asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme
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Welcome to the Animus 2.5

✠ 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
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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I got places to be, but this wouldn't stop till I was done! Hope this is close to what you wanted OP!

~

It'd been one hell of a night already and Desmond hated that it was only half over.

Halloween was bad enough on it's own, something about the day just made people loose their damn minds the second they put a costume on. The place was packed and the bar almost literally crushed by a mass of people demanding drinks. An ambulance had already swung by the bar once for an idiot who took his monkey costume too literally, and the owner had to call the police twice. Once for a couple of college kids fighting over a French Maid. The second time for a guy in a fireman outfit trying to set one of the fake palm trees on fire.

The only upside to the night were the tips. He'd already made enough to put in a down-payment on that bike he'd been eying. If he gave in and pulled an extra shift like the owner wanted him to he'd probably be able to pay it all off in cash by the end of the month. All he had to do was power through the rest of the night without accidentally hurting any of the pushy patrons.

Desmond worked as fast as he could while trying not to bump into the other three bartenders. The space was tight and Desmond wasn't spinning bottles so much as avoiding Erik's feet and dodging Ben's elbows. It was the only way they could hope to keep up with the demand. He served beer, cocktails, and straight drinks to a crowd that was growing increasingly less coherent as the night wore on. He made change, kept tips, and did his damnedest to translate drunk demands as he counted down the minutes.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd began to thin. One of the rare lulls that'd been sporadic through the night. The costumed masses taking to the streets for some cool air that couldn't be found in the stuffy bar. He almost thought that the rest of the night would be a little bearable, that overtime wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then two different groups of women claimed the section of the bar Desmond was tending and stared demanding service.

A divorce party and a bachelorette party walk into a bar... Desmond forced a smile as he served up Sex Machines and Ball Crushers to the already buzzed women. Instinct gained from five years of tending bars screaming that this would not end well. He'd learned early on in his career that there was nothing more unmanageable than a group of women high on their own sex appeal and out to get drunk while having a hell of a good time doing it.

Having to serve two groups of them on the wildest night of the year was a disaster just waiting to happen.

It started out alright. Sex Drives, Screw Yous, Wild Sex, and Grounds for Divorce were requested in a steady flow as the two groups acknowledged the other. A friendly competition to get the most outlandish drink started up as the Bride-To-Be and the Ex-To-Be laughed and traded men jokes that made Desmond want to cringe and keep his sensitive bits as far from them as possible.

Desmond discretely "lost" a card with the number of one of the Bachelorettes, and was trying to get one of the Divorcees to keep her hands on the bar and off of him when the shit hit the fan.

"Louis Weir!?"

The Ex-To-Be looked stunned. Her drink slipping and spilling as she stared at the Bride-To-Be who smiled and nodded. Desmond could easily see that the dopey expression on her face was the look that new couples got when talking about their partners. Just like he could tell that the look on the Ex's face was the same one he'd seen so many times on scorned lovers meeting the replacement.

No fucking way. Desmond took a large step back thinking that whoever Louis was, he sure as hell worked fast. "Erik-"

"You fucking whore!" The scream easily cut through the noise of music and conversation. Quickly getting all the attention just as the Ex's See You Later Alligator was introduced to the Bride's face.

"Hey, take it outside!" Desmond yelled, for all the good it did him as the two women started fighting and screaming. The crowd thinning out to give them room and shouting encouragement. A few brave men tried to step in, but were immediately attacked by the friends of the fighters. Desmond watched as glasses shattered and the two groups started throwing insults.

His instinct had been right. He only hoped the cops hadn't gotten too far away from the last time they'd been called, because this was just escalating.

Desmond was too preoccupied with the main fight, and didn't see as one of the women --tired of the insults-- threw her drink. It missed her target badly, but found another mark.

"Son of a bitch!" Pain exploded across Desmond's face. He dropped to the floor the fight no longer important as he touched his mouth. Fingers exploring the cut that bisected his lips. Blood dripped on the tile and down his fingers. The alcohol burned as he hissed out curses.

"Shit man!" His hands were knocked down and a white towel was pressed to his face as Erik hauled him back up. "Come on, let's get you outta here."

"Oh, fuck!" Desmond followed as he was pushed through the door into the small kitchen, the sounds of the fight fading as the door slammed shut.

"Hey, the fuck's going on?" Ali looked up from the fryer and Desmond found himself being pushed down on the one rickety chair the cook used.

"He got smacked by a loball," Erik said, and Desmond almost got back up to deck him because the asshole was laughing.

"What've I told you about getting smart with the customers?" Ali sighed as he pulled Desmond's hands away. The older man had huge hands scared by the oil, but they were very careful as he pulled the towel away. "Erik, get water. That looks like it hurts, Des."

"No shit!" Desmond winced as fingers prodded around the right side of his mouth. He spat out a mouthful of blood not giving a damn about health regulations. "Fucking cat fight, had nothing to do with me!"

"Sure, sure," Ali grinned still prodding his face. Desmond spat out a few more muffled curses about the man's dubious family before he pulled back. "You're lucky, no glass to pull out."

"Here," Erik passed over a glass of water and looked as Ali began to pour it over the cut. "You're going to need stitches for that."

"No!" Desmond almost stood up, but Ali grabbed his face to hold him still. The water hurt as it rolled down his face and soaked into his shirt, but it also took most of the stinging alcohol away with it. "No, I'm not going to a damn hospital."

"Gonna leave a scar if it's not stitched, Des," Ali set the glass down and pressed the towel back to the cut.

"Don't care," No way in hell was Desmond going to a hospital over this. Too many questions and no way to leave without having some sort of paper trail. "Just put some tape it over it or something."

Erik snorted but Ali only nodded. Dark eyes studying him questioningly. Desmond was pretty sure that Ali wasn't in the country legally, for all that the man had no accent to speak of. He was the only other guy who got his paycheck in cash, and had no phone number to give the owner. "Get the first aid kit. We got butterfly bandages that'll work as long as you can keep your mouth shut long enough to heal."

"Yeah, thanks," Desmond didn't bother responding to the jab. The sharp pain fading into a dull throb that was even worse. "And some Jack! My face is killing me."

"You and everyone else, Des," Ali turned back to the fryers, dumping out a greasy pile of onion rings.

Desmond closed his eyes and rested his head against the metal counter as Erik left. He didn't care about whatever conclusions Ali might have drawn. It was past time for Desmond to move to a new city anyway.

But Giovanni is Giovanni.

If anything Vidic is more like Cyrus from Diamond and pearl....he wants to create a new world
*smirk*

:O oh true

... preferrably Ezio/Shaun with no bleeding effect involved. AU is fine. Ezio should be an insufferable flirt and Shaun seriously not in the mood to deal with him. +79993 internets if you have Desmond or Leo be all "I'm so jealous but good god that's hot" in the background.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
More please 83

Why does this not exist? Come on! Lucien Lachance/Ezio!!!

So peacefully delicious!

Love it!

Moar!

figures it would be from a bar fight <3

The bride and ex were my favorite. "You whore!"

I second this SO HARD

I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING AT THESE XDDD

PLEASE. MORE. RIGHT NOW.

_{I love you<3}

I'm almost done request anon, I hope you don't mind angsty, angry, rough sex.

This is my really really bad fill. It doesn't fully comply to your request, but whatever. It's not meant to be in segments, but because of the limit, I have to put in segments.

--Substitution--

The three huddled around the fire, getting what little warmth they could from it. Spending your night outside in the desert was not high on anyone’s list of favourite past times. Spending it with a surly bastard and a brother you cannot help but desire, is about as low as one can get.

The cold was slowly working its way to the bones of his fingers, causing him to place them so near to the fire that one stray spark would burn them. Not that the two others were not in similar positions. Kadar seemed to be suffering the most out of the them. His lips, his beautiful full lips were going blue. Malik could not help but wonder if he could kiss the blue away. If he suckled and bit and ran his tongue over - no. He would not fantasize in such conditions. The entrance to Solomon’s Temple (and a large city) lay a mere mile or so away, but apart from that, they were on a flat expanse of sand. If he chose to pleasure himself (which would be nigh impossible considering the freezing night), he would be caught by either his brother, or, far worse, Altair, in an instant. A humiliation the man could not possibly bear to face. He could just imagine the surprised smirk on his face, canines glinting even in darkness. The raised brows, slightly widened grey eyes. A bitter clench of his stomach struck without warning.

If Malik were asked, he would vehemently deny his jealousy of the younger man. Wonder half amusedly how one could possibly be envious of that bootlicking, self centred, humourless fool. But it was there, all the same. He would never be as fast as him, as strong as him, as nimble. Altair coasted through his training, never practicing half as much as Malik. Natural ability seemed to be worth double ability that was gained through repetition. The elder man would constantly challenge the younger to duel in the arena, to prove once and for all who was best. To his mortification, he always lost. Altair’s lips would curl into a cruel imitation of an innocent smile as he pointed his sword at the other’s pulsing neck. And it would vanish, replaced by a glare, and a warning that the same would happen the next time around.

Altair was ruthless, lazy and about as witty as a fraying carpet. It was to Malik’s anger that Kadar worshipped the ground the man stepped on. Such respect he did not deserve, would never deserve. If anything, his younger brother should have adored him. He, who was diligent, intelligent, and WAS worthy. But no, Kadar only ever looked at him with fraternal affection.

Malik did not feel the same. He wanted his younger brother, as a man should want a woman. Wanted to feel, taste, claim him as he should want to for a pretty young thing in a brothel. Of course, he did the same to whores, but there was no real desire behind his ministrations. No want. Only necessity.

Kadar was the first to penetrate the wall of silence that had fallen.

“So …”

Nothing more. Nothing anyone could respond to. The novice just needed to say something. As ever. Altair raised his head from where it had pointedly been focussed on the ground, and glared at him, eyes narrowed. Almost daring him to say something more, daring Kadar to give him adequate reason to hurt him. The recipient of his gaze shrunk in his skin a little, and turned his eyes away. Ashamed that he disturbed his hero, no doubt. Malik hated that, but did not hate the flush that graced his brother’s cheeks. Only wished that he had put it there, doing something entirely different.

And of course, he had to play saviour to Kadar.

“I‘ll take first watch tonight.”

“And I second,” Altair quickly responded. Quite odd, really, considering the man never seemed eager to do anything other than sit and hang his head like a sullen little boy. But neither Al-Sayf questioned him, merely blinked in surprise.

“I - I guess that leaves me with third,” Kadar spoke out, voice now timid. Altair snorted in disdain, before his head lowered itself once more.

Malik’s head fell to his chest for what was possibly the hundredth time that night. He should have asked for third watch. But no, he had thought the best option would be to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Smacking his cheek, his eyelids positively ached as he forced them open. Considering the sight they were greeted with, he would have preferred to stay asleep.

Altair was standing over him, full moon casting an ironic halo over his head. His nostrils flared as they inhaled deeply.

“You should have taken another watch.”

“You think I don‘t know that?” Malik snapped in reply, rubbing his hands together. The fire had gone out long ago.

“Malik.”

“What?” Al-Sayf hissed, turning his head away from the man.

“I know.”

“You know something? Fascinating. What could it be about, I wonder?”

“You lust after Kadar, do you not?”

“W - what? No! Altair, that‘s disgusting.”

“Do not attempt to lie now. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I, the liar? That‘s very rich.”

Altair sat down next to him, predatory look on his face.

“Malik, I am not blind. You look at him as if he is a particularly lascivious woman.”

“I do not,” the elder man replied, weak attempt ruined completely by the way his voice cracked. Altair, unexpectedly, did not look triumphant in victory. Only angered.

“Take my watch.”

“What?” Al-Sayf asked, sure he had misheard.

“Take. My. Watch.”

“Why?”

“Just do it! I will wake you when this watch ends.”

“Alt-”

“LEAVE,” Altair commanded, staring daggers at him. There were times, ever so rarely, in which Malik decided not to argue with ibn La Ahad. This was one of them. Standing cautiously, he walked over to where his brother was sleeping and lay down. Despite the possible direness of the situation, he fell asleep.

And was woken what seemed like seconds later with a kick to the chest. Groaning, he cracked an eye open. Altair was looking at him with his usual veil of indifference back in place.

“My watch is over. Yours has begun.”

“Did you have to wake me like that?”

“Yes,” the man replied, with perfectly toneless voice. Malik cursed, and shakily got to his feet. He expected the other to lie down, but he merely stood, arms folded across his chest.

“Well? Aren‘t you going to go to sleep, seeing as how you happily disturbed mine?”

“I am not tired.”

“Then WHY in the name all that is sacred did you WAKE me?”

“Because it is your watch.”

Having no response to such a ridiculous reason, the elder man scowled and walked away from Altair. He practically fell into a sitting position. Unfortunately, Allah had decided to be merciless that night, and Al Mualim’s lapdog had followed him.

“Go away, Altair.”

“Not a chance.”

“What do you want?”

A brief pause. Then,

“I will tell Kadar. The Master, too. Possibly others.”

“What?! You can‘t!”

“And what is to stop me from doing so?”

“My blade in your throat.”

“You actually believe you can beat me?” Altair scoffed, giving Malik a sidelong gaze.

“Yes!”

The younger did not reply. They sat in uncomfortable, angry silence for what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds. Altair inhaled uncharacteristically deeply. Leant over the elder man.

And kissed him.

There was no essence behind the kiss. There were tongues, lips, teeth, gums, and sides of cheeks, but, it lacked a quintessential emotion that made doing such a thing feel good. It was empty, more like a hollow tradition than an expression of passion.

Or at least, it seemed that way to Malik.

Altair seemed happy enough to do it, eyes closing as their tongues battled for dominance. Malik was the victor (and suspected the other man had intended for it to be so) but he did not claim the other’s mouth, he drew back.

“Altair, what are you doing?” He growled, dark eyes narrowed.

“Take me. Like you would take Kadar.”

Malik’s mouth flopped open of its own accord.

“What?”

“I know that you want your brother. Close your eyes.”

Malik kept them open. Altair waited for a moment, before grunting and moving two fingers up to the other’s face. Before the elder man could protest, the fingers were on his eyelids, forcefully closing them.

“Now I am him, am I not?”

“Quiet. You sound nothing like him.” Malik ordered, for he had acquiesced, realising that this was probably the closest he would ever get to his brother. As lips were again pushed on his, he knew he could pretend this was Kadar. Sure, the waist he slipped his arms around was a little slimmer, and the body that lay on his a fair bit taller, but behind his eyelids, he saw Kadar kissing him, saw Kadar running his hands over the sides of his muscular torso. When his hands fumbled to pull off the heavy Assassin clothing (his and the other‘s), it was not Altair that panted in anticipation, but Kadar. Even with his eyes open, it was still easy to picture his brother’s eyes half lidded, liquid brown instead of stormy grey. His brother’s strangled gasps as he moved a hand to pay careful attention to the nipples (as he had practised so well on moaning whores).

As the real Kadar lay asleep, blissfully unaware of the goings on not so far away from him, his doppelganger was shuddering under Malik, eyes rolling into the darkness behind his skull. Fingers were shoved frenziedly into his gaping mouth, and the elder man managed to force out,

“Kadar, suck.”

The receiver of the order could not. It was a minor miracle in itself Altair was able to weakly drag his tongue along the fingers, what with his member being squeezed and pumped like some sort udder. Malik was being far too harsh, not that the man realised it. All he heard were Altair’s - Kadar’s - delightful sounds. Half agonized, half pleasured moans, choked intakes of breath. That, combined with the expression on the younger man’s face, made Malik very eager. Withdrawing his fingers from the other’s still open mouth, he quickly moved the wetted hand downwards, replacing the digits with his mouth on Altair’s briefly, before probing his entrance with two fingers. The younger stiffened and cursed, and Malik whispered in a harsh voice,

“Shut up, Altair.”

For the swear had shattered his delicate illusion. This was not Kadar. Claiming his rival was not a loving matter. For because the Master’s favourite spoke, neither could delude themselves that this was a loving act. When Malik removed three fingers from the entrance, Altair was a writhing mess below him. The elder man was so disgusted, he flipped the other onto his stomach. Malik could not bear the sight of the younger man’s barely open grey eyes, English nose, full lips, for any longer. Without asking for permission of or even warning Altair, he penetrated him. And as he began to move faster and faster, the two’s contact causing slapping sounds, he moved closer and closer to physical completion. But he also moved further and further away from something. Indeed the chance of having any sort of friendly relationship with Altair was quickly slipping away as said man splattered his seed on the ground and his abdomen with a cry. The clench this caused on Malik’s member triggered the same reaction, but in a way not nearly as fulfilling. There was no cry, he forced his down. He would not show his physical contentment to Altair, for his mental dissatisfaction would not allow it. Malik remained in the other for a moment before pulling out, panting. Despite all physical desire to slump over and fall asleep, he managed to pull on his clothes. Altair groaned, pulled his robes over his naked back, cum still seeping out of his canal. Malik stared at him with disdain in his dark eyes, but, in the depths of his mind, he knew it was he who should be disdained, by both Altair and himself. What he had just done in the name of release was despicable. A part of him wanted to hug the younger assassin, to cradle him in his arms and apologise for what he had just done and for being so rough. But the prideful part of him, the larger and more prominent part of him, sneered, knew that Altair had approached HIM, not the other way around.

“Pull your clothes on. Kadar would not want to be greeted by such a pathetic sight.”

DO WANT especially with the sex at the end.

W-what is this he's a mage too it'll totally work out

THIS! MY ANUS BURNS FOR THIS!

ME: Stupid life and it's stupid things that need to be done that don't allow me to write. Well if anyone is still reading, here is another snippit. I'm waiting for summer (two more weeks OH GOD) and then I can finish this. For now, have some sex. =)

***

“Ah, please…not so hard Iyad.” Malik suggested hoarsely, his voice starting to already lose its tone from the past hours of yelling, moaning, groaning and crying out. His knees were starting to feel abused from having to have hold all his weight as well as the man behind him who wrenched his only arm back and up.

“Just relax more.” Iyad replied back in a heavy breath, not letting up on his powerful thrusts and increasing his hold on Malik’s arm painfully. The younger man drove himself further and deeper into Malik every time, and Malik started to fell too open with his hips touching the bed flatly with Iyad between his legs, straddling the bureau keeper.

Malik was getting pushed into his sheets so ruthlessly the good part of the night, all the lust of the act was starting to dwindle down to nothing more than Iyad riding out his youthful possessions as if Malik was nothing more than some sort of courtesan from a brothel, having no say in it. Malik was now starting to hate the young. It was as if Iyad was a jackrabbit in a former life, his excitement never seeming to slow down. Malik thought it unfair that he was more or less “done”, hours ago, but despite his angry protests that soon became pitiful pleas, which now have turned into nothing but heavy and uncomfortable breathing. He had lost count how many times Iyad had released himself inside of him, twice pulling out to view his handy work as his seed ended up all over Malik’s back and hind quarters. Damn the youthful assassin who was all pent up rage and lust.

Iyad’s threat still held Malik to do nothing more than to allow the other assassin to do as he pleased. As Iyad backed Malik into his room in the darkness of the night, his mouth biting Malik’s neck gently, arms holding him carefully around his waist in mock affection, guiding them both back to the bed backwards, he whispered sweetly “HE will never find out anything if you behave.” Iyad had yet to remove his mask from his face, only pulling it over the bridge of his nose to lick Malik. Though Malik couldn’t see the other’s face in the darkness very well, let alone one that was still half covered, he could feel the nasty and ridged scare on the other’s face. Thinking fondly of Altair, and his tiny imperfection, Malik found himself growing sad for a moment as this scar was nothing like the Master assassin.

Malik often thought about what Altair’s scar must have left like if they were to ever kiss. It would be a warm day, in the cool shadows of the bureau, while enjoying two cups of soothing tea, sitting together on a beautifully detailed rug. He would imagine that he could feel it, the scar, just a little bit, the slightly different colored skin on his mouth as Altair would gently cup his face in his gloved hands, tilting his head back and very so slightly pressing himself to-

Malik grunted when Iyad slammed his head into the wall so he could shove his tongue into the older man’s mouth. Whoever or whatever caused the damaged to Iyad’s face must have been very serious. As Iyad moved to nibble at his neck, Malik left another thick and bold scar on the right side of Iyad’s face. It must have been a perfect hit from an enemy with a saber or his own stupidity because it left like his face could have been easily ripped in half and somehow by the grace of Allah was put back together. But whatever did happen, Iyad must have grown very self conscious of his battle prizes if he was not going to remove his face covering in these circumstances of all circumstances, unlike Altair or Malik, who wore their scarred faces and missing limbs proudly. The other bureau keepers even offered Malik if he wanted to wear a heavy Birder. A long and heavy robe that slung over the shoulders like a cape with sleeves to give the illusion that his arms were constituently hanging at his sides, while the rested comfortable inside. Malik declined respectfully, and pinned his sleeve up bravely. Not that Malik wanted to see those ugly thinks Iyad had on his face, he thought cruelly.

Iyad lapped at the wet walls on Malik’s mouth, tasting whatever sweet thing he must have ate before bed, chuckling to himself and making a mental note for later.

Embarrassed by the whole situation beyond what he thought was humanly possible, Malik nodded dumbly as the young and almost inexperienced boy threatened him. A wet tongue dragged itself from Malik’s exposed collarbone to his ear, Malik’s eyes growing angry when he left Iyad’s hardness pressed against him. Malik was soon sat down on his bed once again, with Iyad pushing at him to lie down, crawling on top of him, eagerly undoing his own robes. His breathing was heavy and excited, Malik frowned as he laid down on his damp sheets again, recalling his dream…only to be pulled away from it, when he was flipped around, face down into his pillows.

Malik was about to lecture something at Iyad, when the other’s hands ran up down his well-toned sides, and slipped his untied pants down. Malik’s face grew hot quickly, that he could hear his own blood pumping in his ears.

“So,” Iyad said far too casually as he grabbed on of Malik’s ankles to pull one pant leg off. “about that scar. I’m still very interested about it my Dai.” He pulled off the other one, and was on his knees, settling in comfortably behind Malik.

Malik bit the inside of his mouth, chewing on his cheeks. Iyad’s hands were not unpleasant, to say the least, but they were not Altair’s…
Iyad ran his tongue again against the risen skin that was damaged. He let out a questioning “Hmmm?”

Malik kept it short and non-too-sweet. He squeaked out “Mission.”, when he felt Iyad pick his head back to run his tongue back down, ending the wet trail lower this time, past the scar.

“Surely it was not because of your misstep. Perhaps from,” the younger man flicked his gloves off and placed his bare warm hands onto Malik’s perfectly round and defined backside. His thumbs gently spread his cheeks apart slightly. “trying to protect Kadar?”

Malik bearded his teeth in the dark room. Not only from the fact of feeling Iyad in such a private place, but the mention of his brother. True, it was an old wound that, much like his arm, has healed over time, but it was still something that pulled at his heart. Altair had still not apologized for his actins back at the temple, even after all these years, so there was never ever any closure for the older brother. All he had left was one arm, no family, and a twisted love that began to grow for a man that made him lose it all.

Malik nodded once. The scar was from pushing Kadar out of the way right before Malik was promoted to a Master Assassin, and he took an ax blade into the back almost killing him. It would have for sure killed Kadar who was completely open and not watching his left side. Just like at the temple…

“Aww. How touching.” Iyad swirled his tongue at Malik’s opening. Malik bucked up immediately, only to be pushed back down forcibly with Iyad’s position over him. He kept at it however, Malik gasped out uncontrollably and griped at his sheets painfully. When Malik’s muggy mind pulled itself from its heat of pleasure, he heard Iyad asking for an salve near by, not without a comment about it of course. “Being all alone in here…surely you touch yourself, hmm Dai?” Malik lazily pointed at a small table by the end of his bed that held a candle, a jar, and a book. Iyad reached over for the jar, from what Malik could hear. The soft clinking of the other man opening the glass jar, and the wet sound of a large amount of salve being grabbed out was heard in the dead night air. Malik gasped out again, unsure, when Iyad spread his legs open a little more and nestled himself in between them. That was when Malik felt Iyad’s engrossed head touch him and pushed in slowly.

“W-wait. Wait.” Malik whispered deadly quietly. Iyad ignored him, breathing out harshly, burying himself fully inside the tightened space. He mumbled something, and pulled out, realigned himself, and pushed back in all the way.

“There we go….” Malik could feel Iyad smirking behind him, eyes closed in enjoyment as he snapped his hips forward, pulling Malik into him. Thrust after thrust, Malik left himself growing cloudy in his mind, muggy even. He tried so hard to at least let his mind wonder over to Altair, but Iyad’s dammed breathing loudly in his ear forced him to stay in the current present. Malik became a boneless heap of body not long after, and was rocked back and forth from the other’s movements. Soon the darkest of the night turned close to dawn and Iyad finally seemed to have enough. Malik felt disgusted with himself, clearly feeling all of Iyad’s seed inside him and around his thighs as it dripped out when he finally pulled himself away. He flopped next to Malik, a hand tracing his little scars and into his scalp, gripping his short hair lazily.

“Altair does not know what he is missing.” Malik would have cursed him harshly had he not been so worn out. He gingerly rolled over to his side and hissed through his teeth. He could already feel how painful it was going to be to walk in a few hours.

“Do not speak of him in such a manner Iyad.” Malik said to the wall, not facing the younger man who slipped his mask back into place, his arms going behind his head as he looked up into the dark ceiling,

“Very well Dai. I will not speak to him at all even.” He said this as Malik could physically feel his eyes roaming his backside again. Of course the underline threat remained as he also meant “As long as you make me stay silent.”

The Master once told Malik that “beggars can not be choosers”. Maybe this was all he deserved- An assassin with an underhanded, mutilated face and unclean intentions.

“Will you allow me to sleep in your bed tonight Malik?” Iyad asked so sweetly, Malik swore he could feel his teeth hurting suddenly.

“Do I have a choice in saying no?” Malik spat out venomously. Iyad pressed his clothed face to Malik’s neck, breathing in slowly. Iyad feel asleep nestled against Malik. Malik glared at the wall for a few more minutes before he didn’t have the strength anymore. His breathing soon fell into the same slow pattern as Iyad’s, the warmth of the other’s arms soothing him a bit. For one moment, he thought about Altair before he thought about nothing at all and fell asleep.

***

ME: Sorry Malik, I'll make it up to you later. =P

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

Hell Night 1/2

Hell Night 2/3

Hell Night 3/3

Re: Desmond the Pokemon Trainer

Re: Desmond the Pokemon Trainer

Re: Desmond the Pokemon Trainer

I crave crack...

Re: So I'm writing this fic- part 8

Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Crossover?

no subject

Re: So I'm writing this fic- part 8

Re: Hell Night 3/3

Re: Hell Night 3/3

Re: I crave crack...

Re: Every Day in a Letter [4-5/?]

Writer here

FAIL FILL

Re: FAIL FILL

Re: FAIL FILL

Re: FAIL FILL

no subject

Re: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Crossover?

Old Temptations, New Resolves Part 11

Re: Old Temptations, New Resolves Part 12

Re: Old Temptations, New Resolves Part 13