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

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London, England – Now

Desmond tossed in his sleep, dreams too vivid to be dreams plaguing the little time he was given to rest. They came no matter what, whether he charmed a Halcion off of Rebecca or drowned himself in lager. No sleep was deep enough to stave off these visions. They left him shaky and sweaty in the mornings as he replayed them, convinced he had never seen these moments in Ezio’s life, that the bleeding effect was getting stronger, showing him things that he had not witnessed or read about.

His dream twisted away from Florence, where he had been scaling buildings and watching the city from gut-churning heights. He was in a garden, lush and private, with trellises choked by vines and flowers. Somehow he felt safe in this place. It was his home, no, Ezio’s home, a place of comfort and solace. He had watched Maria make flower chains here and helped her learn to spell on sleepy Saturday mornings. Maria? Who was Maria? Yet he knew her – small, pretty, with a small chin and high cheeks just like her mother.

Ezio sat at a low stone table, a cup of wine resting in his hand as he soaked up the sun and the quiet time. His hands were gnarled, weathered, older than Desmond had ever seen. And he felt… tired… ready, as if death was just one last piece of business to take care of. He was drinking too much these days but that was all right. There was no one there to scold him. Even Maria had married and gone off to Venice, infrequent visits and letters his only tie to her distant life and the grandchildren that called him Nonno Ezio. Enzo remained in Rome, not just in Rome, but he was there this moment inside the house. He was busy arguing with Bartolomeo’s successor, a haughty young man with some ideas that rankled Enzo.

The arguing inside quieted abruptly. Footsteps. His senses were still sharp. Ezio half-expected to hear Rosa call through the window that they had visitors. But Rosa was dead. Their children were grown. Ezio was the last boil clinging to the ass of a mortal coil he was all too eager to shuffle off. He loved his children and grandchildren, but he was well-aware that he had overstayed his welcome. He had outlived Rosa, his younger wife, and might outlive his children if the universe continued to operate with such a fucked up, bitter sense of humor. He missed Rosa. He ached to see her again.

The garden trellis near the house shook, the leaves trilling softly as his expected visitors approached. The old man came first, followed closely by a tall, strapping lad. A third person waited inside the house, peering around the open door with eyes so big and familiar they sank like a knife into Desmond’s chest. Ezio’s. Ezio’s chest. He knew those eyes, yet had seen them on someone else entirely.

“Here we are, as promised.”

Cesare Borgia dropped down into a chair across from Ezio. He might have come years earlier, but their eldest son Michael had married young, eighteen, so in love they didn’t have the heart to send him to Italy and see their end of the bargain completed. Or so Ezio was told. The young man standing behind Cesare, too solemn and serious for such a tender age, was their second son, Charles the younger. Nobody calls him Charles, Cesare had written. He prefers Kit.

There they sat and stared at each other, two old men well beyond their prime. They both belonged in the grave. The Apple left them like this, extending their lives out of kindness or cruelty. Ezio was certain it was the latter. Cesare’s hair had gone iron gray, still long and soft, tied at his nape, his beard trimmed and tidy. Ezio saw in him exactly what he saw when he looked in the mirror – a relic that ought to have more wrinkles and lines, that looked freakishly old and yet healthy.

“Still around then?” Cesare asked. His accent had changed, tainted, no doubt, by his relocation to England. His Italian was good, crisply articulate as he tried his best to sound native.

“Not dead yet,” Ezio replied cheerfully, knocking back his wine.

“This is Charles,” Cesare gestured to his son. Ezio nodded. The boy was exactly as described – strong, well-muscled, trained and ready to go into service. He was a near-copy of Cesare, his features wolfish and sharp, handsome and dangerous. His eyes, however, softened the whole picture, big and pretty, just like his mother’s.

“Give him a nickname,” Cesare added, smirking, “I don’t want the other recruits knowing he’s foreign.”

“We’ll think of something.”

“And we – I – apologize about Michele.” Cesare winced, doing what Ezio often did, speaking in the plural even after his wife’s passing. “His Majesty couldn’t spare his favored apothecary, nor could Michael’s wife.”

“You held up your end,” Ezio replied. “That’s all that matters.” He glanced at the house, where a little figure was still watching them from the shadows. “And your girl?”

“Kit,” Cesare said swiftly. “Go inside, please.”

The young man nodded, black hair falling in his eyes as he whirled and strode briskly into the house. Cesare seemed to relax then, his face slackening as he stared down at his hands. “Are you as miserable as I am? Their friends… their neighbors… I am the only one left. It’s so fucking unfair.” He slammed his fist on the table without flinching. “I would end it myself but for Lizzy.”

Cesare followed Ezio’s gaze to the door, a pair of huge feminine eyes glued to their every gesture.

“I cannot bear to be parted from her,” Cesare said in a haunted whisper. “She is so like her, it breaks my heart every time she walks in the room. Kit is serious like her, studious and determined. I can hardly get him to smile sometimes he is so… just like Lena. Sometimes I had to carry her out of the study or she would be there until dawn, scribbling away at the ledgers. Kit is the same. Lizzy…” He swallowed, smiling at the distance. “She got her father’s damned spirit. I have to keep an eye on her. Wild little thing.”

Cesare motioned to the house and the unseen girl inside.

Ezio knew at once Cesare’s heartache. The girl was Lena down to the toes, petite and blonde, not a remarkable beauty until one looked at her immense eyes and the whip-crack wit that sparkled out of them like sunlight. She wore a simple, pale green gown in the English style, her pale hair done up in a crown of elegant braids. Sweet and lovely and probably no more than sixteen.

“Is this the assassin?” she asked in perfect Italian.

“Yes, my beauty.” Cesare took her hand, patting it lightly. “This is Ezio Auditore. Kit is going to work for him now.”

“I will take good care of him,” Ezio promised, though really it would be Enzo’s job to do that. He had every faith in the new leadership; Enzo had his skill and twice the discipline. “You may come and visit as often as you like.”

“It’s too hot here,” Lizzy stated, sticking out the tip of her tongue. “But the men are very handsome…”

“In that case you won’t be visiting... ever,” Cesare cut in drolly.

“Don’t be fussy, father. Mother married you and you are Italian.”

“Spanish,” Ezio corrected.

“Italian,” Cesare muttered, shooting the assassin a look. “And it doesn’t matter what your mother did. You’ll be a spinster before I let you leave the house.”

He kissed her hand, smiling at her charming expression of outrage.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean that,” Ezio said mildly. He sympathized, however, with Cesare’s hesitance. It had pained Ezio considerably when Maria married, a bizarre possessiveness making him irritable all through the proceedings. The arrival of adorable grandchildren softened the loss.

“We should go,” Cesare said. Lizzy helped him stand, handing him his cane with the carved wolf’s head. “I should like to show Liza more of Rome before we leave.”

Desmond watched them go. Ezio sighed, finding his wine cup mysteriously empty. He followed the Bertrams into his home, feeling an uncharacteristic jolt of delight to see young Kit and Enzo in deep conversation. They were both solemn and committed young men, and Ezio would wager his fortune that it wouldn’t be long before Enzo named the boy his apprentice. It was all, he decided confidently, as it should be.

Ezio escorted their visitors to the front door and the sloping path that led down to the street. Lizzy hugged her brother tightly, crying softly into his shoulder before touching his cheek and stepping back to let him go. Father and son held each other for much longer. Perhaps Cesare sensed, as Ezio did, that their passing would come soon, and that Kit was unlikely to see his father again. He coughed, hiding his despair, knowing that feeling and wanting desperately to reach out to Cesare. He could not. They would go and Kit would write his father. That was how it was done.

“Make me proud,” Ezio heard Cesare whisper into his son’s neck. Kit nodded, squeezing his father tightly. “Make us both proud.”

When they at last disengaged, Kit turned and looked into Ezio’s eye, his gaze as steady and unswerving as his infamous father’s. “I know what I want to be called,” the boy declared, lifting his chin yet higher as he said. “La Vespa.”

Ezio nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, “Amen. And may many an enemy know your sting.”

Desmond bolted upright, awake, nauseous, the vision crackling and splitting apart like a burning page. Sunlight cracked through the blinds, bright stripes growing along the bedspread as he groaned and rolled onto his side. Nothing like a bizarre reunion with Cesare Borgia and his lovely spawn to leave a nasty taste in your mouth.

He lay flat on his back, willing sleep to come back – without the teary goodbyes, thanks very much – and ended up staring at the ceiling for an hour. Finally, he grunted and crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of loose gray pajama pants and wandering into the common room. It was a small apartment, “adorable” as Rebecca called. Nothing much was adorable these days, least of all their crappy accommodations. Holed up in a matchbox with Princess Emo and the inventor of the arrogant sneer, everyone frightened and despondent and missing… her. Fuck. That was a one-way ticket to Sulkville. He had to stop thinking about her. It wouldn’t bring her back.

Desmond glanced at the cheesy Transformers clock Rebecca had picked out at the corner store. The digital numbers read four in the morning, which didn’t explain his inexplicable jones for a stiff drink or the voices coming from the living room. Or sitting room, as His Royal Britishness liked to say.

Exhausted, miserable, Desmond endured the cold sting of the kitchen tiles as he bee-lined for the fridge and whatever meager goodies waited inside. Ramen. Who put fucking ramen in the fridge? Oh, right, Shaun. Snorting, Desmond pushed the noodles aside, grinning when he discovered a rogue pack of Guinness huddled behind the spoiled milk. He checked the box, no label. Funny. He didn’t remember those being there at dinner time. And he would remember unlabeled Guinness free for the taking.

He hauled his find gleefully to the little card table they used for eating. The mismatched fold-out chairs weren’t comfortable, but the crack of the bottle cap under the opener was enough to put a smile on his face. God bless beer, he thought, tipping back the bottle with a quiet groan of satisfaction. This beat the pants off the watery swill Shaun insisted on buying.

“What?” Desmond parroted in his best British accent, which happened to be a terrible British accent. “D’you think I’m made of money, Desmond? Think it grows on trees, do you?” Desmond snorted, shaking his head. “Asshole.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Desmond nearly spat up his drink, leaning forward fast enough to upend the flimsy chair. Luckily he caught himself, Guinness and limbs akimbo as he stared at the living room, where two people were now watching him.

“I… who are you? Who is that?” Desmond sputtered. He flinched. “Agh!”

“Something wrong?” Shaun asked, sounding not at all concerned.

Desmond’s mind shuddered, screaming with pain. Images hit him rapid fire, whirling by like a rolodex on crack. A woman, a girl, two men talking at a table… He groaned, cracking open one eye to see Shaun and the stranger still staring at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Monster of a headache.”

It was more than that, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Desmond, this is Abbie Thorne. Abbie, this fine, half-naked gentleman is Desmond.”

She walked up to the table, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans before she yanked one out and offered it to him to shake. Desmond took it, jarred by how strong her grip was.

“Abbie is like you, Desmond.” Shaun paused, smirking. “No, not a lazy drunk, an assassin. Well, she’s an actual assassin. You’ve still got your training wheels on…”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said pleasantly. Pretty. British. Desmond stood, finding she was shorter than she looked. Then he made the mistake of matching her glance. Another flicker of pain seared across head.

“Is this the assassin?” she asked in perfect Italian.

“Yes, my beauty.” Cesare took her hand, patting it lightly. “This is Ezio Auditore. Kit is going to work for him now.”

“Sorry. Headache again. It's a doozy.”

“Abbie here has quite the lineage,” Shaun continued, way, way to blithely for the butt crack of dawn. “Just a quick trip in the Animus and it’s, well it’s extraordinary. Her line goes all the way back to - ”

“Cesare Borgia,” Desmond finished, grimacing. “I know.”

“How do you know?” Abbie asked, two shapely, fawn-colored eyebrows lifting toward her hairline. It was almost too much to look at her face. It was like being back in that dream… sitting at that table…

“I… Sometimes my ancestor’s memories bleed over a little. Trust me, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

“She’s done good work for the London branch,” Shaun was saying, ignoring Desmond’s obvious discomfort. “I think she’ll be a valuable asset to - ”

“Yeah, that’s great, Shaun. Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“It is morning,” he replied dryly.

“Well then… later this morning. Much, much later, okay? Like when the little hand is on the ten...”

Shaun sighed, grumbling something about the fabled American work ethic before he stomped off to his bedroom. That left Desmond alone with Abbie, who seemed extremely amused by the whole situation. She sat, cracking open a Guinness and sipping it thoughtfully.

“It happens to me, too,” she said, watching him from under thick, curling lashes. “They didn’t know about the um, well the Borgia thing when they popped me in the Animus the first time.” She smirked. “Surprise.”

“Ezio – my ancestor – I thought he killed Cesare, but I keep having this weird dreams…”

“Where he survives?” Abbie nodded, downing her beer at an impressive rate. “History’s full of all kinds of hidden treats like that, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I get the headaches, too.” She opened another Guinness for him while he continued nursing his first. “Beer helps.”

“Cheers to that.”

She was pretty. God she was pretty. Apple cheeks, cute little chin, amazing dimples... Desmond flushed, feeling guilty and stupid, staring down the neck of his bottle for answers or at least something witty to say. He didn’t like the way her big, green eyes made him want to put a shirt on and then take it off again.

“We should compare notes sometime,” Abbie offered lightly. “I’d love to know what Ezio, was it?” Desmond nodded. “What Ezio thought about my ancestors… What a bloody mess. Worked out in the end though. The assassins got what they wanted.”

Desmond paused, wondering if it was his place to say this. Fuck it. “Ezio respected your great, great, great whatever he is. I don’t think he liked him, but he respected him. They… I saw them together, old… very, very old. They didn’t seem friendly necessarily but… they understood each other. Then, at least.”

Abbie made a soft sound in her throat, downing the last of her Guinness and going for another. “You look just like him,” she said softly, a pink glow starting high in her cheeks. “Lena… that was her name. We thought maybe that marrying Cesare gave her some kind of intuition into other Templar artifacts, that maybe he told her the location of a vault or a cache.” She trailed off, reaching up to tuck a dark blonde piece of hair behind her ear. She wore a strange ring on her wedding finger. It looked oddly familiar. Desmond tried not to stare at it. Married. Of course. Not that he was interested. “I hated reliving her memories,” Abbie said in a voice so soft Desmond almost didn’t hear it.

“Why?” he asked, leaning across the table toward her. There was something about her… strength… certainty… and then a flash of vulnerability in her eyes when he least expected it. He was drunk. That was the only explanation for it.

“Because she was so happy,” Abbie murmured, snorting. She glanced up at the ceiling, a bright film glazing over her eyes. “They were so happy together… It felt like an intrusion… like something I wasn’t supposed to see. And it’s hard not to be jealous of… of what they had.”

“I never really got to see Ezio and Rosa together,” Desmond admitted, shaking his head. “Nothing informative for the assassins in their blissful matrimony I guess.”

“Lucky.”

Desmond shrugged. “Not really. I would’ve liked to see him happy. You get… attached.”

Abbie nodded.

“Boy, look at us. Cheerful as a graveyard in here.” Desmond chuckled, clinking the neck of his bottle against hers. “To our ancestors,” he said, holding her gaze and feeling it shoot to his chest.

“May they find peace,” she said, lifting her Guinness, “in the future.”

They drank.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Abbie said, polishing off her second drink with a quiet smacking of her lips, which were absolutely not curvy and kissable.

“For what?”

“For the Guinness,” she replied laughingly. “It’s mine.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry… I’d buy you more if Scrooge McDuck over there would give me an allowance.”

“It’s fine,” Abbie said, waving him off. Then her smile turned mischievous and Desmond didn’t have to imagine what Cesare fell for all those long, long years ago. He was seeing it. “Thief.”

“Assassin,” he bit back.

Abbie shrugged, dropping him a sly wink as she opened her third beer. “You have me there.”

End.

Crying now. This has been an amazing ride. I am de-anonning because I would love to talk to you more if you're interested, just because the work you put into this is something I appreciated and vastly enjoyed reading.

Thank you so much for sharing this with us. What a roller coaster. Amazing.

Sent you a message. :)

Usually I never comment on anything, but...

I lack the words to express how awesome this story is. Thanks a lot for sharing!

Thanks so much for reading! It's a monster, so I'm grateful to everyone who stuck it out for the whole thing. =)

There are no words to adequately describe how absolutely astounding this is! The passion, the grief, the happy ending with just the right amount of bittersweetness...bravo, writer!anon, bravo.

I only wish you would de-anon, as you absolutely deserve to be known in the fandom for this spectacular piece...though, of course, if you want to remain anon, that's cool too :)

I might upload it to deviant art eventually, but their file size limit is kind of a pain in the arse with a story this big. =(

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate the kind words. <3

Thank you all so, SO much for reading and commenting. This story started out simple, sweet, and short and I never, ever intended it to go so long and become so complex.

I also want to say that, after finishing the story today... well, to be honest I'm already missing these characters, so if there are any requests for shorter fills with Cesare/Lena during their time in England or even Desmond/Abbie, I'll most likely fill them for you if you put up a request here or over on page 15. Sex... no sex... doesn't matter... I've just grown terribly attached to them. :(

So there's that. Happy kinking and thanks again for following along!

I'd love to see some Enzo and Kit interaction, not necesarily slash. Maybe them training or goin on a mission. If only to see the next generation has worked out the (admittedly MAJOR) issues between Ezio and Cesare.

Also, for some reason when Lena and Cesare's daughter commented on hating the weather but like the Italian men, I suddenly had the urge to see her shamelessly (but good-naturedly) flirting with. Enzo on one of her visits to see Kit...

Thank you, thank you so much for this wonderful story!
I've commented before, so I don't know what to say without repeating myself.
If you upload it on dA, I'd be VERY happy, as I can fav it, and reread it more easily!
I de-anon-ed as well, just so you know who I am, and I don't use my LJ account anyway other then for reading brilliant stories here and meet-up for brotherhood in another group.
I've never de-anon-ed before, THAT is how much I love this story!

Thanks very much! Like I said, once I get a bit of spare time I'll proofread and upload it in parts to DA.

I'm glad you enjoyed the story and thanks for reading along. It's so cool to see everyone's reactions. =)

I just finished reading this and OH MY GOD!
I'm lost for words.
This is amazing, incredible, I could just keep lining up words in an attempt to explain how good this is but I can't find any words at all right now.

Just WOW.

Thank you for the lovely response and for reading all the way through to the end! <3 Means a lot. :)

This. Was. Beautiful.
Not only did it make sense, but it actually felt complete, at the end.
OMG. I thought I was going to regret reading Cesare het. =P What happened was quite the opposite.

I'm only gonna be working on 5 hours sleep tomorrow, and it's all your fault.

WORTH IT.

That was absolutely amazing. I almost never read long fics, or straight-up romantic fics, or fics centered around OCs -- but you had me hooked from the very first section. I'm utterly in love with Lena and Silvia and Cesare, and I honestly squealed with delight at Michelangelo's appearance.

I have to get some sleep but I'm sure I'll be back to squee at you more because this. was. amazing.

OMG author!anon! This story... just omg words can't do it justice! So sweet and amazing and hot! So sad to see it come to an end, but all great things must, I guess *sighs*

If you ever get published let me know, kay? You're writing is awesome.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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Writer!Anon sez:

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