"That bitch," Ezio breathed as the heavy door slammed shut behind them, the click of lock following, "that whoring son of a BITCH! I'm going to kill her for this!"
The room they had been locked in was dark and musty, and the bed was covered with a layer of dust. Altair wrinkled his nose, and held the ball of witchlight higher as he striped the bed and laid Desmond down on the mattress. "Shut your yap, fool ,and help me here. He's starting to burn with fever, and we need to figure out what we're going to do." He didn't add in the part about all three of their violent tempers surfacing, or that they could potentially slaughter each other.
In a heartbeat Ezio was next to him, smoothing a hand over Desmond's brow and watching as the glassy, fogged eyes looked up at him. "Hey," he murmured in greeting.
"Hey," Ezio returned, smiling a little. "Sorry about this." Desmond shrugged. "Eh, not your fault. Bound to happen sooner or later. The way I figure it, at least I'm going to be fucked by someone I trust."
"We're not fucking you, Desmond," Altair said from where he was lighting the torches with the little bit of Craft allowed to him by the Ring. "Marcella is counting on that more than anything. She knows that three Warlord Princes dosed on high amounts of safframate with either try to rut with one another or kill each other. We can't rut because of our Rings--"
"Is that the only reason?" Desmond's eyes were beginning to softly glow gold, a warning that the drug was starting to take effect. Altair felt a slow burn along his own spine, but didn't comment on it.
"No. It's also because we're brothers, and while I was more than happy to keep you two calm during your years as horny teenagers, its another thing entirely to fuck my family."
"Oh, so blowjobs and handjobs are okay, but everything else makes you twitch?" There was Desmond's temper, starting to show its head. Altair snarled softly in warning.
"Watch your temper, pup. I won't hesitate to turn you over my knee. I did that as your brother, to help you. This isn't helping you - this is backing you into a corner and using you like some whore. I won't do that, and neither will Ezio."
"You do realize that in about thirty seconds, none of that will matter, right?" Ezio asked, hands starting to shake and eyes flashing between brown and gold as the drug sank in.
Altair licked his lips. They were in a tight spot, but they had been in tighter. Like if Connor had been thrown in here with them - then they might have had trouble. But this? No, they could overcome this. They would resist the temptation to mount Desmond, mount each other like some sort of wild animals. The urge to rut was strong, but they could and would be stronger. "We play the game through then."
Ezio's eyes suddenly went predatory, as did Desmond's, and Altair knew they understood. "How long until the end of the game, brother?" Desmond asked in a silky croon, the drug bringing a red flush of his face. Altair felt hunger of a different sort stir inside him.
"Long enough," he told them, right before he stepped into a killing rage, Desmond and Ezio right beside him.
---------
"Bloody hell in a handbasket, loves."
A dark haired woman popped her head out of the carriage, looking up to where the dark energy was ripping through the stone of the tower, carrying with it a scent of madness and lust. "You don't think they'll actually kill each other, do you?"
The man driving the carriage looked down, pushing his glasses up as they slipped down his nose a little. "Hardly. Those three know their limits, even when in such a precarious position. There's no doubt they'll get out intact, but I think their pride might be a little battered by it all."
"So, what, does that mean we call in the cavalry, yell 'charge' and rescue the clearly-not damsels in distress?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. We sit here, drink tea, wait until they finish, and THEN we call in the cavalry, yell 'charge' and rescue the clearly-not damsels in distress."
"Shaun, I like the way you think. Got any Chai in that basket of yours?"
----------
Marcella smirked as she listened to the ominous rumble of sounds coming from upstairs. The dark energy swirling around the doorway was more than enough to paint a picture of what was happening, and it made her feel excellent. At long last, she had broken those arrogant bastards. When she went to retrieve them later on, there was no doubt in her mind that they would be thoroughly broken, all too willing to submit to her Black Widow Sisters. She could finally get their seed, their lineage, their power. And all it had taken was the arrival of a lazy Warlord Prince. It was too funny.
After this, she thought as she picked out her evening outfit, she would be the most powerful Queen in all of Terreille. Before, most of the Providence Queens had feared her simply because of the Warlord males that served her. But now she would have the dark-blooded lineage of the Shadow Order among her pets, and there was nothing that could stop them. Not even the Order itself would interfere, because they would be doing exactly what they were made to do - control an empire. The Queens would be disposed of, the Territory put under her thumb, and the power she had always deserved would be put in her hands.
She laughed as she slid into the sheer gown she picked out, tousling her hair and lightly slapping herself to bring more color to her cheeks. In a matter of hours, she would finally have everything she had longed for.
And it was all thanks to that one little Warlord.
---------
Desmond gasped as he was shoved back against the wall, teeth sinking into his neck as hands slammed his hands above his head, pinning him. He kicked out, hitting strong thighs with the balls of his feet. May the Darkness be Merciful, this felt too good to be real. He had never thought that fighting his brothers could make the burn fade as rapidly as it did, or draw out the sensations currently swimming through his body. Ezio and Altair clashed again, this time ending with Desmond shoved between them as the two clawed and bit for dominance, Ezio's wings flaring high while he snarled, trying to yank Desmond away and claim him as his own. Altair punched him and yanked back, cornering Desmond and clawing at the available flesh, drawing welts and angry red lines up. His clothes were in tatters and he knew he was bloody from the waist down but it didn't matter, none of it mattered because this felt far too good to stop, and he needed MORE, needed to be mounted and fucked until this gods-cursed burn went away and he could breathe again--
Even though both Altair and Ezio had refused to fuck him, he could taste the lust in the air, feel it swamp his senses until everything was going hazy and he was openly moaning, shamelessly begging for it. And he could feel Ezio and Altair moving towards him, both gripping him hard and rubbing themselves against his legs, trying to ease the burn. Altair's eyes were hard gold, pupils blown wide. Despite this, he still seemed somewhat coherent, muttering under his breath, "Won't, won't, won't."
Ezio was gasping, panting, forcing himself to stop every few seconds, his hands clutching at Desmond's shoulders hard, nails biting into the skin. He tore at Desmond's shirt, ripping it aside easily and licking at the salty skin on his shoulders, teeth dragging over the skin and marking it. "M-married, b-b-rother, m-married, b-b-rother..."
Even when the drug in their systems seemed to pull back, they kept at their mantras, kept forcing themselves away from the area of becoming mindless animals. Yet when the safframate seemed to make a return that was twice as horrible as it had been the first time, even Altair seemed to waver. Both looked at him, and Desmond knew they wanted him. Knew they needed it, their bodies were practically commanding them to take what they wanted, incest and marriages be damned. But he also knew they'd been raised in the Shadow Order, a place were obedience and strength were natural parts of life. If they couldn't overcome this obstacle, they would never be able to return with their heads held high.
Knowing that, Desmond shakily reached out and pulled them close, kissing them both firmly on the cheeks and keeping his grip even when his arms went numb. Both Altair and Ezio hugged him back, each man murmuring their mantras like a prayer, every now and again inserting his name into it, as if to remind themselves of who lay beside them, suffering in his own way.
Desmond offered up no prayers, merely closing his eyes and trusting in the knowledge that his brothers would never hurt him. Eventually his tired body gave out, his mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and unconsciousness. Even then he hung on to his brothers, dreaming of the downfall of Hayll's Queen, never knowing that in a few precious hours, all of it would be coming true.
FILL: Brothers of the Shadow 2/?
The room they had been locked in was dark and musty, and the bed was covered with a layer of dust. Altair wrinkled his nose, and held the ball of witchlight higher as he striped the bed and laid Desmond down on the mattress. "Shut your yap, fool ,and help me here. He's starting to burn with fever, and we need to figure out what we're going to do." He didn't add in the part about all three of their violent tempers surfacing, or that they could potentially slaughter each other.
In a heartbeat Ezio was next to him, smoothing a hand over Desmond's brow and watching as the glassy, fogged eyes looked up at him. "Hey," he murmured in greeting.
"Hey," Ezio returned, smiling a little. "Sorry about this."
Desmond shrugged. "Eh, not your fault. Bound to happen sooner or later. The way I figure it, at least I'm going to be fucked by someone I trust."
"We're not fucking you, Desmond," Altair said from where he was lighting the torches with the little bit of Craft allowed to him by the Ring. "Marcella is counting on that more than anything. She knows that three Warlord Princes dosed on high amounts of safframate with either try to rut with one another or kill each other. We can't rut because of our Rings--"
"Is that the only reason?" Desmond's eyes were beginning to softly glow gold, a warning that the drug was starting to take effect. Altair felt a slow burn along his own spine, but didn't comment on it.
"No. It's also because we're brothers, and while I was more than happy to keep you two calm during your years as horny teenagers, its another thing entirely to fuck my family."
"Oh, so blowjobs and handjobs are okay, but everything else makes you twitch?" There was Desmond's temper, starting to show its head. Altair snarled softly in warning.
"Watch your temper, pup. I won't hesitate to turn you over my knee. I did that as your brother, to help you. This isn't helping you - this is backing you into a corner and using you like some whore. I won't do that, and neither will Ezio."
"You do realize that in about thirty seconds, none of that will matter, right?" Ezio asked, hands starting to shake and eyes flashing between brown and gold as the drug sank in.
Altair licked his lips. They were in a tight spot, but they had been in tighter. Like if Connor had been thrown in here with them - then they might have had trouble. But this? No, they could overcome this. They would resist the temptation to mount Desmond, mount each other like some sort of wild animals. The urge to rut was strong, but they could and would be stronger. "We play the game through then."
Ezio's eyes suddenly went predatory, as did Desmond's, and Altair knew they understood. "How long until the end of the game, brother?" Desmond asked in a silky croon, the drug bringing a red flush of his face. Altair felt hunger of a different sort stir inside him.
"Long enough," he told them, right before he stepped into a killing rage, Desmond and Ezio right beside him.
---------
"Bloody hell in a handbasket, loves."
A dark haired woman popped her head out of the carriage, looking up to where the dark energy was ripping through the stone of the tower, carrying with it a scent of madness and lust. "You don't think they'll actually kill each other, do you?"
The man driving the carriage looked down, pushing his glasses up as they slipped down his nose a little. "Hardly. Those three know their limits, even when in such a precarious position. There's no doubt they'll get out intact, but I think their pride might be a little battered by it all."
"So, what, does that mean we call in the cavalry, yell 'charge' and rescue the clearly-not damsels in distress?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. We sit here, drink tea, wait until they finish, and THEN we call in the cavalry, yell 'charge' and rescue the clearly-not damsels in distress."
"Shaun, I like the way you think. Got any Chai in that basket of yours?"
----------
Marcella smirked as she listened to the ominous rumble of sounds coming from upstairs. The dark energy swirling around the doorway was more than enough to paint a picture of what was happening, and it made her feel excellent. At long last, she had broken those arrogant bastards. When she went to retrieve them later on, there was no doubt in her mind that they would be thoroughly broken, all too willing to submit to her Black Widow Sisters. She could finally get their seed, their lineage, their power. And all it had taken was the arrival of a lazy Warlord Prince. It was too funny.
After this, she thought as she picked out her evening outfit, she would be the most powerful Queen in all of Terreille. Before, most of the Providence Queens had feared her simply because of the Warlord males that served her. But now she would have the dark-blooded lineage of the Shadow Order among her pets, and there was nothing that could stop them. Not even the Order itself would interfere, because they would be doing exactly what they were made to do - control an empire. The Queens would be disposed of, the Territory put under her thumb, and the power she had always deserved would be put in her hands.
She laughed as she slid into the sheer gown she picked out, tousling her hair and lightly slapping herself to bring more color to her cheeks. In a matter of hours, she would finally have everything she had longed for.
And it was all thanks to that one little Warlord.
---------
Desmond gasped as he was shoved back against the wall, teeth sinking into his neck as hands slammed his hands above his head, pinning him. He kicked out, hitting strong thighs with the balls of his feet. May the Darkness be Merciful, this felt too good to be real. He had never thought that fighting his brothers could make the burn fade as rapidly as it did, or draw out the sensations currently swimming through his body. Ezio and Altair clashed again, this time ending with Desmond shoved between them as the two clawed and bit for dominance, Ezio's wings flaring high while he snarled, trying to yank Desmond away and claim him as his own. Altair punched him and yanked back, cornering Desmond and clawing at the available flesh, drawing welts and angry red lines up. His clothes were in tatters and he knew he was bloody from the waist down but it didn't matter, none of it mattered because this felt far too good to stop, and he needed MORE, needed to be mounted and fucked until this gods-cursed burn went away and he could breathe again--
Even though both Altair and Ezio had refused to fuck him, he could taste the lust in the air, feel it swamp his senses until everything was going hazy and he was openly moaning, shamelessly begging for it. And he could feel Ezio and Altair moving towards him, both gripping him hard and rubbing themselves against his legs, trying to ease the burn. Altair's eyes were hard gold, pupils blown wide. Despite this, he still seemed somewhat coherent, muttering under his breath, "Won't, won't, won't."
Ezio was gasping, panting, forcing himself to stop every few seconds, his hands clutching at Desmond's shoulders hard, nails biting into the skin. He tore at Desmond's shirt, ripping it aside easily and licking at the salty skin on his shoulders, teeth dragging over the skin and marking it. "M-married, b-b-rother, m-married, b-b-rother..."
Even when the drug in their systems seemed to pull back, they kept at their mantras, kept forcing themselves away from the area of becoming mindless animals. Yet when the safframate seemed to make a return that was twice as horrible as it had been the first time, even Altair seemed to waver. Both looked at him, and Desmond knew they wanted him. Knew they needed it, their bodies were practically commanding them to take what they wanted, incest and marriages be damned. But he also knew they'd been raised in the Shadow Order, a place were obedience and strength were natural parts of life. If they couldn't overcome this obstacle, they would never be able to return with their heads held high.
Knowing that, Desmond shakily reached out and pulled them close, kissing them both firmly on the cheeks and keeping his grip even when his arms went numb. Both Altair and Ezio hugged him back, each man murmuring their mantras like a prayer, every now and again inserting his name into it, as if to remind themselves of who lay beside them, suffering in his own way.
Desmond offered up no prayers, merely closing his eyes and trusting in the knowledge that his brothers would never hurt him. Eventually his tired body gave out, his mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and unconsciousness. Even then he hung on to his brothers, dreaming of the downfall of Hayll's Queen, never knowing that in a few precious hours, all of it would be coming true.