A flush crept across Connor’s cheeks, and Haytham could not help but allow his eyes to slide shut at the first press of lips against his neck. Deft fingers worked open his waistcoat before slipping it off his shoulders; he tutted quietly as it fell to the floor, but there was no heat in his complaint--indeed, Haytham did not fuss at all as Connor proceeded to drop his shirt on the floor.
This might have been because the boy decided to apply his mouth to his chest, though, dragging his tongue over his collar bones, around his nipples; one hand ghosted over the bandages still wrapped tightly around his shoulder, the touch almost apologetic. Connor sank to his knees once more, pressing kisses to his abdomen, and at last--at last, he worked his breeches down, exposing his cock. A shiver ran down his spine, and Haytham could not contain the low growl that slipped past his lips as Connor took him in his mouth.
His son had not, it seemed, forgotten how to pleasure him in his absence.
Mouth and hands worked in concert. Connor took him deep, pleasured him with long fingers when he didn’t; his tongue dragged a path from root to tip, teased his slit. He lapped at his balls, toyed with them with calloused fingertips. By the time the boy had worked his clothing down to his knees, his cock was spit-slick, and Connor gave it one final lick before turning his attention to his boots.
Haytham took himself in hand then, and his son moaned at the sight of it; he chuckled and ran his fingertips over Connor’s brow. “So desperate,” he muttered, smirking all the while. “Best hurry then, lest I decide that you aren’t worth my attentions any more.”
This was a complete and utter lie, of course, but it did make the boy finish undressing him with great haste. Task completed, Connor remained on his knees and turned his gaze upwards toward his father, face flushed and pupils blown. Haytham cupped his cheek and then jerked his head toward the bed. “On your knees, if you would be so kind.”
He watched his son rise in silence, and for a moment, it looked as if Connor was going to try for a kiss. He lingered, but before Haytham could reprimand him, he’d turned away, bare feet padding across the floor. Haytham nodded his approval and then went over to his desk, quickly removing a vial of oil.
“If we are to make this a more common practice, I may have to invest in some other oils,” he said, joining the boy on the bed. Connor had his hands braced on the headboard, and he looked over his shoulder, puzzled.
“Is there something wrong with the one you have in your hands?”
Haytham smiled, running his hand over the curve of Connor’s arse, before shaking his head; goosebumps formed beneath his fingertips. “I’m not going to poison you, boy. Such... subtle methods of delivering death are not my forte. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”
“That... That was not what I was implying,” Connor replied, a slight note of hurt entering his tone; his expression was apologetic. It was almost as if his son was worried that if he didn’t keep him pleased that he would disappear again, slipping away like sand between his fingers. Haytham obviously had no intention of doing so, but he certainly wouldn’t say no to this sort of obedience, to this sort of docile behavior.
“Of course not.” He uncorked the bottle and allowed the fluid to flow down the cleft of Connor’s arse, over his balls; Haytham smeared his fingers in it, pleased with how quickly it warmed. “There are simply better scents to be enjoyed, and I’d rather save this oil for my blades.
“Now, relax.”
Whatever Connor intended to say next died on his lips as he whined at the sensation of Haytham slipping a single finger into him. Every muscle in that powerful body was drawn taut, and the boy shifted, trying to get over the odd feeling of intrusion. Haytham waited as patiently as he could, but to his surprise, it would be the boy who demanded more and threw caution to the wind.
“Another,” his son said, a low growl that resonated from deep within his chest. Haytham lifted his eyebrows, a touch amused, and did as he was told, withdrawing his finger, only to add another. Connor’s hands tightened around the headboard all over again, but Haytham pressed onwards this time, scissoring his fingers and thrusting into the tight clench of muscle.
“Another!”
“So soon? Being a touchy hasty, aren’t we?” he asked, but again, Haytham conceded with a smile when the boy started cursing him in his native tongue. Three digits forced a moan from Connor’s lips, and he bowed his head, body dropping towards the bed as he spread his knees wider. Sweat sheened his skin; precum dripped onto the sheets, mingling with the oil already there.
Connor’s breath would catch whenever Haytham brushed against that special spot within him, and before long, he had his son making the prettiest sounds he’d ever heard, sounds that made his own cock ache and twitch with need. With the way the boy was fucking himself on his fingers, Haytham had no doubt in his mind that Connor could climax this way, and while there was something terribly erotic about that idea, he’d waited far too long for this, waited far too long to finally claim the boy as his, to let him go down that path.
He removed his fingers, and Connor snarled at the loss, throwing a look over his shoulder--a look reminiscent of a wild beast lashing out at its captor. Haytham settled his weight over the boy, biting none too gently at his shoulder; it earned him a low growl and more bared teeth. “Is it only my fingers that you wanted?” he asked, rocking his hips against Connor so that his cock slipped against the cleft of his arse. “I seem to recall you complaining that I only ever used my hands...”
Beneath him, the boy trembled, as if the very idea of being taken would send him over the edge, and Haytham was quick to get a hand around the base of Connor’s cock. He nipped sharply at his son’s neck, laved at abused skin with his tongue, and then ground his hips against the boy’s backside once more. “So what is it you want? Are you satisfied with my hand, or do you want more?”
Connor pushed back against him, his voice raw with need. “More. Please.”
“Good boy,” Haytham purred before righting himself, fingernails scoring his son’s skin as he dragged his hands back to settle on his hips. This moment was the results of months of work, and he could not help but consider this a triumph on his part. Connor wanted this, wanted him, and as twisted as their relationship had become--how very taboo it was--the boy was here for him, an eager and willing participant.
--A participant who was growing more impatient with every second that ticked by, if that growl was anything to go by.
Haytham slapped Connor’s arse in response and grabbed the bottle of oil, slicking his cock, before lining himself up at the boy’s hole. Bracing one hand against his hip, Haytham pressed forward, earning himself a stuttering moan from his son, whose knuckles were now bone-white as he clenched at the headboard. Connor shifted restlessly beneath him, and Haytham had to grit his teeth--heavens, the boy was tight.
“Relax!” he hissed, and his son keened beneath him before forcing himself to take several deep breaths. Haytham panted and ran a trembling hand down Connor’s side, muttering incoherent words of encouragement as he slowly but surely sank deeper into the boy. For all his hopes of dragging this out, he was not entirely sure he’d be able to last, not when Connor clenched so wonderfully around him, not when his son was making sounds that sent shivers of pleasure straight to his groin.
When he was fully seated within the boy, Haytham paused and reached around Connor’s waist to take his flagging erection in hand. He pressed kisses to his son’s back, shoulders, and neck as he waited, and sure enough, under his careful attention and ministrations, the boy’s interest returned, resulting in a ginger roll of the hips.
Haytham hummed appreciatively and lapped at the shell of Connor’s ear, returning the favor by grinding against his son. Beneath him, the boy moaned, and when he finally spoke, his voice could only be described as desperate--an unashamed plea for more, more, more. With that sort of request, how could Haytham even think of refusing? He nipped the boy’s shoulder once more and began to thrust in earnest, each move of the hips forcing a gasp, a groan, or a hiss past his son’s lips.
Their pace quickened, driven by a mutual need to find completion--something both of them had been starved of for so long. The air was thick with the smell of sex; the sheets beneath them were rumpled and dirtied. Haytham’s hands had returned to their place on the boy’s hips, fingers digging into sweat-slicked skin, and his grip only grew rougher as he felt that all-too-familiar pressure low in his belly.
“Roll over,” he commanded as he withdrew suddenly, and Connor howled in frustration. He looked over his shoulder, about to demand an answer as to why and why now, but Haytham already had a hand closed around his arm and was tugging, pulling, yanking. It was, to be honest, a completely and utterly inappropriate use of his grappling skills, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn as he forced Connor onto his back and slid back home in one easy movement.
The action caused the boy to throw his head back against the pillows with a moan, and his hips jerked to meet the press of Haytham’s. Hands free, he took his son’s legs and hooked them over his shoulders before pressing forward, all but bending him in half; Connor’s toes curled as he sank even deeper than before, breath exiting his lungs with a hiss.
With one hand clutching at the sheets, the boy snaked the other down his body to close around his cock, but Haytham slapped it away with a growl. Connor stared at his father, momentarily dumbfounded, and then Haytham’s lips cracked into an arrogant smile. “Mine,” he said quietly, his tone dark and possessive. “Is that understood?”
The confused expression melted away into another of pleasure as Haytham thrusted once more, and Connor groaned before wetting his lips with his tongue. He managed a slight nod and then a strangled, “Yes!”--and that’s what it took to send Haytham toppling over the precipice, to send him reeling as his release took him and stole his senses for one long, blissful moment.
What eventually called him back was the soft, needy voice of his son and two hands clutching at his shoulders. Haytham opened eyes he had not realized he’d closed and lazily rocked against the boy, eliciting a most delectable whimper from him. He all but purred in contentment and then touched a hand to Connor’s erection, skating his fingertips across heated skin.
“Your... cooperation today is much appreciated,” he murmured, voice still rough around the edges, but some of his usual eloquence was returning. Haytham circled his fingers around the shaft and began to stroke; it took but a few harsh tugs, and Connor climaxed at last, body crumpling in an exhausted heap against the bed as he finished. When he finally withdrew, Haytham dipped a finger inside his hole and watched his son twitch weakly against the sheets.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he’d been too rough on the boy, given that it was his first time, but when Connor’s hand came to join his own, smearing semen over his skin, Haytham decided that his worries were unfounded. He allowed himself a little smile, pleased at how so much of the tension from his body was gone now--how at peace he was, and it warmed him, heart and soul, to see a slight quirk of the lips upon his son’s face as well.
Haytham had found his center, and the world of opportunity had opened up to him once more.
Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 10b / ? ]
This might have been because the boy decided to apply his mouth to his chest, though, dragging his tongue over his collar bones, around his nipples; one hand ghosted over the bandages still wrapped tightly around his shoulder, the touch almost apologetic. Connor sank to his knees once more, pressing kisses to his abdomen, and at last--at last, he worked his breeches down, exposing his cock. A shiver ran down his spine, and Haytham could not contain the low growl that slipped past his lips as Connor took him in his mouth.
His son had not, it seemed, forgotten how to pleasure him in his absence.
Mouth and hands worked in concert. Connor took him deep, pleasured him with long fingers when he didn’t; his tongue dragged a path from root to tip, teased his slit. He lapped at his balls, toyed with them with calloused fingertips. By the time the boy had worked his clothing down to his knees, his cock was spit-slick, and Connor gave it one final lick before turning his attention to his boots.
Haytham took himself in hand then, and his son moaned at the sight of it; he chuckled and ran his fingertips over Connor’s brow. “So desperate,” he muttered, smirking all the while. “Best hurry then, lest I decide that you aren’t worth my attentions any more.”
This was a complete and utter lie, of course, but it did make the boy finish undressing him with great haste. Task completed, Connor remained on his knees and turned his gaze upwards toward his father, face flushed and pupils blown. Haytham cupped his cheek and then jerked his head toward the bed. “On your knees, if you would be so kind.”
He watched his son rise in silence, and for a moment, it looked as if Connor was going to try for a kiss. He lingered, but before Haytham could reprimand him, he’d turned away, bare feet padding across the floor. Haytham nodded his approval and then went over to his desk, quickly removing a vial of oil.
“If we are to make this a more common practice, I may have to invest in some other oils,” he said, joining the boy on the bed. Connor had his hands braced on the headboard, and he looked over his shoulder, puzzled.
“Is there something wrong with the one you have in your hands?”
Haytham smiled, running his hand over the curve of Connor’s arse, before shaking his head; goosebumps formed beneath his fingertips. “I’m not going to poison you, boy. Such... subtle methods of delivering death are not my forte. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”
“That... That was not what I was implying,” Connor replied, a slight note of hurt entering his tone; his expression was apologetic. It was almost as if his son was worried that if he didn’t keep him pleased that he would disappear again, slipping away like sand between his fingers. Haytham obviously had no intention of doing so, but he certainly wouldn’t say no to this sort of obedience, to this sort of docile behavior.
“Of course not.” He uncorked the bottle and allowed the fluid to flow down the cleft of Connor’s arse, over his balls; Haytham smeared his fingers in it, pleased with how quickly it warmed. “There are simply better scents to be enjoyed, and I’d rather save this oil for my blades.
“Now, relax.”
Whatever Connor intended to say next died on his lips as he whined at the sensation of Haytham slipping a single finger into him. Every muscle in that powerful body was drawn taut, and the boy shifted, trying to get over the odd feeling of intrusion. Haytham waited as patiently as he could, but to his surprise, it would be the boy who demanded more and threw caution to the wind.
“Another,” his son said, a low growl that resonated from deep within his chest. Haytham lifted his eyebrows, a touch amused, and did as he was told, withdrawing his finger, only to add another. Connor’s hands tightened around the headboard all over again, but Haytham pressed onwards this time, scissoring his fingers and thrusting into the tight clench of muscle.
“Another!”
“So soon? Being a touchy hasty, aren’t we?” he asked, but again, Haytham conceded with a smile when the boy started cursing him in his native tongue. Three digits forced a moan from Connor’s lips, and he bowed his head, body dropping towards the bed as he spread his knees wider. Sweat sheened his skin; precum dripped onto the sheets, mingling with the oil already there.
Connor’s breath would catch whenever Haytham brushed against that special spot within him, and before long, he had his son making the prettiest sounds he’d ever heard, sounds that made his own cock ache and twitch with need. With the way the boy was fucking himself on his fingers, Haytham had no doubt in his mind that Connor could climax this way, and while there was something terribly erotic about that idea, he’d waited far too long for this, waited far too long to finally claim the boy as his, to let him go down that path.
He removed his fingers, and Connor snarled at the loss, throwing a look over his shoulder--a look reminiscent of a wild beast lashing out at its captor. Haytham settled his weight over the boy, biting none too gently at his shoulder; it earned him a low growl and more bared teeth. “Is it only my fingers that you wanted?” he asked, rocking his hips against Connor so that his cock slipped against the cleft of his arse. “I seem to recall you complaining that I only ever used my hands...”
Beneath him, the boy trembled, as if the very idea of being taken would send him over the edge, and Haytham was quick to get a hand around the base of Connor’s cock. He nipped sharply at his son’s neck, laved at abused skin with his tongue, and then ground his hips against the boy’s backside once more. “So what is it you want? Are you satisfied with my hand, or do you want more?”
Connor pushed back against him, his voice raw with need. “More. Please.”
“Good boy,” Haytham purred before righting himself, fingernails scoring his son’s skin as he dragged his hands back to settle on his hips. This moment was the results of months of work, and he could not help but consider this a triumph on his part. Connor wanted this, wanted him, and as twisted as their relationship had become--how very taboo it was--the boy was here for him, an eager and willing participant.
--A participant who was growing more impatient with every second that ticked by, if that growl was anything to go by.
Haytham slapped Connor’s arse in response and grabbed the bottle of oil, slicking his cock, before lining himself up at the boy’s hole. Bracing one hand against his hip, Haytham pressed forward, earning himself a stuttering moan from his son, whose knuckles were now bone-white as he clenched at the headboard. Connor shifted restlessly beneath him, and Haytham had to grit his teeth--heavens, the boy was tight.
“Relax!” he hissed, and his son keened beneath him before forcing himself to take several deep breaths. Haytham panted and ran a trembling hand down Connor’s side, muttering incoherent words of encouragement as he slowly but surely sank deeper into the boy. For all his hopes of dragging this out, he was not entirely sure he’d be able to last, not when Connor clenched so wonderfully around him, not when his son was making sounds that sent shivers of pleasure straight to his groin.
When he was fully seated within the boy, Haytham paused and reached around Connor’s waist to take his flagging erection in hand. He pressed kisses to his son’s back, shoulders, and neck as he waited, and sure enough, under his careful attention and ministrations, the boy’s interest returned, resulting in a ginger roll of the hips.
Haytham hummed appreciatively and lapped at the shell of Connor’s ear, returning the favor by grinding against his son. Beneath him, the boy moaned, and when he finally spoke, his voice could only be described as desperate--an unashamed plea for more, more, more. With that sort of request, how could Haytham even think of refusing? He nipped the boy’s shoulder once more and began to thrust in earnest, each move of the hips forcing a gasp, a groan, or a hiss past his son’s lips.
Their pace quickened, driven by a mutual need to find completion--something both of them had been starved of for so long. The air was thick with the smell of sex; the sheets beneath them were rumpled and dirtied. Haytham’s hands had returned to their place on the boy’s hips, fingers digging into sweat-slicked skin, and his grip only grew rougher as he felt that all-too-familiar pressure low in his belly.
“Roll over,” he commanded as he withdrew suddenly, and Connor howled in frustration. He looked over his shoulder, about to demand an answer as to why and why now, but Haytham already had a hand closed around his arm and was tugging, pulling, yanking. It was, to be honest, a completely and utterly inappropriate use of his grappling skills, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn as he forced Connor onto his back and slid back home in one easy movement.
The action caused the boy to throw his head back against the pillows with a moan, and his hips jerked to meet the press of Haytham’s. Hands free, he took his son’s legs and hooked them over his shoulders before pressing forward, all but bending him in half; Connor’s toes curled as he sank even deeper than before, breath exiting his lungs with a hiss.
With one hand clutching at the sheets, the boy snaked the other down his body to close around his cock, but Haytham slapped it away with a growl. Connor stared at his father, momentarily dumbfounded, and then Haytham’s lips cracked into an arrogant smile. “Mine,” he said quietly, his tone dark and possessive. “Is that understood?”
The confused expression melted away into another of pleasure as Haytham thrusted once more, and Connor groaned before wetting his lips with his tongue. He managed a slight nod and then a strangled, “Yes!”--and that’s what it took to send Haytham toppling over the precipice, to send him reeling as his release took him and stole his senses for one long, blissful moment.
What eventually called him back was the soft, needy voice of his son and two hands clutching at his shoulders. Haytham opened eyes he had not realized he’d closed and lazily rocked against the boy, eliciting a most delectable whimper from him. He all but purred in contentment and then touched a hand to Connor’s erection, skating his fingertips across heated skin.
“Your... cooperation today is much appreciated,” he murmured, voice still rough around the edges, but some of his usual eloquence was returning. Haytham circled his fingers around the shaft and began to stroke; it took but a few harsh tugs, and Connor climaxed at last, body crumpling in an exhausted heap against the bed as he finished. When he finally withdrew, Haytham dipped a finger inside his hole and watched his son twitch weakly against the sheets.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he’d been too rough on the boy, given that it was his first time, but when Connor’s hand came to join his own, smearing semen over his skin, Haytham decided that his worries were unfounded. He allowed himself a little smile, pleased at how so much of the tension from his body was gone now--how at peace he was, and it warmed him, heart and soul, to see a slight quirk of the lips upon his son’s face as well.
Haytham had found his center, and the world of opportunity had opened up to him once more.