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

((I really hope you enjoy this. It's my first ever Kink!Fill and I'm having fun writing it.))

"Alright, Mr. Miles, that's enough for today."

The sharp voice of Lucy Stilman pulled him out of ancient memories. With a small groan, Desmond Miles sat up on the Animus table.

He had just gone through a rather brutal memory of a Master assassin that involved some shameless novice ass-kickery. Aparently the only so recently appointed Grand Master of the Assassin's wasn't taking the new title so smoothly. Well, that wasn't totally accruate. The Master was taking the title just fine, it was the novices that were having a problem with it. Apparently, they just couldn't believe that the previous Grand Master, a rather horrifing man by the name of Al Mualim, had gone bat shit insane and decided it would be a good day to create twenty copies of himself. When it was stated that way, yea, it was a little hard to believe. But it all happened. Desmond should know, he had to relive them.

Desmond was one of those special people that held the memories of long dead ancestors inside his DNA. His ancestor just happened to be one of the greatest assassin's in history; Altair Ibn La-Ahad. Because of his stellar ability a pharmaceutical company by the name of Abstargo decided it would be just dandy to stick him in a machine to read said man's memories. Why, he didn't know, nor did he really care. All he cared about was the fact that he was now stuck in the Abstargo building with no connection to the outside world. He did have one connection, Lucy Stilman.

She was a sexy, blonde goddess walking on two legs. Atleast, that's what he thought, considering the only other living thing he saw day in and day out was Arthur Viddic. And if he thought that man was attractive then he would just have to flush his own head down the stainless steel toilet in his room.

"Come on, Desmond. Let's get you to bed, you don't look so good," she whispered, her blue eyes deep with concern.

He nodded and allowed the living Aphrodite to lead him back to his bedroom. Once inside, she pushed him toward the bed.

"I'll see if I can get Viddic to shorten tomorrow's session. For now, just try and get some rest, okay?" She smiled vaguely and left. The door slid shut behind her with a hiss. A short click followed and Desmond was happily reminded that the locking mechanism was still in working order.

Desmond let out another groan. "Shorten the session? Yea, right," he grumbled. He turned to look at the bed, which was starting to sound pretty good, actually, when everything tilted just slightly to the left. "Whoa," he breathed, holding up his hands to right himself. Only, it didn't work so well. Instead of everything going back to normal, an oddly place crack of thunder sounded and Desmond felt himself falling.

"What the--?"

Before he could finish his perfectly thought out curse, his world went black and so did his thoughts.

When Desmond's vision, and thought, returned, he found himself in a completely different place. To be precise, it was on top of a man, in the middle of a mountain range that looked shockingly familiar and yet totally wrong.

Before he could get a good look around, he was tackled off of the body and shoved, rather harshly he might add, to the ground. A blade pressed against his throat.

"Who are you?" Yet another shockingly familiarity.

He blinked the dust and shock out of his eyes and focused on the man above him. Yup, that was him. That was Altair Ibn La-Ahad. Although, what he was doing on top of him was beyond Desmond at the moment.

"D-desmond!" He squeaked, throwing up his hands in defense and defeat.

The blade, nor the man, moved away.

"Where did you come from?" Altair hissed, his teeth bared in a growl.

"New York," he said.

In retrospect, it wasn't such a good answer, considering the fact that the blade felt it was a good time to press closer to his skin and draw blood.

"I don't know where that is but I do know that it isn't from anywhere around here." Altair huffed and sat up just slightly. "How did you come to fall onto my target?" He asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the, now crushed, Templar.

Desmond shrugged. When the blade continued to dig into his flesh, he stammered, "honestly! I have no idea! One minute, I'm standing in my bedroom and the next I'm falling on Templars! Please, you gotta believe me."

Hesitantly, Altair moved away and, thankfully, so did the blade. The tall, lean half-Arabic man stood up and glared down at the other male. His gold eyes were sharp under his hood and offered no source of comfort. Quite suddenly, Desmond understood why Altair's nickname was The Great Eagle. "I do not believe you but you did help and for that I offer my thanks," he said, stiffly.

"Over here! The assassin ran this way!"

Loud, angry voices echoed through the mountain canyon. Not a second later the sound of pounding, heavy, feet followed.

Altair glanced over his shoulder, then back to Desmond. He took in the slim, tan male with the matching scar. Apparently, he did not approve of what he saw for he reached down and grabbing the front of his hoodie forced him to his feet. "Come with me if you want to live," he stated.

"Yes, Terminator," Desmond replied, unable to think of anything else to say or do.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

With that, Altair was off leaving a throughly blown-away-Desmond to scamble after him.

After what felt like an obnoxiously long time for any sane person to be running, Desmond found himself being led right up to the front gates of Masyaf itself. His jaw dropped open. The place was huge. Honestly, the memories didn't do it justice. The gates towered over him, daunting and challenging anyone to just try and break them down.

"Wait, Altair!" He hissed and reached over to grab the older man.

Altair jerked and pulled away, his eyes wide. "How do you know my name?" He asked, his hidden blade snapped out and ready to take another name.

"Uhm, you told me?" Desmond, replied, grimacing and pulling is hand back.

"No, I didn't."

Desmond shook his head and growled. "Not that point. The point is, won't I stand out a little too much if I go waltzing into Masyaf after you? I mean, I don't exactly look like I belong," he said, gesturing at his clothing. While it was a very good point, Desmond was acutally just trying to stall time so he could he rationalize his situation.

It wasn't working.

Altair considered this a moment. "Follow me." He turned and stepped down a hidden path that led, presumably, to the backside of Masyaf.

"Where are we going?" Desmond asked.

"To Masyaf."

"I got that. I meant, which side of Masyaf," he snapped. He felt extremely irritated and certainly felt justified in his snappish tone. His response was silence. A snort escaped. "A man of few words," he grumbled.

It was in total silence, that Altair led Desmond through a rocky path all the way to the back gardens. These gardens only belonged to the Grand Master and his harem. Altair climbed gracefully up the cliffside, up and over the wall and into the garden. Desmond, on the other hand, stumbled, cursed and flopped his way to the top. When he finally threw himself over the wall, Altair was already stepping inside the grand building.

"Fuck."

He sucked in a deep breath and followed Altair's path through the gardens, up the steps and inside. He tried to ignore the scandalized looks from the beautiful men and women around him but it was a little difficult, considering how unattractive he felt around him. By the time he reached the inside, he had his hands shoved in his pockets and his head srunched down around his shoulders. His eyes were narrowed and his lower lip stuck out in, what was most certainly, a pout.

"You should keep better posture, otherwise, you will ruin your back."

Desmond's head snapped up and around.

There standing by that oh-so-recognizable desk was Altair and the one armed man that was oh-so-recognizable. That man was Malik Al-sayf. He was a demon with a sword and with his tongue. He was also a person Desmond had never planned on meeting in his life time. Then again, he hadn't really planned on being in the Crusades Era either, so it didn't seem like he had much say in the matter.

It wasn't really until that moment that it truly and totally hit Desmond that this was indeed real. He really had gone back in time, landed on a Templar, met his long dead ancestor, seen (and climbed around) Masyaf and was now talking to the once-assassin-now Dai man named Malik. His head swam and his knees turned into jell-o. The corners of his vision were starting to black out and he knew, for a fact, he wasn't going to be standing much longer.

"Holy shit."

Altair blinked and shoved his hood back. He frowned. "Malik, what happened?"

"He fainted, novice," Malik responded, looking calm, despite the fact a rather strange man had just fainted infront of him.

"I am not a novice," Altair snapped, a little huffy at the fact that his right hand man still called him that, despite his high (or rather, highest), rank.

Malik shrugged and moved around the desk to the unconcious male. Carefully, he kneeled down. "What strange clothing," he remarked. His one hand snaked out to pluck at the hoodie. It was oddly soft and pliable.

"Don't touch him," Altair hissed. He moved forward and kneeled down across from Malik, looking slightly worried.

"What do you think he's going to do? Bite me?" Malik replied, not taking his eyes off of Desmond. He frowned when he saw a similar scar on a not-so-similar face. His hand lifted and moved toward the scar before stopping at a much more intriging object. It was bright metal triangle that rested on the edge of the hood. "I wonder," he breathed. His fingers curled around the metal and pulled.

The strangest sound filled the room. It was unexplainable, like two pieces of metal hitting eachother, only very far away from the listener.

Malik's balance was thrown off. Clearly, he did not expect the sound or for the metal to pull the clothing apart. His eyes flew wide and he fell backward.

"Look at what you did! You ripped his... his... shirt thing!" Altair reprimanded, although, he too looked shocked.

"No, I didn't!" Malik replied. He regained his balance enough to hit Altair's shoulder.

"Yes, you did. Look!" He pointed at the, now, two pieces of fabric pooling on Desmond's sides.

"No. The metal thing didn't come off, maybe if I..." Malik's thoughts trailed off. He reached for the metal thing again and this time, pulled up. The strange sound came again but this time, the two pieces of fabric seemed to magically mend themselves back together.

The two men gasped and leaned forward to get a better look at this sorcery.

"Let me try." Altair knocked Malik's hand away and took hold of the metal tab. He jerked the tab down, watching the fabric split before he pulled it back up again, only to watch the fabric mend itself again. Over and over he pulled the metal tab up and down until the metalic sound was practically ringing in the wide open room.

The two assassin's watched in total and utter amazement. Until, Desmond he was going to reenter the world of the living.

He groaned and shifted before his eyes snapped open. "What the hell are you two doing?!" He shrieked and scrambled away from them. One hand dropped to his, now unzipped, hoodie and jerked it up harshly. "Haven't you ever heard of a zipper?" He demanded.

Altair and Malik exchanged glances.

"No," they replied in unison.

"So, that sorcery is called a zipper," Altair stated, nodding at the metal tab Desmond still clutched in his hand.

nonOP!anon ADORES THIS SO VERY MUCH

Glad you like! More is one it's way!

^{Once I get home from school. 8D}

THIS FIC. THIS FIC. MY GOD. IT IS GORGEOUS. WRITER ANON YOU HAVE THIS RANDOM ANON'S ADORATION. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING IT.

That part with the zipper, it was...perfect.

Writer!Anon; thank you. :3 Don't worry there is more to come with the zippers. 8D

This is AMAZING. The image of Altair and Malik playing with unconscious!Desmond's zipper is oddly heartwarming.

Looking forward to more :D

For the next three hours, Desmond found himself trying to explain that he couldn't explain just how he had ended up there. On top of that he had to go through the long suffering conversation of the fact that he came from the future. The Master Assassin and his Right Hand Man just couldn't get the concept into their heads that he most certainly wasn't from their timeframe. In the end he decided to tell them that he came from Europe and that was why he had such a strange name, accent and articles of clothing. Oddly, they excepted that much easier than the idea that he might just be from the future.

In the end, the pair gave up on questioning about his origins and moved on.

"Do you know when you will be going back?" Malik asked.

Desmond frowned. "Not a clue."

"Well, then we must get you a change of clothes. You stand out far too much," he stated. "Come, you will wear a spare set of Altair's."

Altair, who had settled himself in a chair behind his table sat up. "You can't just give away my clothes," he spluttered, looking annoyed.

Malik snorted. "What are you going to do, give him my clothes? A lot of help that'll do, especially if he wants the ability to use both arms," he snapped, gesturing at his one sewn up sleeve. Without another word, the angry Dai pulled Desmond through a hidden door in the office. It led to a small room that looked like was used when Altair stayed up late and was too tired to make it back to his own living quarters.

He gestured to a chest in the corner. "It's all in there. If you need help let me know," he said before he turned to lean against the wall next to the door.

Desmond stared at him. "Aren't you going to leave?" He asked.

"Should I?" Malik replied, looking perplexed.

"Yes, I think so," he said, glaring.

"Alright, alright!" The man turned and left the room. Vaguely, Desmond could hear an angry curse of 'Europeans' before the door shut.

As soon as he was sure that he was alone, he set to work changing out of his 'future' clothes and into the clothes of an ancestor that, until recently, he had only seen in his head. The entire process of putting on Altair's clothing was far too difficult. He just couldn't figure out which strap went where nor how everything tied together. By the time he was finished he was pretty sure his shirt was backwards, his pants were inside-out and the belt was tied incorrectly.

"Well, if I get too uncomfortable, I could always just change back," he mumbled. He turned to grab his clothes only to find they weren't there. He frowned and searched the room all over. The clothes were just no where to be found. Now, he was pretty sure he had put them on the cot. Scratching his head, he made his way out of the room and into the main office. "Hey, have you guys seen my--" He stopped. Well, now he knew where his clothes were.

Altair and Malik were sitting on the floor, each holding a piece of Desmond's clothing. Neither of them acknowledged his return, since they were too fixed on the clothes they held in their hands. Altair had found the zipper on Desmond's pants and was spending his time pulling the tinier metal tab up and down. Each time the tab went down, he chuckled vaguely to himself. Malik, on the other hand, was puzzling over the mystery that was Desmond's white sneakers.

"Hey, what are you doing? Give those back," he demanded as he moved across the office toward them.

Once more he was ignored. Their attention was completely focused on the newest article of clothing Malik had lifted up.

"What is that?" Altair asked, leaning forward to get a better look. Malik shook his head, eyeing the garment with deep interest.

'That' was what any sane future-goer would know as a pair of jet black boxers.

Dropping the pants and the exceedingly entertaining zipper, Altair grasped one part of the boxers. He found the opening for, what would normally be man's leg and decided it would be best to stick his hand inside it.

"Perhaphs it's a strange undershirt?" He suggested as his whole arm disappeared up the leg hole and reappeared at the top, where one's stomach usually resides.

If there was ever a time Desmond wished the world would suck him up, it would be now.

The next three days found Desmond touring the grand fortress of Masyaf and watching the novices train through the window of the Grand Master's office. Malik did not think it wise for Desmond to be seen by the other assassin's considering the fact he looked disgustingly similar to Altair. During those three days he learned more than he could possibly imagine about his ancestor, the assassin's and an entirely new culture. Had he been a history buff, this would have been exciting, but most of his thoughts were focused on how he was going to get back to his own time.

That was how he found himself, arguing with Altair over the Apple, yet again.

"You can not use that wretched thing," Altair growled, gesturing at the innocent gold ball that sat on his desk. "It breaks the minds of men. I wouldn't dare use it to send you back to wherever you come from."

"Then you won't even try?" He hissed, leaning over the desk.

There was a loud zip.

Over the last three days, Altair had found emense fun with Desmond's zippers and, therefore constantly played with them. Apparently, they were now very useful in ending a conversation.

"No. I will not."

There was a light knock at the door and Malik entered. He was dragging a novice assassin with him. Completely ignoring Desmond's presense, he thrust the young man forward. "This young man thought it would be quite entertaining to slander the Grand Masters name."

The novice tried to look confident but his shoulders shook slightly. His eyes were fixed on Desmond. For some strange reason he thought that the future male was the true Grand Master.

Malik frowned and silently gestured for Altair to hide himself. Smoothly, Altair dipped down behind the desk. "Go on, Grand Master," Malik said, staring straight at Desmond. This was going to be a little expiriment.

Desmond blinked. His mouth opened and closed a few times, had it been explained by a nicer person, they wouldn't say he looked like a fish. But, he did.

"Why?" He finally asked.

The novice frowned, not ready for the question, clearly. "Well, because, you are too young," he stammered.

Desmond crossed his arms. "Everyone knows that I am the youngest Master assassin. Is it not possible for me to be the Grand Master as well?" He asked, his gaze fixed on the novice. He tried to look intimidating like Altair, only it came out like a grumpy old man. Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing and had the only option of winging it and hoping it worked out.

Behind the novice, Malik looked thoughtful.

"W-well, I suppose. B-but, you do not have enough expirence," he replied.

"Not enough expirience? I, who have taken out 9 of the biggest threats to the Assassin's, one of which was Robert de Sable, don't have enough expirence?" He growled.

The novice flinched and backed up.

Desmond sighed. "Fear not, novice. I do not wish to boast to get you approval. Just know that at one time I was in the same position you are in now," he said. He threw his arms out and smiled widely. "And just look at where I am now."

The novice paused. He looked around the room then back to the man before him. Slowly, he nodded and smiled. "I see your point, Master. I think I will give you a chance then," he teased.

Desmond laughed. "Oh, well thank you, oh benevolent Novice," he said offering the young man a bow.

Malik stepped forward. "Until then, you will be helping to clean the stables," he said, dropping a hand onto the novices' shoulder and leading him toward the door. The novice groaned and left, looking grumpy. Once the door was closed, Malik turned back to Desmond, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I think we have just found something for you to do."

Desmond's eyes widened and he looked slightly nervous.

Well, now he was most certainly kept busy. Infact, he couldn't remember a time in his life when he was running around this much. Since most of the novices were having an exceedingly tough time accepting Altair's position, they needed all the encouraging they could get. Because of Desmond's uncanny similarity to the Master Assassin, Malik had come up with a brilliant idea. Therefore, for the past three days, Desmond had been running around trying to up the reputation of the new Grand Master.

The entire time he was out and about doing this, Altair had locked himself up in his office. He had stolen Desmond's 'future' pants and played with the zipper over and over. At one point, Desmond and Malik had returned to find Altair actually wearing the article of clothing; apparently he just wanted to see the zipper in action and this was the only way he could think to do it. So, for the most part, the man was left on his own to play with the zippers.

Finally, the fruits of his labor paid off.

After a week of running around, Desmond was resting in the Grand Master's office watching the two men bicker. It seemed that Malik was exceedingly annoyed with the fact that all Altair spent his time doing recently was play with Desmond's clothes.

"They are not that exciting! Allah, you are such a novice, playing like that," he snapped. When Altair only continued to ignore him for the hoodie zipper, he reached over and popped the man upside the head.

Right at the same moment, someone knocked on the door. For a split second, Malik thought he had made the noise. So did, Desmond. He stared at the one armed man, who was staring at Altair's head in shock.

When the knock came again, Malik jumped slightly and looked over at the door. A sigh of relief escaped him. Quickly, he motioned for Desmond to hide in the back room. Once he was hidden, he called, "come in."

The door opened revealing three nervous looking novices.

Altair looked up, his eyes sharp, if not a little suspicious. "Yes, novices?" He asked, trying to keep his tone light.

The three young men moved forward and bowed deeply. "We wanted to apologize," the one in the middle stated, standing back up. The other two around him nodded hurriedly.

"Have you done something wrong?" Altair asked, glancing at Malik who shrugged slightly.

The novices looked at eachother before the one on the left stepped forward, looking guilty.

"Well, yes. Grand Master, we realized that we have been judging you. As novices, we should not be doing such a thing." He paused and cleared his throat. "Obviously, you have the title of Grand Master because you earned it. It was wrong of us to think you didn't deserve it." At this point the young man was rambling. His words started to come in a rush.

One of the novices reached over and punched the rambling novices' arm.

His mouth snapped shut.

The one in the middle stepped forward again. "What we're trying to say is; we're sorry for doubting your title," he said, bowing his head again.

"When you came and spoke with us, we realized that you aren't a distant figure, you are someone who cares about the Brotherhood and what happens to it," the third and final novice spoke up.

Malik chuckled softly, drawing the novices attention. "Your words are flattering but, they grow too lenghtly. Simply say what you wish," he said. Behind him, Altair nodded with a smirk playing about his lips.

Again, the novices bowed. "We apologize for our attitudes and hope you forgive us for it," they said together, at once.

Altair laughed softly. "You are forgiven. Now, if you can get the other novices to feel the same, perhaphs I'll take you on my next mission," he said, humor in his voice. But, judging from the expression's on the young men's faces they took him completely seriously.

In the back room, Desmond sighed and smiled softly. Before this week he had been reliving his ancestor's memories with no real connection to them. Now, he truly felt apart of the man and was glad he could help make the assassin's life easier. Hopefully, this truly would change things for the better.

When he heard the door in the other room close, he moved to return to the main room. Only, everything suddenly tilted to the left. His vision got blurry and his head swam. "Oh shit," he gasped before everything spun and, then, went completely black.

---

"Mr. Miles, come on, it's time to get started." It was Lucy's sweet voice calling to him.

With a moan, Desmond sat up and looked around. He was back in his bed, with his Abstargo room back in place around him.

"Desmond, come on!" Lucy called again.

"Alright, hold on," he replied.

He pushed himself off of the bed and up to his feet. He was just about to leave the room when he remembered that he might still be wearing Altair's clothing. Pausing a brief moment, he sighed in relief. No, these were definately his clothes. He patted himself all over, just to make sure everything was in place.

Maybe none of it never happened. That, was of course, the only thing that made sense.

But, once again, he stopped before he left the room. His pants felt strange. He reached down and felt the zipper.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he groaned.

His zipper was, absolutely and totally broken. The little metal tab was bent and it wouldn't go up or down at all. He was pretty sure that some of the zipper teeth were missing, actually.

"Thanks a lot Altair," he muttered darkly as he stepped out of his room and back to Lucy.

((Well, that's it. Hopefully everyone enjoyed reading it. 8D))

Amazing writeranon! You had me laughing all over the place! T'was a GLORIOUS work you wrote! And I lol'd at how Desmond got stuck doing all the hard work and only received a broken zipper for his troubles. It's like one of those "all I got was this lousy T-shirts" but worse. At least he got some interesting memories, haha.

I really loved the way you wrote the characters, they were totally believable! Thanks so much for filling it (also, I'm not OP, just that random anon again).

LOL Whether you were the original anon or not, I'm glad you enjoyed reading it. 8D It makes this write!anon pleased to see other's enjoy my work. <3

I really enjoyed this! The antics over the zipper were hilarious and it was neat how Desmond got to help his ancestor. :D Thanks for filling!

Again, write!anon is please you enjoyed! :9

OP!ANON HERE adlkfjakcmlj

So sated by this no one even knows. <3<3<3<3

This is glorious.

YAY! Write!anon so glad OP!Anon approves!

Thank you for the prompt. It was a joy to write for. 8D Alty/Zippers is new OTP. <3

This is wonderful! I lol'd many, many times.

I was really sad when it was over :/ But the zipper thing and Desmond's reaction were perfection.

Amazing fill, Writer!Anon.

omfg, seriously... my face is stuck into this idiotic grin thanks to you. I laughed so much you don't even know.

the zipper thing... just.. brb rofling forever XD

ps. captcha.. claim, celest?

I seriously love this. I mean 'sorcery'? Too cute.

"Atleast, that's what he thought, considering the only other living thing he saw day in and day out was Arthur Viddic."

Er...you mean Warren Vidic, right?

Oop! I did. D:

Ah well, maybe it's his evil twin.

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