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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
Over Tea (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-02-27 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)---
There is a pretty lady in an odd-looking dress, all dark skin and dark hair, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and a firm voice that is only slightly monotonous. She pushes her braids back with one slender hand as she reaches for a cup of tea with the other, plopping sugars in slowly and deliberately – one, two, three, four – one for every inhale, and another for every exhale. As far as dreams go, it’s the oddest one that Haytham has ever had, and he wishes that he could wake up now. He’s meeting with Charles in later in the morning, and even though Charles is oddly understanding where Haytham is concerned, Haytham knows that it’s plain bad form to be late.
‘Tea?’ the woman says, lifting a teapot that wasn’t there a moment before.
‘Ziio,’ Haytham replies, and then he takes a seat.
The table before them is heaped with English delicacies, all of which Haytham knows Ziio hates (he knows because he’d tried to feed them to her before and had gotten smacked in the head). He reaches forwards and helps himself to a few sweet cakes, and accepts the teacup that Ziio passes him.
‘So,’ Ziio starts, ‘I see you’ve met our son.’
‘I have,’ Haytham says, and then Connor’s face flashes before his eyes and he remembers that Ziio is dead. He drops the teacup abruptly, and tea spills all over the table and his lap. Ziio clucks her tongue at him. ‘He has grown into a strong man,’ Haytham forces out, past the guilt in his throat and the pain in his chest, because he’ll never be able to hold her again and all the plans to bring their family together once the New World has been created –
‘I know,’ Ziio says wistfully, ‘I watch him sometimes. He is noble.’
‘He is foolish and naïve,’ Haytham tells her, watching as his teacup is refilled by an invisible pot. ‘I’ve been trying to show him the error of his ways, but have so far been unsuccessful. Unsurprising, I suppose, given his stubborn nature. He takes after you in many ways, you know.’ Here, he presses a hand over his eyes and sighs.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says sincerely, not looking up because part of him is afraid to see hate and steel and blame in Ziio’s brown eyes for something that he knows was not his fault. ‘I never meant for you to be hurt. I told them, I ordered them to leave your village in peace. I didn’t know, Ziio, I swear.’
Cool hands squeeze his shoulders gently, and Haytham cranes his head up to see Ziio looking down at him, her gaze warm. ‘I would have taken him in,’ Haytham continues, his throat tight.
Ziio hums softly and presses her lips gently to his. ‘What’s past is past,’ she tells him. ‘Do what you can with the knowledge that you are trying your best for your Order and for our son.’
And then people are talking and everything is much, much too bright and Haytham wakes up, his lips warm and tasting of tea.
---
Haytham is distracted during his day with Connor, who expresses his distaste with Haytham’s behaviour by speeding off into the distance and leaving Haytham alone on a rooftop. At this moment, Haytham doesn’t really care. Their chase after Benjamin Church is going poorly, but his thoughts are with Ziio and what could have been and he feels guiltguiltguilt and he nearly doesn’t notice the guard who shouts at him to get off the roof. Connor (who had apparently been lurking round the corner, after all) does though, and he takes the guard down with a blade to the throat and spares his father one suspicious look, before snapping out something about the Aquila and time. Haytham responds with the appropriate amount of sarcasm, and trails after Connor, seeing Ziio in his gait and seeing Ziio in the dusky brown of his skin and the beads in his hair.
---
When Haytham closes his eyes that night, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ship, he finds himself standing before a door. He throws it open, expecting to see tea and cakes and Ziio (he tries to tell himself that he isn’t actually looking forwards to having a conversation with a figment of his imagination), and is therefore unpleasantly surprised when he sees Thomas Hickey, of all people, lounging lazily on an armchair, a mug of beer in his hand.
‘’ello sweet’art,’ Hickey says, and then he lunges at Haytham and presses him tight against the door. The kiss is filthy and tastes of cheap beer, and it’s wrong because of the rough brush of facial hair against his chin that is definitely not supposed to exist on anyone he kisses at all. There’s a lot of teeth, a bit of blood, and Haytham finally snaps out of his surprise when Hickey tries to shove a tongue into his mouth. He shoves Hickey away, wiping a hand disgustedly over the lower half of his face, and attempts to punch the self-satisfied smirk off the bastard, only to have him disappear.
‘I get ‘e idea that you was expectin’ someone else,’ Hickey drawls from the armchair, looking as though he hadn’t just kissed his boss.
‘Anyone but you would’ve been pleasant,’ Haytham snaps, crossing his arms. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
Hickey shrugs. ‘Dunno. Don’t matter much to me, to be honest. One thing I do know, ‘owever, is that ‘ere in this dream world, I can do anythin’ I want.’ And then he smiles a smile that is all teeth, and Haytham suddenly finds himself devoid of clothes and with his arms pinned above his head with ropes.
Hickey hums in appreciation and saunters over, dropping the beer on the ground as he does so. It drains away into nothingness. Haytham keeps himself absolutely still as Hickey approaches, but he cannot bite down the gasp of surprise as large, warm hands wrap themselves around his cock. He throws his head back, hears it thud against the door behind him as though from a distance.
‘Thing is,’ Hickey continues, skillful fingers pulling and tugging in all the right ways, ‘thing is, I heard ‘bout your l’il change of heart at the execution.’ He grins at Haytham’s half-dazed look of shock. ‘Yeah, news in the afterworld,’ here he pauses and frowns, ‘travels faster than a venerable disease in a third-rate brothel.’
‘Can’t begin to imagine what on earth you’re going on about,’ Haytham says, his voice oddly steady even while his body trembles with unwanted pleasure.
Hickey scowls and twists his hand viciously; Haytham arches his back against the door. ‘You saved the Assassin,’ Hickey snarls. ‘I might still be alive, you know, if you’d let him die like you were supposed to.’
Haytham finds it a little difficult to think. Hickey’s face is close, too close, and he can feel hot breath on his face and he can’t breathe. ‘Traitor,’ Hickey hisses, and kisses Haytham in a violent mash of teeth against teeth. Haytham kisses back desperately, because he’s sorry, and he is a traitor, but Connor is of his blood (and looks so very much like Ziio) and he couldn’t just let the boy die, despite having had a hand in arranging the execution himself.
The ropes around his wrists hurt, and his shoulders ache from both his age and the odd position his arms are twisted in. Haytham mouths at Hickey’s neck, feeling the man’s groan shudder through where their chests are pressed against each others’, and he whines low in the back of his throat as Hickey rubs a thumb across the slit of his weeping cock.
There is still a layer of cloth between he and Hickey, and Haytham wishes it away. Nothing happens. ‘Clothes off, now,’ he demands breathlessly, but Hickey only laughs in his ear and does something else with his hand that feels absolutely amazing.
‘I make the rules ‘ere,’ he says, but obliges and shucks his shirt off. The slide of skin against skin has never felt so good.
A sudden probe of cold fingers where fingers are not supposed to probe causes him to tear his face away from Hickey’s, a question on his lips, and then Hickey presses in and he cries out, the intrusion odd and not entirely pleasurable. Hickey is whispering something in his ear that he can’t quite make out, and then there are two fingers and pain. Nothing else that Hickey is doing with his free hand to his cock feels very pleasurable at all.
‘Nothing but the best for a traitor to our order,’ Hickey croons, and then something much larger is tearing him open. Haytham howls, dropping his forehead onto Hickey’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. His legs are hitched around Hickey’s waist, and Hickey has set an irregular pace that slams Haytham’s back against the door with uneven thumps. ‘Who would’ve thought that you’d be a virgin there,’ Hickey breathes, tugging at Haytham’s flagging erection with a strange sort of enthusiasm.
Unintentionally, Haytham is sure, Hickey hits a spot inside of him that makes him see stars for a moment, and he moans, his cock jumping back to life and his legs tightening around Hickey’s waist. Hickey smirks, and the next few minutes is a whirl of pleasure-pain-pleasure-pain and Haytham isn’t even sure that this is a dream anymore. But it has to be, because Hickey is dead (and that was his fault, a lapse of judgement and just why on earth did he save Connor?) and Hickey is here – Haytham no longer knows what is and what isn’t.
He comes with a cry and Hickey comes soon after him with a low groan; the ropes slip from Haytham’s wrists and fall to the floor with a soft whisper. He himself slides to the ground in a boneless sprawl.
Hickey pats his cheek with a grin. ‘Thanks, darlin’,’ he says. ‘And here’s to hoping you won’t be seeing me around again.’
Haytham presses the heels of his hands weakly into eyes, and he opens them to the smell of the sea and the sight of the dull wood of a ship’s cabin above him. There is a pool of wetness between his thighs – Haytham hasn’t come in his sleep since he was a teen – and the thought that Connor might come in and see the sheets prompts him to toss them out of the window and into the sea. It is only after the sheets float away that Haytham realises that that might’ve been an unwise decision.
He holds himself rather stiffly for the rest of the day, and he insults Connor’s ability to steer a boat past the taste of cheap beer in his mouth. When he finds Benjamin Church he sees himself in the man’s stupid face with every punch (traitor, traitor!), and he almost wants to scream when Connor stabs him in the neck because he wasn’t done.
Connor yells at him about having damaged the Aquila later that night. Haytham can’t really bring himself to care.
Re: Over Tea (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-02-27 05:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Over Tea (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-02-28 10:14 am (UTC)(link)