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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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✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 03:54 am (UTC)(link)~ ~ ~
“If the road is easy, you're likely going the wrong way.”
― Terry Goodkind
Enoch spends his time alternately training, avoiding his father, and visiting the girl in the orchard. She is unlike anyone he's ever met – beautiful and kind, and so, so smart. She teaches him the symbols of his own name and the symbols of hers, and he writes them together in the dirt; the angles and curves blending together to make something new, something different. The smile she gives him is radiant; her lips red enough to rival the fruit that she so loves.
He wonders if they would taste as sweet.
~ ~ ~
Desmond is woken early the next morning by a rough knock on the door.
“Ezio can wait five more minutes, Rebecca... sleeping now,” he responds automatically, burying his head into the pillow.
The second knock, when it comes, is much more forceful.
“Desmond, don't be a lay about,” Oliver's annoyed voice carries through the door. “The missus and I need you to make a run to Boston today. And she wants me to let you know that your breakfast is getting cold.”
Desmond groans as his mind catches up with him.
“Just a minute.”
“I'm leaving a wash-bin and some towels by the door. Hurry up, the carriage won't wait forever.” There is a thump by the side of the door before Desmond hears the fall of Oliver's feet as he walks away.
Desmond pulls himself out of bed, smacking dry lips together. He looks for Ezio, but his bed is already made and his boots and guitar are gone. Desmond shrugs, shuffles to the door and retrieves the wash-bin and pile of towels set aside by Oliver - what he wouldn't give for an honest to God shower - and cleans himself up the best he can, rubbing the sides of his face and his cheeks with the warm, soapy water. It is weird to feel stubble on his chin; his room doesn't have a mirror, but he's fairly sure he is starting to resemble Ezio more now than ever, and makes a mental note to pick up a straight razor and whatever counted for a shaving kit in this time on his shopping trip. 'Some aspirin would be good too', he thinks as he blinks his eyes through his headache, but he's fairly sure it hasn't been invented yet.
With a heavy sigh, he pulls the chain off his neck and goes to unlock their chest of belongings, before he notices that it is already unlocked. Weird. He must have been pretty tanked last night for Ezio to snitch the key off of him and put it back without him knowing. Sure enough, it looks like Ezio's bracers are missing, and a dagger. Desmond doesn't give it too much thought; he had been feeling pretty naked himself lately without his own gear, and he wasn't going to be sent into a templar-run city without at least some of it. His hidden blades will fit well enough beneath his shirt sleeves, and so he takes them. He considers the officer's sword as well, before putting it back. He's supposed to be an errand boy, fetching groceries for the wedding, and nothing quite says 'I want trouble' like going into enemy territory armed to the teeth. Still... he looks at his sneakers and his hoodie with envy, before closing the chest, ensuring that it's locked correctly this time. His waist coat fits snuggly over his hidden blades, and he grabs a three-cornered hat and pulls it down over his head, looking every bit the colonial citizen. Shaun would surely get a kick out of this, if he were watching.
But that thought just reminds him that Shaun isn't watching, he's not in the animus, that this is very real, and then there are feelings sending him down a path of self-pity that he doesn't want to travel, so he cuts the thought off short.
Corrine serves him a breakfast of scrambled eggs – slightly cold, but he doesn't really care – and a cup of honest to God coffee, and he is so blissfully thankful that he feels the urge to bow down and worship at her feet, proclaiming how he unworthy he is and how she is a goddess.
“Figured that'd bring a smile to your face,” she says. “Normally I'd save it for those who have real gold in their pockets, but you and your cousin looked like you had a bit of a spat yesterday. Is everything alright?”
“We're fine. Family, you know how it goes,” he answers, draining his cup of coffee. It is bitter, too strong and grainy and it tastes divine.
“Aye, that I do,” she nods knowingly. Corrine leaves him to his breakfast and returns shortly with a list and a small pouch. “These are the supplies we need. The coachman is waiting for you up at the manor.”
Desmond takes the pouch and the list from her and hurries through the rest of his breakfast.
~ ~ ~
He's halfway to the manor when he notices the guitar just sitting idly against the base of a tree.
'Odd, why would Ezio just --'
And that's about the point when all thinking gets cut off and he just reacts, because Ezio has come from friggen nowhere to pin his arms and legs to the ground. Desmond feels his head jerked back and the sharp edge of a hidden blade against the side of his neck before he even has a chance to suck in a breath.
“What the ever loving fuck?” Desmond chokes out.
Ezio cocks his head to the side, as if he were an interesting beetle to be studied, and then leans down and places his lips very, very close to Desmond's ear. Desmond can feel the hot breath of his exhale against the side of his face, and he freezes; all of his muscles tight with alarm, his heart rate increasing and his sight quickening as they respond to the chemical releases of his brain signaling danger through every nerve.
“If I wished to kill you,” Ezio whispers in his ear as his blade slides against his skin ever so softly, almost like a caress. “You'd be dead.”
Desmond kicks him off, suddenly furious, and Ezio lets him. The older assassin smirks at him as Desmond gets to his feet and brushes himself off.
“You have a lot of training Desmond Miles, but little awareness or control,” Ezio says casually. “Were you to find yourself in a situation that was not of your making, the lack of such things could get you captured, or even killed.”
Desmond wants to glare at him, wants to yell, but somehow manages to keep his mouth tightly shut and his expression blank as Ezio snorts, and casually picks up his guitar.
“I will see you later, my friend,” Ezio says, walking away and it falls off his lips as something between a threat and a promise.
~ ~ ~
Achilles is waiting by the carriage when Desmond reaches the manor house, engaged in idle conversation with the coachman. Desmond automatically drops his head a little and walks towards the carriage slow, even steps.
“Good morning gentlemen,” Desmond offers in what he hopes is a low, even cadence, tipping the front of his hat in acknowledgement. He knows that the old man is far more perceptive than Connor, hence why they have been actively avoiding him. And even though he's aggravated at the bastard, he very much wished that Ezio was with him. He is the wrong one to be handling this confrontation. Even though English is not Ezio's natural tongue, his way of speaking is far more natural for this time period. Desmond is able to curb his penchant for swearing in front of the homestead residents and Connor with some success, but his vernacular is very much of the 21st century. In front of Achille's himself, Desmond would far rather not talk at all. As it is, he's worried anything he says is bound to come out either overly formal or just plain wrong, so he trie's to bypass the old man and manages to get one foot in the carriage before there is a hand grabbing the back of his waistcoat.
“Desmond, right? Don't be in such a hurry, boy. There is plenty of time to get to the market. Stop and talk to an old man for a moment,” Achilles insists, and there is nothing for it, he's caught like a fly in a trap. Desmond sucks in a breath, smiles, and turns around.
Achilles regards him curiously, both hands leaning on his walking stick.
“I understand Corrine and Oliver are sending you to Boston on some errands,” Achilles says, and Desmond lets out an unconscious breath. Idle chatter, he can do this.
“Yes, I am going to retrieve supplies for the wedding,” Desmond responds. The words sound lame as soon as they leave his tongue, but at least they aren't telling.
“Ah, yes, the wedding. It's been a long time since this homestead has seen such a joyous event,” Achille's comments, looking off to the hill for a moment.
Desmond has nothing to say to that, so he stays silent.
“Anyway, I won't keep you. But if you are going to Boston, would you mind picking up a couple of things for me? I would normally ask Connor, but he is off hunting today.”
“It would be my pleasure, sir.”
Ack. Terrible. Desmond wants to pull out his own tongue.
“Excellent! I have a list right here – oh!”
Something like panic goes through Desmond as he watches the old man take his hands off his walking stick to search his pockets, and then fall to his knees in the dirt without the support. He automatically grabs the old man's fallen walking stick, then holds a hand out to help Achilles to his feet.
Achilles turns a set of crafty dark eyes on him, and reaches for his freaking arm, bypassing Desmond's hand entirely. Desmond knows the moment he feels the hard steel of his hidden blade by the light of vindication that passes through Achille's dark eyes, but it is brief and gone before the old man is on his feet again, taking the walking stick away from Desmond and brushing off his pants.
Desmond feels all the words he's not supposed to say bubble up into his throat where they just stick.
“Ah, you'll have to forgive me,” Achille's says, meeting Desmond's eyes very deliberately. “I'm not as young as I used to be. Thank you, for your assistance.”
“Yeah, no biggie,” Desmond squeaks out, fuck his damn speech, because Achilles knows –
“Here's that list,” Achilles continues as if nothing is wrong, placing a folded piece of paper into Desmond's hand. Then the old man nods, tips his hat and turns away, leaving Desmond staring open-mouthed after him.
He's halfway to Boston before his nerves calm down enough to unfold the piece of paper, on which there is nothing but a hastily drawn assassin insignia.
Fuck.
~ ~ ~
18th century Boston outside of the animus is surreal. Desmond had been to Boston once, while on the run from the Farm. He remembers shopping at Quincy market, vendors shilling out whatever crap they could to eager tourists, street performers, roads with way too many hills and curves, and bumper to bumper traffic.
Instead of the Boston he knows, he's landed in a Copley painting that should be hung in a museum. Or in another time period, an early Rockwell, down to the kids playing with stray dogs on the street. He can smell the salt from the ocean on the air, and feel the biting cold of the early fall wind through the fabric of his waistcoat. It takes a minute for him to get his bearings, the sights, sounds and smells of the city almost overwhelming in their simplicity.
Desmond doesn't have much in the way of money on him, other than what Corrine had given him for the market, and the handful of coins he pocketed off of the patrol they took out on the frontier, but he shills out a couple of them anyway when he sees a street vendor selling a roasted ear of corn. Another pound goes to a newspaper vendor, since he still hasn't quite figured out where they were on the timeline of Connor's life. Dates and things were always Shaun's responsibility, but Desmond figures he can get a general idea by trying to match up current events. He doesn't know how much help it's going to be, but information never hurts and so he pockets the newspaper to read later.
And, just because he can, he easily separates a few colonials from their wallets on the way to the general store.
Desmond picks up the non-perishables on Corrine's list first; salt, spices, various types of alcoholic beverages, candles and silverware and pays a young boy to carry them to his carriage as he peruses the weaponry the General Store has in stock. They are all way of his price range, but he makes a mental note of the cost of a double barrel pistol and a nice navel dirk to purchase later.
He has enough of his own money to buy a small shaving kit and a set of tools useful for picking locks. For the weapons that he wanted, he was going to need far more than a few pounds filched off of the unwary, and that type of money was generally kept in chests. He pockets the items, then heads off to the farmer's market, where he purchases an assortment of flowers, meats, fruits and vegetables, all items on Corrine's list, and has them sent back to the carriage as well.
It is well into the afternoon when he is done, and Desmond takes about an hour for himself to practice free-running across the top of the buildings. Doing so in unfamiliar footwear is always a challenge, resulting in a couple of tumbles before he feels confident enough to attempt to climb to the top of one of the churches. He somehow manages to climb all the way up to the cross without being spotted by guards, surveys the area, and executes a perfect leap of faith into a wagon filled with hay beneath him. They are all actions that he has completed ad nauseum in the animus, but there is something exhilarating about doing so as himself. When he returns to the carriage, he is relaxed and content, and able to compartmentalize the growing problem of Achilles into a corner of his mind as something to be dealt with later.
The trip back to the inn is uneventful, and both Corrine and Oliver are there to help him offload the goods. Once everything is put away, he takes off to look for Ezio, as it is early evening and neither Corrine nor Oliver had any idea where the man had gotten off to.
He expects the attack the second he is out of the eyesight of any of the homestead residents, and is not disappointed. There is something exceptionally satisfying in the surprised look on Ezio's face, as Desmond executes a perfect parry with his hidden blade against Ezio's and pushes the older man back. Ezio grins at him, as they trade a few attacks and counters with their hidden blades before Desmond drops and sweeps Ezio's legs out from underneath him and pins him to the ground. Ezio struggles for a minute, but Desmond has got him securely pinned with his own body, and eventually Ezio goes lax beneath him. Desmond holds him that way for a moment, flushed and out of breath before he allows himself a slow victorious smile.
Ezio's eyes drop right to his lips, tongue darting out to wet his own, and Desmond no longer cares about victory. There is a breath of warm air against his lips that goes straight through his body to his cock, before Ezio leans up to touch his lips against Desmond's in the barest of caresses...
… and then Desmond finds himself flipped, flat on his back with a hidden blade against his neck. Again.
Bastard.
Ezio clucks at him, tongue against teeth, and shakes his head
“So easily distracted. Once again, you would be dead,” Ezio says as he rolls to his feet. He winks and blows a kiss to Desmond. “Ciao, mio caro. See you back at the inn.”
Desmond doesn't speak to him for the rest of the night.
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:35 am (UTC)(link)i love the little glimpses into enochs life and am starting to see how it ties in.
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:02 am (UTC)(link)Too bad it distracts Desmond from telling Ezio important details like Achilles finding out about them, lol! I'm sure that's not gonna please Ezio. But OHOHO, Achilles IS crafty - I didn't realize what he was doing at all and had to reread it to confirm the full depths of his wiliness!
The story between Enoch and Menvra is so great, though I'm feeling woefully uneducated in both historical and game lore here, so I definitely need to read up on this quickly. Love that you had Desmond compare pre-Revolutionary Boston to a Copley painting, and that he picked up a newspaper to get the date. I was just about to ask what year this was set in, too~
It's unbelievable how consistent the quality is when you bang these out so fast!
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 12:38 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 01:42 am (UTC)(link)But color me positively intrigued to see what happens with Minerva - I was never really sure what to make of her, but I like the sweet little relationship developing (or at least Enoch pining).
And yay, glad you are going to flesh out/explain it and that I don't have gaping holes in my AC knowledge. I'm never sure nowadays whether I'm up to date with all the books and comics they do for video games. :P And that's ignoring things like ME's huge codex or any number of side missions I may have inadvertently missed!
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:13 am (UTC)(link)And oooh, Enoch and Menrva again, hmm? I'm betting my money that they're going to be the first Assassins and Menrva might be Minerva. :DDD it's a good reason on why she was helping them in the first place, though idk if it's true for your fic or if any of my guesses are righ:o
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 01:42 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)It's ok, those names are made to be hated.
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:23 am (UTC)(link)Btw, you have a talent in utilizing emotion! I could feel Ezio's anger radiating from the computer screen just picturing how Desmond panics - poor Desmond. Still not wholly used to the RealLife!Assassin life.
And reading the part when Ezio tries out the iPhone...I really expected for Ezio to scream because the music was on loud/he accidentally played the music too loud (Maybe he did off-screen and now he's pouncing on Desmond for payback XD.
But seriously, if Ezio was furious when Desmond fought like an assassin...oh dear, what will he do when he finds out that Achilles knows /all/? Dammit Achilles, you so sly~
Can't wait to see the next chappie :D
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:31 am (UTC)(link)Enoch's story is developing into something very interesting- Menvra, hmm? how intriguing~ ;)
(and oh Ezio, you sly dog you, please, never change. and I will admit some curiosity- how come Achilles hasn't tried using Eagle Vision on the boys? does he just not have the ability to use it?)
Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 01:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 8
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:22 pm (UTC)(link)(shhh, it's the perfect metaphor, not at all one I came up with off the top of my sleep deprived head.)