asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.2
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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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List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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Discussion

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Lorenzo/Gioivanni (In that order). D/s-ish, sadomasochistic fun. 8D

Failures are unacceptable to Lorenzo; Giovanni fails one of his assassination assignments from Lorenzo at some point. As punishment, he withdraws his presence from Giovanni and bars him from seeking him out for a period of time; all is forgiven and Gio's back into Il Magnifico's good graces after Lorenzo summons him to the palazzo sometime during the night.

POINTS AND ANON'S ADMIRATION IF WRITE!ANON CAN INCLUDE A HORSE CROP AND GIO'S LOVELY FLESH. *A*

Anon is just craving for some good angst on Gio's part. GIO MUST FEEL HORRIBLE AND CRUSHED AFTER FAILING LORENZO AND CRAVE BEING FORGIVEN. C:

THIS. TTTTTTTHHHHHHIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. IT WOULD MAKE MY LIFE.

This writer!anon might contribute skills to such a worthy endeavour :V

Anon would be much obliged if writer!anon would embark upon this endeavour!

Sweet mother of god, somebody fill this.

I.

Giovanni had braced himself for sharp words or even anger, but the unexpected silence and faintly pursed lips were somehow worse. Lorenzo turned his eyes back down to his ledger, and as the minutes ticked by, Giovanni weighed the feasibility of attempting to apologize again. Lorenzo tended to treat repetition with impatience.

Eventually, Lorenzo tapped the tip of his quill against his mouth, drawing Giovanni's attention, as usual, helplessly to the thin line of his lips. The assassin couldn't outright recall when was the last time that Lorenzo had allowed him a lover's kiss; sentimentality bored the ruler of Firenze. "Leave."

Giovanni had been expecting as much. Swallowing guilt and bitter self-disappointment, Giovanni bowed deep. "Very well, Altezza."

"And tell the guard to call Oreste."

That drew Giovanni up short. Oreste was one of the Medici's hired blades, and he was fairly decent at his work, but he would hardly succeed where Giovanni had failed. "Altezza, Oreste is-"

"Go, Giovanni," Lorenzo said coldly, annotating his ledger, and swallowing his retort and his hurt pride, Giovanni bowed again, padding silently for the door to the room rather than leaving via the window. Just before he opened it, Lorenzo added, as an afterthought, "And do not come back to see me until I send for you."

"Si, Altezza," Giovanni said, as meekly as possible, somewhat puzzled at the reminder. Not seeing out Lorenzo unless he had orders sent to him was, after all, business as usual. He murmured Lorenzo’s orders to the waiting guard, then pulled himself up onto the roof, ignoring their stifled whispers of astonishment.

It was a pleasant night, cool and crisp with a fresh easterly breeze, but as Giovanni walked slowly back towards his apartment, heavy hearted, he found that he could not enjoy it. Lorenzo’s ire was not new to him, nor disappointment, but his failure had been fairly spectacular by all counts, and all due to a miscalculation on the changing of the subject’s guard. He could only hope that the mark wouldn’t be able to link him back to his master.

Calling Oreste, Giovanni decided, as he navigated a rope line with care, gritting his teeth against the growing pain from the arrow wound in his flank as the painkillers began to wear off, was probably just pragmatism. It would have been just like Lorenzo to notice that he was wounded. And besides, perhaps Giovanni himself was just being sensitive. Oreste might just have been called for a different sort of matter. Lorenzo would not allow all of his assassins, hired or not, to remain idle.

So decided, Giovanni was in a better mood when he dressed his wound in the safehouse, resting fitfully until the morning, then somehow managing to drag himself to the bank to work.

Days passed until Giovanni was fully healed again, and still no missive came from Lorenzo. Puzzled, Giovanni took to checking the pigeon coop on the roof of the tailor’s shop twice a day, then thrice. The pigeons were going fat and bored. Now concerned about his master, but unwilling to disobey a direct order, Giovanni scribbled a polite query and attached it to the foot of a pigeon.

The answer returned within the hour. I have no use for you at present. Await further orders.

After another week of inaction, Giovanni was beginning to chafe. Uberto seemed amused at his impatience, when the assassin complained to his old friend. The gonfaloniere was busy drafting submissions to the Doge, his famous mind clearly adrift in precedent and process, and he shot Giovanni a long and thoughtful stare when the assassin finished.

“So your master has no one for you to kill. Then you should rejoice, no?”

“If you put it that way,” Giovanni grumbled, then added, when Uberto smirked, “Surely there is something. The last mark that I was asked to assassinate, there were other links in the chain that would bear watching, at the very least.”

“Well then, perhaps Oreste is doing the watching.”

“Oreste can barely draw his blade without bleeding himself.”

It was an unfair statement to make, and Uberto’s avvocato mind picked up on it instantly. “Oreste has been fairly successful to date. And he is quite a few years younger than you are.”

“What are you implying, that Lorenzo would replace me?” Giovanni said sharply, angry and troubled by the implication. Certainly the years would not be kind to an assassin, but he had thought that Lorenzo would at least allow him a chance to redeem himself. Particularly since Lorenzo had allowed him to share his bed only about a week or so before the ill-fated mission.

“I think it would happen eventually. The Medici family, they are ruthless,” Uberto said, and he lowered his eyes to the legal brief, scanning it. “Perhaps you are not aware.”

Perhaps he should have been more vigorous in his defense of his mistake. “Uberto, you speak with Lorenzo sometimes, do you not? You move in the same circles. Could you try to ascertain – subtly – what is wrong?”

“You do not need to be an avvocato to see what is wrong, old friend. Once he can make no further profit from you, Lorenzo will cast you aside.”

“I do not think it will be like that.”

“Oh, very well. Perhaps I can mention something to il Magnifico when he next graces the Doge’s offices with his presence. But I will make you no promises.”

“Grazie, Uberto,” Giovanni said gratefully.

Uberto’s answer, however, returned within a few days. L. has not quite forgiven you.

Giovanni wrote a quick response, tying it back on the long-suffering pigeon. What do you mean, ‘not quite’?

A quick jog around the roofs and an intervention to prevent a thief from robbing a passing woman after, Uberto’s response arrived. No confirmation that you have been replaced by O. Knowing Uberto, Giovanni thought sourly as he folded up the missive and tore it carefully to shreds, he probably just meant ‘no written confirmation’. Avvocati habits died hard.

Are you sure? Giovanni wrote a reply.

I charge by the hour. Also, you are paranoid. L. said you are yet one of several of his choices. I gather that you must have annoyed him terribly. Uberto had a healthy sense of schadenfreude.

It took him a few days to draft a suitably humble, neutral query to Lorenzo about the mark and any associated work, then another, when no response was forthcoming. On the cusp of the next week, Lorenzo’s response returned, curt and flat. Nothing further at present.

Swallowing hard, Giovanni exhaled out loud as he dug his fingers into his palm, startling the pigeons in their coop into cooing. An ugly emotion was coiling tight into an ache in his chest, but he dared not risk more of Lorenzo’s ire by disobeying and going to the palazzo anyway. Distracted at work, Giovanni spent it trying to mentally draft a suitable apology that Lorenzo would accept, and failed to balance any books whatsoever.

Silence greeted the first apology, then Stop wasting my time addressed the second. At the third, somewhat more desperately worded plea for clemency, Lorenzo seemed to have relented. Come tonight.

Giovanni exhaled in relief even as he read the note again, then destroyed it, before climbing up to leap to the next terrace house. It would not do to be late.

-tbc maybe. ;3-

Whut the hell, maybe? Such hooking fic must be continued!

So, pwetty please, writer!anon, continue this!

M-maybe?

PLEASE ANON. DO NOT LEAVE THIS LOWLY ANON HANGING LIKE THIS. Q___Q

Please, writer!anon, do continue! Anon here loved it so far, and is dying to read more of this pair <3

I'm not sure what some anonymous person could possibly offer you to continue this, but please. PLEASE. There needs to be more amazing Giovanni/Lorenzo in the world. Besides, how much fun will it be to write out Lorenzo being his snark-tastic self?

... an anonymous first born child, perhaps? lol.

OP.

ASEKFJHEGFW--THIS IS. VERY RELEVANT. TO MY INTERESTS.
ALREADY FAPPING FOREVER.

/HEARTS WRITE!ANON.
/BEGS TO CONTINUE.

I charge by the hour. Also, you are paranoid.

THIS IS THE BEST. LINE. EVER. On so many levels. Character, place in narrative, and sheer literal LOL-inducing surprise. Thank you.

II.

Giovanni had to mentally reiterate to himself that he personally had nothing against Oreste. The Medici assassin was a man of few words, often morose and silent, and once Giovanni had tailed him for fun and found out that despite being a fairly young man, younger even than Lorenzo, Oreste was supporting a family on the outskirts of the city, with a wife and three little girls to feed and provide for. Further investigation in the neighborhood had revealed that it wasn’t his wife at all, but an older sister ‘abandoned’ by her abusive husband.

So in that regard, Giovanni actually had respect for Oreste on a personal level. Still, it took all of his self-control to keep his silence when Oreste opened the door to Lorenzo’s office, even if he was evidently on his way out of it. The man tended to cowl himself in grays over merchant-like clothes, and he wore no weapons openly. He nodded when he recognized Giovanni, stepping aside. “Messer.”

Giovanni nodded at him and forced himself to keep his tone even. “Buona sera, Messer.”

“Lord Lorenzo is expecting you,” Oreste said, unnecessarily, then he bowed again and stalked away on silent feet. Dust coated his boots, and he had smelled as if he had been out riding. On missions, perhaps. His mood souring fast, Giovanni let himself into the spacious office and locked the door behind him.

Lorenzo was standing at the window, his hands folded behind his back, staring out over Firenze. “Giovanni.”

“Milord.” Giovanni had prepared a careful apology that had since frozen to an awkward stop in his throat.

“I may have been… abrupt with you,” Lorenzo said, after the silence stretched uncomfortably. “Perhaps I owe you an explanation.”

Giovanni straightened, surprised. This was unexpected. “Lord Lorenzo-”

“Silence, Giovanni,” Lorenzo snapped, with a touch of his usual impatience, then his voice smoothed back into velvet. “You do good work at my bank, usually. Your supervisors and the manager have nothing but praise for you.”

“Grazie, milord,” Giovanni said, puzzled. “I try my best.”

“As you do at everything you do?”

“I try.”

“So I believe.” Lorenzo said, quietly, rounding back to stand beside his desk, his arms folded, piercing eyes unreadable. “Growing old is not something to be ashamed of, Giovanni. It will happen to all of us. Even did you not already work for me as a banker, the Medici will provide for all of its own. Oreste, for example. He has no head for numbers, for anything other than bladework. Some day he may die, or be incapacitated. I will still provide for him and his family, as long as I am able.”

Giovanni finally saw where this was headed. “It was but one mistake, milord, one which I am heartily sorry for. Give me another chance, per favore. I can still do this for you.”

“You have served me long and well since I was a child, Giovanni. If by my previous tone or demeanor I have made your retirement seem like dismissal or disgrace, then I apologize.”

It was gracefully said, but anger still colored Giovanni’s tone as he retorted, “I said that I can still serve you, milord, and I will. I am still the best that you have.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Lorenzo shot back. “I have relied on you for too long, Giovanni, relied on you for everything of importance. Now I have come to the distinct realization that no others in my deck of blades is as sharp as you, or as cunning, and that… that is weakness.”

Giovanni rocked back on his heels, stunned by the vehemence in Lorenzo’s tone. “But-”

“You serve two masters.” Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “And despite that, I still lean far too heavily on you. That will change. Giovanni,” he continued wearily, when Giovanni frowned, “By your very report, you were nearly killed.”

“The wound was not so serious.”

“But it could have been. You are growing slower, Giovanni. Older. As I said,” Lorenzo added sharply, “This is an observation. We all in God’s will grow older and slower. If I must lose you then let it be to see you buried with honor rather than for you to lie dead and unknown in some alley because you were too slow to dodge a blow.”

So that was it. Giovanni allowed himself a wry smile, and advanced carefully, palms wide, as though approaching a spooked horse. Lorenzo watched him warily, but allowed Giovanni to stroke up his arms to his shoulders, then down his tensed back. “Milord, a long time ago I told a child that my blade could not be bought. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Lorenzo said, tight-lipped, but he did not pull away. Lorenzo did not appreciate casual mentions about his childhood, particularly of his pre-adolescent years, when he was still given to pranks.

“Just as my blade had to be earned and not bought, once earned, it cannot be put away. Understand?” Giovanni leaned forward, brushing a kiss over Lorenzo’s forehead. “It will be yours, and it will draw blood in your defense. With or without your direction. With or without your blessing.” He ventured a kiss, lower, between Lorenzo’s eyes, then lower still, brushing unyielding lips. “If you send me away, then I will go. But for as long as I can I will walk in the shadows around you, to clear your way.”

“Giovanni,” Lorenzo whispered, “You are impossible.”

“Guilty, milord.” The next kiss was more promising; lips parted, and Lorenzo leaned up into it, though his back was still rigid under Giovanni’s caresses. This was going to take a little more coaxing than he had hoped. “So let me make up my mistake to you, master. And then fly me again by your will.”

“You want to make this up to me?” Lorenzo sounded speculative now, which was a good sign.

“Yes.”

“I,” Lorenzo told him, slyly now, “Have a riding crop in the second drawer of my desk.”

“I know that.” Giovanni reminded him, arching an eyebrow. “It was your sister the Lady Nannina’s gift to you. A reminder not to work too hard, I believe.”

“Perhaps I should take her advice. Fetch it for me.”

Puzzled, Giovanni obeyed, drawing the crop out from the drawer. It was dark leather, beautifully made, its handle richly inscribed with silver and gold thread. Nannina de’ Medici had good taste. He handed it to Lorenzo, handle first, and blinked in realization when Lorenzo clapped the flexible tress at the end into his bare hand, with a whispery slap. Ah.

Lorenzo watched him until heat climbed up Giovanni’s cheeks and his eyes darkened, then the young lord smiled, his gaze dark and intense. “Leave your breeches and your boots. Remove everything else.”

fuck. yes.

seriously anon. i love you so fucking much right now. everything about this is perfect.

[A/N: Not into writing pain so I will keep the rest of this short. ;3]

III.

The first, whispery slap of leather against his back only stung faintly, and Giovanni found himself a little… disappointed. Admittedly, he did not think that Lorenzo would go so far as to damage him: it would be a waste of resources if Giovanni were to be incapacitated for no reason other than play; but he did think that-

When he hissed at the second, sharper blow, his master chuckled, somewhere behind him. “Your mind wanders, Giovanni.”

“Mi dispiace, milord.” It took several more blows before he shuddered, back arched, fingers curled into the edge of the desk, licking his lips. Lorenzo wasn’t timing it, making the blows difficult to anticipate, and it was, against all odds, good. Cathartic. Giovanni breathed out, his very gasp of air trembling gently.

“I may bleed you,” Lorenzo said, his voice rougher now, a gloved palm stroking a slow circle at the small of his back.

“Yes,” Giovanni whispered by way of reply; he wanted it.

“Choose a word. If you speak it, I will stop.” Lips brushed gently against his spine, just under the nape of his neck, and he could feel Lorenzo’s warmth, so close, almost pressed up against him, all intimate, shared heat.

“Vecchio,” Giovanni decided, after casting his mind around wildly for a word, distracted as he was by gloved fingers walking up his back to trace his ribs. “Milord-”

“ ‘Vecchio’ it is.” Lorenzo nipped him and drew away; Giovanni moaned, almost risking a glance behind him, then he choked and arched instead as the next blow snapped hard enough to draw blood. Lorenzo hummed, pressing gloved thumbs against the edges of the wound, likely smudging the seeping blood over his skin, then Giovanni growled as the leather handle rubbed slyly up the crease of his breeches between his right thigh and his pelvis.

“One,” Lorenzo murmured, almost reverently, as he bent to press his lips just above the wound, and Giovanni whined.

When the riding crop was finally dropped onto the ground, Giovanni was curled over the table, on his elbows, breathing shallowly, leaning his entire weight against it, his legs shaky. The pain had long blurred into a continuous, hot ache that burned in a flat plane over his back, and he could recall no words but his master’s name. Heavy cloth rustled, then gloved hands were sliding up his flank, wet with his blood. He was hard; dully, Giovanni supposed he probably had been, from the very first blow, and his breaths turned wet and labored as the gloved hands curled briefly over the back of his neck, possessive.

“Good,” Lorenzo murmured, and kissed him on the back of his skull, then his neck, his voice harsh and near unrecognisable. “Very good.”

Giovanni risked a glance up, in time to see Lorenzo circling around, probably about to get some salve. Quickly, ignoring the flare of pain across his back, Giovanni leaned over to press Lorenzo down onto his chair, and sank down on his knees, trembling, looking up, questioning, pleading. Lorenzo bent, to slant their lips together, then he smiled, leaning back, and spread his thighs beside Giovanni’s shoulders, the tent in his breeches deliciously obvious.

“By your pleasure then, Giovanni.”

Lorenzo was already close; Giovanni felt the insistent throb through the heavy, musky weight on his tongue and moaned, ignoring the warning tug on his hair to push deeper, and deeper down still, until his master growled and bucked, choking him, thighs pressed tight against the sweating arch of his shoulders and Giovanni’s name strung taut on Lorenzo’s lips.

Eyes closed, panting and undone, Lorenzo was perfection, a libertine sprawled over his throne with a pretty flush on high cheeks, his rich clothes all in dishabille. Giovanni fumbled with his breeches until he took himself in hand, and squeezed, three hard, rough strokes until he spent himself, his cheek pressed hard against his master’s inner thigh.

Lorenzo did not speak again until he had finished cleaning, then salving Giovanni’s wounds with a basin of clean water and cloth that he had called for and the jar of salve in his desk. Giovanni submitted to the process quietly, eyes closed, concentrating on steadying his breathing, subverting pain and pleasure both into a thorny sense of careful peace. He looked up only when bloodied gloves were folded on the desk, Lorenzo washing his hands fastidiously in the basin.

“There was an old woman in the courtyard the other day,” Lorenzo said at last, neutrally. “One of those fortune tellers. They are very popular with the maids.” Giovanni did not speak, hazily content, and Lorenzo continued, “I gave her a florin because Nannina told me to. The old woman looked at my palm, and told me that a wolf from Roma would pluck the eagle from my wrist, in the seat of my power.”

“Milord,” Giovanni said gently, but Lorenzo ignored the interruption.

“I know. Those fortune tellers, they will say what they can to get money from you. Nannina saw that I was upset, and bade her leave. And then you were late in returning, and sent no word, so I thought-” Lorenzo fell silent, abruptly, his fingers lingering over Giovanni’s shoulders.

The assassin sighed, soft and low. “Some day I will die, Lorenzo. It is unavoidable, and will come to us all.”

“I know,” Lorenzo had his lips pressed against his neck, breathing in, and out. “I know.”

“But until then…” Giovanni turned, taking up Lorenzo’s right hand, to brush a kiss over his ring. “Fear ill becomes you, Magnifico.”

Lorenzo glared at him, with a spark of his usual haughty pride, but he allowed Giovanni to lean up, press his palms over his master’s cheeks, and pull him down.

-fin…! sorry for the wait.-

*clutches heart*

I just went through an emotional roller coaster reading this: starting with sympathetic guilt, anxiety, relief, YAYSTARTINGWITHTHERIDINGCROPNOW, OMGFUCKINGHOTYEAH, and finally so much tenderness for both of them that I just want to steal them from Ubisoft's storyline and run away with them somewhere they could live happily ever after. Something that appears like BDSM fun first then turns out to be laden with so much foreshadowing of the future tragedy that the pathos is really affecting.

I don't have much words other than your fill's ending makes me want to find a nice quiet corner and ~~grieve~~ cry my fangirl heart out.

OP WONDERS IF OP KNOWS YOU. DURRRR. KNOW YOU. :T

OP loves you forever. OP hopes you know that. FOREVER. JUST. UGGHHHHH.

/GOING TO SAVE THIS AND READ IT WHEN INTERNET IS DOWN.

ksjdfglkdjhalskdjasdkfh worth the wait. worth the wait. WORTH THE WAIT. ;a; so much amazing ffffff

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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