Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Fill: Every hour God sends, part 12

[(Anonymous)]

A/N Next update is going to be a pretty long one, I will have it out by Christmas. Expect more Kenways! This chapter is a peek into the brains of our protagonists... not a lot in the way of plot here, but a lot of character development. Hope you enjoy.

“Your father wants a war,” Abel says to him, nimble hands carefully pulling the needle through the skin above his lip in an attempt to repair the damage. “Gavri'el has informed me that you have been to Eden many times. What have you learned?”

Gavri'el. The tall blonde man who had given Enoch his robes. Menrva had told him that Gavri'el's brother had been exiled from Eden for helping Enoch's people escape their lives of servitude. Enoch remembers his grandfather's stories, how the warrior known as the light bringer gave his sphere to Eve and led them out of Eden. For that, he was ostracized; no one knows what became of him.

Even with losing a brother to his ideals, Gavri'el did not hesitate to help him. And Menrva risks much to teach him to write and read their language. It is knowledge forbidden to a slave, yet she offers it to Enoch freely. Her smile, when he succeeds in learning something new, is as radiant as the sun.

And yet, for every Gavri'el and Menrva, there are many like the woman Uni, who view Enoch and his people only as tools, useful for slave labor and nothing more.

But if Menrva can teach Enoch, can't Enoch teach Menrva's people as well?

“For the most part, they are a proud, fierce people and they see us as beneath them. They use our people as slaves and force them to do their bidding. They should be stopped, but --”

Enoch pauses on his next words. His uncle lifts an eyebrow and looks at him curiously.

“Some of them think differently. Perhaps the minds of the others can be changed as well.”

His uncle ruffles his hair and smiles, tying off the last of the stitches on his lip.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The place is dark, but for the bright array of strange lights flashing from above, covering the patrons in a swash of color. People are scantily dressed, bodies close, dancing in movements almost erotic to the heavy thump thump thump of the beat that surrounds them. Up on a stage, there is a man in front of a heavy desk, fingers moving rapidly as the lights dim and then glow brighter along with the strange beat of the music. Girls wear shoes that make them as tall as the men, their eyes heavily rimmed with kohl and sparkling with a glittery crystal dust, long lashes framing eyes of impossible colors. Jewelry such as he has never seen adorns the bodies of even the most obvious peasants; those who wear ripped and tattered clothing and have jaggedly cut hair, something almost purposeful in their casual display of both poverty and excess. Two men are brutally kissing up against a wall, ignored by all the others in a casual display of debauchery that would see them to the gallows in his time.

Ezio is very aware that this is not his time. It is not Connor's either, and his eyes are wide as he silently moves amongst the throng of undulating figures, his feet carrying him forward with a purpose. The people around him ignore him as he casually brushes them aside, seeking.

He parts through the sea of people towards a quieter part of the building, where there is an elaborate bar set up, glowing bottles artfully displayed and highlighted by different colored lights up against a wall of mirrors. There are beautiful women and handsome men sitting at the bar, exchanging green currency for colorful drinks which they quickly knock away, laughing loudly. He finds an empty seat at the bar and waits. The girl next to him has honey colored hair pulled back into a not, teeth far too bright and sky blue eyes. Her sparkly blue blouse is cut low, one shoulder obscenely free and clear of fabric, and it rides up when she leans forward, highlighting a smooth expanse of slightly tanned flesh. Her pants are dark and snug and fit every curve. A black leather belt with a silver buckle sits low on her hips, and her lips are painted a dark cherry red.

“Hey bartender,” she yells, flashing all those white teeth in a smile too bright to be completely legal. “Can a girl get a drink around here?”

A blonde man with green eyes and a too broad chest comes appears in front of them, all smirk and charm. Ezio wants to roll his eyes, because he knows this game; he is the master of it. But the girl just gives the blonde haired man a once over, shakes her head and points to a darker haired man serving drinks on the other side of the bar.

“Seriously, lady?” The blonde man asks. When the girl nods, he shrugs as if he had not a care in the world.

“Hey Dan,” Blonde man shouts to the other bar keep, “this lady here wants you to take her order personally. No accounting for taste, I guess.”

The other man turns around, eyebrows raised and slightly weary. It is Desmond. Ezio tries to call out to him, but finds that his mouth makes no sound. Wary now, he narrows his eyes, allowing his sight to shift. Where Desmond glows a bright blue, the girl next to him appears a pale red. Whatever her intentions are, they are tinted with malice. His hidden blade springs forth almost as if guided by a mind of its own, needing to protect Desmond from whatever fate the blonde had in store for him. He tries to drive the blade cleanly into her back, behind her heart and lung. It should be a fatal blow, but his blade meets no resistance in her flesh, sinking right through her as if it were but a fragment of a ghost, the girl taking no notice of the strike at all.

“What can I do for you?” Desmond asks, wiping the bar down in front of the blonde girl. She turns her megawatt smile on Desmond, runs her eyes up and down his body hungrily. Desmond responds by blushing and pulling his hand through his hair, but he continues to meet the blue eyes of the blonde and doesn't turn a way, a cautious interest there. Ezio wants to pull him over the bar and shake him, warn him, but this is just a dream; a fragment of memory, of Desmond's memory. He knows, but it does not shake the feeling of impotence that engulfs him, unable to help, to warn, to shield the younger assassin from danger.

“Oh, I can think of many things,” she responds, placing delicate hands up upon the bar, fingertips painted the exact shade of red as her lips. “But for now, why don't you bring me a Knob Creek, neat.”

Desmond's answering smile is more of a smirk.

“A girl who knows what she wants. I like that.”

Ezio watches as Desmond stretches to pull an amber bottle down from the top shelf, before turning to retrieve a small crystal clear glass from underneath the bar in front of him. Placing the small glass on a white paper first, Desmond flips the bottle in his hand and holds it high, allowing the amber liquid to fall from it in an even trickle into the glass below him without splashing even so much as a drop onto the strange black stone-like surface of the bar. He pushes the drink forward towards the girl, who throws it back eagerly, licking her lips, wisps of her blonde hair brushing against her neck as she swallows. Desmond follows the movement with his eyes.

“I'm Dan, by the way... uh... just so you know. When you want a refill. Yeah. I'll be right over there.”

The blonde girl smiles, lifts her glass in a salute, and offers Desmond a too bright smile.

“Lucy,” the girl responds, before draining the last of the amber liquid from her glass. Ezio stiffens with recognition at the name. It had come from Desmond with so many conflicting emotions – love, hate, respect, lust, anger, gratitude – but the one that stood out above all the others was regret.</>

“Can you bring me another one of these?” Lucy asks, wagging her empty glass in front of her.

Desmond looks at a device on his wrist and then turns back to Lucy with a slow smile.

“I tell you what,” Desmond says as he fills another glass with the amber liquid, placing it in front of her with a wink. “This one is on me, if you promise me a dance in a half an hour when my shift ends.”

“Alright. You're on.”

The grin he offers her is sincere and hopeful all at once, and far too carefree to come from the Desmond that he knows. It reminds him of his own young self, the Ezio he had been when he first met Christina. The person he had been just before his whole world came crashing down around his head.

The Desmond from this memory was similar; secure in the illusion of safety, naïve to the true danger he was in. It was hard to look at this version of the man; just as hard as he suspected it would be to face his own younger self.

“Great! I'm, uh... just going to take care of a couple of other customers. Holler if you need anything.”

Lucy waits until Desmond is on the other side of the bar before pulling out an iPhone, which at least is one thing from Desmond's time that is familiar to Ezio. Ezio had used Desmond's iPhone for music. Lucy uses hers for betrayal.

“Warren? Yeah, it's him. One hour.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Desmond is still out when Ezio finally wakes. Desmond is leaning into him, his short hair a bit mussed and one hand on Ezio's side. In sleep, like this, he looks almost peaceful; dark lashes fluttered against pale skin. He looks peaceful, an echo of the man he was before Lucy, before Abstergo. Before the fate of the world was placed on his shoulders, a weight no man should carry alone.

Ezio traces the lines of Desmond's face with his fingertips, so similar to his own and yet so very different, Desmond's heated words from the night before still echoing in his head. There was truth to them, painful as it was. It is a difficult and unique position he's been put in, with little time to adapt. The strange truth of it was that Ezio was an incomplete version of himself, diverted halfway off his own path of destiny to this time. He wonders if it would have been better if he hadn't shared in Desmond's memories of the latter part of his life. It is strange, knowing that he fought all his life, seeking answers, only to find at the end, there were none to be had. His older self, the one that had married Sophia and fathered two children by her, had more time to absorb the truth of it. The older Ezio knew some peace before he died.

That peace was lost to an Ezio who had died two hundred years ago, and he had been subconsciously mourning it. It is no wonder he had been more than willing to allow Desmond to take the reigns; a part of him felt that he was already done, he had played his part, what more could fate want from him?

Ezio brushes a stray hair off of Desmond's forehead. Desmond, who had been innocent before he was drawn in as fates tool as well. Desmond, who shares more than just facial features with Ezio. Desmond, whose fate is now twined with his and has likely been so before either of them came to be. Perhaps together, the two of them could succeed where alone, there has only been failure.

“Desmond,” Ezio says softly, placing a kiss against the younger man's forehead. “It is time to wake up.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Connor is gone for almost a week before Myriam shows up alone one evening at the inn. Desmond places a plate of roast ham slices and corn before her, along with a slice of thick, buttered bread and a cup of cider.

“So, where's the lesser half?” Desmond asks, offering her a smile. He's really starting to enjoy his life and his time on the homestead. The people are a true community, unlike anything he has ever experienced before. It is something that the people of the 21st century have lost; everyone is an island to themselves in the future. Desmond hadn't even known the people in his small apartment in New York, other than the door man. He barely knew the people he worked with; Tony signed his checks and Carl also tended bar during his shift, but he couldn't tell you what their last names were, what they liked, if they had family, or shit, even if they were gay or straight. But these people... he feels such a connection to them. He thinks for the first time if they never get sent back to their respective timelines than it'll be okay – provided they succeed in what they came here to do.

“Norris is still at the mine. Besides, he's a better cook than me. I have been spoiled this last week, and I am not really feeling like burnt rabbit.”

“C'mon, it can't be that bad.”

“Believe me, it is. I just kill 'em and skin 'em anymore. Norris cooks 'em, I'm happy to say. This marriage business has its benefits, in and out of the kitchen.”

Myriam offers him a saucy grin, to which Desmond responds with a chuckle.

“I have no doubt. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, but since I'm here...” Myriam puts a fork full of ham in her mouth and then starts fishing around in her pouch. When she finds what she's looking for, she leans back with a grin and holds her hand out to Desmond. Bemused, he accepts what she offers him. It is a large iron key.

“What's this?” Desmond asks, curious.

“Well, I'm a married woman now. I have moved all my things in with Norris, and I will be living with him from now on. I know my little hunting shack isn't much, but maybe you and your cousin Mario can make use of it, until you decide to settle down. Be a little less expensive than staying at the inn all the time, anyway,” Myriam answers him, smiling from ear to ear. “There isn't much, but there are a few old dressers I'm not keeping, a cooking pit and a couple of beds. Enough to get started as real homesteaders.”

Desmond pulls her out of her chair to give her a hug, floored by her generosity. It will certainly make things easier, having a place away from curious eyes and ears. Not much he can do in return, but he picks up Myriam's tab when she is done and sends her home with two bottles of Oliver's finest ale.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Well, it is not the Villa Auditore,” Ezio says later, checking out their new digs, “But it will do.”

There is a total of two rooms; one has a small wooden table with two folding chairs from Lance and a cast iron stove, and the other has two small beds and a wooden dresser, which is just big enough to hold all of their clothes. There is a wooden outhouse outside as well as a cooking fire. The walls and floors are bare of adornments, but Desmond doesn't care. They even have a chest to lock up their equipment in; a 'home warming' gift from Achilles. Almost impossible to open without a key; neither Ezio nor Desmond were able to open it with their lock picking sets, something for which they were grateful.

“Home sweet home,” Desmond replies, which causes Ezio to reach and grab him, pulling Desmond against him with a smile.

“It is starting to feel comfortable here,” Ezio comments into his neck, placing small kisses against the side of his jaw. “But we must not get too complacent. We will be needed soon.”

Desmond puts his arms around the other man and loosens his shirt from the confines of his breeches.

“But not tonight.”

“No mio caro,” Ezio chuckles against him, pulling him towards the bedroom. “Not tonight.”

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 12

[(Anonymous)]

My formatting broke after regret. Please ignore all further italics. Stupid dreamwidth.

Re: Fill: Every hour God sends, part 12

[(Anonymous)]

Ooooh, I love the insight into how Abstergo managed to ensnare Desmond. Of course Lucy would have been used as bait. And that scene with him and Myriam, not to mention Ezio's increasingly apparent displays of tenderness, punched me directly in the feels.

... BUT HE'S NOT GETTING TOO ATTACHED, NO SIR.