eyes and a head full of golden curls.

“You are Abel's nephew,” the man says knowingly, his hands strong and hard on Enoch's shoulders. Enoch struggles, but the man only tightens his hold.

“Calm down boy, lest you alert the guards. I am not going to hurt you,” the man says. Enoch slowly allows himself to relax, and the man lets go of his shoulders. “But there are others who would. You must not keep coming to the city looking as you do,” the man says.

The tall man offers him the white robes of a slave. “To blend in,” the man says. Enoch looks at them with disgust, but puts them on anyway and pulls the hood up to cover his face before he leaves in search of Menrva.

~ ~ ~ ~

Connor is not surprised when Myriam takes flight, and he can even sympathise a bit, although he does feel bad for his friend Norris. Myriam is much like the cougars that she hunts; smart, fiercely independent and proud. Not to mention quick – were it not for the water's edge, Connor is sure that Myriam would have evaded him entirely. When he finally catches up to her, he is actually out of breath.

“I am no housewife,” Myriam says. “I don't know what he expects from me, I don't --”

Her concerns are groundless though, and Connor interrupts her to tell her so.

“Norris loves you for who you are,” Connor reminds her, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “Not this person you think you must become.”

Myriam's once pristine dress is a little stained by earth and bark from the chase, most of the flowers that had been set in her hair are gone, her cheeks are flushed and her hair is falling out of place. Connor gathers some wildflowers to replace the ones that have fallen out of Myriam's hair, and she smiles at him, gathering a few flowers herself. She sorts them into a little bouquet to replace the one she destroyed, and Connor thinks that she looks a little wild, and absolutely perfect. She is ready to be married, he thinks. Now he only had to retrieve the old man, and they could join the others at the chapel. Connor is sure that Norris is probably getting a little concerned.

When they return to the manor house to find Achilles, the old man is nowhere in sight. Connor checks upstairs (where he leaves Myriam in the guest room to re-adjust her hair, and makes her promise on her honor that she will not run again) and on the balcony, before resigning himself to the fact that Achilles is most likely in the hidden assassin's headquarters. Sure enough, the gas lamp is not quite in the same position as it was this morning when he checks it. Connor tilts the gas lamp a little further, just enough to open the secret door, and closes it most of the way behind him, just in case Myriam does not take his words to heart and decides to do a little exploring.

Achilles is bent over the desk, an old book sitting unopened in front of him. The book is fairly large, bound with artfully tooled calfskin, and has what appears to be brass clasps holding it closed.

“Connor,” Achilles says, turning around to regard him. He runs a critical eye over Connor's attire, pronounces it 'acceptable', and then turns his attention back to the book in front of him.

Connor thinks he looks better than 'acceptable', but says nothing. He had picked out his darkest Continental army pants and jacket, his hair was pulled back with a red tie, and he wore a white linen shirt with a silk cravat instead of his normal military shirt. It was about as dressed up as he has ever been, and he thought he looked pretty good. His various instruments of death were all still in their right places, the only exception being his bow and quiver, as they were rather awkward to carry. Plus, he expected that Myriam might not appreciate being poked with it as he escorted her down the aisle.

Considering Myriam and the wedding just reminds him how late they already were.

“We need to go to the church. Norris is probably getting concerned,” Connor reminds Achilles gently.

“Humor an old man for a minute, Connor. Weddings are always late in starting," Achilles huffs, "Come here, I would like to show you something,” the old man continues, motioning with his hand to the book before him.

Annoyed, but curious – Achilles rarely shows him anything new anymore – Connor approaches the desk. He runs a finger down the spine of the book before him, the cover of which is artfully tooled with geometric shapes. There looks as if there might have been some gold leaf applied to some of the designs at some point, but most of it has worn away with time. The book smells of old leather, and the pages are yellowed with age.

Connor carefully releases the clasps, and allows the book to fall open. On the first page, there are a few simple sketches of people – mostly young men – and some notes in a language that Connor does not understand. He turns the page, a little confused as to why Achilles insisted that he see this book at this particular moment in time. There is another sketch, but this one is more interesting, as it appears to depict the inner workings of an assassin's hidden blade.

“Be careful when turning the pages,” Achilles warns him, “this book is very old and one of the greatest treasures held by the brotherhood.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You are looking at the personal journal of Leonardo DaVinci,” Achilles responds, a quiet reverence to his voice that is unexpected.

“Was this DaVinci an assassin?” Connor asks as he turns another page and sees yet another design for a hidden blade, one with an attached barrel that could be nothing other than a pistol. Fascinating.

“No, but he was a great friend to the order," Achilles answers him. "DaVinci was an artist, an inventor, and a powerful ally to one of your ancestors. His mind was unparalleled at the time, and remains so, even to this day.”

Connor turns another page. Each page contains an elaborate design for an invention. When he reaches the page with the flying machine, he pauses for a moment, wondering to himself if this DaVinci was quite as smart as Achilles thought he was. After all, Lance did build the flying machine based off of this DaVinci's design, and Connor had had the dubious honors of testing it over the lake. All it had gotten him was wet.

“This DaVinci was a friend to one of my ancestors?” Connor asks curiously, turning the page again. And that is where he completely halts, one hand rested against the table, the other carefully tracing the lines of the sketch in front of him. The sketch is of a man in his mid to late forties, with dark eyes, strong features, and a short salt and pepper beard. The man is wearing what looks like assassin's robes. It appears to be a candid sketch, as the man is not posing. Instead, the man just seems to be sitting casually on a bench, one gloved hand folded over the other. The man's expression is unguarded; his eyes and mouth lined with more frowns than smiles, dark eyes deeply contemplative. Connor brushes a finger tip against the man's upper lip where he has a scar in the exact same place as...

...”Mario,” Connor says aloud. “This man looks as if he could be Mario's father... or perhaps even Desmond's father,” Connor continues, pointing the sketch out to Achilles.

Achilles offers him a rare smile.

“That is your ancestor, Connor. His name was Ezio Auditore, and he was one of the finest assassins the brotherhood has ever produced.”

Connor backs away from the book with a frown. There was purpose to Achilles showing him this, there is always purpose in everything his mentor does.

“Why are you showing me this now?” Connor asks.

Achilles sighs, rests one hand on his cane, the other on Connor's shoulder, and gives the younger assassin a disappointed look. Somehow, Connor has let his mentor down and he doesn't even know how.

“I just thought you might be... curious.”

“I am curious!” Connor insists. “ You will have to tell me stories of his deeds when we are not extremely late for something else.”

Achilles shakes his head and walks away.

~ ~ ~ ~

The wedding is late in getting started, of which Desmond completely expects, but he nevertheless feels a bit bad for Norris, standing in front of Father Timothy, his hat off and hair combed and wearing his absolutely best and cleanest clothing, and fidgeting with his neck cravat.

Desmond subconsciously tugs at his own. He always thought that neck-ties were nothing but nooses probably invented by templars (along with women's bras – although that was more Rebecca's theory) as a subtle way of subjugating by way of strangulation the whole middle class. But neck-ties had nothing on the overly feminine and puffy silk cravats that all of the men present at the wedding (including Desmond) were wearing. Between the thigh high stockings, the silly hat, the cravat, the knee length breeches and the shiny buckles on his shoes, Desmond feels like he's having an out of body experience. All he needed was a goofy powdered wig, and he'd be all set to be a tour guide on Boston's Freedom Trail.

He wondered briefly if there was a different version of himself in a different future sitting in an animus, reliving this wedding, and if so what future Desmond thought of it all before deciding that the whole train of thought was too fucked up and meta and thinking about that shit was a good way to give oneself an aneurism.

Ezio sits besides him, at the edge of the pew, easily inhabiting his 18th century clothing as if he has worn such clothing all his life. It's amazing how relaxed he is, how much he blends in without even trying, whereas Desmond feels that no matter what he wears or what he says, all he does is stand out.

“The bride is late to her own wedding,” Benjamin Tallmadge mutters from behind them, stating the obvious, and yeah, poor Norris is starting to pace back and forth, and is looking more than a bit panicked. Even Father Timothy is shaking his head. The low whisper going through the assembled homesteaders certainly doesn't help the situation at all.

Lyle is sifting through his man purse of medieval torture devices, probably looking for something toxic to tranquilize poor Norris with, when the door to the church finally opens. Achilles enters first and takes a seat in the back pew, and then Connor enters with Myriam on his arm. Myriam looks beautiful, if a little nervous, and then everyone is on their feet. Desmond is actually looking forward to the wedding, since the wedding itself was not part of the memory sequence in the animus; just Myriam's little moment of cold-feet, and the reception afterwards.

He enthusiasm drains about 40 minutes later when Father Timothy is still talking, and no vows have been exchanged. Desmond is in hell, and hell is a 18th century stuffy Catholic church with poor ventilation and a lot of people who need deodorant like one needs air to breath. Desmond is uncomfortable and twitching, in stark contrast to Ezio, who stands, sits, and kneels at all the correct times without prompting. Ezio even repeats the word to every Latin prayer, and is bizarrely one of the first in line to receive communion when it is offered.

“Dude, you don't actually believe in this shit, do you?” Desmond questions in Ezio's ear when the Italian returns from communion. Ezio kneels beside him in prayer, and doesn't answer Desmond's question until he's done, blessing himself with the sign of the cross before scooting back in the pew. The whole sight is surreal to Desmond. It's just... for someone who was the bane of the Vatican for decades, Desmond didn't really think that the man had much use for religion, or the politics involved.

“Jesus was a great and wise teacher, and a good man,” Ezio answers eventually. “His words were sound and noble. It is the men who came after who twisted his message for profit and evil.”

It sounds too much like the alternate future that Minerva showed him, if he had just walked away from the tree, and Desmond does not quite repress the shudder that travels through him. Freaking hell, how many times has this story been played out? Was Jesus just another pawn, just like them?

“But do you believe in God?” Desmond presses quietly after a moment. The question is important, but he has no idea why. It isn't as if he himself is a believer. He's seen way too much shit for that.

“I don't know what I believe,” Ezio finally admits with a sigh. “I know that I have been witness to a number of both beautiful and terrible things. I have to have faith that there is meaning to all of this, to every life that I have taken and to the others I have saved.”

Ezio grabs his hand, squeezes it once before letting it drop. “I have faith in the creed, in our mission and in you, Desmond Miles. I think, for now, that is enough.”

On that, Desmond agrees.

~ ~ ~ ~

Later, Desmond helps Corrine carve and serve a monstrously huge roast turkey to the wedding guests, along with roast potatoes, carrots, some sort of blood sausage that he's totally not going to touch, applesauce cake and molasses dumplings. Cider, wine and ale flow freely, and everyone is happy; none more than the bride and groom themselves.

Even Achilles seems relaxed, and simply says 'thank you' when Desmond serves him his dinner. There are no pointed looks or knowing glances, for which Desmond is grateful. Still, seeing Achilles reminds him that he has yet to say anything to Ezio, for which he is starting to feel a little guilty about. But the old man hasn't said or done anything since he slipped Desmond the note with the assassin's insignia and hasn't confronted them like Desmond thought he would. Desmond is wary of the old man, knows Achilles is crafty like a fox, and wants to get to Ezio before the other shoe drops. He makes a mental note to take Ezio aside and tell him tonight, Tallmadge or no Tallmadge. By the number of empty bottles on the colonial's table, Desmond highly doubts that Tallmadge is going to be much of a problem tonight anyway.

After everyone is done eating, Ellen presents Connor with a flag representing the Davenport homestead and offers to make one for anyone who would like one. Achilles slips out soon after that, and Desmond relaxes a little, allowing himself to have a few drinks and kick back. He is well on his way to a warm and fuzzy head place when Ezio pulls out his guitar and plays a few chords. At first, Ezio doesn't sing, just plays at his guitar as he would his lute, strumming out a jaunty little tune that has the colonial's up and in a line, men on one side and women on the other, as they take turns dancing in pairs down the middle. Desmond is not at all surprised to find himself paired with Ellen when he joins the men's line, and is fairly sure that Corrine switched places with her to ensure that she was his dance partner. Desmond doesn't mind; Ellen is a good dancer, and they are all having fun. Even Connor joins the line at some point, at which Desmond can't help but to be just a little surprised. Connor is actually graceful on his feet – why he would have thought otherwise, he doesn't know – and dances once with Myriam and once with Catherine before he leaves the line in search of more cider.

And then Ezio starts strumming the chords to “All you need is love,” and only Norris and Myriam are left dancing. Ezio's voice is strong and rich, the simple guitar its only accompaniment, and Desmond notices with chagrin that most of the women are doe-eyed and staring at Ezio with a tender expression. He follows with a rendition of “Let it be” that is slow and beautiful, and almost has Desmond himself teary-eyed before he shakes it off and reminds himself that he does not now and never will like The Beatles, ever.

This conclusion is re-affirmed after Ezio starts singing “With a little help from my friends,” and invites Desmond to join him, of which his answer is a most emphatic 'Hell no.'

~ ~ ~ ~

By the time everyone leaves and they return to their room, both Ezio and Desmond are well on their way to drunk. Desmond actually has to half carry Ezio down the hall, which is extremely difficult when Ezio is laughing into his neck and being really touchy feely with his hands. Desmond has to keep batting them away from his backside, sure as shit that Oliver or Corrine are going to come out of any corner at any second. When they get close to their room, Ezio shoves him brutally against the wall and kisses him, all tongue and teeth and demanding, and Desmond can't get the door to their room open fast enough.

“Hurry,” Ezio breaths into his neck. “It has been far too long for me, mio caro.”

“Yeah,” Desmond murmurs in response, and his cock wholly agrees as it twitches with interest. Somehow, he manages to remove Ezio from himself long enough to get the door open, and he gets about one foot into the room before he halts, every hair on the back of his neck standing up in alarm. Something is wrong. It isn't just him either; Ezio is alert and wary as he enters the room behind him, eyes searching every corner of the room. It is about then that Desmond notices that the chest of their belongings is completely open.

“Ezio --” Desmond whispers, voice filled with alarm, but the other man instantly hushes him, eyes focused on the other side of the room, where Achilles is practically melting out of the dark corner into the light in front of him, holding both the apple and Desmond's iphone.

“What I want to know," Achilles says in a harsh and raspy voice, looking at both Desmond and Ezio in turn, "“is why two brothers,” he continues, emphasizing the 's' on brothers with a hiss, “one of whom should be centuries dead," Achilles pauses and shoots a hard look at Ezio in particular, “are trailing my assassin, carrying these.” The old man finishes by dropping the apple and the iphone onto Desmond's bed with a flourish.

Desmond doesn't hide his wince, and looks to Ezio for support, but there is none to be found. Instead, Ezio's face is stone, his eyes narrowed and hard and focused entirely on Desmond.

Fuck.

YOU KILL ME. YOU. KILL. ME.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, that apology was more than necessary, dear anon, how could you stop there nfdsnfslfdl

auth anon apologizes for your unexpected death and sends virtual flowers as condolences (@)--;--

I ended up staying up til 5am writing, no regrets xD Set in Brazil as per request!anon's suggestion w/ dub-con. Sorry if Daniel’s OOC, it's been a while since I read The Fall…
---

When Desmond came to, he couldn't see a thing.

The blindfold was tight; enough to hold his eyes shut, but not quite enough to hurt. The real pain came from the back of his skull, throbbing violently; a result of blunt force. Slowly and carefully, he lifted his head, twisting his head this way and that, his neck stiff. He seemed to be lying on concrete, perhaps a warehouse?

No hidden blade. Fuck, fuck. His hands were tied behind his back with a thin piece of plastic, almost tight enough to cut off blood circulation. In fact, it probably was. The nerves in his fingertips were buzzing and beginning to ache.

Breathe. Breathe. It's alright. Fuck. You can do this. You only have to survive long enough for Shaun and Rebecca to find you, right? Where the fuck are they?!

Slowly, Desmond curled his twitching fingers inward to his wrist, trying to diagnostically analyse his handcuffs, but he instantly froze when he heard footsteps approaching him. The sound echoed through the building loudly.

"Rargh!" A hand gripped him hard behind the head by his hair and yanked violently. The headache came back with a vengeance. There was a laugh, loud and barking, before Desmond was firmly yanked up to his feet, his head throbbing and spinning from the sudden movement, almost nauseatingly so, and then he was pushed down into a chair. The hard, wooden back of the chair dug painfully into his arms.

"Who--" The assassin coughed violently, "Who the fuck are you?" the sound of another chair scrapping loudly against the ground could be heard, then the rustle of movement and the sickening feeling of a gun being pressed to the centre of his forehead.

"I'm just like you." Desmond could hear the grin, and the voice was vaguely familiar, too.

"Don't fuck with me." another laugh, almost hysterical.

"'Don't fuck with you'?! Look at you! Tied up! Blindfolded! Gun to the head! 'Don't fuck with you'-- I'll fuck with you as much as I want!" Desmond scowled and his captor only snorted.

"You really don't know who I am? Guess."

"... I don't--"

"GUESS." And, shit, that was definitely the click of a safety trigger. Desmond wracked his brain. The voice was familiar, it was!

"Come on, Desmond." the gun pressed harder. He'd heard it somewhere... From not long ago... But... It... Was it manhattan? Yes! The Abstergo agent! Rebecca was talking about him a few days ago. But his name... What was his name?!

"Daniel! Daniel... Cross?" Desmond stumbled out, and suddenly, the gun was gone, and the blindfold too. The brunette winced as he opened his eyes, his sight blurry and unfocused under halogen lights.

"Correct!" Daniel grinned, tossing the blindfold to the side.

They were in a carpark, most likely underground. The pillars were emblazoned with a large B4, so, shit, they were pretty far underground, too. Bad reception, probably no reception at all. There was only one car in the corner back, few bothered to find a spot this far down, but a motorbike sat not far from Daniel, keys still in the ignition, probably so that he could make a quick escape if needed to... Though if Desmond could somehow work his way free from these binds...

Daniel himself sat a mere foot in front of Desmond, his chair facing chest to back, with his legs spread wide to bracket the base of the back of the chair and his arms resting over the top.

"What do you want from me?"

"Dunno," Daniel looked around the carpark aloofly, "a little fun?"

"Fun?" Desmond's nose scrunched, half in confusion and half in horror, "... What kind of fun?"

Daniel just hummed and said suggestively, "Well, we can have some of the fun you're thinking of too."

"I wasn’t thinking of any kind of fun." And certainly not that kind.

"But you are now, and you want to."

"I don't want."

"You are a pretty good lookin' guy, I guess," Daniel smirked, "But what should we do?"

"I. Don't. Want. To."

"You could suck my dick?" Daniel's eyelids lowered slightly and Desmond flushed, "I could suck yours."

"Y-you--!" Desmond choked on his own words, shocked by Daniel's tenacity, "What the fuck?!" Daniel's smirk just morphed into a shit-eating grin.

"Well now I just have to," Daniel paused in thought, his eyes trained uncomfortably on Desmond’s crotch, "yours it is!"

And with that and another flash of a grin, Daniel jumped out of his seat, moving the chair to the side with a kick that almost toppled it, and dropping to his knees.

"I swear to motherfucking God, you better stop right now." Desmond put a foot onto Daniel's chest and tried to push him away, but the Abstergo agent simply twisted his torso away from the foot and hit Desmond's ankle hard on the side so that his shoe simply skid right off him.

"Now, now..." Daniel sighed unzipping Desmond's fly and slowly kneading his flaccid cock through his briefs. Despite Desmond's complaints and refusals, it didn't take long to become semi-hard.

"Fuuck..." Desmond desperately wished he had his hands free so he could hide his fucking face, but he had to make do with throwing his head back. And that seemed to work okay for a while until he felt a hot mouth over his shaft through his briefs, tongue working slowly over the fabric and, Jesus fuck, he had a tongue piercing. He couldn't help but let his legs fall further apart. He could feel the quirk of Daniel's smirk on him, and Desmond flicked his head back down with a glare,

"Don't you fucking say a- aahh fuck..." just the sight of Daniel, along with the feeling his mouth sucking now... Desmond bit his bottom lip and flicked his head back up to the ceiling, resolving to never moan again.

Daniel lifted his mouth off of Desmond, and the assassin fought the urge to whine.

"I wasn't going to say anything." Daniel said as he pulled the briefs down and freed Desmond's cock, the cold air hitting it hard and causing Desmond's hips to jerk slightly.

"Just..." Desmond looked back down, and, fuck, the sight of his erection, the wet briefs and Daniel's smirk...

"Hmm?" a hand fondled his balls, slowly but firmly, and Desmond bit his lip again.

"... Just do it." Desmond muttered. Daniel saluted him cockily, and without another breath, took Desmond's dick into his mouth, almost whole. The assassin's hips jerked suddenly and Daniel's forearm, the same arm still holding the fucking gun, safety still off, came slamming down on his hips to keep them steady, and somehow that only made Desmond want to moan even more.

Slowly, Daniel drew himself back up the shaft, until only the head remained in his mouth, then, with his free hand gripping the base, he flicked his tongue over the head and sucked, making sure his piercing flicked over the slit. Desmond felt like he was about to slide right out of the chair from how he was trying to simultaneously raise his hips off it and push himself closer to Daniel. His feet rolled up so only the heel of his sneakers were on the floor.

"Aggh... Shit yes... Just like that..."

Daniel alternated between pumping his mouth up and down the shaft, piercing pressed against the underside, and playing with the head, all the while keeping the sucking constant, his cheeks hollowed out. It didn't take long for Desmond to come, with a particularly hard jerk of the hips as the only warning, his mouth hanging open in a caught gasp before exhaling with a groan. The Abstergo agent simply caught it all in his mouth, lifted himself up and spat quite vulgarly onto the ground. Desmond was rather disgusted, but he couldn't expect him to swallow, especially in this... This situation...

"Sh- Shit, man,” Desmond was still panting, “What the FUCK is wrong with you?! Oh my god, I can't... I can't even..." he flushed and looked down at his crotch.

"I'll get that for ya, pal," Daniel grinned, tucking Desmond away again and doing the zip back up. The damp briefs were uncomfortable but bearable.

"Y-You-- you think you can just kidnap people and just... What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Everything, really, so stop asking, and besides, what's done is done. You liked it anyway." Daniel shrugged as he drew his chair back and sat back down on it.

"I did not!"

"Well don't act like you did, then. And if you didn't want it to happen, you shouldn't have been so entertaining to tease."

"Fuck you!" Desmond spat, and Daniel just laughed. Desmond had never been so embarrassed in his life. He tucked his chin into his chest and groaned. He couldn’t even follow what was happening right now. Daniel only lifted his gun as if to inspect it, and to the assassin’s relief, he flicked the safety back on.

"But now it's time to get down to business," Daniel brushed off Desmond's anger, which only made the brunette seethe even more, "So, how is it?" the blonde asked conversationally.

"How is what?" Desmond spat. Daniel sucked on the insides of his cheeks and shifted his jaw back and forth slightly, using the end of his pistol to rub his jaw. Desmond only flushed and looked back down again.

"You know, being treated like a fucking princess," Daniel clarified bluntly, his gun waving around as he gestured, and Desmond was highly offended, "having sessions that are only hours long, not days. Having breaks. Having friends. Being monitored to prevent the Bleeding effect. Having your pop to support you. Being able to choose when to leave the Animus. How is it all? Pretty fucking great, huh?" Desmond didn't reply, only pursed his lips, so Daniel went on, leaning in close so that his nose just barely touched Desmond's, and the assassin leaned away uncomfortably.

"Life's pretty good, huh? For you, at least. I guess you don't know what it's like to be trapped for days in the Animus, but to feel safer in the Animus than out. Because you are nothing without it, you have no life, no purpose outside of it. I guess you don't know what it's like to be brainwashed. To tear down everything around you; stab, murder, betray, destroy and not even know it until it’s too late, and you're standing there, with that God damned hidden blade red and dripping, over the body of your mentor. Over the corpse of your life." Daniel's voice had lowered to a hiss, his eyes glinting angrily. Desmond shifted uneasily; this was going somewhere serious and fast, and Desmond could feel the anger slowly seeping out of him. It was almost frightening now, how mercurial the other man was.

"You think your life was tough. Growing up in the Farm, running away to bar hop for years and reject your heritage? It wasn't tough. And it's not now either. It must be great to be you."

"I don't..." Desmond didn't know what to say. It was true. Relative to Daniel, Desmond's life was a walk in the park. And he could tell that the man in front of him didn't want pity; he would probably shoot him if he showed it. It wasn't as if Daniel wanted Desmond's life, it was more like... He couldn't comprehend how a life like Desmond's could exist. It was like he wanted to understand Desmond. It was a weird feeling, to be looked at as if one was alien. Awkward. Strange. This whole experience, this situation, was easily the strangest in Desmond's life ever. This man before him, whom he barely even knew, and couldn't understand at all, who he had only met about a week or so ago, and only just barely met, too, was completely broken and naive. And yet, he was strong, as well, but for all the wrong reasons.

"I'm just like you, Desmond," Daniel whispered, leaning even closer, "I have Assassin ancestors... And memories. I've been in the Animus. Hell, I was an assassin for a long time. Longer than you. But you... You were..." Daniel paused, the word escaping him for a brief moment, "... Lucky."

"... I guess I was." Desmond mumbled.

"AGHHH!!"

All of a sudden, Daniel stumbled backwards out of his chair. His foot nicked the chair leg and it toppled to the side. The gun clattered to the ground as Daniel's hands raised to clutched at his head in pain. Desmond was quick to kick the gun, and it skid a good twenty or so metres away.

"FFFFUCKK! NO!!" Daniel fell to his knees, hitting the sides of his temples with the heels of his hands as if to hit something out, violently. Desmond could only watch in horror. The pain was so cruel and intense, just observing it made Desmond's own dull headache seer a little harder as well.

When it finally stopped, Daniel kneeled with his head hung, his hands now dropped to his sides. It had felt like hours for both of them, but in reality, it was probably only a minute or two. Desmond licked his lips nervously. His throat was dry.

"... I..." Daniel's voice was hoarse, "It's hell, you know? To live like this. With nothing. Controlled by Abstergo. I... I live in fucking fear, Desmond. Of the future. Of happiness. What else could they have programmed into my mind? Sometimes, I don’t even know who I am anymore. Sometimes, I’m not even me. And this pain... This pain..." Daniel raised his hands and ran them up his face, pressing the heels into his brow.

"D...aniel...." Desmond felt helpless, useless in his chair.

"I need... You... To save me."

"Wh--"

"It doesn't... It doesn't matter how... Or even when. I need you... To look at me and see me." Daniel looked up, his eyes were glistening.

"Do you see, Desmond?"

Now it all made sense. The seemingly spontaneous decision to kidnap him instead of kill, the... Weird insistence for the... Servicing, though that was probably not planned, but the whole life story, the gun... Everything was to convince him, and it worked. This man in front of him was no villain. He was a victim to Abstergo, his life had been ruined and now there was nothing left but to keep working for the Templars. With how mercurial he was, how mad, Desmond could tell that there were probably some days where Daniel felt Templar, and others where he felt Assassin, but in the end, this man before him—this was the real Daniel. Just Daniel.

"I..." Desmond cleared his dry throat, "... Yes."

Daniel didn't have the heart to smile at that, but his lips twitched slightly, and there was relief. His shoulders sagged, and only then did Desmond realise how tense they were.

Daniel stood slowly, and from his pocket he drew a butterfly knife, which he easily flicked open. He rounded Desmond and slipped the blade just between Desmond’s wrists, and with a single pull, cut the handcuffs cleanly. The plastic fell away, useless. The assassin brought his hands forward and rubbed his wrists, shaking his hands out and regaining feeling in his fingers.

"It wasn't really meant to be like this," Daniel chuckled, but it was hollow and ashamed, "but I guess nothing really turns out the way you planned." Desmond stood and turned to look at him, but all Daniel looked now was tired. Worn to the bone.

The Abstergo agent walked over to his motorcycle, opened the storage compartment on the back, and dumped Desmond's backpack and hidden blade out. His satchel thumped to the ground; the power source was still inside.

"I'll see you." Daniel shut the compartment and climbed onto the bike, kicking the stand up, his eyes trained firmly on the handle bars.

"Yeah." Definitely.

There was an odd silence between the two. Then, Daniel turned to look once more at Desmond, his eyes were determinedly blank. He had to make sure before he left. Make sure that Desmond understood. That he could trust Desmond.

"I'm just like you, Desmond, only you were lucky."

And then he was gone.

- - -

Desmond didn't know how to mention it to his father, Shaun and Rebecca, so in the end, he never did. Looking back, as he had every night for a week now, it had still been the most surreal and random experience of his life. But now, hurling himself across this stupid, motherfucking Abstergo headquarters, up in rafters and down on cubicles as he followed a psychotic Daniel, he really wished he had.

He could hear the footsteps thundering after him in the distance, the Abstergo agents yelling at each other. Get him. Move! He went this way! Go, go, go!

But it didn't mean anything to Desmond. In his ear piece he could hear Shaun yelling,

"What the bloody hell are you doing?! Forget about him!! Stop chasing him and get the FUCK out of there, you giant TWAT."

And he guessed to them it was weird, to be chasing this guy, this Abstergo agent, when there were bigger priorities at hand, escaping and surviving for one, but they didn't know. All they saw was Abstergo. Templar. They couldn't see it like Desmond could. Couldn't see Daniel.

And that was why Desmond was flinging himself forward in a tackle onto Daniel, smashing them both onto the ground from the top of a cubicle. That was why Desmond was holding this broken man tightly as he struggled to free himself.

"Stop it!"

"D- Desmond?" Daniel froze, like a deer in headlights. There was a blinking, blurry clarity in his eyes.

"I'm going to save you!" but already the thundering of Abstergo agents was drawing nearer and nearer, and Daniel knew it too. Desmond panicked, there was no time! He should have known that the other man would be here, it was the fucking Abstergo headquarters! There should have been a plan, an escape route. He should have told the others, they would have trusted his word over Daniel’s past, especially Rebecca. But there was still hope, Daniel could climb, if they… if they left right now--

“Get up, get up!” Desmond propped himself up on his forearms, flicking his head back to check for guards.

"Kill me." Desmond froze, then looked down in incredulity.

"What?! But I said I'd sa-- mmph!" Daniel's cracked lips pressed to Desmond's scarred ones suddenly but firmly. Desmond's eyes widened while Daniel's slipped shut.

“My leg’s bust anyway.” And, fuck, that must have been from the tackle impact, it had been a three metre fall with force, and Daniel had taken Desmond’s weight, too.

“Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t— I wanted to—“

“THERE!” Across the room, Abstergo guards burst through the doors, guns and batons at the ready.

"This is the only way you can now,” Daniel grimaced, but he was determined, “Things never go as you plan."

And Desmond knew it, too.

oh derp, forgot to rename the title. a!a out.

So, you're probably wondering about timelines. This is obviously set after the Tea Party, but for the purposes of storytelling, Johnson's assassination mission doesn't happen, and the Battle of Bunker Hill happens later (as in, after sequence 8). So, just assume your favourite homesteaders are at Davenport and that all assassin recruits have been... er, recruited.

Eh, I never pay attention to the dates. There is a 6 month gap between the Tea Party and Johnson's assassination. So they could have grabbed him at any time between then. Connor should already be known as the infamous assassin having eliminated Templar agents, at 16-17 he was already Captain of the Aquila and blew up one of their Forts that was threatening Martha's Vinyard (if you did the Naval Missions).

The ale is stronger than he'd thought, better quality. Or maybe that's the drink talking. It would say nice things about itself, wouldn't it?

Drunk Haytham is awesome. I love how your characterize both Haytham and Connor and given them both a witty sense of humor (Still wish Connor had asked about the chickens or maybe the turkey recruit in his letter... but of course Haytham would probably think that's a code or something). I'm glad he feels some guilt and eagerly anticipating his reaction will be when he finds out Connor is his son (and that he broke him).

Please update soon!

Poor poor Desmond is going to be chewed out so bad by the two mentor assassins

Oh my god Connor how can you be naive and cute at the same time. Man I feel for Achilles dealing with him sometimes :DDD

AND HAHAHA AT DESMOND AGAIN. First Shaun, then the songs and now Achilles. Why yes you are in hell that's in the 18th century being cockblocked by everyone and everything. He's never going to get some at this rate lol. At least Achilles is in the loop, sorta??

Ooooh nice touch with the origins of the robes and how it ties in with the mythos you're creating here. So wish we have more info on Adam and Eve =_=

ow men that was so cool I really love if writer!anon can continue this

I'm sure I'm not the only one who tied AC3 with the movie "The Patriot" with Mel Gibson before it came it. I mean, they both swing and toss around a Tomahawk, no? So I request a crossover or perhaps the two main characters fighting side by side in the battlefield and both fighting fiercely. At the end of the battle they both are drenched in blood and exchange pleasantries... hm that's all I got to so far.

I guess this can be considered a blood kink? or perhaps a savage fight kink?

I have to wonder if Connor realizes that now his alpha has him he probably won't let him go any time soon. Eagerly awaiting the next part!

This is fairly awesome! Thanks for writing it! I'm not the prompter but I enjoyed reading it a lot!

This is amazing.

Badass! I wanna see this happen SO BAD!!!

8D

You are a marvel. This is such a joy to read!

yeah I would like to see that connor don't like to eat people... wow continue please

Not the one asking, but Ezio's 40 at the end of ACII. He was born in 1459 and first talked to Minerva in the Vatican Vault in 1499.

WELL OVER TWENTY PARTS???!!!!!??? :D :D :D :D (I mean, erm...wow, that sounds like a lot...I'm not hiding my ecstatic happiness at this very well, am I?)

Drunk!Haytham is amazing. I loved him, this chapter, this whole fill is so brilliant anon. Personally I feel this part gives us a much-needed break from the horribleness happening to Connor. I was good of you to include it. :3 We shall all be singing ballads of your greatness for this story, WriterAnon.

hnnnnnnnnnngh so good anon, so good!

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 9

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 9

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Fill: Every hour God sends, part 10a

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Fill - Just like you (1/2)

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Re: FILL 16/? (An Interlude)

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Connor the Patriot

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