A sequel to the fill here: http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=10023171#cmt10023171
It takes four words and a particular half-smile to make Charles leave the others at their table in the Green Dragon Inn, following Haytham like the dogs he loves so much.
"Come with me, Charles."
Haytham is well aware that the others know, or at least suspect, why they are leaving. Haytham is also sure that they will keep their mouths firmly closed. These men are his brothers-in-arms, trustworthy comrades. Well, for the most part. Hickey snickers into his ale as Charles gets up, mutters something that could be 'bugger' or 'butter' or perhaps even 'bummer'.
"Yes, sir," Charles says, and in mere moments, Haytham is upstairs, unlocking the door to his room. Charles jogs up the last few steps, reaching the upper floor just in time to see Haytham step through the threshold.
Haytham counts the seconds: six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He doesn't turn around when he hears the familiar footsteps stop just a few metres too far away. He concentrates on taking his hat and cloak off instead. Charles hovers at the open doorway, awaiting the order.
Haytham does not make him wait for very long. His voice is firm, but not harsh. Soft, but strong.
"Come in. Lock the door behind you."
He does not need to see Charles' face to know that he allows himself a slight smile, as he takes two measured steps forward. The soft sound of the lock turning is a comfort, and it is only then that Haytham faces the other man.
He gives the smile he knows Charles loves to see, and steps toward him.
"Close your eyes," he says. Charles takes a deep breath, and his eyes flutter shut. "Stay still."
He gets as close as he can to Charles without actually touching him. Haytham leans forward, breathing softly on his skin, dips his head into the crook between shoulder and throat. His hand brushes Charles' wrist, skims upwards toward the shoulder slowly.
Charles does not even tremble, to his credit. He simply breathes, slowly and evenly. Haytham is not fooled by this facade of calmness and control. Charles' skin is flushing, his arousal mostly hidden by his ornate clothes.
Haytham brings his head back up, and runs his lips along Charles' mouth. Charles breathes in sharply, through his nose. The hand at Charles' shoulder slides to his collar, and then to his cravat. Haytham hooks his fingers through the lace, just as he gives Charles a rough, biting kiss. He worries Charles' lower lip with his teeth for a moment, before kissing again, forcing his tongue into Charles' pliant mouth.
Charles' tongue flexes slightly, and he swallows, almost certainly involuntarily. That's far better than he used to do. It's high time for a reward.
"Kiss me," Haytham snarls, pulling back a moment. He pulls the untied cravat from around Charles' neck, and drops it to the floor. He deftly undoes the buttons of Charles' waistcoat, as Charles gives a desperate sound and instigates the next kiss as best he can without moving, and without opening his eyes. He almost misses Haytham's mouth, but it feels good nonetheless.
Haytham slips his hands beneath the heavy coat and the waistcoat beneath it, shucking them off onto the floor.
"Shirt," he orders, between harsh, nipping kisses.
Charles obeys, fingers fumbling at his clothes. Haytham unties Charles' hair with one hand, and Charles' breeches with the other. He pushes Charles firmly, but not cruelly, backwards onto the bed, then pulls away, taking Charles' trousers with him. Haytham unbuttons Charles' boots hastily, pulling them and the bunched-up fabric off long, pale legs. Charles manages to wrench his shirt from his arms, and tosses it to the side, where it falls to the floor. Usually, he would insist on folding his clothes and putting them away properly, but tonight is an exemption to the rule.
Haytham takes his own boots off, and climbs onto the bed. He runs a hand along Charles' collarbone, then up toward his cheekbone. Charles' eyes are still closed, and his small clothes are doing little to hide his interest in this turn of events. Time for a change of pace, then.
"Pleasure me," Haytham murmurs into Charles' ear. "With your mouth. Look me in the eyes."
Charles' eyes snap open, though whether from surprise or from obedience, Haytham is unsure. Haytham props himself up against the headboard, and splays his legs meaningfully.
I need to go to bed. Aaaargh. There will be more tomorrow!
Comply 1/?
It takes four words and a particular half-smile to make Charles leave the others at their table in the Green Dragon Inn, following Haytham like the dogs he loves so much.
"Come with me, Charles."
Haytham is well aware that the others know, or at least suspect, why they are leaving. Haytham is also sure that they will keep their mouths firmly closed. These men are his brothers-in-arms, trustworthy comrades. Well, for the most part. Hickey snickers into his ale as Charles gets up, mutters something that could be 'bugger' or 'butter' or perhaps even 'bummer'.
"Yes, sir," Charles says, and in mere moments, Haytham is upstairs, unlocking the door to his room. Charles jogs up the last few steps, reaching the upper floor just in time to see Haytham step through the threshold.
Haytham counts the seconds: six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He doesn't turn around when he hears the familiar footsteps stop just a few metres too far away. He concentrates on taking his hat and cloak off instead. Charles hovers at the open doorway, awaiting the order.
Haytham does not make him wait for very long. His voice is firm, but not harsh. Soft, but strong.
"Come in. Lock the door behind you."
He does not need to see Charles' face to know that he allows himself a slight smile, as he takes two measured steps forward. The soft sound of the lock turning is a comfort, and it is only then that Haytham faces the other man.
He gives the smile he knows Charles loves to see, and steps toward him.
"Close your eyes," he says. Charles takes a deep breath, and his eyes flutter shut. "Stay still."
He gets as close as he can to Charles without actually touching him. Haytham leans forward, breathing softly on his skin, dips his head into the crook between shoulder and throat. His hand brushes Charles' wrist, skims upwards toward the shoulder slowly.
Charles does not even tremble, to his credit. He simply breathes, slowly and evenly. Haytham is not fooled by this facade of calmness and control. Charles' skin is flushing, his arousal mostly hidden by his ornate clothes.
Haytham brings his head back up, and runs his lips along Charles' mouth. Charles breathes in sharply, through his nose. The hand at Charles' shoulder slides to his collar, and then to his cravat. Haytham hooks his fingers through the lace, just as he gives Charles a rough, biting kiss. He worries Charles' lower lip with his teeth for a moment, before kissing again, forcing his tongue into Charles' pliant mouth.
Charles' tongue flexes slightly, and he swallows, almost certainly involuntarily. That's far better than he used to do. It's high time for a reward.
"Kiss me," Haytham snarls, pulling back a moment. He pulls the untied cravat from around Charles' neck, and drops it to the floor. He deftly undoes the buttons of Charles' waistcoat, as Charles gives a desperate sound and instigates the next kiss as best he can without moving, and without opening his eyes. He almost misses Haytham's mouth, but it feels good nonetheless.
Haytham slips his hands beneath the heavy coat and the waistcoat beneath it, shucking them off onto the floor.
"Shirt," he orders, between harsh, nipping kisses.
Charles obeys, fingers fumbling at his clothes. Haytham unties Charles' hair with one hand, and Charles' breeches with the other. He pushes Charles firmly, but not cruelly, backwards onto the bed, then pulls away, taking Charles' trousers with him. Haytham unbuttons Charles' boots hastily, pulling them and the bunched-up fabric off long, pale legs. Charles manages to wrench his shirt from his arms, and tosses it to the side, where it falls to the floor. Usually, he would insist on folding his clothes and putting them away properly, but tonight is an exemption to the rule.
Haytham takes his own boots off, and climbs onto the bed. He runs a hand along Charles' collarbone, then up toward his cheekbone. Charles' eyes are still closed, and his small clothes are doing little to hide his interest in this turn of events. Time for a change of pace, then.
"Pleasure me," Haytham murmurs into Charles' ear. "With your mouth. Look me in the eyes."
Charles' eyes snap open, though whether from surprise or from obedience, Haytham is unsure. Haytham props himself up against the headboard, and splays his legs meaningfully.
I need to go to bed. Aaaargh. There will be more tomorrow!