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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Welcome to the Brotherhood

∆ 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 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

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It was something Altair had never forgotten – Malik was still an Assassin, even if the black robes falling over his shoulders and brushing his thighs were that of a scholar, and as an Assassin, he was as much a master of stealth as he was of the pen. Admittedly, Altair did choke a little when he opened his eyes and found Malik's fingers snaking around his erection, brusquely pushing his own fingers away to take charge, and he instinctively backed up against the chair he had been reclining against, face still flushed and mouth half-open in short, hurried pants.

Malik quirked a brow.

“You were busy,” Altair breathed out quietly, the ends of his words degenerating into hums as Malik stepped in and began stroking, the circle of his fingers rough and tight as it slid against heated skin. There was very little gentleness in it, because gentleness is not what they needed from each other, and in a world where men bartered and traded with the lives of others, gentleness had nothing to do with love.

“As if you let that stop you, Altair, when you began calling my name loud enough for me to hear from the other room,” Malik shot back with a scoff as Altair, apparently having recovered from his uncharacteristic bout of shock, reached up to slide his dai robes down his shoulders, reached back to undo his sash and belt, reached down to tug his tunic up and off. The Grandmaster himself was already stripped down to just his breeches, hanging low on his hips in the privacy of his personal study, and when Malik put one knee on the edge of the seat, Altair raised his legs obligingly, letting the other man's legs slip underneath him and crowd into what little space the chair had to offer.

Malik was not surprised when he pulled open the first drawer of Altair's desk and found what he needed there. “You have laid a trap for me, Altair,” he remarked, half-amused, half-exasperated, as common in most of their interactions these days, leaving Altair's arousal in favor of dipping his fingers into the viscous oil. Altair made an impatient, gutteral grunt, but his hands were too busy bracing themselves on the armrest, threading into Malik's hair, blunt fingernails dragging across his scalp and tightening into a fist once he found purchase in the short strands.

“And you have fallen into it,” Altair replied, pressing his smile against Malik's mouth to hide it, for it was in his nature to conceal everything, just as it was in Malik's to notice, and just because Malik could not see it, didn't mean he couldn't feel it under his tongue, in the beating of the heart pressed against the right side of his chest, in the muscles straining just so that Altair could push himself higher toward, closer to, and around him. He let out a sharp exhale as fingers slid into him, and a louder one as Malik followed suit shortly after, both sounds that the other man swallowed and drank of, hand slick now against Altair's length with lubricant and beading evidence of the younger man's pleasure.

“By my choice,” Malik forcefully pointed out, punctuating it with a sharp jerk of his hips, until Altair had no choice (by gravity) nor desire (by heart) but to fall against him, and he bit and chased his way along Altair's strong jaw until he found his mouth, and even then he nipped and forced his way through, because Assassins only went down fighting. The hand in his hair went lax, slid down his nape until Altair hooked it around his neck, fingers pressing four-point bruises into his spine. There was a killer's strength in that hand, and it was dangerous to have it anywhere close to his throat, but Malik could only feel the thrill in his veins, the rush of heat that spirals down from every point of contact to pool under his stomach, and he loved this, this feeling and this person, even if he didn't love them enough to say it out loud, or even if he loved them too much to.

It was something Altair had never forgotten – Malik was still an Assassin, even if the black robes falling over his shoulders and brushing his thighs were that of a scholar, and as an Assassin, he was as much a master of stealth as he was of the pen. Admittedly, Altair did choke a little when he opened his eyes and found Malik's fingers snaking around his erection, brusquely pushing his own fingers away to take charge, and he instinctively backed up against the chair he had been reclining against, face still flushed and mouth half-open in short, hurried pants.

Malik quirked a brow.

“You were busy,” Altair breathed out quietly, the ends of his words degenerating into hums as Malik stepped in and began stroking, the circle of his fingers rough and tight as it slid against heated skin. There was very little gentleness in it, because gentleness is not what they needed from each other, and in a world where men bartered and traded with the lives of others, gentleness had nothing to do with love.

“As if you let that stop you, Altair, when you began calling my name loud enough for me to hear from the other room,” Malik shot back with a scoff as Altair, apparently having recovered from his uncharacteristic bout of shock, reached up to slide his dai robes down his shoulders, reached back to undo his sash and belt, reached down to tug his tunic up and off. The Grandmaster himself was already stripped down to just his breeches, hanging low on his hips in the privacy of his personal study, and when Malik put one knee on the edge of the seat, Altair raised his legs obligingly, letting the other man's legs slip underneath him and crowd into what little space the chair had to offer.

Malik was not surprised when he pulled open the first drawer of Altair's desk and found what he needed there. “You have laid a trap for me, Altair,” he remarked, half-amused, half-exasperated, as common in most of their interactions these days, leaving Altair's arousal in favor of dipping his fingers into the viscous oil. Altair made an impatient, gutteral grunt, but his hands were too busy bracing themselves on the armrest, threading into Malik's hair, blunt fingernails dragging across his scalp and tightening into a fist once he found purchase in the short strands.

“And you have fallen into it,” Altair replied, pressing his smile against Malik's mouth to hide it, for it was in his nature to conceal everything, just as it was in Malik's to notice, and just because Malik could not see it, didn't mean he couldn't feel it under his tongue, in the beating of the heart pressed against the right side of his chest, in the muscles straining just so that Altair could push himself higher toward, closer to, and around him. He let out a sharp exhale as fingers slid into him, and a louder one as Malik followed suit shortly after, both sounds that the other man swallowed and drank of, hand slick now against Altair's length with lubricant and beading evidence of the younger man's pleasure.

“By my choice,” Malik forcefully pointed out, punctuating it with a sharp jerk of his hips, until Altair had no choice (by gravity) nor desire (by heart) but to fall against him, and he bit and chased his way along Altair's strong jaw until he found his mouth, and even then he nipped and forced his way through, because Assassins only went down fighting. The hand in his hair went lax, slid down his nape until Altair hooked it around his neck, fingers pressing four-point bruises into his spine. There was a killer's strength in that hand, and it was dangerous to have it anywhere close to his throat, but Malik could only feel the thrill in his veins, the rush of heat that spirals down from every point of contact to pool under his stomach, and he loved this, this feeling and this person, even if he didn't love them enough to say it out loud, or even if he loved them too much to.

Altair knew; he had to, groaning out quiet, nearly reverent words and half-sentences like a mantra to make up for everything they didn't say, and even though it was only repetitions of Malik's name, and Yes', and Now's and things that his tongue could not shape into words fast enough when Malik filled him and seemed to press every spot inside of him at once, Malik could hear it just the same, the Me too, the For always. “I wouldn't have any it any other way,” Altair said, the last coherent thing he managed to get out before he felt everything swell to the point that he wondered how the two of them could possibly still fit in that chair, when every sensation was large enough to fill the entire room, and it wasn't white he saw behind his eyelids when he burst wide open, it was blue, deep as a sapphire but bright as the sky, blue, blue, blue-

-----
Desmond desynchronized with a shuddering gasp, because he couldn't, couldn't possibly know what it was like to have his heart wind up and spring like that, even if he knew lust and physical pleasure and sex. He woke up to see Shaun hovering over him with slight alarm in the dip of his frown, and how could they have possibly thought it was a good idea to go back and explore Altair's hidden memories like they had pried into Ezio's of Christina? Just because the girls were out and Desmond, in the name of curiosity, had proposed it, and Shaun, in the name of fucking history had agreed?

“Desmond, mate, you all together there?” Shaun asked, because these days, the things that were wrong with Desmond were not at all physical, and it was less a matter of being all there than it was of being all right. Curse his pale English complexion, too, because he was obviously fully aware of the red tint to his cheeks and was running a hand over his face to hide it.

“I- oh,” Desmond said, and as intelligent of a response it was, it was not in Arabic or Italian, which was a good sign, at the very least. It seemed to take genuine effort for him to pry his fingers off the armrests of the animus, and only then did he become painfully aware of the discomfort between his own legs, and the tenting visual evidence of it that Shaun was clearly trying not to look at. He blinked back up at the other man, not even ashamed, because it was a natural reaction, both physiologically and intrinsically in the face of emotions like that, and he sat back from, easing the tension in his body that wasn't rightfully his. “God,” he said, fingers twitching because they could still feel someone's skin under them.

“Look a little shaken up there,” Shaun remarked, always a proponent of understanding sympathy, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He sat down on the foot of the Animus' seat, Desmond's knee bumping against his back. “Not that I can exactly blame you there, I mean technically, we've just acquired, if you want to get technical about it, the first recorded video documentation of historical pornography, that's all. And homoerotic, to add insult to injury. Bet we could make a fortune on that if we weren't, you know, preoccupied with saving the world and all.”

Desmond was glad for that humor, at least, even if the hollow pang in his heart was echoing without someone else to answer it. That was another time, another place, another person, he reminded himself, as he commonly had to consciously recall these days. “Shaun, don't tell-”

“I won't,” Shaun said, looking over his shoulder. They stared at each other for a moment, before he finally asked, “Did it hurt?”

Oh, Desmond thought, for the second time that day, realizing that Shaun had been misunderstanding, that he thought Desmond was shaken up because it had been traumatizing, and Desmond shook his head, smiling wryly. Then, thinking better, he amended it with, “Maybe a little.”

Shaun started. “I need to tell Rebecca-”

Desmond sat up and stopped him with a hand on his arm. “And give her something else to blast on her speakers? No thanks.” He only let go when he was sure Shaun wouldn't make a run for it, and judging from the unimpressed curl of his lip at the thought of Rebecca and her particular choice in noise (not music), the chances were pretty safe. Desmond let his hand slide from Shaun's arm to his chest, bumping his knuckles over his heart. “It hurt here, a little,” he explained, wondering if such fine points that had nothing to do with historical intrigue and conspiracy theories would be lost on the other man.

Shaun glanced down. “Oh,” he said, and Desmond smiled in amusement until he felt a hand cover his own, sliding over the back of his palm and the ring finger bending at the knuckle to bump against his. Shaun didn't look at him, but neither of them pulled away. “You should go get that checked out, you bloody wanker,” he added quietly, under his breath, and distantly, despite the fact that he could see Shaun's mouth forming the callous words, for a second, something blue clouded his vision, and though it might have been just bleeding artifacts from the session, Desmond almost thought he heard something else.

{ooc; So sorry OP. >: I couldn't manage to fit that Shaun/Desmond in there.}

AND I STILL MANAGED TO FUCK UP THE HTML IN PART TWO oh just fml

* gentleness was not
* spiraled
* a thousand other tense fixes that I probably can't even pick up right now

BUT EVEN WITH ALL YOUR HTML WOES, ANON, I STILL THOUGHT THIS WAS GREAT<3

unf!

This was lovely! The AltMal scene was hawt as hell and their banter was delicious. I especially loved this line:

even then he nipped and forced his way through, because Assassins only went down fighting.
So true and so very delicious. :3

You may not have fit in Shaun/Desmond sexytimes, but I think the scene at the end was wonderfully sweet and just right for the mood of the fic as a whole. Great fill, writer!anon!

Thank you for the H O T sexiness! :D hey man, it didn't even need any Shaun/Des sexytime! I'm happy with the way you filled my request :)

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

azure (1/3)

SOB WITH RIGHT HTML THIS TIME IGNORE THAT FIRST ONE

2/3

3/3

author!anon

also typo fixes

Re: 3/3

Re: 3/3

Re: 3/3