Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ 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.

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
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Fill: wavering resolve

[(Anonymous)]

Joint fill with this prompt (http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=8976643#cmt8976643)

Also available on AO3! (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1179371) 

The boy was becoming much too bold Haytham thought irritably, eyes narrowing as Connor vaulted effortlessly across his windowsill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly, unimpressed. “Just because I let you in once, that doesn’t give you the right to just waltz in here unannounced whenever the mood strikes.”

“I am sorry,” Connor muttered, looking slightly abashed (so he should be, Haytham thought, satisfied). “I wanted to see you. And I did not waltz,” he seemed to add as an afterthought. “I climbed.”

Haytham rolled his eyes. “A figure of speech.”

He supposed he should have expected this; the last time he had seen his son, he had at last given in to his perverse desires and had attempted to fuck him through his mattress.

It was not unusual that Connor should return, perhaps seeking similar attention.

Haytham’s thoughts were confirmed as Connor approached him shyly, looking unsure.

 “Should I not have returned?” Connor asked quietly, stopping to stand in front of where Haytham still sat.

Haytham sighed and indicated that Connor take a seat by him. Once the assassin was sitting, Haytham leaned forward and rested a familiar hand on his knee. “Look,” he began. “I am not averse to having you here – if I was, then I would have thrown you out before you’d even passed the windowsill.”

His eyes dared Connor to argue. His son didn’t take the bait, remaining silent.

“What I do take issue with,” Haytham continued. “Is your presumption that you may enter whenever and however you choose. For instance, how should you like it if I were to show up, unannounced at that homestead of yours?”

Connor snorted. “As if you would. What would be the use of that?”

Haytham smiled crookedly, an idea forming in his head. “To prove a point, perhaps.”

Connor did not look convinced.

He would learn.

Haytham only had to wait a week to set his plan in motion. Connor had announced he was returning to the Homestead for a time to visit Achilles and the other residents. Blood humming in anticipation, Haytham waited a day before clearing his schedule and beginning the ride to the Frontier himself.

Just as he’d planned, he reached the Davenport Homestead at nightfall, roughly around the time he figured Connor usually went to bed. Sneaking up to the manor was frightfully easy – apparently everyone had already retired to bed themselves.

Haytham climbed down from his horse and led him to the stables, then snuck back over to the manor and began to scale its walls, finding an open window and peering through cautiously. As luck would have it, it was indeed Connor’s room. The assassin was readying himself for bed, back facing the window. He was at his base of operations where he felt most safe, and thus his guard was down completely.

Haytham grinned, climbing silently over the windowsill and walking to stand behind Connor as he continued to undress himself, oblivious.

Connor froze as a hand clamped over his mouth. “It’s me,” a voice breathed against his ear, and he relaxed, waiting until the hand was removed before whipping around.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, keeping his voice quiet. Achilles was downstairs and would not be pleased to find the templar grandmaster himself in his manor. Connor had not yet decided how he felt about the issue.

“Hello to you too,” Haytham replied wryly.

Connor bristled. “Why are you here?” he tried again, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Giving you a chance to make up for that misguided incursion through my bedroom window last week,” Haytham explained smugly. “Point proven I think.”

Connor looked aghast as the implications sunk in. “Achilles is downstairs!” he snapped.

“Then,” Haytham said, beginning to unbutton Connor’s vest. “We will just have to be very, very quiet.” He looked up with a devilish smirk. “I’d say it’s fair compensation.”

“I do not like you,” Connor informed him, unresisting as Haytham proceeded to divest him of the rest of his clothes.

Haytham chuckled. “Of course not.”

Once Connor was fully undressed he was led over to his bed, where Haytham pushed him down onto the mattress before straddling him.

“Why are you still clothed?” Connor grumbled, biting his lip as Haytham’s clothes brushed his bare skin.

The templar shrugged. “In case I need to make a swift escape,” he explained, leaning down to capture Connor’s mouth with his own and preventing any further protests.

Connor’s mouth fell open with a moan, allowing Haytham’s tongue access. He knew the older man was probably up to something – something that no doubt boded ill for Connor – but he saw no alternative to waiting and seeing what happened.

Haytham took his time to work Connor into a writhing, frenzied mess, starting at his throat and working his way down his body with a slick tongue and clever fingers. As he reached his aching arousal, Haytham paused to glance up at his handiwork. Connor looked utterly wrecked, his cheeks flushed as he panted.

Perfect.

Ducking his head, Haytham gave Connor’s cock a few teasing laps with his tongue, causing Connor’s hips to buck. “Father,” he moaned, still managing to stay quiet. The word became an obscene breathless litany, as Connor’s voice rose in volume and desperation, entreating Haytham to have mercy and grant him release.

“Shh,” Haytham soothed him. “Quiet, remember?” He waited for Connor’s dazed nod before he lowered his head again.

Connor sighed, feeling that wet heat finally engulf him as Haytham took him into his mouth, tongue swirling around him. It became increasingly difficult to stay silent as he felt himself becoming undone under his father’s attentions.

All of a sudden, he was skilfully deep-throated and all his self-control was thrown to the wind as he came with a strangled cry. Haytham swallowed, licking his lips and grimacing at the taste. Inwardly however he was quite pleased. There was no way the old man downstairs could have failed to have heard that – the thought did not displease him in the least.

A glance to the door confirmed his suspicions. Achilles Davenport stood in the doorway, face ashen, expression simultaneously furious and appalled. Haytham caught his eye with a dark smirk before hauling a pliant and sated Connor up for a deep and possessive kiss. Satisfied that it was in full view of the old assassin, Haytham made sure to apply his tongue and teeth generously, drawing wanton moans from the younger man’s throat. When the kiss broke, Haytham looked again.

Achilles was gone.

Completely unaware of the silent exchange that had taken place, Connor yawned, pushing gently at Haytham to dislodge his weight from the bedcovers. Acquiescing to the wordless request, Haytham stood and watched Connor slide under the blankets.

By now it was far too dark to risk riding back to New York, so Haytham closed the window before undressing and climbing into bed next to Connor. He doubted Achilles would bother them again that night and he fully intended to leave by dawn.

Haytham awoke early, as he did every morning, and crept back through the window. Finding his horse, he re-saddled and bridled him and began the ride back to New York.

 

It was there that Connor found him, a day or so later. “Did you do that on purpose?” he demanded. “Was it your intention to disgrace me?”

Haytham pretended to look nonplussed. “Whatever are you on about, child?” he asked crossly.

“Achilles.” Connor snapped. “He saw us, that night at the Homestead. I managed to convince him it was a dream but-”

“Then what is the problem?” Haytham interrupted him.

Connor took a deep breath. “Are you trying to get me disowned by the assassins?” he asked.

Haytham scoffed. “Heavens no! I was just getting you back for breaking through my window!” The hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps you should have been quieter.”

Connor’s cheeks darkened. “You should not have been at the Homestead,” he growled, flustered.

“Then I trust you won’t be climbing through my window without permission again,” Haytham smirked.  “Yes?”

 “Yes father,” Connor repeated, looking mutinous.

The kiss he received on his forehead did nothing to soothe his temper, nor did the words whispered against his skin;

“Good boy.”

 

When Connor next returned to the Homestead, he couldn’t help feeling awkward whenever he found himself in Achilles’ presence. While his mentor seemed to have accepted his explanation that what he had seen was some sort of preposterous nightmare, Connor would often catch the older man sending him worried looks, as though trying to ascertain that he was alright.

It seemed quite out-of-character for ill-tempered Achilles, but Connor decided not to call him out on it. The less attention he drew to the incident, the better.

It seemed easy enough to forget the whole thing, at least until Connor was ready for bed that evening. As he slipped under the covers, the memories of his father pinning him to his own bed, of wicked fingers and a teasing mouth all came flooding back and he was immediately, impossibly hard.

He let out a soft, frustrated groan, one hand sliding down to palm himself almost of its own accord. His eyes slid closed as his fingers wrapped around his sensitive flesh, picturing Haytham’s infuriating smirk in his mind’s eye. Spurred on by the thought he increased the pace of his fist, raising his unoccupied hand to his mouth to muffle his cries.

Opening his mind to the memories now, they came flooding in, unrestrained. He remembered Haytham’s confident, dominating kisses, his tantalising exploration of his body, and best of all, that wet, perfect heat of his mouth as his lips wrapped around his aching arousal.

Connor bit down on his knuckles as he fought to control his frustrated groans. His back arched as he thrust desperately into his own fist.

The memory of Haytham’s voice, lowered to an intimate whisper was what finally brought him to climax.

“Good boy,” that smooth voice praised him.

His teeth sank into the flesh of his hand, drawing blood as he bit down even harder, stifling his cry of relief as he came.

Lying still, the only sound in the dark room was his own quiet panting as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He hoped Achilles hadn’t heard him (again!).

Mortification overwhelmed him, making him wince as he realised how disappointed Achilles must have been to have caught him and his father engaged in such depravity.

Had Haytham known?

Connor had accused him earlier of planning the whole thing but had not actually given much thought to it. Had he meant Achilles to see them together, his star pupil seduced by the wicked Grandmaster Templar himself?

Connor seethed at the thought, angry at his father’s constant manipulations, but the feeling was accompanied by an odd sort of thrill.

Yes, he had let himself be taken by an enemy of their Creed, and he had liked it, he thought with a fierce sense of rebellious glee. And there was nothing Achilles could do about it.

The thought was rather childish, he admitted to himself, but he revelled in it nonetheless.

 

 

The next time Connor encountered his father, he confronted him properly.

“You knew Achilles was there, didn’t you,” he stated flatly, approaching him.

Haytham looked bored. “This again, Connor? I thought we already established that it wasn’t an issue.”

“I do not care what Achilles thinks,” Connor interrupted him with a dismissive gesture. “What interests me is that you knew he was there and kept going.”

Haytham paused, looking at him properly now. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “So?”

“So,” Connor continued, quite close now and using his broad frame to crowd Haytham against the wall. “I am wondering why. Does it please you to think of me as your whore, to have me on display in front of your enemies?”

Haytham scoffed, but his eyes were dark with arousal at his son’s words, and at his proximity.

Connor reached down to brush his fingers against Haytham’s stirring erection. “I thought so,” his white teeth flashed against his skin as he grinned, wolflike and fleeting.

“And what of you, my dear son?” Haytham retorted, voice low and husky. “Does it please you to be so debauched in the eyes of your mentor? To have given yourself – willingly I might add – to a templar while the man who trained you watches on in horror?”

Connor swallowed, pupils dilating.

“Does it please you,” Haytham continued, quieter now, “that Achilles knows that you’re letting your own father fuck you without a single word of protest ever passing your lips-”

Connor’s control finally snapped and he surged forward with a hungry growl. Haytham met him halfway and their mouths crashed together with ardour, biting and snapping and snarling at each other.

He had not spoken in vain; Connor truly did not care what Achilles thought. He could not remember the last time he had allowed himself something he wanted, especially something that was not strictly aligned with his goals of freedom and independence for the land of his people.

This, this here was what he wanted; Haytham’s teeth at his throat, his rigid cock deep within him and his name on his tongue.

He could afford this lapse of judgement in exchange for this moment of pleasure.

Just this, just let him have this, he thought desperately, his skin slick with sweat as he writhed against his father, his enemy, his lover.

Pushing Achilles firmly out of his mind, Connor finally let himself go.

End.