asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
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!
List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
FILL 13/?
(Anonymous) 2012-12-06 01:10 am (UTC)(link)The morning after Haytham leaves, Connor is rudely awoken by a bangng on the door at six. He has time to sit up and wonder what's happening before Charles Lee opens the door, looking furious. He should've asked Haytham for a lock before he left.
"What are you doing in bed?" Lee snarls.
"Sleeping," Connor replies, scathingly. "What are you doing in my room?"
Lee gives a bitter laugh.
"Didn't the Grand Master bother telling you? We're training, you idiot."
"He never mentioned six in the morning," Connor growls, swinging his legs out of the bed. "We sparred in the evening."
"Oh?" Lee raises an eyebrow, obviously disbelieving. "He told me you were to train in the morning. Although admittedly that was nearly two weeks ago."
"Let me get dressed in peace," Connor spits, opening the wardrobe with far more force than is actually necessary.
"Very well," Lee rolls his eyes and leaves the room.
Connor murmurs insults under his breath in his native tongue as he dresses and ties his hair. They walk in stony, angry silence to the training hall.
It soon becomes apparent that Lee isn't anything like Haytham. He is ruthless and brutal, taking pleasure in causing pain to his pupil. He drives Connor to the floor for the sixth time that morning, deafening him temporarily with a hard clap to both ears, then a punishing kick to the hip while Connor's balance is still thrown. He's never fought an opponent both so skilled and so ruthless toward him.
"You really aren't any good at this, are you?" Lee sneers, leaning over him. "How on earth did you manage to get anything done?"
Connor glares up at him, holding his tongue. It won't do his plan any good to provoke Lee to further violence.
"The silent treatment, eh?" Lee sighs. "How very childish. Only to be expected from a savage like you. We're done for today. Same time tomorrow."
As Lee walks away dismissively, Connor grits his teeth and picks himself up. Bastard.
...
Breakfast doesn't arrive. Connor barely notices, he's too irritated to eat right now, anyway. He makes little ink drawings of birds and wolves and trees, reads Canterbury Tales to himself, does anything he can to distract himself from how angry Lee makes him.
All he has to do is keep a tight hold on his anger and wait until Haytham gets back, he tells himself. It's not that hard. Or at least it's not that hard until a maid comes in at quarter to one bearing soup and honeyed tea. The same kind he'd turned down at that stupid formal dinner.
Charles Lee is one hell of an evil bastard.
Connor drinks the soup- it's more like gruel if he's honest- because he's hungry, and he goes to see Johnson. Perhaps he was too harsh on the man during their earlier encounters.
For a while, he thinks he might have been wrong in his assumptions. Johnson is happy to see him, and this time asks about agriculture and economy, like an interested friend. Connor answers his questions as honestly as he can, and Johnson is honestly shocked by some of the things he learns. Evidently none of his previous interviews with natives had unearthed such information, or the tribes he had asked had been very different to Connor's own. It is probably a little of both.
"You don't have any kind of money?" Johnson asks, finally switching to English. "None at all? Really?"
"My village is small," Connor replies, in the same language. "Less than a hundred people. We trade goods for other goods with other tribes and villages, but we don't have money. We don't need it, since we are so few in number."
"So, what, you hunt and farm and so on for everybody?" Johnson seems to understand. "How primitive."
"I was the best hunter in the village," Connor admits. Boasts, really. He ignores Johnson's cruel remarks. "I trained most of the current hunters."
"That's quite an achievement, for one so young. You are, what? Twenty four? Twenty five?"
"I only recently turned eighteen," Connor says. He knows he looks older, though the Clan Mother had reassured him that his mother had looked almost the same from when she was barely an adult to when she had died in her late thirties.
"Oh? I thought..." Johnson colours, obviously thinking he has offended his guest.
"It's all right," Connor holds up his hands in the universal gesture of peace, trying to show he is not offended. "I look old for my age. My mother was the same way, she died looking less than thirty when she was almost forty."
Johnson looks even more interested.
"Ah. That's... fascinating. Would you mind if perhaps I studied you a little? Measurements, things like that?"
Connor doesn't particularly want to, but if he's extra helpful to Johnson, Haytham will probably be rather... grateful upon his return. And of course if he can get Johnson to be sympathetic toward him, he could get the deed to his village, save it from the spirit's predicted future of ruin.
"If you believe it to be necessary," he says, carefully.
Johnson immediately fetches measuring tapes and makes notes and sketches, treating Connor like an experiment now. He measures Connor's hands, drawing them carefully and notes how large the segments of his fingers are, the length of his nails, his handspan. He charts the muscle on his back, still more drawings, freckles and moles are precisely noted. His eyes and nose and even teeth are studied, and his hair is examined carefully. He dislikes this treatment, like he is an object to be gawped at, and raises objections when Johnson asks him to remove his breeches.
"You were fine with taking your shirt off," Johnson sounds petulant. "I'm not interested in you like Haytham is, this is for science."
Connor's heart beats a little faster in anxiety. Aren't people jailed for sodomy? Is Johnson threatening him?
"Like Haytham?" he asks, playing the fool.
"Oh, everybody here knows about you two. Don't look so worried. We believe in the freedom of all men and women, regardless of whether they prefer the fairer sex or the stronger."
"Ah," he says, clearing his throat. So he is in no danger from Johnson. A thought strikes him- no wonder Lee was so angry. The man was clearly head-over-heels for Haytham. He can use this to his advantage, then. "I'm still not taking off my breeches. That sort of thing is reserved for Haytham alone."
Johnson looks annoyed, but he nods anyway.
"All right, then. At least let me sketch you a little more at some later date. Fully clothed, of course."
Connor agrees and leaves as quickly as he can. Johnson is not as nice as he had first appeared to be. He should tread more carefully around the man, just in case he becomes spiteful.
Re: FILL 13/?
(Anonymous) 2012-12-06 01:43 am (UTC)(link)Eurgh, Johnson might be worse than Lee, what with making Connor strip and treating him like he's some sort of alien species not deserving of respect. >:( Lee's brutality is pretty typical of him though...still terrible, but I think Johnson's treatment was worse.
Normally I dislike noncon, but this fill is just too good to stop reading now! Write on, dearest anon!
fillanon
(Anonymous) 2012-12-06 02:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 13/?
(Anonymous) 2012-12-06 06:18 am (UTC)(link)