Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed

[asscreedkinkmeme]

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme
Fill Only

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
Fills Only
Discussion

Comments

Re: Painted (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

work.

It was a bit of a chore, getting him back to the bureau, but he managed. The man awoke, tied to the strong beams on the ceiling of Malik’s private room. He dangled upside down, the blood rushing to his head, his face flushed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. And that was exactly how Malik wanted it. A large clay pot was beneath him. What on earth…? His eyes widened as Malik raised a knife, pressing it against his jugular. The sharp blade slowly trailed back and forth across the Templar’s throat in a teasingly gentle caress.

“You look so surprised…” Malik murmured, noting how the man wisely chose to stay silent. He gently stroked the man’s hair, massaged his scalp. The rope that had once been around his throat was slowly moved, tied to press between his teeth for a gag. He smiled sweetly at him. “Templars killed my brother. His death was far more beautiful than yours could ever hope to be…but die knowing you will be a work of art.” With that, his blade slit the man’s throat,, leaving him to choke, blood bubbling up from the wound and cascading downwards towards the pot he’d laid out.

The glorious crimson spill was so lovely, so captivating. He watched as the man choked and struggled, his speeding heartbeat only making the blood flow faster. He’d have killed him and drained him that way – but he wanted to see him squirm, see the life disappear from his eyes. The man was slowly going pale as time passed, his movements, breathing, and whimpers slowing, then ceasing all together.

He was dead, and he was so ugly…so beautiful. This was what he had wanted to see, wanted to witness. But it wasn’t finished yet. His artwork had yet to be made. Watching as the last few droplets of blood pooled in the container, he pulled out a single blank parchment and dipped his quill into the red fluid, drawing a lovely line across the page. He first began to draw the man before him – to try and capture his death mask on paper, for all to see. When this was finished, he picked another paper. This time, he drew his dear, sweet brother. The portrait of an eagle soon followed. And then he began to draw the most infuriating, wonderful man he currently knew – who just so happened to gently push the door open after he’d drawn the first line.

Re: Painted (3/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“Malik…what are you doing?” Came the quiet murmur of Altaïr behind him. He was staring with lidded eyes at the scene before him – Malik’s fingers and robes smeared with blood, drawings sitting beside him, his quill still marred with red. He opened his mouth to speak again when Malik’s leg came out, forcefully tripping him and sending him onto his back with a soft grunt. Malik gripped his chin, eyes narrowed.

“Would you rather I paint you, Altaïr? Shall I paint you the way they did my brother? Do you know what you would look like when death hits you?” Malik demanded, shaking him. Altaïr was silent, looking at Malik with pity in his eyes. Infuriated, Malik ripped open the man’s robes, peering at the blank space of his chest. An idea came to mind.

He dipped the feather-end of the quill into the blood, painting a streak across Altaïr’s skin. Beautiful. That was…. so beautiful. He painted a second mark, the sign of the assassins slowly appearing on his chest. When he’d finished, he painted a long red line down his belly towards his navel, licking his lips at the way Altaïr’s breath hitched at the feeling. Ah. He liked this.

“Patience, Altaïr.” Malik purred. The feather was re-dipped in blood before teasing across a nipple, tracing lines around it before painting over it in the ruby color. He repeated the process on the other side of Altaïr’s chest, teasing a nipple while pushing his robes out of the way. He had to put the feather down while he removed the rest of Altaïr’s clothes, not noticing how compliant he was being. Altaïr was still silent beneath him – which both relieved and infuriated the one-armed male. How dare he stay silent, staring at him with such pity?

The pathway of drawing continued to snake across Altaïr’s torso, his ribs. The designs became slightly smudged as Altaïr’s chest rose and fell, sweat forming on his skin. He was fully erect before Malik had even touched him below the waist – the scent of blood and sweat combined with the dominance Malik showed was enough to send pulses of arousal strait to his groin. The feather soon teased over the insides of his thighs, drawing feathers, eagles, and henna-like patterns all over his skin. It was then that he let out his first quiet moan.

The moan was what did it for him. Malik’s vision was going red, his focus completely on Altaïr and the blood that marred his flesh. Abandoning the feather entirely, he dipped his hand in the blood, wrapping the slick fingers around Altaïr’s cock. He began to stroke slowly, pumping him, the blood slicking the movement of his hand. Altaïr jerked and let out a quiet noise of protest.

“Malik…stop…”

“Why? You seem to be enjoying it, Altaïr.” He hissed out, stroking and squeezing him a little faster, satisfied as he saw Altaïr close his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line. He closed his eyes and refused to say a word after that. “Oh…I see. You’re sulking now. Novice.” He growled out, trembling with anger and need.

Re: Painted (4/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Pulling back his bloodied hand, he slid off his pants, leaving him in his robes. With very little warning, he pressed the tip of Altaïr’s erection against his entrance, giving him only a moment to stutter in protest before forcing himself down on his blood-slicked erection. Pain shot up his spine, but the pleasure of being filled overrode it. Fully seated, he straddled Altaïr, peering down at him before dipping his fingers in blood once more, tracing a path across his collarbone. “Beautiful.” He gasped out.

He slowly rolled his hips now, his fingers still trailing absent over the flesh of the man beneath him. Altaïr’s face was contorted into an expression of mixed pleasure and worry. He gripped the man’s chin, smearing blood on his cheek. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful mark, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Dipping the fingers in blood again, he smeared marks across Altaïr’s nose and under his narrowed eyes, loving the way it marred his skin, then faded into it where his fingers had smeared.

As his hips began to move faster, he noticed there were a few spots appearing on Altaïr’s skin. Annoyed, he wiped them away, smearing blood back over the spots. Another blank spot appeared, like a droplet of rain. Gritting his teeth, he re-drew the mark a second time, slowly beginning to grow frustrated. Just as he thought he might yell in frustration, Altaïr’s hand reached up to cup his face, fingers gently brushing under his eyes.

“Malik…please don’t cry.” Altaïr uttered quietly, his tone hushed. The one-armed male almost laughed. It sounded so ridiculous to him, but he faintly realized his chest had begun to ache, his shoulders quivering.

“I’m not…crying.” He breathed, trembling slightly, his head bowed now. Silent as ever, Altaïr sighed, reaching to cup the sides of his face, gently stroking his skin, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. If he hadn’t been crying before, he was now – he could taste the salt on his lips, his throat felt tight, his vision blurring with tears. “Y-You’re the one….who….” He began, shutting his eyes tightly. He couldn’t move anymore. It was too much.

It was Altaïr’s fault. It was the Templars fault. It was his brother’s fault. Whose…? Whose fault was it? What had made him like this?

The tears fell in a flood now, dripping down his cheeks and over Altaïr’s fingers, a few hitting his skin and marring the paintings he’d made. He barely felt Altaïr pull out of him, but when the arms wrapped around his shoulders, he couldn’t stop the sob that left him.

When had he become so twisted? What had once been a fascination with blood had turned to a wicked obsession. Did his brother’s death really affect him so badly, or was he born this way?

Re: Painted (5/5)

[(Anonymous)]

Altaïr silenced his stuttered protest with a finger to his lips. He held him close, kissing his brow, gently rocking him in his arms. He wasn’t one for words, didn’t know how to comfort other than this – but he could try. The fact that he was there holding him, trying to ease the pain he didn’t truly understand, was enough to make Malik tremble, his arm coming around Altaïr’s back to tangle in his white robes, his fingers staining the fabric crimson.

The bloodied feather quill lay forgotten beside the pot of blood, and the body of the man he’d killed still hanging from the rafters. The only sound he could hear were his own sobs, his heart pounding in his ears and the steady drip of blood from his throat.

The insanity in him may have been eased, for now. However, there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that wondered: was it Altaïr that had comforted him…or the smell of blood that he’d painted on him?
~~~~~~~~~

Had fun writing this....wrote it while I was bummed. XD;

Re: Painted (5/5)

[(Anonymous)]

Woot! That was a fun read :D Greatly enjoyed, dear Anon.

Re: Painted (5/5)

[bampy.livejournal.com]

Fuck this. I'm going non-anon for this.

You already know I love this lovely piece of literature. Thank you dear. <3

Re: Painted (5/5)

[(Anonymous)]

he saw the light leave his eyes, his blood painting a picture across the ground, trails pooling around him like broken wings - Guh. Okay, so that was the tiniest detail ever, and I'm not an artist by any means, but it gave me such a vivid mental image that I had to give it a go.

HAVE A FANARTS, ANON. http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m169/SilverAndrogyny/53930e4a.png

F-fanart?

[(Anonymous)]

Writer here: Im sorry it took so long for me to see this but -- it's awesome! *squeal* Thank you!

Re: F-fanart?

[(Anonymous)]

You are most welcome :D

Re: Painted (5/5)

[(Anonymous)]

Some OP I am. I fail to see this.
; A; Kadarrrrrrr. So saaaddd.