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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only
Fill Only
Join or Die
✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.
✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.
✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
Fill: He Who Gave You Wings [ 2 / 2 ]
(Anonymous) 2013-03-18 07:19 am (UTC)(link)“That was a job well done, Haytham.”
Reginald had never been generous with his praise, and those words brought a smile to his lips, filling him with a warmth that he’d never admit to. It mixed well with the adrenaline still humming in his veins; Haytham wondered if the thrill of the hunt would always remain after every assassination or only after his first. After all, this... this was killing perfected into an art--completely and utterly different from simply slaughtering men on a battlefield.
“I always knew that nothing but good would come from taking you under my wing,” the Grand Master continued, resting his hands on his shoulders. Pride swelled with Haytham’s chest, and his chin rose, smug confidence in his every feature. That action earned him Reginald’s laughter, low and rich to his ears. “I could not have made a finer investment.
“Truly, you are my masterpiece.”
Something about the way he said those words gave Haytham pause. His smile faltered briefly, but he recovered a moment later, raising a hand to brush Reginald’s away. When the man’s grip only tightened, his eyebrows lifted, and the Grand Master took a step closer, forcing himself into Haytham’s personal space. He was immediately reminded of an incident almost a year ago--of an incident when a hungry gaze had first caused worry--anticipation--to fill him.
“Reginald,” he started, doing his best to keep his voice level; even now, Haytham struggled to avoid overtly upsetting the Grand Master. If he could just side-step this matter, all would be resolved, right? “The compliment is, as always, appreciated. Did you still want to an official report?”
His mentor merely chuckled, honey-sweet and all too pleasant to match the tension that was quickly building between them. “Later, Haytham. Complete it later,” he replied--a slow, easy drawl. “I’d rather celebrate your first kill.” Reginald shook his head, correcting himself. “Apologies. Your first assassination.”
The Grand Master canted his head, as if angling for a kiss, and Haytham swallowed, his mouth going dry. Heart hammering in his chest out of both excitement and dread, he waited for their lips to meet, but at the last moment, Reginald paused, eyes flicking over to meet his. “You’ll allow me this, won’t you? For all that I’ve done for you.”
“Of course. Have I ever denied you anything?”
To his credit, his voice was steady, but Haytham knew that he was hiding behind a thin veneer of bravado now. Whether he didn’t know this or merely pretended not to, Reginald smiled, pleased with his answer. “Good choice.”
And that was the end of their conversation.
The feeling of lips crushed against his own caused Haytham to inhale sharply, hands instinctively reaching for and closing around the closest thing available--in this case, Reginald’s coat. As with all things in life, the man took what he wanted without a second thought, turning him and pushing Haytham back towards his desk, shoving until there was nowhere else to go. Only then did he relent, nipping at Haytham’s lips until they stung.
Reginald’s hands finally left his shoulders, planting themselves on either side of Haytham’s hips, and Haytham’s went to tug on short hair, splay themselves over a broad back. It was different kissing a man--all sharp angles and planes of muscle, the drag of stubble against his cheek--but he was quickly finding that it was not as unpleasant as he’d first imagined. Reginald was, as he was in all aspects of life, talented in this field, and Haytham yielded with growing enthusiasm, moaning softly in encouragement.
“Eager, are we?” the Grand Master asked, dark humor warming his tone, and he ground his hips against Haytham’s, eliciting a groan from the both of them. The heat and friction were delightful, sending jolts of pleasure straight down to his groin with each rock of their bodies, and while the answering bulge that he felt pressed between his legs was unusual, it did nothing to hinder the heady feeling of lust that was quickly claiming his senses.
He felt soft lips pressing kisses to his neck before teeth worried at his earlobe, and Haytham tilted his head to allow Reginald better access, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. He had been worried before--worried about that hunger he’d seen in his mentor’s eyes--but he’d been wrong. Reginald had never been anything but good to him; why would that change now? The trust between them spanned years, and while this man had sent him into dangerous situations before, this was personal and intimate--this was safe.
Thinking that was his first mistake.
Gentle hands suddenly turned rough, and within a blink of an eye, Reginald had flipped him over, scattering books, quills, papers, and bottles off of the desk and onto the floor. The Grand Master smoothed a hand over his arse, possessive, and hummed, as if pleased with the firm muscle that he found there. Haytham shivered before trying to right himself, and quickly found that he could not, not with a hand firmly holding him right where he was. “Reginald--”
“I want to watch as I take you.” Haytham felt his coattails being flipped onto his back, and then Reginald reached around his waist, fumbling awkwardly to undo his breeches. “I’ve no doubt--” Fingers curled around the hem of his clothing and yanked. “--that it’ll be a sight worth seeing.” Cool air against heated skin forced him to tremble. “I’ll be your first, won’t I?”
He laughed breathlessly, but there was more nervousness than humor in his voice. Haytham slicked his lips with his tongue and struggled to find his voice. “I don’t make it a habit of spreading my legs for others, if that is what you’re implying,” he said, forcing himself to not ball his hands into fists or lash out physically against the Grand Master; this felt... wrong somehow. “But Reginald--”
“But nothing. You agreed to this, did you not?” The gentle roll of Reginald’s still-clothed hips against his arse caused anxiety to spike within him, and the warm weight of the man’s body was not comforting in the least. Even so, Haytham remained hard, his erection bumping against the desk. Should he feel ashamed? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Behind him, he could feel the rustle of fabric, could feel Reginald’s hand bump against his rear as he freed himself with a low moan. Thick, heated flesh pressed against the cleft of his arse, and immediately, Haytham froze, breath catching in his throat. This was impossible. How in the world was he supposed to take that inside of him? Where was the pleasure to be found in any of this? Surely he’d die of pain if he allowed this encounter to continue.
Unknowing (or uncaring) of his plight, Reginald began searching for something on his person, ignoring the fidgeting body beneath him. Close to his ear, his mentor tutted quietly and sighed; the man’s exasperation did little to soothe his worries. “The vial’s not here. I knew I forgot something when I was dressing today,” Reginald muttered. “No matter. We’ll make do.”
Long fingers were presented before his mouth. “Suck.” When Haytham hesitated, Reginald continued, “Or would you prefer for no slick at all?”
“I’d rather we didn’t do this.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, and the Grand Master stilled for a moment before chuckling, nipping at his neck.
“You can’t tell me that you don’t want this--not with how aroused you are.” He traced his fingertips against his lower lip, his touch growing heavier when Haytham did not relent. “Now, will you be a good boy, or will I have to be unnecessarily rough with you?”
“Reginald, please--”
Again, the man tutted, and Haytham could sense his disappointment--a feeling that he had long sought to avoid at all costs. Reginald lifted himself off of his back, and for a moment, hope flickered back to life before being completely and utterly extinguished when Haytham felt the blunt head of the man’s cock push at and then past his entrance.
A strangled sound ripped itself out of his throat as pain lanced up his spine, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut and his hands to curl into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. Haytham squirmed, trying to get away, but each movement only made the stretch, the burn, the agony that much worse. Distantly, he could hear Reginald saying something--words that he couldn’t comprehend, while there was another voice ringing in his ears: this one was begging for this torture to cease.
Haytham was sure that an eternity had passed by the time Reginald was fully seated within him. He felt full, entirely too full, and it felt so unnatural, so wrong; his skin crawled, and for all the strength that he possessed, Haytham could not lift a finger to defend himself, as his chest heaved and his body trembled. The hand at his back was as unyielding as ever, pinning him right where he was. “This is wrong,” he murmured, unsure of whether Reginald could even hear him at this point. “Stop this madness. I beg of you--”
“Oh, come now, Haytham.” A warm hand stroked his side in what was likely supposed to be a comforting manner. “You’ll come to enjoy it.”
--Except that he didn’t.
Each thrust of the hips wrung out a whimper, a poorly muffled cry, but his body had ceased to protest. Like a rag doll, Haytham allowed himself to be fucked raw; the pain, the shame, and the shock had overtaken him, reduced him to nothing--whatever fighting spirit had remained in him was gone. He buried his face in his arms and tried to ignore the filthy sounds of pleasure Reginald made above him; tears--tears he had not shed in more than a decade--wet his sleeves. Haytham hoped and prayed to any deity that would listen that this would end soon, but like when he’d begged the man to stop, his pleas went unanswered.
Forever and ever, the agony seemed never-ending until, at long last, he felt Reginald tense behind him, felt a disgusting, filthy warmth fill him; Haytham mewled when he withdrew and choked back a sob when the man’s leavings dribbled down his leg. His knees gave out beneath him, and he crumpled, sinking down toward the ground to lean against the desk.
He never should have obliged this man. He should have said no.
Fingers combed through his hair, and kind words were whispered in his ear; dimly, he felt lips press against his cheek. Reginald’s shadow eventually left, and Haytham distantly registered the sound of a door closing. Everything felt far away--everything except for the pain and the shame that he still felt, sharp and all too prominent now.
This was his fault.
Reginald would not--could not-- have done this to him without prompting; he’d done something to incur this sort of behavior. How or when, Haytham did not know, but this was the only obvious answer. Why else would his mentor do this to him? Theirs was a relationship based on trust and respect, not... not this.
Haytham felt cold. He was lost now--just as lost as when Reginald had first taken him under his wing.
Re: Fill: He Who Gave You Wings [ 2 / 2 ]
(Anonymous) 2013-03-18 11:17 am (UTC)(link)Good job!
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 01:13 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: He Who Gave You Wings [ 2 / 2 ]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-05 12:56 pm (UTC)(link)