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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
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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
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
Haytham/Charles, roleplay
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 03:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Haytham/Charles, roleplay
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 01:15 pm (UTC)(link)i've never written this particular kink before but i'm going to give it a go.
i love their clothes and i love this pairing so
watch this space
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 08:02 pm (UTC)(link)Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)Costume (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)I hope this is what you were looking for, OP.
Charles doesn't look up when Haytham enters the room. He finishes the sentence he's writing, and wipes the nib of his pen carefully. Haytham stands a few paces from the desk, fiddling with a cuff of his coat. Well, it's Charles' coat, really, but Haytham looks dashing as always wearing it.
It's a good thing that Charles isn't as slender as he was when they first met, having managed to strengthen himself and build up some muscle during his military duties; this would be impossible otherwise. As it is, though Haytham's jacket and waistcoat are a little loose around Charles' waist, they are similar enough in frame and figure now that his coat fits Haytham rather well.
"Report," Charles says, putting the pen down carefully, steepling his fingers to gaze up at Haytham from underneath his tricorn. Haytham straightens his back, and looks unsure for a moment about what to do with his arms. He settles for crossing them, and clears his throat.
"The search is progressing well, sir," Haytham says, "William thinks he's found a few other places that might be precursor sites."
"Excellent," Charles says, though he does not smile. "Although I was actually referring to the Assassins."
"Oh," Haytham stammers, looking flustered. "I… I apologise. They're being rather quiet, though it seems they're also trying to forge bonds with the Iroquois natives. I'm sorry, we don't have very much information regarding--"
Charles holds up a hand, and Haytham stops, worry plastered across his face. He chews his lower lip in nervousness. Charles cannot help but wonder if that is truly how Haytham sees him, as just an anxious, flustered mess. He hopes not. After all, he sees Haytham as so much more, part of the point of this is to show Haytham just how perfect he is in Charles' eyes. He doesn't want to be a liability, nor perceived as one, especially not by Haytham.
"Quite all right," he says. "I expected as much. You are dismissed."
He lowers his head again, pretending to read through the nonsense he'd been writing when Haytham first entered the room. Haytham gives a discreet cough, and Charles keeps his eyes trained on the page.
"Was there something else?"
Haytham replies hesitantly, as if he is afraid of overstepping boundaries.
"Sir, I believe you previously mentioned something about some form of recompense?"
Charles waits for one long moment before speaking again.
"I did, didn't I?" He rises with all the grace he can muster, and stalks nearly silently around the desk, to where Haytham stands. Haytham's eyes follow him, though he stays still as a statue, his posture stiff and formal. Haytham wets his lips, his expression hungry.
Charles stops in front of him, and adjusts Haytham's cravat. Haytham never could quite get the hang of the particular knot Charles uses.
"You did do rather well," Charles admits, only the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. His hand trails up to Haytham's jaw and he leans in, kissing him deeply. Haytham responds sluggishly at first, as though in shock. That's right, Charles thinks. Even after all this time, he's still surprised each and every time Haytham touches him. It's gratifying that Haytham notices such small details.
Charles makes an appreciative sound before pulling away, and Haytham takes half a second to regain his composure and close his mouth. Charles plucks a book from the desk, tucks it under his arm, and glances back at Haytham.
"If there's nothing else…?"
Haytham's face is flushed.
"I… actually, sir, I was hoping for something more… physical, as it were," he says.
"Were you?" Charles asks, mildly. "Well, I'm not entirely sure you deserve that."
Haytham reaches forward and tugs at his cloak so it falls over Charles' shoulders more evenly. He speaks without meeting Charles' gaze.
"I might not deserve it, but you most certainly do, sir," he says. His eyes flicker upwards, and his lips curl into a subtle, but entirely wicked smile. Charles has to fight not to return it.
"You make a compelling argument," Charles admits, cocking his head to one side, as though in deep thought.
"Don't I always, sir?" Haytham asks. Charles chuckles in response.
"You certainly have a way with words."
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-20 01:41 am (UTC)(link)Costume 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-20 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)His hands wander slowly, and there's a certain thrill of feeling the fabrics and embroidery he's so used to wearing on another's body. The weight of Haytham's cloak across his shoulders is a reminder that he is trusted, he is wanted, he is loved, and the sensation of Haytham's fingers curling into the velvet on his back spurs him into spinning them around, so Haytham's back is against the desk. Haytham tries to grip Charles' hair, as he is used to, but succeeds only in knocking his hat off.
"Careful," Charles chastises, between kisses. "I like that hat."
Haytham mumbles an apology, and grinds against him hopefully. Charles lets out another breathless chuckle and turns him round, meaningfully placing a hand between his shoulder blades. Haytham understands, and allows Charles to press him against the desk. He grips the edge in anticipation, as Charles' hand wander down his coat.
Charles leans over him, and slides his hands underneath Haytham. Charles nips at his neck as he unbuttons his breeches deftly, tugging them down Haytham's thighs. He takes a small jar from a pouch on the belt slung around his hips and flicks the coat up, exposing Haytham's skin.
Haytham gives a small grunt when Charles starts preparing him, and arches his back slightly.
"This would be easier if you'd simply relax," Charles drawls, lubricating his fingers a little more.
"Apologies, sir," Haytham murmurs, fingers curling and uncurling around the wood. He opens his mouth, presumably to ask if Charles couldn't possibly try to stroke one particular spot, and chokes as Charles pushes another finger inside and starts kissing the bite mark from earlier, worrying it.
"Better?" Charles asks, and his voice trembles slightly. Very unlike Haytham. He winces, but Haytham doesn't seem to have noticed the slip-up, concentrating on his own behaviour instead.
"Oh, very," Haytham gasps in reply. He balls his hands into fists with the effort of staying still, flexing his arms, and accidentally knocks the ink pot on the desk over. Charles freezes when he sees that one cuff on his coat is stained, though thankfully the rest of his coat is fine. He pulls his fingers out, and sets the ink pot back up.
"Bollocks," Haytham groans, breaking character for a moment. "I am so, so sorry--"
This is his best coat, he'll never get the stain out and the coat'll never be the same if he asks a tailor to make a new cuff. At least Haytham has the common decency to move so the ink is no longer in danger of staining the rest of his coat.
"It's just a coat," Charles says. His favourite coat. His favourite bloody coat. Still, he can't be angry with Haytham for very long, he never could be. "We'll sort something out."
Haytham glances up at him, obviously somewhat confused. Charles sighs, and slicks up his fingers again. He uses his other hand to toss some blotting paper over the mess. They can try to clean it up later. If he has to live with his favourite coat being ruined irreparably, Haytham can live with a slightly stained desk.
Not even the delicious moans escaping Haytham's throat seem to be able to lighten Charles' mood. It's a coat. Just a coat. But it's his coat, his favourite coat, the coat he'd spent a fair few hundred pounds on.
"As much as I enjoy this, sir," Haytham manages, between hitched breaths. "I was under the impression that this was for your benefit, sir. Meaning, I was wondering exactly how much longer you'd continue with this?"
Charles shakes his head, and clears his throat. How can he be hung up on some ink on some fabric when Haytham is writhing underneath him, all but begging for more?
"I shall continue until I see fit," he answers smoothly. "You ought to know by now, my dear, I prefer it when you speak unambiguously."
He rubs at one particular spot for emphasis, enjoying the half-pleasured, half-shocked yelp Haytham lets out.
"Please, sir," Haytham moans.
"Please… what, exactly?" Another stroke, and another wonderfully erotic groan.
Haytham hesitates, still trying to keep what little dignity remains intact. Charles starts to move his fingers again, slower this time, and Haytham gives in.
"Please, for the love of God, sir, fuck me!"
Charles withdraws his hand slowly.
"That's a rather capital idea," he says thoughtfully, undoing his own breeches this time.
Costume 3/3
(Anonymous) 2013-03-22 12:30 am (UTC)(link)Charles takes a few moments to stroke himself leisurely, both to slick a little extra grease over his skin and to tease Haytham. The low noise Haytham makes when he enters is enough to send shivers down his spine. He sighs, savouring the heat and the pressure.
When he begins to move, he does so slowly. Not because he aims to pleasure Haytham, as he usually does, but because Haytham always puts himself first. It's not as though he neglects Charles, merely that he does not go out of his way to pleasure Charles unless he needs it after Haytham's own climax. Haytham enjoys roughness and efficiency, while Charles favours a more subdued approach, letting the sensations wash over him, thoroughly enjoying every moment.
"More, please," Haytham says, voice shaking with need. Charles knows what he's really saying, though: "why are you being so gentle? I'm not."
"I'll give you what I see fit," Charles snaps in reply, though his hands still wander lightly, caressing kindly at particular spots- Haytham's sharp hipbones, the collar of his mantle, the dark locks of Haytham's hair, still bound in a ponytail.
Haytham moans in response, and doesn't speak again. Or at least, he doesn't say anything coherent, aside from the occasional noises that might be "oh God" or "yes". It's increasingly difficult for Charles to refrain from joining him in making such obscene sounds, given the way Haytham trembles beneath him and constricts around him.
Despite his best efforts, however, his hips are moving faster, thrusting deeper. He needs his release, and soon. So does Haytham, by the sound of it.
Finally, his hands curl in the skirt of his favourite coat (ruined ruined ruined, he can't forget that), and he spills with a shout. Haytham stiffens and moans again, not long after. They haven't done this in a while, and it takes Charles about half a minute to fully catch his breath, to return to reality enough to withdraw with a wet sound and start wiping his skin clean with a fresh handkerchief.
Haytham doesn't move from his position on the desk, a fully-sated sprawl. Really, it's lucky Charles can see him like this, it's rare for the Grand Master to be anything less than on his guard around anybody, Charles being the only present exception. Even around their closest allies- Pitcairn, Johnson, Hickey, Church- Haytham doesn't completely relax.
At that thought, it's hard for Charles to keep the smile off his face. He sets the soiled cloth on a clear patch of desk, and leans over Haytham. He presses a different handkerchief into Haytham's hand, and strokes his hair lovingly, twisting the still-bound strands through his fingers.
Haytham levers himself up with some reluctance, and slowly starts to clean himself as best he can without a bath. Charles plucks the hat off the floor, and sets it on Haytham's head, and starts unbuttoning the boots he's wearing.
"I really am sorry about your coat," Haytham murmurs.
Charles sighs. It's his favourite coat. He can't be seen wearing a stained coat, and he can't repair it. It'll just have to live in his wardrobe, unused, gathering dust.
"Don't worry about it. I have others."
"That you never wear," Haytham said, pointedly. "It's always this one. You can still wear it, you know. It's just a little ink."
Charles removes the first boot. It's lucky they wear a similar size in shoes, as well, though Haytham's are worn far more along the tip and ball of the foot, thanks to his constant climbing and roof-running. He slips the cloak off, and Haytham takes it gratefully.
"I can't. People will see. And it won't be the same if I have the cuff replaced."
"It doesn't matter what people think of you, it's only a stain."
"With all due respect, sir, it matters to me." Charles shakes his head sadly, and slips off his second boot. "I suppose I could have something similar made."
"And how much is that going to cost? I've ruined this coat, I ought to be the one paying for a new one."
"I'd rather you didn't, sir," Charles says, unbuttoning the long jacket he's wearing. "It wouldn't feel right. People would wonder why you're spending so much money on your subordinate over a simple ink stain."
Haytham sighs, and shrugs said coat off, passing it to Charles. He receives his breeches in return.
"…You're right. Still, I feel I ought to do something, Charles."
"There's nothing to do," Charles says, quietly. "It's just a coat."
They redress in silence, and Charles pauses for a moment, wondering how to cover the stain until he can get home. Probably, nobody will ask him about it, but he can't help but worry. If he were to slip up and reveal something about this- well, it's not really a relationship- the consequences would be dire. Admittedly, he's a damn good liar, but it isn't just his life and reputation at stake. It's Haytham's as well.
He finds a leather glove in one of his pockets, and puts it on. Yes, it covers the stain nicely. Now, if he can only find the other…
"Was there a second glove in this coat when you were wearing it?" Charles asks. Haytham glances at him, re-tying his hair.
"I don't think so. Why?"
Charles holds up his gloved hand as an answer. Haytham raises an eyebrow.
"I think that looks rather good. Very interesting."
"One glove?" Charles bites back a laugh. "I look ridiculous."
"You'll start a new trend," Haytham replies, shooting him a winning smile. "It hides the stain, doesn't it? You'll be able to wear your favourite coat. I don't see a problem."
Charles shakes his head again, but this time in relief and contentment than from dismay. It's fine. Haytham is right. He's always right. He has no need to worry.
When he leaves Haytham's home, he does so with his head held high. The only comment he gets on this change of wardrobe (aside from Hickey's laughter, the bastard) is an approving nod from Johnson at the next meeting.
"You're wearing one glove."
"I felt like a change," Charles explains.
"It looks good."
"Thank you."
Haytham gives a meaningful cough, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile. Charles sits straighter, and listens attentively, though one part of his mind is still focused on the ink stain hidden underneath the leather, and how wonderful a metaphor is is for what he and Haytham have.