Ahahah, I honestly did not think that I'd be able to finish this thing tonight, but it looks like I managed it somehow or another. If I had known, I wouldn't have made that rambling comment earlier about this chapter being late. OH WELL. I showered you all with my love there, and I will shower you all with my love here, too.
Thank you all for reading and commenting as always. You have made me a very happy writer!anon! Please enjoy the smut chapter. :D
***
Day One Hundred and Sixty-Seven Haytham had been right: there had been no need to worry.
Well before the sun rose, he’d been woken up by a rapping at his window, and who did he find there? His son, of course. By the looks of it, he was tired, but his exhaustion could not hide the exhilaration he clearly felt; his smile practically lit up the room with its radiance. Connor showered him with hungry kisses when Haytham opened the window, all but tumbling on top of him, and he replied with nips and bites, reprimanding his son for tracking dirt into the house and ruining his clothes--shoes scuffed, coat torn, and hat gone.
He didn’t mind as much as he pretended to though.
Connor would go on to beg his permission to continue exploring the city, which Haytham said yes to--under certain conditions, of course. His son always had to return to him by a certain time, and usually, he would include some sort of errand to be accomplished. Haytham did not try to send the boy on any obviously Templar-related work, but on more than a few occasions, he passed notes to his brothers under the guise of a much more innocuous task: a trip to the bank, the grocer, or the local print shop.
His son’s observations of the city helped him gauge whether or not a threat was upon him as well. Connor was more than delighted to talk about what he’d seen during his ventures outside, and while he would feign only mild interest, Haytham was actually quite curious, drinking in the topics of their conversation. Peace in one district of the city meant that his men were holding their ground, while something as simple as a break-in at a store could signal future trouble to come. The boy was his eyes and ears around the city, and even if he did not know it, Haytham found him more effective than many of the other men he had at his disposal.
In addition to eagerly regaling him with his tales, Connor had also started to be more openly affectionate toward him as well. His hands would touch and caress, linger and press--the actions never too obvious to appear wrong to the outsider--but Haytham recognized them for what they were: calls for attention.
To say that work had consumed him would not be entirely true, despite the many hours that he put into meeting with his men and writing to those he could not see in person, but this was the angle that he played at. Haytham refused most (but not all) of Connor’s invitations for further intimacy, and as the days passed by, it became clear that while he was still enjoying the outdoor freedom that he now had, his son still wanted more. Oh, they kissed now--hot and desperate or slow and gentle--and sometimes, when Haytham was feeling especially generous, he’d crush the boy against the wall, grinding their pleasure out with pants and growls.
All that said, though, they had not slept together since his return from New York City.
Haytham had often thought about it (and knew Connor did as well), and there had been a fair few instances when he’d nearly bent the boy over his desk and had his way with him. It would have been all too easy to succumb to something that they both wanted, but there was something undoubtedly delightful about knowing that the boy wanted him--desired him--with ever-growing desperation and frustration. This relationship of theirs had originally been built upon a series of rewards and promises, and while he too would have to suffer to some degree, Haytham liked to think that when they would eventually join together once again that it would be more than worth the effort. In the meantime, he’d simply enjoy the mental satisfaction he gained from having his son under his thumb.
See, Connor had to earn the privilege of getting fucked, and while his deeds up to this point were helpful, they weren’t quite worthy of that sort of response.
Of course, Haytham never saw fit to let the boy know about the rules of the game, and he was left to fumble in the dark. His growing dissatisfaction was evident in the way his aggression grew, in the way he looked at his father with undeniable hunger and lust, and by the time he slipped out of the window with a scowl this morning, Haytham knew that things had come to a head: something was going to happen tonight.
Needless to say, he wasn’t all that surprised when Connor was late returning to his side--two hours late, in fact.
His son greeted him with a smile that was all teeth and a kiss that stung his lips, hands pushing against his shoulders until they knocked against the wall. Haytham felt a knee shove his legs apart and then the press of a hard cock pressed flush against his thigh; Connor groaned and whispered filthy things in his ear, things that made him hiss with growing arousal. It was only when he felt a large hand curl around to his backside that Haytham realized that he’d given the boy too much leeway, and he snarled, dropping the boy by knocking his feet out from under him.
Connor growled as he straddled his midriff, securing his arms behind his back with one hand, and Haytham narrowed his eyes, ignoring the way his son shifted beneath him. Though he’d been momentarily blinded by lust, he could see what the boy was trying to do: incite him into action and elicit a reaction; his son wanted attention, and when he could not get it through positive actions, he tried the reverse.
Well, if he wanted to be punished, then Haytham would most certainly deliver.
“A poor decision, but then again, I’ve come to expect that,” he murmured, leaning down so he could nip at the boy’s ear. His free hand struggled with the ribbon tied around his neck, roughly working it free, and when he finally yanked it loose, Haytham was quick to circle it around his son’s wrists, all but smirking when Connor tugged against them and failed to release himself from his bonds. Haytham chuckled and then rose to his feet, circling the boy as he awkwardly got to his knees.
Grasping his son’s chin, he stroked his thumb over his lips and then stepped away. Behind him, Haytham could hear Connor try to get back on his feet, but he tutted quietly and shook his head. “For your indiscretions, you’re not allowed to touch or be touched,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Is that understood? Stay exactly where you are lest you wish for a harsher punishment.”
When Connor remained silent, Haytham arched a brow, pausing with his hands on the laces of his breeches. “I asked you a question, boy. I expect an answer.”
“Yes, father,” came the low growl, and he smiled, clearly pleased with himself for causing his son such frustration. There was so much anger in Connor’s gaze, but that he would still bow to Haytham’s will... Well, he thought it was terribly arousing.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Haytham drew himself out, humming as he slowly swept his fingers over the shaft, almost experimental. His hand was usually a poor replacement for an actual partner, but with an audience, it stirred within him an entirely different feeling of lust. He spit in his palm and all but sneered at his son, whose irritable expression was already melting into one of want: lips slightly parted, gaze trained upon the easy up and down movement of his hand, the slight twitch of his knees as he struggled to comply with his father’s wishes.
“Wish you were closer?” he asked, his voice a soft, velvety purr, and Connor’s gaze flicked upwards to meet his; the boy swallowed and tried to appear defiant. “You always did seem enjoy having my cock in your mouth, taking it deep until I thought you might gag.”
Haytham closed his eyes at the thought, remembering all too well that wet heat--perfect lips sealed around his erection, a tongue pressed against his shaft. His hand picked up from its languorous pace, the friction he felt delightful, but still not as erotic as the feeling of a pair of wanting eyes taking in his every movement.
He’d never thought himself the type to enjoy being watched.
“Or--” He was a little more breathless this time, and he paused to lick his lips as he briefly toyed with his balls. “--Do you prefer to take it up the arse? You kept asking for more, if I recall correctly.” Haytham moaned softly as he gave his cock a tighter squeeze, trying to replicate the sensation of fucking the boy. “You’d be easy enough to tip over with your hands bound. I’d hold you down, face against the floor, and take you.”
Connor groaned, and his hips jerked of their own accord, thrusting against the air. “Father,” he said, sounding broken and raw. “Please, father...”
“This... This is your fault, you know,” Haytham replied, planting his free hand heavily in the sheets, his fingers curling against the plush fabric. His legs spread a little wider, and he moaned softly, rocking into the curl of his fist. “If you had only been more patient--” He hissed and cursed beneath his breath, as he swept his thumb across the swollen head. “--If you had only listened to me, we would not be having this conversation.”
--If this could even be called a conversation, of course.
“To punish you is to punish myself.” The sound of a quiet whimper reached his ears, causing Haytham to smile, all too pleased with himself. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the desire for release growing ever stronger, and right now, there was no reason to hold back and stall his pleasure. In fact, it’d likely work in his favor in admonishing Connor, if the look on his face was anything to go by.
Oh, the disappointment at not having a hand in his father’s pleasure!
With a self-satisfied sigh, Haytham spilled, leaving a mess on his hand, his waistcoat, and his breeches. He continued to roll his hips into his fist a few times more before beckoning his son over with his free hand; Connor hurried to do his bidding, awkwardly shuffling over on his knees. The expression on his face was so strained, and Haytham could only imagine his discomfort. “Are you properly repentant?” he asked softly, still breathless. “I would prefer that we do not need another lesson on this matter.”
“Father, please--”
“Are you properly repentant?” Haytham carded a hand through the boy’s hair before fisting it and yanking his son’s head forward; Connor winced but did not complain. “Yes or no.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now clean up this mess,” he said, offering his dirtied hand. For a moment, it looked like the boy was going to try and bring up his own needs once more, but then his tongue snaked out, drawing a wet line over his skin. Connor closed his eyes and set to work with vigor, and Haytham shivered with residual pleasure as his son lapped up every drop of his issue from his hand and clothes before taking his mouth to the source. He hissed, all too sensitive now for such attention, and gently pushed Connor away, and the boy licked his lips, still wanting.
“I suppose we should attend to you as well,” Haytham mumbled, as if in afterthought, and his son moaned, turning his head to nudge at his hand, to nip lightly at his fingertips. Connor opened his mouth, as if to make another plea, but Haytham pressed a finger against his lips and shook his head. Instead, he shifted one leg so that the sole of his boot rested at the front of the boy’s breeches; Connor’s hips automatically jerked against his shoe. “You won’t be having my hand today. This is still punishment.
“Go on then. Pleasure yourself.”
The boy whined but did as he was told, shamelessly rutting against his father’s boot. His breath came quick and fast, and Haytham affectionately combed his fingers through his son’s hair as he waited, a faint but amused smile playing at his lips--not that he would have much time to kill.
Connor came with a muffled shout shortly after, face buried against the soft fabric of his father’s breeches, and he panted, shoulders slumping, as he slowly but surely came off the high of his release. Haytham continued to remain surprisingly mild, his touch gentle and comforting, and it was only when they heard the sound of the gates being jangled that his hands stilled.
He waited for the noise to stop, but when it didn’t--when someone started shouting and begging for entry--he pushed Connor away, rising to his feet. Haytham was quick to free his son, quicker still to put himself back in order, and when he looked out the window, the very window the boy had come in through a short while ago, he saw a man astride a horse, blood staining the white shirt he wore.
Several of his servants were already running outside to let the man in, and just as they wrenched open the gates, he wavered and toppled off his horse, a crumpled heap on the ground. Before Connor could say a word, Haytham swept out of the room, arriving in the foyer just in time to see the injured individual being carried inside.
He swore quietly when he saw just who it was: he was one of the men Haytham had sent off to find Charles.
Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 13 / ? ]
Thank you all for reading and commenting as always. You have made me a very happy writer!anon! Please enjoy the
smutchapter. :D***
Day One Hundred and Sixty-Seven
Haytham had been right: there had been no need to worry.
Well before the sun rose, he’d been woken up by a rapping at his window, and who did he find there? His son, of course. By the looks of it, he was tired, but his exhaustion could not hide the exhilaration he clearly felt; his smile practically lit up the room with its radiance. Connor showered him with hungry kisses when Haytham opened the window, all but tumbling on top of him, and he replied with nips and bites, reprimanding his son for tracking dirt into the house and ruining his clothes--shoes scuffed, coat torn, and hat gone.
He didn’t mind as much as he pretended to though.
Connor would go on to beg his permission to continue exploring the city, which Haytham said yes to--under certain conditions, of course. His son always had to return to him by a certain time, and usually, he would include some sort of errand to be accomplished. Haytham did not try to send the boy on any obviously Templar-related work, but on more than a few occasions, he passed notes to his brothers under the guise of a much more innocuous task: a trip to the bank, the grocer, or the local print shop.
His son’s observations of the city helped him gauge whether or not a threat was upon him as well. Connor was more than delighted to talk about what he’d seen during his ventures outside, and while he would feign only mild interest, Haytham was actually quite curious, drinking in the topics of their conversation. Peace in one district of the city meant that his men were holding their ground, while something as simple as a break-in at a store could signal future trouble to come. The boy was his eyes and ears around the city, and even if he did not know it, Haytham found him more effective than many of the other men he had at his disposal.
In addition to eagerly regaling him with his tales, Connor had also started to be more openly affectionate toward him as well. His hands would touch and caress, linger and press--the actions never too obvious to appear wrong to the outsider--but Haytham recognized them for what they were: calls for attention.
To say that work had consumed him would not be entirely true, despite the many hours that he put into meeting with his men and writing to those he could not see in person, but this was the angle that he played at. Haytham refused most (but not all) of Connor’s invitations for further intimacy, and as the days passed by, it became clear that while he was still enjoying the outdoor freedom that he now had, his son still wanted more. Oh, they kissed now--hot and desperate or slow and gentle--and sometimes, when Haytham was feeling especially generous, he’d crush the boy against the wall, grinding their pleasure out with pants and growls.
All that said, though, they had not slept together since his return from New York City.
Haytham had often thought about it (and knew Connor did as well), and there had been a fair few instances when he’d nearly bent the boy over his desk and had his way with him. It would have been all too easy to succumb to something that they both wanted, but there was something undoubtedly delightful about knowing that the boy wanted him--desired him--with ever-growing desperation and frustration. This relationship of theirs had originally been built upon a series of rewards and promises, and while he too would have to suffer to some degree, Haytham liked to think that when they would eventually join together once again that it would be more than worth the effort. In the meantime, he’d simply enjoy the mental satisfaction he gained from having his son under his thumb.
See, Connor had to earn the privilege of getting fucked, and while his deeds up to this point were helpful, they weren’t quite worthy of that sort of response.
Of course, Haytham never saw fit to let the boy know about the rules of the game, and he was left to fumble in the dark. His growing dissatisfaction was evident in the way his aggression grew, in the way he looked at his father with undeniable hunger and lust, and by the time he slipped out of the window with a scowl this morning, Haytham knew that things had come to a head: something was going to happen tonight.
Needless to say, he wasn’t all that surprised when Connor was late returning to his side--two hours late, in fact.
His son greeted him with a smile that was all teeth and a kiss that stung his lips, hands pushing against his shoulders until they knocked against the wall. Haytham felt a knee shove his legs apart and then the press of a hard cock pressed flush against his thigh; Connor groaned and whispered filthy things in his ear, things that made him hiss with growing arousal. It was only when he felt a large hand curl around to his backside that Haytham realized that he’d given the boy too much leeway, and he snarled, dropping the boy by knocking his feet out from under him.
Connor growled as he straddled his midriff, securing his arms behind his back with one hand, and Haytham narrowed his eyes, ignoring the way his son shifted beneath him. Though he’d been momentarily blinded by lust, he could see what the boy was trying to do: incite him into action and elicit a reaction; his son wanted attention, and when he could not get it through positive actions, he tried the reverse.
Well, if he wanted to be punished, then Haytham would most certainly deliver.
“A poor decision, but then again, I’ve come to expect that,” he murmured, leaning down so he could nip at the boy’s ear. His free hand struggled with the ribbon tied around his neck, roughly working it free, and when he finally yanked it loose, Haytham was quick to circle it around his son’s wrists, all but smirking when Connor tugged against them and failed to release himself from his bonds. Haytham chuckled and then rose to his feet, circling the boy as he awkwardly got to his knees.
Grasping his son’s chin, he stroked his thumb over his lips and then stepped away. Behind him, Haytham could hear Connor try to get back on his feet, but he tutted quietly and shook his head. “For your indiscretions, you’re not allowed to touch or be touched,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Is that understood? Stay exactly where you are lest you wish for a harsher punishment.”
When Connor remained silent, Haytham arched a brow, pausing with his hands on the laces of his breeches. “I asked you a question, boy. I expect an answer.”
“Yes, father,” came the low growl, and he smiled, clearly pleased with himself for causing his son such frustration. There was so much anger in Connor’s gaze, but that he would still bow to Haytham’s will... Well, he thought it was terribly arousing.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Haytham drew himself out, humming as he slowly swept his fingers over the shaft, almost experimental. His hand was usually a poor replacement for an actual partner, but with an audience, it stirred within him an entirely different feeling of lust. He spit in his palm and all but sneered at his son, whose irritable expression was already melting into one of want: lips slightly parted, gaze trained upon the easy up and down movement of his hand, the slight twitch of his knees as he struggled to comply with his father’s wishes.
“Wish you were closer?” he asked, his voice a soft, velvety purr, and Connor’s gaze flicked upwards to meet his; the boy swallowed and tried to appear defiant. “You always did seem enjoy having my cock in your mouth, taking it deep until I thought you might gag.”
Haytham closed his eyes at the thought, remembering all too well that wet heat--perfect lips sealed around his erection, a tongue pressed against his shaft. His hand picked up from its languorous pace, the friction he felt delightful, but still not as erotic as the feeling of a pair of wanting eyes taking in his every movement.
He’d never thought himself the type to enjoy being watched.
“Or--” He was a little more breathless this time, and he paused to lick his lips as he briefly toyed with his balls. “--Do you prefer to take it up the arse? You kept asking for more, if I recall correctly.” Haytham moaned softly as he gave his cock a tighter squeeze, trying to replicate the sensation of fucking the boy. “You’d be easy enough to tip over with your hands bound. I’d hold you down, face against the floor, and take you.”
Connor groaned, and his hips jerked of their own accord, thrusting against the air. “Father,” he said, sounding broken and raw. “Please, father...”
“This... This is your fault, you know,” Haytham replied, planting his free hand heavily in the sheets, his fingers curling against the plush fabric. His legs spread a little wider, and he moaned softly, rocking into the curl of his fist. “If you had only been more patient--” He hissed and cursed beneath his breath, as he swept his thumb across the swollen head. “--If you had only listened to me, we would not be having this conversation.”
--If this could even be called a conversation, of course.
“To punish you is to punish myself.” The sound of a quiet whimper reached his ears, causing Haytham to smile, all too pleased with himself. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the desire for release growing ever stronger, and right now, there was no reason to hold back and stall his pleasure. In fact, it’d likely work in his favor in admonishing Connor, if the look on his face was anything to go by.
Oh, the disappointment at not having a hand in his father’s pleasure!
With a self-satisfied sigh, Haytham spilled, leaving a mess on his hand, his waistcoat, and his breeches. He continued to roll his hips into his fist a few times more before beckoning his son over with his free hand; Connor hurried to do his bidding, awkwardly shuffling over on his knees. The expression on his face was so strained, and Haytham could only imagine his discomfort. “Are you properly repentant?” he asked softly, still breathless. “I would prefer that we do not need another lesson on this matter.”
“Father, please--”
“Are you properly repentant?” Haytham carded a hand through the boy’s hair before fisting it and yanking his son’s head forward; Connor winced but did not complain. “Yes or no.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now clean up this mess,” he said, offering his dirtied hand. For a moment, it looked like the boy was going to try and bring up his own needs once more, but then his tongue snaked out, drawing a wet line over his skin. Connor closed his eyes and set to work with vigor, and Haytham shivered with residual pleasure as his son lapped up every drop of his issue from his hand and clothes before taking his mouth to the source. He hissed, all too sensitive now for such attention, and gently pushed Connor away, and the boy licked his lips, still wanting.
“I suppose we should attend to you as well,” Haytham mumbled, as if in afterthought, and his son moaned, turning his head to nudge at his hand, to nip lightly at his fingertips. Connor opened his mouth, as if to make another plea, but Haytham pressed a finger against his lips and shook his head. Instead, he shifted one leg so that the sole of his boot rested at the front of the boy’s breeches; Connor’s hips automatically jerked against his shoe. “You won’t be having my hand today. This is still punishment.
“Go on then. Pleasure yourself.”
The boy whined but did as he was told, shamelessly rutting against his father’s boot. His breath came quick and fast, and Haytham affectionately combed his fingers through his son’s hair as he waited, a faint but amused smile playing at his lips--not that he would have much time to kill.
Connor came with a muffled shout shortly after, face buried against the soft fabric of his father’s breeches, and he panted, shoulders slumping, as he slowly but surely came off the high of his release. Haytham continued to remain surprisingly mild, his touch gentle and comforting, and it was only when they heard the sound of the gates being jangled that his hands stilled.
He waited for the noise to stop, but when it didn’t--when someone started shouting and begging for entry--he pushed Connor away, rising to his feet. Haytham was quick to free his son, quicker still to put himself back in order, and when he looked out the window, the very window the boy had come in through a short while ago, he saw a man astride a horse, blood staining the white shirt he wore.
Several of his servants were already running outside to let the man in, and just as they wrenched open the gates, he wavered and toppled off his horse, a crumpled heap on the ground. Before Connor could say a word, Haytham swept out of the room, arriving in the foyer just in time to see the injured individual being carried inside.
He swore quietly when he saw just who it was: he was one of the men Haytham had sent off to find Charles.