asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

OH god damn, I really hope there is more to this story. <:,0

More more more please OTL

Not the requesting anon, but that does sound awesome.

I've never written Shaun before so I hope it's okay.

“Impossible,” Shaun hissed. “You’re im-fucking-bloody-possible.”

“It was a simple question. Can you read the damn document I just went through hell to get you or not?”

“Yes, because sitting in a chair napping is so bleeding hard! Sorry to impose upon you so deeply. If you have better things to do than help us, I completely understand.” Remembered images played before his eyes, remembered pain; Ezio had been stabbed in the shoulder and his arm broken while grabbing the damn piece of paper and getting out in one piece. The least the brunette could do was answer with a simple ‘no’. “This whole Templar war has just simply been blown out of proportion. We don’t really need you at all, Desmond, it’s been a huge misunderstanding. So, while I sit here and try to decode this damn thing, why don’t you go back and hang out in some Italian brothels again?”

Retorts in Italian flashed through Desmond’s mind but he disregarded them as they changed fluidly, some words in English, more in Arabic. Shaun had no right to speak to him like a child, not again, not like he was so used to doing, and he was going to learn. “Stay your tongue, novice.”

The man froze and stiffened over his papers. Shaun slowly turned around to stare. Desmond was smirking at his look of utmost surprise. There was something nearly feral to the expression. “Desmond…? Desmond, what the hell? Desmond!”

“Silence, Malik.” He leapt off the red chair he had been lounging on and pounced gracefully. Shaun scrambled back, ending up splayed over his valuable papers. “You think you can speak to me like that and get away with it?”

“Desmond, the year is 2012, I’m Shaun, you aren’t Altair, you don’t speak Arabic--”

The kiss shut him up effectively even as he tried to push Desmond away ineffectively. Every movement he tried to use to escape, Desmond countered easily with a skill level far above what he had previously displayed.

Scenarios were popping into his mind unbidden: Desmond had been in the Animus as Ezio, surfaced, and then suddenly become Altair. Started spouting Arabic, obviously pissed off at him, who…he had heard the name Malik? Shaun knew about the man, but to confuse them…

Teeth sunk into his bottom lip hard enough to pierce it and break his attention. Angry at the treatment and unable to do much else, he bit back.

Desmond moaned low into his mouth and kissed harder. The man was surprisingly good at it and by the time Shaun became convinced the Desmond-Altair hybrid wasn’t going to kill him, he was hard and kissing back and, really, why shouldn’t he? Fucking Desmond (Altair) was enjoying himself and certainly not going to allow him to get back to work anytime soon.

So when hands tugged at his belt he pulled away from the mouth claiming his and set to undoing it. Brown eyes watched him hungrily enough that he may as well have been naked already. His clothes meant nothing to that burning gaze and for the first time in his life Shaun felt the swell of a desperate need to comply with whatever the man wanted. He wonders if this is how Malik felt under such a gaze; the need to break.

Shaun moans at the heady rush that centers between his legs and, when his pants are undone and torn away, allows his wrists to be pinned in one hand. He doesn’t care about his papers anymore, couldn’t think if he tried, can’t remember the most basic of facts-- “Oh, god, fucking hell--”

“Enjoying yourself, Malik?” Desmond asks smartly, a certain arrogant tone to his voice telling Shaun he knows exactly what he is doing to the man as he sinks a single finger in and out of the tight heat of his body, that he knows without a doubt how much Shaun is enjoying it as he writhes and cannot be bothered with the crinkling of important documents. As if he couldn’t tell from the cock pressing into his thick, white tunic and wetting it with pre-come. He presses harder on the wrists under his left hand until he’s sure they’ll bruise. Good. He always liked the color Malik’s skin turned. “Ready for more?”

Shaun’s Arabic is rusty and from disuse but he understood that, arching against Desmond’s hand holding his wrists just to struggle and test the strength there. He didn’t think Desmond would be this strong. Not from the hand pinning him easily, to the finger sinking as deep as they possibly can into him, to what he can feel of the man through his jeans. Two more fingers, so roughly, press into him and he can’t stop the whimper that says he wants and needs and more.

He has no idea what Desmond is doing between his legs except the fingers that are pressed cruelly up against his prostate and not moving, won’t let him move against them, until he hears a zipper and thanks god. Prays to god that it’s about fucking time and he’d snarl at the other man if he could find the air without it rushing back out in whorishly sinful moans he’s never made in his life before, ever.

They just get worse when Desmond pushes into him slowly, agonizingly slow, like he might break. He almost says he won’t but then there’s the pain he’s forgotten is imminent and he’s rather grateful.

A hand lays itself on his right cheek, a little slick from Desmond slicking himself, but Shaun doesn’t care about that. Because Desmond is smiling at him, painfully sweet. “Malik,” he whispers in Arabic, followed by, in English, a little strained as he begins to push the rest of the way in, “Shaun.”

“Fuck, fuck, Des--” he wheezed quietly, not even sure who he’s babbling to anymore. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to Altair again, or Desmond, or who-the-fuck-ever because the only noises Desmond makes are low groans and grunts as he pushes into Shaun, who loves every minute of it. Pleasure zings through him in a way he hasn’t felt in forever--this stupid warehouse, and work, and hiding, none of them exactly inspire him to go out and find someone. It’s hard enough just to work up the energy to eat and shower at the end of the day.

But he doesn’t have to touch himself now because Desmond’s hand, the slick one, is wrapped tightly around his cock almost to the point of pain. And this, when he does touch himself (and he will, later), he’s going to think about it and shove his fingers deep inside himself, but not nearly as deep as Desmond is when he pulls out and slams back in, pressing right there, right there yes--

Shaun spreads his legs wider and throws his head back, banging it off his desk, but that doesn’t stop his orgasm, all complete ecstasy and sparks and white spots in his vision. It’s all-consuming and powerful enough to send him to trembling, Desmond cooing in broken Arabic and English until he’s pretty sure even Desmond himself has no idea what the fuck he’s saying. It doesn’t matter, though, his voice is enough to prolong it, but it helps that he keeps moving his hand through the thick ejaculate to keep stroking him, hand still tight, cock still thrusting into him.

Then Desmond still above him, head back and tendons straining, and Shaun surges up to lick a bead of sweat sliding down the man’s neck even as heat erupts inside him. He tenses his legs around Desmond’s waist in encouragement because he’s fairly sure his voice will break if he speaks, and the man slumps onto his elbows when he’s finished, their clothed chests pressed together and come between them.

“Shaun,” Desmond pants in a whisper.

He’s going to regret this, white fluid trickling down his thighs and probably onto his papers, a nice stain on his vest and ‘oh, what is that Shaun, had a good night, eh?’ and he’ll kill Rebecca if she says that, he’s going to have to get it into the wash right away to prevent that, and his sweat, the damn papers are already sticking to him. “Shower. Then talking. In English this time, please.”

Desmond laughs but winces when he pushes himself up, wetly separating himself from Shaun’s sweater vest. “Fair enough.”

“And next time,” he adds, back cracking painfully when he sits up, “not on the fucking desk.”

I'm not either but I agree with you.

Ahaha, sorry guys! I passed out before I could finish. :x

Altair began to move away from Ezio again, attempting to keep his mind solely on his mission, but the tightness in his leggings was quite distracting. As he was turning away from the other assassin he felt a tug on his robes.

"Do not..." Ezio whispered, "Do not leave yet, by all means, teach me this virtue." He added with a knowing grin. "I can see that you want to teach me as well." His eyes had traveled down to the growing lump in his trousers. Altair frowned at first, but his body got the better of him. It had been far too long since the last time he indulged in such things. And with Ezio's eyes like that, wanting...

"You make a valid argument." He said, lowering his own hood for the first time in their meeting. "You are a rambunctious child and I ought to be sure you learn you lesson." To which Ezio only grinned.

Altair pinned Ezio against the wall once more, kissing him fervently, their lips practically bruising. He used his tongue to gain entrance and to fight for dominance over the other's as one of his hands began to wander down the front of the Italian's clothing in exploration. Down, down, towards his rear to get a little squeeze and half-smirk from the amusement of the squeaked moan it granted him. He pulled back from Ezio's lips and awarded him with a cool grin.

"Lesson two is quite simple." He said, undoing the front of his robes and lowering his leggings to expose himself. "Do not speak when your mouth is full." He added as he pushed Ezio down into a kneeling position before him. He saw the other man smirk as one gloved hand grasped his length, stroking it gently as he angled it toward his lips. Ezio planted a soft kiss on the very tip, flicking his tongue out to collect the small bead of liquid that had gathered there. Altair's body stiffened, consumed now with need. One arm shot out to steady himself against the wall while the other trailed to Ezio's head, nudging him in the right direction. "Less teasing, more sucking." He commanded, voice low.

Ezio obliged, taking the tip in first, swirling his tongue around it in a way that told Altair that he was quite skilled in this art already- not that the elder would give the younger the benefit of admitting this. The Italian then proceeded to take more of his aching flesh into the confines of his mouth, assaulting it with a combination of suckling and licking, beginning a steady rhythm at which his bobbed his head to and fro. The older assassin reveled in the feeling, uttering low grunts.

He almost cried out when he felt Ezio swallow his entire length, surprised when the younger assassin workeed his throat against his shaft in such a tantalizing manner. Perhaps there were things even this young one could teach Malik, Altair mused, enraptured. He did his best to still his hips, but it was a losing battle as they twitched. He felt warmth pooling in his gut and goose-pimples forming over his arms as Ezio carried on, increasing the pace and the suction. Altair gasped for breath, unable to keep his demeanor even at this point as the entire universe (it seemed) shrank to the size of a knife point and exploded, white hot pleasure washing over him, body shuddering, as a single, low grunt left him.

Ezio swallowed it all somehow not missing a single drop and pulled back, looking up at his 'teacher' with a lazy smile. "Is that performance to your liking, maestro?" He teased.

"It was acceptable for your first lesson." Altair replied evenly, no sign that he had just lost himself, seemingly fully recovered. "But there will be a follow up lesson to be sure you have retained it well."

Oh, oh my. *_* I approve of this!!

Finally, some action in this meme! This'll be my second filled request now. Hope you like it (it's a bit sad maybe)

+++++++++

He's fairly sure he's not going crazy. He doesn't feel crazy. Just because he's seeing things that shouldn't be there, just because he's awake and outside the Animus and lounging on his bed reading while everyone else is out, and Malik Al'Sayf is standing there on the other side of the room doesn't mean anything. At least there aren't any horses this time.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake," Malik says, his voice echoing a little like he's speaking from a distance, but there's a fond smile on his face and Desmond can only stare, his book forgotten. This has to be after the siege, after Altair began rebuilding the Brotherhood. Malik is no longer wearing a rafiq's robes, and he looks thinner, older. There is grey in his hair and a scar on his brow that Desmond doesn't remember seeing and he's coming into the room with a grace that Desmond isn't sure he had before, when he was working in Jerusalem and Desmond watches, can't even move as Malik comes over and sits down on the edge of the bed and smiles at him and he is...

The thought strikes Desmond with all the momentum of a slap, because Malik is beautiful, in a way that Desmond never realised. His eyes on Desmond's face and his mouth curving in a soft smile and his hand bracing him as he leans towards Desmond, and oh god, he's going to kiss him, isn't he? Except he can't, he can't, he's just a memory, he's not even here. The bed isn't moving under his weight and there's no sense of a physical presence and this, this must have happened before. Oh, God. He and Altair were lovers, must have been, because Malik is leaning closer and Desmond is closing his eyes and he wants to be kissed, can almost remember a time, Malik's mouth on his, their skin slick and sweaty between them, his legs wrapped around Malik's hips, his arms around his broad shoulders, Malik's breathless laughter warm against his throat...

Desire slams into Desmond like a oncoming train and he opens his eyes, but Malik is gone. The room is as it was. He's alone, and he's hard, and he can't stop thinking about how it felt, how much he needed it, needed Malik. He shoves his book away from him and shoves his hand into his jeans, no room but oh fuck that feels good. And maybe he's is starting to reassess that idea that he's not crazy, because he can remember, Christ, remember Malik's mouth around him, sucking, his fingers inside him, harsh and intrusive and incredible, can remember kneeling, Malik pushing into him, his voice rough with adoration and oh, God, Desmond wants that back, wants it again, right fucking now. He scrabbles to open his jeans, to push them down far enough to spread his legs a little and get his other hand down there while he jerks himself off and it's not enough, not enough, god damn it. His breath is almost sobbing out and his body doesn't want to take his finger but when it does, when he pushes and turns it awkwardly, lightning tears up his spine. He hears himself groan an eager, grateful sound, echo to others he remembers making lying with Malik, Malik's soothing murmur washing over him, his hand on him, his arm embracing him, his head lying on the pillow next to Desmond's, his gentle voice saying over and over and over in a way that Desmond believes with his whole heart, I love you, I adore you, you are mine.

Desmond comes in a gasping rush and it's not a relief. The ache's gone from between his legs, moved into his chest, a hollow, hopeless throb of something lost, of something impossible to regain, but that's not real either, right? Because he's not Altair, and Malik is not here. He never was, no matter how much Desmond lies there wishing otherwise.

Yep, that's about it.

HOLY SHIT, I'M SO HAPPY SOMEONE DID MY PROMPT! THANK YOU, KIND SOUL~ ♥♥♥

/capslock

I love you. Thank you so much, this is wonderful!

Poor Des! Now I want there to be comfort and healing via Shaun...

We need more Leonardo in here.

I would like to request Leo being taken hostage by the Templars as bait for Ezio. This of course leads to them having some "fun" with him since he is so goddamn molestable. As horribly angsty and noncon as you please with maybe some comforting at the end. Do with this what you will.

~~God, I feel like a horrible person.~~

Da Vinci decides he's tired of using corpses as his only anatomy models.

Two-armed Malik/One-armed Malik

It would be fabulous if Altair's name came up for whatever reason ♥

LeonardoxEzio

Leonardo paints Ezio - by which I mean he actually paints Ezio. Naked skin makes a wonderful canvas.

Do want writing/painting kink. Make it happen, anon!

I'd like to try it myself, but having never actually posted a fic on the interbutt before, I don't think my writing skills are up to the challenge. So...supportive bump? Possible semi-fic idea?

"Per favore, Ezio! Will you stop moving around so much?"

"This is boring. And your -cristo!- paint is too goddamn cold."

"True beauty takes time, my friend. Is this paint truly as cold as you say?"

"Si. I like you, Leonardo, but really, this request is almost too-"

"Would you...prefer that I warm it up for you?"

Ezio blinks at the last sentence. He could swear there was a purr to the artist's voice, husky and deep.

Altaïr/Malik.
Altaïr wants to be forgiven.
<3

Anon is on the case!

Altaïr/Malik
Ghusl (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghusl) (bonus points for after sex).

OH HELL YES. ANON LIKES THE ANGRY SEX INDEED.

(desk was an appropriate choice)

"Leonardo! Ezio tells me you travel often to Milano. I have a grand willa in Toscana. You must come visit me there."

Who else thought this was the most awkward thing they've ever heard?

Uncle Mario/Leonardo.

Leo takes up the offer to go to Mario's villa, but things turn a bit awkward. Mario's a bit too drunk and Leo DOES-NOT-WANT.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

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filled - Phantom pain

OP Here

OP

Re: filled - Phantom pain

Re: filled - Phantom pain

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Ezio/Leonardo

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