OK I'm not entirely sure I'm going to finish writing this tonight, have the first part anyway and there will be more tomorrow! (because I need to do something while I'm waiting for the PSN store to update with the Tyranny of ConWash UST)
I hope this is what you were looking for, OP.
Charles doesn't look up when Haytham enters the room. He finishes the sentence he's writing, and wipes the nib of his pen carefully. Haytham stands a few paces from the desk, fiddling with a cuff of his coat. Well, it's Charles' coat, really, but Haytham looks dashing as always wearing it.
It's a good thing that Charles isn't as slender as he was when they first met, having managed to strengthen himself and build up some muscle during his military duties; this would be impossible otherwise. As it is, though Haytham's jacket and waistcoat are a little loose around Charles' waist, they are similar enough in frame and figure now that his coat fits Haytham rather well.
"Report," Charles says, putting the pen down carefully, steepling his fingers to gaze up at Haytham from underneath his tricorn. Haytham straightens his back, and looks unsure for a moment about what to do with his arms. He settles for crossing them, and clears his throat.
"The search is progressing well, sir," Haytham says, "William thinks he's found a few other places that might be precursor sites."
"Excellent," Charles says, though he does not smile. "Although I was actually referring to the Assassins."
"Oh," Haytham stammers, looking flustered. "I… I apologise. They're being rather quiet, though it seems they're also trying to forge bonds with the Iroquois natives. I'm sorry, we don't have very much information regarding--"
Charles holds up a hand, and Haytham stops, worry plastered across his face. He chews his lower lip in nervousness. Charles cannot help but wonder if that is truly how Haytham sees him, as just an anxious, flustered mess. He hopes not. After all, he sees Haytham as so much more, part of the point of this is to show Haytham just how perfect he is in Charles' eyes. He doesn't want to be a liability, nor perceived as one, especially not by Haytham.
"Quite all right," he says. "I expected as much. You are dismissed."
He lowers his head again, pretending to read through the nonsense he'd been writing when Haytham first entered the room. Haytham gives a discreet cough, and Charles keeps his eyes trained on the page.
"Was there something else?"
Haytham replies hesitantly, as if he is afraid of overstepping boundaries.
"Sir, I believe you previously mentioned something about some form of recompense?"
Charles waits for one long moment before speaking again.
"I did, didn't I?" He rises with all the grace he can muster, and stalks nearly silently around the desk, to where Haytham stands. Haytham's eyes follow him, though he stays still as a statue, his posture stiff and formal. Haytham wets his lips, his expression hungry.
Charles stops in front of him, and adjusts Haytham's cravat. Haytham never could quite get the hang of the particular knot Charles uses.
"You did do rather well," Charles admits, only the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. His hand trails up to Haytham's jaw and he leans in, kissing him deeply. Haytham responds sluggishly at first, as though in shock. That's right, Charles thinks. Even after all this time, he's still surprised each and every time Haytham touches him. It's gratifying that Haytham notices such small details.
Charles makes an appreciative sound before pulling away, and Haytham takes half a second to regain his composure and close his mouth. Charles plucks a book from the desk, tucks it under his arm, and glances back at Haytham.
"If there's nothing else…?"
Haytham's face is flushed.
"I… actually, sir, I was hoping for something more… physical, as it were," he says.
"Were you?" Charles asks, mildly. "Well, I'm not entirely sure you deserve that."
Haytham reaches forward and tugs at his cloak so it falls over Charles' shoulders more evenly. He speaks without meeting Charles' gaze.
"I might not deserve it, but you most certainly do, sir," he says. His eyes flicker upwards, and his lips curl into a subtle, but entirely wicked smile. Charles has to fight not to return it.
"You make a compelling argument," Charles admits, cocking his head to one side, as though in deep thought.
"Don't I always, sir?" Haytham asks. Charles chuckles in response.
Costume (1/?)
I hope this is what you were looking for, OP.
Charles doesn't look up when Haytham enters the room. He finishes the sentence he's writing, and wipes the nib of his pen carefully. Haytham stands a few paces from the desk, fiddling with a cuff of his coat. Well, it's Charles' coat, really, but Haytham looks dashing as always wearing it.
It's a good thing that Charles isn't as slender as he was when they first met, having managed to strengthen himself and build up some muscle during his military duties; this would be impossible otherwise. As it is, though Haytham's jacket and waistcoat are a little loose around Charles' waist, they are similar enough in frame and figure now that his coat fits Haytham rather well.
"Report," Charles says, putting the pen down carefully, steepling his fingers to gaze up at Haytham from underneath his tricorn. Haytham straightens his back, and looks unsure for a moment about what to do with his arms. He settles for crossing them, and clears his throat.
"The search is progressing well, sir," Haytham says, "William thinks he's found a few other places that might be precursor sites."
"Excellent," Charles says, though he does not smile. "Although I was actually referring to the Assassins."
"Oh," Haytham stammers, looking flustered. "I… I apologise. They're being rather quiet, though it seems they're also trying to forge bonds with the Iroquois natives. I'm sorry, we don't have very much information regarding--"
Charles holds up a hand, and Haytham stops, worry plastered across his face. He chews his lower lip in nervousness. Charles cannot help but wonder if that is truly how Haytham sees him, as just an anxious, flustered mess. He hopes not. After all, he sees Haytham as so much more, part of the point of this is to show Haytham just how perfect he is in Charles' eyes. He doesn't want to be a liability, nor perceived as one, especially not by Haytham.
"Quite all right," he says. "I expected as much. You are dismissed."
He lowers his head again, pretending to read through the nonsense he'd been writing when Haytham first entered the room. Haytham gives a discreet cough, and Charles keeps his eyes trained on the page.
"Was there something else?"
Haytham replies hesitantly, as if he is afraid of overstepping boundaries.
"Sir, I believe you previously mentioned something about some form of recompense?"
Charles waits for one long moment before speaking again.
"I did, didn't I?" He rises with all the grace he can muster, and stalks nearly silently around the desk, to where Haytham stands. Haytham's eyes follow him, though he stays still as a statue, his posture stiff and formal. Haytham wets his lips, his expression hungry.
Charles stops in front of him, and adjusts Haytham's cravat. Haytham never could quite get the hang of the particular knot Charles uses.
"You did do rather well," Charles admits, only the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. His hand trails up to Haytham's jaw and he leans in, kissing him deeply. Haytham responds sluggishly at first, as though in shock. That's right, Charles thinks. Even after all this time, he's still surprised each and every time Haytham touches him. It's gratifying that Haytham notices such small details.
Charles makes an appreciative sound before pulling away, and Haytham takes half a second to regain his composure and close his mouth. Charles plucks a book from the desk, tucks it under his arm, and glances back at Haytham.
"If there's nothing else…?"
Haytham's face is flushed.
"I… actually, sir, I was hoping for something more… physical, as it were," he says.
"Were you?" Charles asks, mildly. "Well, I'm not entirely sure you deserve that."
Haytham reaches forward and tugs at his cloak so it falls over Charles' shoulders more evenly. He speaks without meeting Charles' gaze.
"I might not deserve it, but you most certainly do, sir," he says. His eyes flicker upwards, and his lips curl into a subtle, but entirely wicked smile. Charles has to fight not to return it.
"You make a compelling argument," Charles admits, cocking his head to one side, as though in deep thought.
"Don't I always, sir?" Haytham asks. Charles chuckles in response.
"You certainly have a way with words."