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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Join or Die

✩ 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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(Livejorunal) Archive
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#2 (Livejournal) Archive
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(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I think it's referencing the fact that Connor goes out of his way to get Norris and Myriam together. I mean, I ran 300+m, climbed a cliff and got attacked by wolves just to pick flowers for that guy in a Homestead mission. Which means Connor literally risked his life just to help Norris win his girl. That makes 'agreeing that your best friend's uncle is the Pope' seem trivial in comparison.

Wait, which country does Altair meet again? I've never heard of Syria/Arabia or whatever. And Haytham meeting England... YES.

God, the things this kink meme made me write. Have a short fill. Somebody else should do this prompt justice.

_______________________________________

At first, Connor thinks he is mistaken. His father had obviously enjoyed the company of women. Surely this is a forgery or a hallucination. But the letter is still here, very real. It’s signed by one Haytham Kenway, lost between the other papers found in his office. It is dated of only a few days ago; Haytham didn’t have the time to have it delivered yet, and now he never would. Connor has only read the first sentences, but the words are burned in his memory.

________

My dear Charles,

I hope you have forgiven me by now. The Order needs you. We can’t afford to have you in danger. I shall take care of the trifling matter that is the assassin and be back by your side. You will barely notice my absence and, more importantly, you will be safe.

Do not worry. I intend to make it up to you. I have missed your touch surely as much as you did mine.

________

Connor should stop here. He knows he should. But he can’t. He has to know.

________

I shall go to your side as soon as I can. I miss your mouth, which can do so much more than shape clever words. The first thing I will do will be to kiss those lips, to stop your protests and hopefully replace them with moans of pleasure. Oh, you will surely fight me, thinking this kind of behavior unbecoming so soon after my return, but you will cede to my will, the way you always do.

________

He can almost see the scene happening in front of him. His father approaching Charles Lee, touching him, pushing until he has his way. He would never have guessed that this was the relationship they shared. Outside of his tribe, men seemed uncomfortable with such things. Something unlikely for his father and him to share. Connor has stopped himself from such fantasies to better blend with his allies, but now that they are plain to see, how could he avert his eyes ?

________

You will still be in your office. You will be worried about the soldiers guarding the place. I will not care, even as I remove your clothes and pushes you against your desk, sending all those important papers flying. For all your complaints, you will be hard and leaking the moment I put my hand on you.

________

Connor can’t help but notice that he is sitting at the desk, reading this correspondence probably where it was written. He supposes Lee’s office is similar to the one he is in right now. Was Haytham thinking of his lover here ? Was this letter discarded halfway through, Haytham having more pressing matters to take care of ?

Those aren’t healthy thoughts, but they’re the ones plaguing his mind. He feels himself losing control with each sentence, his mind clearly showing him pictures that should repulse him but cause a completely different reaction.

________

This is where all resistance would flee. You will stop struggling and start begging. I will not be cruel to you. I will give you everything you ask for and more. You will push the oil you keep in your desk for such uses, despite denying it until your dying breath, in my hand, a wordless plea that could not be clearer.

________

Connor couldn’t say when his hand slid inside of his pants. He has been aware of his growing erection, but he had been trying to disregard it. He has obviously failed.

His hand feels better than it should, his grip being too dry. Even so, he knows he won’t last. He still feels the rush from the fight, and it has been far too long.

________

I will obey you, pushing one finger after another until you’re ready and clawing at my arms in your need to be filled. When I finally enter you, bending you over your desk, you will instinctively meet my every trust, until you get frustrated with the slow rhythm I force on you.

________

His hand works faster. He wants to be taken that way, to lose all control and yet keep it.

________

You will push me on the chair and start riding me, using me ruthlessly to find your own pleasure. When you start making those high-pitched sounds, I will stroke you until you come all over my hand and I will join you a few seconds later.

_______

His orgasm floods him as the pair in his mind reach completion. He waits for his senses to come back to him, wipes himself as best as he can, and then finishes the letter.

_______

You will slump against me, exhausted. Only then you will admit to having missed me. I will treasure those words just as dearly as the moments before.

Those are the thoughts filling my head as I wait for our enemy to arrive. As you can see, they are all about you. If I could have been with you, I would have, but this is the way it should be. We shall be together soon, our goals having been furthered. Don’t worry, the world shall be ours.

May the Father of Understanding guide us.

Yours, Haytham Kenway

_____

His father was a liar until the end, it seems. Connor shall bring this letter to his father’s funeral, where he knows he will find Lee. Reading it, maybe Lee will feel a fraction of the pain he has caused to Connor.

I don't know about any of those other Templars, but he looked so fuckable in that outfit with his lean legs in those thigh-high boots that I would have jumped him as soon as he was dressed just to strip the clothes off him again!

Maybe Charles feels the same?

P.E.R.F.E.C.T.

That is all.

Okay first of all, I just re-read the first part and wow holy crap how did I make that many typos I am so fucking sorry *flees* I hope to have it properly betaed by the time I post it on AO3 *sobs* Note taken: never post anything unbetaed at 3 AM again, oops. I re-read this part twice and hopefully I won’t be making as many typos again. Hopefully.

Anyway, thank you so much for the adorable reviews! ;w; Really, they mean a lot to me and I love you all so much so I’ll just stop talking so you can read the rest. *cries happy tears*

----------

If Connor had been troubled that his first time in the Opera House would leave him uneasy, he certainly was not prepared for the Christmas play. People came in and out of every single door and opening they could possibly find around, cornering him, asphyxiating him. He had so grossly underestimated this place he now found himself looking everywhere to try and get out of people’s way without touching them, which seemed almost an impossible task with the clothes he had been gently forced by Achilles to wear again. The place was crowded with all sort of people he could find in the streets of New York; the high class - numerous small groups of fancy people trying to impress; the average person - an even grander number of people that still dressed adequately well and mixed easily with the wealthy lot; and the lucky ones - poor people who had been blessed with winning tickets over bets, had stolen from someone else, or casually found lost tickets on the way.

It was amazing he still got surprised by the confining crowd when he should have known that this was a special occasion all sort of people would not miss for anything. He had his own different beliefs, but had learned from Achilles that christianity represented a large portion of the colonies and thus, most people would try to attend to such festivities.

By his side, Haytham didn’t seem to mind much, probably already used to it. He had given his hat at the entrance (and Connor followed the example by removing his own hood), but they both retained their own capes in an attempt to hide their garments since Church would recognize them easily. The less suspicion they could attract the better.

They stood behind the curved stairs where less people walked by so they could talk without being troubled by others. Connor’s father seemed uncharacteristically anxious.

“I apologize, I could not find his cabin. We’ll have to look for him when it starts.” Hickey had been sent to the villa they believed Church was hiding in to look for the tickets in his personal items and find out the cabin number. However they were nowhere to be find. It was a possibility he hadn’t counted on and it was disgraceful.

“If there is no other choice.” Connor muttered matter of factly, but seemed annoyed by it. The less time he spent looking for the man, the more time he could invest in stalking him to learn about the missing goods.

“It’s starting, let’s go before the doors get too cramped for us to pass.”

Connor took notice of the hand across his shoulder guiding him inside and sighed. Even if he tried to shake it off Haytham would probably just grab him even tighter and tell him to stop being so uncooperative, so he pretended not to care (something he would get better at an astounding rate if Haytham keeped it up).

As soon as they were in the main room, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again to a dark room. A serene glow danced around the people making them shine in the dark filled room. There were no results, unfortunately, as it seems Church wasn’t in any cabins yet. Just then a thought occurred to him and he turned to face his father.

“What if he’s here? In the crowd I mean, not in the cabins.”

“That would be impossible.” They entered a row in the far back, hoping not to raise attention when they had to get up in the middle of the play. “If he’s in a large group to talk he’ll need a cabin for privacy. You can’t talk with everyone when they’re all standing in a row, you wouldn’t be able to reach the person on the far side. He’ll be in one of the cabins, undoubtedly.”

Connor still had his doubts, but said no more since his arguments were logical.

At least the curtains were raised and the lights behind their row were put out. Connor tried his ability again. It was faint, but the last cabin on the left side, the one closest to the stage, was definitely glowing in gold tones. Haytham nodded to show him that he knew of it as well.

Without saying a word they got up and made their way out of their row, silently apologizing for the inconvenience to other spectators. They walked to the far back where they could not be seen and Haytham motioned for them to stop.

“This is bad, I don’t see a way up unless we climb the cabins, but that will attract too much attention in this small space.”

Small?! Connor screamed in his mind, but let it go. On his side there was a small breezes coming in. When he approached he noticed that all windows (and really big ones) were partially open to let in the cool air. He pushed one of them so he could pass through and climbed on top of it. Then he turned around and hanged outside.

“If we can’t get there from the inside, let’s go from the outside.”

Haytham didn’t seem to enjoy the idea, and if the hands he put around himself to protect him from the upcoming cold were any sign, he was starting to believe the old man wasn’t very fond of winter. There was no other way though, even Haytham could see that, so he didn’t say anything about it.

Climbing proved a lot harder than Connor had anticipated with the pants he was wearing. Cursing them inwardly, he attempted to grab on another window slowly. His father was certainly going to get back at him for this later, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had to go up slowly and nicely, making sure he wouldn’t stretch his legs too far apart. Thankfully the second floor wasn’t too far up.

Haytham climbed through the open window first. When he promptly offered Connor a hand, he simply ignored it and climbed through the parapet himself. He would not let a stupid article of clothing stop him from performing his duty objectively (it may have damaged his lower regions more than he intended to, but at least his pride as an assassin was intact).

The hallways on the upper floor were pleasantly empty as the few people on it were inside their cabins behind closed doors. Without saying a word, Haytham started walking in Church’s direction with Connor following closely behind. There was a pretty big number of closed doors before they finally reached the last one.

The young assassin approached the door in the hopes of pressing his ear against it to listen in their conversation, but before he could take another step his father placed a hand on his chest, stopping him on his tracks.

“Wait.”

For a moment there was only silence. Connor didn’t want to question him as he knew he had a good reason to stop, but after nothing happened for a good amount of time, he opened his mouth to protest. However once again he was stopped and Haytham quickly closed his other hand against his mouth and dragged him to the last room in the hallway. It seemed like a small warehouse leading to the backstage with lots of empty wooden boxes piled one on top of the other. The smell of rust and mold made him twitch his nose. As soon as the door was closed Connor started again.

“Care to explain?”

“They’re coming out, let’s go backstage.”

No sooner had Haytham finished saying that, Connor heard the door of the room on their side - Church’s cabin - open. He didn’t waste another second. Running to the back of the room, he opened the door and looked around. The place was unbelievably dark and messy. Three steps in and he had hit his shoulder against something. But there was no time to complain or see what it was so he just kept moving forward.

Then something caught his attention. There was a dim light coming from the stage, probably, just above him. Up there stood wooden catwalks that crossed all over the backstage, some of them continuing to the cramped warehouse they were just in.

“I have an idea.” He murmured to Haytham and tugged at his elbow. Then without warning, jumped to the wall, grabbing onto a an iron bar. Reaching the catwalks was not problem. Looking down he noticed his father did the same.

The problem was space, as the wooden bars were too narrow to let them both stand side by side. Connor had to move to the side to let Haytham get up on it. And just in time, as it seems the moment Haytham finished climbing they heard a door opening and, a few seconds later, the closing sound.

“They’re in the previous room.”

Connor nodded and started walking in the direction he came from. Soon enough he was face to face with a wall. At his feet a ray of light illuminated the space slightly due to a small opening between the wall and the wooden bar he stood on. He could probably see who was on the other side if he leaned down and peered inside, but given that whoever was there had apparently lit a candle, he would end up being discovered. It didn’t matter though, he just needed to listen and the small opening provided that well enough, so he leaned against the wall as much as possible.

Behind him a small pressure against his back and a low breathing on his neck told him Haytham was none too pleased to be left behind. Connor quickly looked over his shoulder, hoping his death glare would tell his father to back down and don’t push too much, but the man promptly ignored him, seemingly too interested in listening to the individuals in the other room. When he was about to lift an arm to push him, a voice could be heard and he completely forgot about the man pinning him against the wall.

With his right ear pressed against the wall Connor could hear them well enough. He couldn’t remember Church’s voice that clearly, given their one brief encounter, but he was sure it was him. The other man he didn’t know, but Haytham had explained everything about the aristocrats the man had become acquainted with and he was sure it was one of them talking to Church.

Nevertheless, much to Connor’s disappointment, no talk about the stolen goods were mentioned. They waited and waited and according to haytham, who knew the play enough to know which part was currently going on stage, they had stood there for at least twenty minutes. Yet everything he learned from Church was that he was buying a nice villa somewhere around the Frontier, his new clinic was to be erected in Philadelphia and that some of the men involved with the investments still had to be 100% convinced that Church would take care of the job accordingly and bring profits to their wallets.

“By the way,” as there was nothing interesting to hear, Haytham turned slightly towards Connor, his nose almost brushing against his son’s ear. “You never told me what it is that we are looking for.” Silence. “I believe that if I’m to help you, the least you could do was tell me what it is I’m supposed to look for.”

“We.” he corrected. “Stolen provisions. They were to be delivered straight to the battlefield, but only a small portion arrived.”

“Really Connor?” resisting the urge to roll his eyes, his hands clenched tightly against the wall. “You’re making me go through all this, wasting my time and risking my order, so that Washington’s men can have decent food on their tables and enough gunpowder for a battle that they will surely lose?”

At this, Connor turned his face furiously, looking at him straight in the eye.

“You’re welcome to leave at any moment.”

An audible sigh was heard from the man standing behind him.

“I suppose, but you wouldn’t let me kill Church in peace, now would you? Guess I have no other choice after all.”

“Then stop complaining.”

Haytham opened his mouth to retaliate once more, but closed it immediately after Washington’s name was heard. Connor tensed and pressed his ear against the wall even harder. Behind him he could feel his father’s chest pressing firmly against his back, but he was too interested in the conversation to care.

The whole thing was a lot bigger mess than Connor anticipated. According to Benjamin Church, the provisions had been safely stationed and hidden in the Frontier. It was to be moved in two days to the port, where the thief would eagerly sell them to the british army, killing two birds with a stone. Washington’s men would go wary due to the lack of supplies while the redcoats would thrive with them.

It made Connor’s blood boil. His fists clenched against the wall and he had to keep telling himself Church would be killed as soon as he retrieved the goodies.

Suddenly two hands covered his own clenched fists. Looking over his shoulder, Haytham didn’t look up from his feet, as if he could see both men on the other side through the tiny hole at the base of the wall.

“Just a little bit more and he will never have the chance to steal again.”

Was his father trying to cheer him up?

For a moment Connor relaxed. He wondered if Church had done something more to Haytham and his circle than just spread rumours about the templars. He seemed about as angry as Connor himself was. Slowly he nodded and turned around, pushing Haytham back as he did.

They walked back through the wooden catwalk and down. When they heard the door from the other room close, they want back to the room Church had just been in.

“If the supplies are still in the Frontier than I can find it easily. But it’s sure to be heavily guarded.” Connor brought a hand to his chin, pondering what to do.

“Well then.” Haytham exclaimed proudly, a coy smile adorning his face. Whenever he did that, Connor knew he had something in mind and that was usually not a good idea. “Let’s just wait for the supplies to be less guarded.”

His eyes pressed tighter, as if trying to understand his father’s plan, with no success.

“If Church’s going to sell those to the redcoats, he can’t bring them to Philadelphia,” Because that’s where Washington is right now, Connor completed the sentence in his head. “Boston would be a safer place, less bureaucracy, easier to blend in with the cargo in the port. What a clever bastard.” Haythem had been pacing around, but stopped to stare at Connor. “Let him move the cargo. He will surely hold a party to celebrate the new investment - and the New Year, of course. He won’t have to worry about it inside the city, which means less guards. And it’s not like I can’t send in a few of my own men either.”

Slowly Connor’s eyes widened as he started to understand where all this was going.

“With Church distracted in his own party,” he started.

“We can send our men to retrieve them.” Haytham smiled proudly. “Let us go to Church’s party.”

“He will recognize us.”

The older man walked towards Connor, making him flinch a little and be aware of their proximity. Haytham’s arms went over his shoulders and unlaced his hair. With the tip of his fingers, he combed through his hair, a weird sensation that made Connor shiver. When it was done, his father walked back two steps and stared, then undid his own ponytail, fixing his own hair quickly.

“Now he won’t.” It was risky and Connor still seemed to doubt it would work. “It will be our best chance at trying to get rid of Church permanently.”

Perhaps Haytham’s ideas weren’t so bad when they didn’t go against Connor’s own plans. With a firm stare, he nodded and let Haytham guide him out of the Opera House. They still had much to discuss until then.

----------

Oh shit, this is getting bigger than expected. I intended for part three to be the last, but I’m afraid I’ll have to write more, oops.

Anon, I couldn't get the mental image of your prompt out of my head, so I think I'm going to have to fill this one for you.

Hope you don't mind a more Charles-flavored fill though. ;)

OMG I love your Haytham and how he just loves invading Connor's personal space.

Oh, OP absolutely ADORES Charles/Haytham! Yes those legs... mmmm. But yes, Charles flavoured fill is fine with me! It's very okay.

a!a;
thankyou! glad you enjoyed :)

OP!Anon waits with barely-contained excitement!

They're probably implying Prussia.

So Connor's wolf theme--can we have a werewolf AU?

Papa Haytham is a werewolf, passes his genes on to Connor. Papa Wolf teaches a now grown up and very much confused Connor wolf a few lessons about killing people for food.

Please.

PLEASE.

i don't ship Charles/Haytham but this made me feel so sad for them.

YES! Please! Write this!

I'd like something akin to a before and after of their relationship following Holden's... unfortunate incident. That said? I'd be happy with pretty much anything for these two. ANYTHING. Please? 8D

A/N: Good god, am I eager to hear what you all think of this, LOL (!!!)

So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets. - Matthew 7:12

“You're late,” his father says to him, his expression reproachful. “Go and stand with the others.”

His father whacks him on the back of the head before he can pull away. It is more humiliating than painful, and it is hard for Enoch to repress a scowl as he takes his place in line.

“Begin,” his father orders, and Enoch turns to face the boy next to him. His opponent raises his blade and lunges first. Enoch parries with ease, then twists his body into the other boy, catching his foot with his own and causing his opponent to fall. He is the quickest in the line to subdue and disarm his opponent, and yet he earns only a frown from his father.

“It is easy,” his father comments, “to utilize skill when one expects to be attacked.”

Enoch stands, arms folded at his side and meets his father's eyes, his own narrowed in irritation. His father regards him for a moment, and then smiles, pulling a golden sphere from his pouch. His father holds the sphere in front of him, much like Menrva did in the orchard, and the sphere starts to glow.

All the other boys in the line turn and face Enoch. And then they are on him, and he has only seconds to fend the first one off before another one attacks. He manages to disarm about five before his arms begin to tire, and his pace slackens. A blade comes towards his face, and he is not able to deflect in time. It tears through his upper lip, and Enoch can taste his own blood. The next attack puts him on the ground. One of his attackers holds his blade high, preparing to drive it into Enoch's flesh.

“Father!” Enoch shouts in alarm. The blade comes down, and only stops when the tip is poised directly above Enoch's heart.

“Do you see, Enoch? Do you understand? For all your skill, how can you fight against an enemy that can turn your very brothers against you?”

“Enough, Cain!”

It is his uncle's voice, and his uncle's hand who removes the glowing sphere from his father's hand.

Enoch has never loved his uncle more.

~ ~ ~ ~

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Desmond says eventually, allowing himself to fall back onto Ezio's bed with a sigh. He rests his head in his hands, not really looking at anyone. Ezio, the bastard, remains quiet, arms crossed and leaning up against the wall.

Fuck you very much, you know. You can chime in here, anytime.

“How about the truth, boy? I am too old to play games,” Achilles responds, mouth set in a firm line.

Desmond huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“The truth? You wouldn't believe the truth. Hell, if I were you, *I* wouldn't believe the truth. The truth is impossible.”

“More impossible than, say, standing in a room with an assassin that has been dead and buried for centuries?” Achilles counters, and yeah, Desmond has to admit that the man has a point.

“I can't... I don't know what to tell you. We don't mean you any harm, or Connor for that matter. I can promise you that,” Desmond says, meeting the old assassin's eyes with his own.

Achilles snorts in response.

“If I thought you did, you would already be dead.”

Desmond looks towards Ezio in time to see the Italian assassin quirk a smile before it is ruthlessly suppressed in favor of the glare he has been sporting since they found Achilles in their room.

“Look... I can't tell you everything. But we are here for a reason, an important one. If we fail...” Desmond doesn't repress the shudder that travels through him. “There are some things we need to fix; some things that need to happen. This world... everything is at stake.”

Achilles regards him quietly for a moment, before he sighs, sitting on Desmond's bed and motioning to the apple and the iPhone.

“And I suppose these First Civilization artifacts are the reason why and how you are here,” Achilles comments. Desmond doesn't offer an answer, or even mention that the iPhone was made by men and not the First Civilization. He suspects that the question was rhetorical anyway.

“I don't trust... they have been leading the assassin's astray for centuries," Achilles continues, "Perhaps even longer. Connor... his mother... Ezio... Altair.. Aquilus... too many others to name. They bring us away from our creed, boy, and solve no problems.”

“Yeah,” Desmond pulls his hand through his hair. “Believe me, I know that. Ezio here definitely knows that. It's chasing those freaking things that got us into the situation we are trying to prevent. Assassin's and Templars fighting for centuries over the scraps left behind by a civilization that failed in a catastrophic way. Ours will too, if we don't succeed. We haven't got much time left, Achilles.”

“My descendant speaks the truth,” Ezio comments, resulting in Achilles' eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. The old man is contemplative for a moment, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

“I believe you. Just answer me one question.”

Desmond hesitates for a second, meets Ezio's eyes, and finding no reluctance in them, slowly nods.

“When were you born?”

Desmond meets the old man's eyes as he answers.

“March 13, 1987.”

The old man's age is never more apparent when Achilles answers, voice tired and hands rubbing at his eyes.

“So whatever is going to happen, it's going to happen in just over a couple of centuries. Not much time at all.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It is a quiet Achilles who leaves them, but not before he threatens them with their lives if anything should happen to his assassin in their quest to 'fix the world'. For now, the old man agrees to keep his silence. It is more of a concession than Desmond hoped for, and he feels as if he has dodged a bullet. But that feeling goes away as soon as he meets the cold eyes of his companion.

Ezio waits until Achilles is well out of earshot before slamming Desmond up against the wall. It is a mirror of his actions earlier, but it is scorn that comes from Ezio's lips this time.

“You knew, didn't you? You knew that the old man suspected, and yet you did not share this information with me.”

Desmond holds his hands up in surrender.

“Look, man, I'm sorry! Yeah, I knew he was on to us. I was going to tell you, I swear – there was just never a good time.”

“Never a good time! Keeping information like that to yourself could get one or both of us killed,” Ezio spits furiously, shaking Desmond once for good measure before letting him drop to the floor. Ezio pulls back suddenly, hands shaking as he combs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Every time you show some skill, Desmond, you do something to prove how much of a novice you actually are.”

“Yeah, well you know what – fuck you!” Desmond shouts back, hands balled into fists, suddenly furious. “I'm just making this shit up as I go along, you know? Maybe you could have been, I dunno, planning with me or some shit instead of taking off at every possible second to go play your fucking guitar.”

“It was part of our cover,” Ezio seethes, and Desmond gets right up into his face.

“Yeah? You're so far under fucking cover, you might as well not even be here! You like it, don't you? You like being Mario Erudito, traveling minstrel and not Ezio Auditore, master assassin, having to make the hard decisions. For you, this is like a fucking vacation, and you are perfectly fucking fine with it!”

The fist, when it comes, hooks right into Desmond's jaw, knocking him off balance. He feels the sting of it, tastes his own blood in his mouth before he rights himself, tackling Ezio onto his bed, hands at the other man's throat. He manages to get a knee into the meat of Ezio's thigh before the older man flips them.

“Merda!” Ezio hisses, “Vaffanculo!”

“Fuck you too, buddy!” Desmond responds, even as he's wincing from the blow that catches him in the side. Ezio grabs his head with both hands, forces Desmond to hold it still. Then the Italian's lips are on his in a punishing, brutal kiss. It is not about passion so much as dominance, and Desmond gives back as good as he gets, chasing Ezio's tongue with his own. He can feel the older man's hardness against his own, and even in his angry haze, that is good. He presses up against it, heat and pressure pulling a low whine from his throat. Ezio's lips drop to his neck and bites down, teeth worrying at the tender skin there.

“You are so – esasperante,” Ezio hisses into his neck, fingers fumbling with the edges of Desmond's shirt. Desmond pushes his hand into Ezio's breeches, grabs a hold of his cock and Ezio keens, pupils blown wide with a mix of lust and anger, and it's the hottest fucking thing Desmond has ever seen.

“You are no picnic yourself, buddy,” Desmond responds, pulling on Ezio's cock with a slow, steady pressure. “Been driving me absolutely batshit crazy,” he continues. He lets go of Ezio, receiving a greedy whimper in response, using the distraction to flip their positions again. Desmond pulls his shirt over his head, hastily tossing it to the other side of the room, and then there are warm hands against his chest, fingertips pulling at his nipples hard. They are followed by teeth, and Desmond's eyes roll back for a second, before he pushes Ezio back onto the bed with a hissed order to stay put. He pulls off Ezio's shirt as well, nearly tearing the fabric in his haste to remove it, and it is barely off before his hands are dipping to undo the laces at Ezio's breeches. There are too many fucking clothes, he can't get them off fast enough.

In fact, Desmond doesn't even bother taking his own breeches completely off, just pulls them down far enough to free his cock before he takes them both in hand, slightly to tight and rough, but it is good the way they feel together, silky heat against silky heat. He's not surprised at all that they are of a similar length and girth, the only difference being that he is circumcised where Ezio is not, but even that is hot too, adding a certain uneven sensation with each pull that just about breaks his fucking brain.

Ezio is hissing, biting at his shoulder hard enough to leave marks, muttering incoherently under his breath and swearing in Italian, merda, cazzo, cazzo. Desmond flicks his thumb over the head of Ezio's cock, thrusts his tongue between the other man's teeth and then tastes blood as Ezio bites his fucking tongue when he comes, pulling his mouth away only to bury it against Desmond's neck. Desmond follows immediately after, biting down on his lip in an attempt to muffle sound, white hot bliss burning through every nerve. He collapses on top of Ezio, breathing hard and covered in sweat, wiping his sticky hand against the side of his breeches.

“That... was fucked up,” he eventually says into Ezio's neck, following the statement with a soft press of his lips. He pulls back a little to push his breeches the rest of the way off. A little late for that now, he supposes, but he doesn't want to sleep in the sticky things, and he does not have the energy or even desire to move to his own bed.

Ezio sighs and wraps his arms around him, placing a soft kiss against his chin.

“Nulla e reale. Tutto e lecito,” Ezio responds.

Desmond rolls his eyes and molds his body to the other man with a sigh.

PLEASE PPL! DO WANTZ

Eye

Ratonhnhaké:ton has strange dreams sometimes. They are black and amber, grey and blue paler than the sky. He dreams of secret chambers and long-forgotten temples.

There are lines that crawl and jut in the strangest patterns, snakes eating their own tails, fruit that glow as bright and as dangerously as the sun. Words and symbols he cannot hope to decipher.

One night, he dreams in black and red. Symbols smear themselves on the floor, on the walls from his skin. Words are traces, unreadable and terrifying. Somehow, he knows the red is blood and oh God Sixteen? I don't want to be next.

When he wakes, it is the first time that he sees the world through his second sight. The world is in a strange darkness, but he reaches out for the blazing blue Mother next to him.

He sobs strange words into her arms until the world lightens again and his mother is no longer so bright.

Spy

Connor knows he is not the most inconspicuous of men. He is tall and very strong with broad shoulders, as is the build of his people. He will be the first to admit that his posture and his gait are sure giveaways when he is trying to become faceless, but he's honest to a fault, it would seem.

Yet despite this, he is not incompetent, which begs to question is strange habits. Whenever he sees a holy man, he will instinctively follow behind him and bow his head, clasping his hands together in prayer. For some reason, he believes that this makes him invisible, when all it does is make the priests irate and bring curious stares to himself.

Then, there are the beggars.

Connor is not an unsympathetic or uncharitable man, nor does he heartlessly brush aside the orphan boys when they crowd around him searching for coin or entertainment. Truth be told, it is only the beggar women that bother him. He can feel his eye twitch, and he will run away from those destitute women as soon as they lay eyes on him.

He can swear he can hear them yell at him in strange tongues as he flees.

SORRY FOR THE DELAY LOVELIES BUT I HAVE HAD EXAMS. So to make up for it, I've finished the whole darned thing. Enjoy, OP!

The Head

Every now and then, Connor likes to spend time with Lance and discuss his inventions. The man is not Benjamin Franklin, but he has his own kind of genius. The folding chair, for instance, was a stroke of genius. Connor acts as patron while Lance gets his foothold in the market. Sometimes, however, Connor gets these strange ideas for the most curious instruments.

Like when he buys bread from Prudence, he is always surprised that it is not already in slices. He mentions this to her once, before she gives him a small smile and explains that the bread would dry out too fast.

"But what if it were kept in wrapping that kept most of the air out?"

"That...might work Connor. I'll see if it can be done."

And again, when he's over at the Tavern and speaking with Oliver and Corrine, he will insist on mixing the strangest of concoctions, sever of whom have had strong positive reception.

"What did you call this one again?"

"A Shirley Templar"*

"Well, not quite as solid as an ale, but it has a nice taste to it, I must say."

Sometimes, Connor finds himself quite frustrated by his inexplicable expectations, but the residents of the Homestead are a clever and hardy bunch, and each of their victories and visions is enough for him.

*-This drink name came from another fan fiction which I've lost in the bowels of the internet, but I think it might have been a Protocreed fic.

The Heart

There is something about the sight of the gallows at Bridewell prison that sends a cold, leaden feeling snaking in Connor's guts. Even after his encounter with Achilles, the pall of dread suffocates him still.

Three nooses are lined up on the platform (or is it really only two? He needs his wits about him now, but all he can feel is the hot sun on him) and his accusortraitor! stands victoriously before him. He sees his brothers' eyes wide with terror and hear his father spit violent retribution at the cordardo -

-but it is his own neck that the rope is tightened around, and it is not Umberto that sneers at him and slanders him, but Charles Lee.

As he falls through the trap door, the pain and fear in his heart are far greater than the strain on his neck.

END

Loved how enthusiastic Lance is over the "chair that folds" and Connor inheriting Desmond's modern memories of bar tending and sliced bread. The end at the gallows was heart wrenching as he switched back to teenaged Ezio... and the END is this Fill really over???

HA so Achilles is in the loop now, good >:] and also would this be considered angry or make up sex?? Even though it was hot, I'm still wondering what the context is lol. :D

And of course Ezio would use the creed hahaha. At least it didn't ruin the afterglow. And hopefully Corinne or Oliver won barge in on them later on- though poor uh, Ellen?? I forgot what's the seamstress name and Im typing this on the fly lol. Anyway I wonder how Desmond's going to deal with that and dealing with the past future thing.

And uh, wow Cain is a major dick. Poor Enoch, not knowing wht going to happen to Abel.

It is angry make up sex of course, lol

alwaysagirl!Haytham is Connor's mother, not his father. How would the timeline change? I really can't see mama!Haytham giving up her son to be raised by alwaysaboy!Zilo; maybe she thought that Connor had died?

At any rater, how would mother and son interact when they finally meet up again?

Because there's too little genderswap out here. And mama!bear Haytham would be - enticing.

OP is of the opinion that Malik is absolutely awesome and has a sneaking fondness for Altair/Malik. That said, write what makes you happy; I look forward to your response!

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: Perfect Wingman Connor

Re: AC/Hetalia Crossover

FILL

Re: Haytham changing, Templars watching

Re: Shaun/Des Minifill

Satahonhsatat (Listen) - Part 2

Re: Haytham changing, Templars watching

Re: Satahonhsatat (Listen) - Part 2

OP

Re: Fill - Just like you (2/2)

Re: Tentative claimsies

Re: AC/Hetalia Crossover

Haytham and Connor go Hunting

Re: FILL

Re: Familial Discipline

Haytham/Jim Holden

Fill: Every hour god sends part 11

Re: British soldiers/Connor, Non-Con, Gangbang

Fill Part II - 'Eye' and 'Spy'

Fill Part III - 'The Head' and 'The Heart' END

Re: Fill Part III - 'The Head' and 'The Heart' END

Re: Fill: Every hour god sends part 11

Re: Fill: Every hour god sends part 11

girl!Haytham/boy!Zilo, Connor: Genderswap.

OP Re: Bleeding Effect Across Time!