asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.3
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Get out of my bureau!

☃ 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 2
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

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~~Never watched it, but as soon as I saw a poster of it+description, I thought "lol AC2/Brohood"~~

I so want this, but I need to save my research energies for school. Thirded, anyway.

I'm a little surprised and please correct me if I'm wrong anons but I don't think it's been requested so... Yeah that's right, I'm going to add to the crossover prompts and shove this idea in everyone's faces! Anon is a lil' guilty for requesting seeing as they really need to finish some prompts they took up but anon is aching for some DMC/AC action... please? ;A;

Like... idk, the baddies of DMC find out about the PoE and are trying to use them for typical world domination-esque schemes and it's up to our favorite half-devil hunter to stop them? (I prefer DMC 3 Dante) Maybe he's a lil too late upon arrival and they get to use it, only they used it -wrongly- and instead of bending the world to their whim, they instead send a certain 12th century assassin into their time? Cue confused and pissed off Dante who was sent back to the where he started meaning he'd have to go back through hordes of stronger devils to get to the main boss only to be much more cheery after finding an interesting and handsome assassin along the way? ;)

But the plot can totally be up to authoranon, I just want to see some (DMC 3) Dante/Altair: their reactions to seeing one another, their badass teamwork in taking out devils, and Dante's ability to flirt shamelessly with everything that has a beating heart... I mean come on, who wouldn't tap that sexy Ass-ass-in? :D I'd love it if Altair's reluctant to show that he's attracted to the other too at first and is constantly embarrased at receiving so much wrong (to him anyway) attention from the half devil... I don't why but I have a thing for tsundere/bottom Altair xD
...to be honest I'm kinda tempted to write this out myself but I don't think I can do it much justice so... any takers? Y/Y? plz? ;~;

~Bonuses~
Dante staring at Alty's hips while he walks
Altair being embarrased ~~(and a little awed)~~ at Dante's lack of deceny... like how he doesn't wear a shirt underneath his open jacket and his insistence on performing stylish kills
While it starts off as just being himself and flirting with a~~(n insanely)~~ hot guy, Dante realizes over time that Altair is stirring up feelings inside him he didn't even know was possible... and isn't sure what to do because he knows the assassin doesn't belong in his time/world

He tries his best; he really does, to not give into the temptation to look up into the uncovered face of the Master. As it is, he barely managed to tear his attention away from the man to the stone floor but not before glimpsing lightly tanned skin and a pair of scarred lips, feeling embarrassed at having even seen a little. He is confused as to why the other had removed his hood but dared not to peek anymore.

Hasim thought it unfair when he felt a cool hand place itself on his heated skin and almost yelps in surprise, backing away instinctively. He is horrified at himself when he glances up and sees the Master’s slightly startled expression, his hand still hanging in the air where Hasim’s head had been.

He wants to apologize for his rude reaction but the words are caught in his throat, instead he croaks out, “M-master?” and almost hits himself. Could his actions be any more idiotic? What was wrong with-
“Ah I apologize for not asking your consent but I had thought you might be running a fever”

He is dumbstruck at those words, a million thoughts and questions forming in his head about why a man such as him would worry over something like one of his expendable warriors catching a fever. An expendable warrior who had failed at killing his assigned target no less.

Hasim grits his teeth and clenches his hands, feeling the too familiar prickling at the back of his eyes. He has to force himself with all his will to not cry (don’t you dare! Not in front of him) as he chokes out, “I am sorry I failed”

The way his Master’s piercing golden eyes enlarge just a fraction at his words, and the small intake of breath cause the young assassin to bow his head and wish he was deserving of the worry and distress he had imparted on the man. Makes him wish he wasn’t so worthless and naïve, that he could have finished his job without a problem, without having to bother the man he admired so much. But, alas, his greatest wish was to have died at the hands of the guards a few days earlier. That the Master hadn’t bothered to save him that second time and just learn from past experience that Hasim wasn’t worth it!

When he feels a pair of strong arms gently embrace his form, Hasim thinks he has forgotten how to breathe. It’s almost as if time has stopped, everything was moving so slowly just for him as his brain tried to register just how this was happening and if it was just another dream. But it is the warmth emanating from the Master, the words that he whispers into the boy’s ears to soothe his very being was so comforting that it assures him, no, this could not possibly be a fake.

He knows he must appear shocked; it is not every day one receives a hug from the grand master after all. Hasim does not remember the last time he has been held so gently before, that someone would try to make him feel at peace and drive away all his insecurities with comforting words. And it is the words themselves that are coming out of the man’s mouth, telling him he is not worthless, he mustn’t sell himself short, the Assassin Order is a brotherhood that supports one another that finally convince the boy to raise his own arms and embrace the Master back.

Though he knows he will be filled with regret later on, the young assassin doesn’t bother with that at the moment. For now, he lets out all his shame, frustration and self-loathing out as he cries into the Master’s shoulder.

Quite frankly, Altair is a little surprised when he feels the other’s tears begin to soak through his robes but his only response is to raise his hand from being wrapped around the boy’s shoulders to begin rubbing his back. Vaguely, a voice in the back of his head tells him should Malik hear of this whole event, Altair would get such an earful he’d be having hearing problems for the rest of his life.

However, for the time being, he also knows that the boy in his arms needs this. He had known back then the poor orphan boy he had saved, begging to become an assassin of the Order wasn’t cut out to be a killer but the hopeful bright eyes of such a young soul had somehow swayed him. For now, he’d have to abandon his regrets and just allow himself to stay still for the young man.

After a long while, the two eventually separate. Hasim becomes expectedly embarrassed at having broken down in front of him but Altair sees the renewed determination in those eyes and knows things will be better for him from now on.

It might have been fate or just bad luck on Altair’s part that the moment he returns to Masyaf after a particularly tiring mission he finds himself not in the comfort of a good long night’s sleep, ready to wake for the next day in which he knew his second in command would shove pile after pile of work in his face; rather Altair finds himself seated behind his desk, hands folded so that he could rest his chin on them as he peered at the two novices fidgeting in front of him.

He recognizes them. It’s hard not to, as identical twins were a rare sight. Even more so when they were of different genders. Naji and Nuha were their names, if he remembered correctly. Born on the same day, these two were usually inseparable, having only each other after the woman they would call mother died shortly after birth, they developed a special bond that glued to two of them together.
Others of the order had noticed their peculiar link with each other especially during training. It was quite a sight, one would raise their sword to block the oncoming attack perfectly before the other so much as swung and then counter the feint a little too quickly as if they knew it was coming. It was as if they could read each other’s minds. Together they were a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

But over the years, things started to change between them. Where at one point, Nuha who woke before her younger brother always waited for him before joining the other novices in meals or training but now had recently been seen without her twin at all times of the day. Naji himself didn’t seem fazed by this, one could say he was even avoiding his sister, taking it upon himself to walk out of the room whenever he spotted his sibling. Over time, their refusal to acknowledge the other’s presence had changed to something worse, startling every other novice in the room with their bickering. It’s strange. None of the assassins knew what had happened between the two to inspire such behavior. Altair knew it would be fatal to their work.

Their recent fallout with each other meant their teamwork on the field would be affected. The grandmaster had thought to talk to the two and find out the reason but not like this. Not having the two called into his office by his irate second in command after they foolishly started a fight in middle of the day and breaking every piece of furniture in the room.

Though Altair’s expression is calm, a tiny feeling of irritation creeps up every time one of them opens their mouths to say something, explain exactly why their grandmaster, upon returning had Malik immediately grab onto his arm the moment he laid eyes on his figure and drag him into his office where the two of them were awaiting him... only to have it shut a moment later as if Altair only imagined the tiny hope of understanding in his mind.

This went on for quite a while, Malik standing to his right not saying a word but looking equally as frustrated as Altair felt.

Writeanon is smashing her head into a wall right now and apologizing for the epically late fill @.@ she hopes the little part to the second chapter will make up for any of the ridiculously long wait OP had to go through... and sincerely prays that the mistakes were kept to a minimum...

Captcha: eeladate 1047... F@#*$!!! Captcha STOP MOCKING ME D:

Please continue! This is really good :Q__

Thirding for Vieri/Federico. Love this pair so hard.

Basically the title. Blades versus guns. Don't care about plot or which characters are chosen, just that this would be amazing. The assassin groups want to eliminate the competition? The Fraternity is really a group of Templars? I'm not picky.

The Fraternity is, of course, from the movie Wanted.

I'd love to see a fic based on this pic:
http://i1135.photobucket.com/albums/m622/enrissiangurl/NecrosisDemon-DomLeo-Eziolines.jpg

Maybe Ezio did something to upset Leo, and this is his punishment? (I like to think that Ezio has a cock ring, sound, or chastity belt keeping him from release. Because I'm mean like that. >3) And Ezio begging for Leo to forgive him/fuck him?

Please anons, I've been having a shitty day and need this. TT_TT

The first time Malik catches Altair's peculiar hobby, he stops and stares for seems like hours before finally registering just what he was witnessing. Not too far in front of him, sitting at the edge of a rooftop was the assassin he had spent half the day searching for... giggling like a madman while being surrounded by a bunch of eagles. Some were perched on top of his shoulders and outstretched arm while others were flying around, all excitedly crying out for his attention. When he so much as pet one of them, they would make a soft keening noise, begging for more.

And Altair was speaking and laughing as if he and the eagles understood each other.

Malik has to take a moment to fiercely rubs his eyes, wondering if they were playing a trick on him. No matter how hard he tried however, the image of a grinning Altair being affectionate towards a flock of feathered creatures practically adoring him like some sort of deity, would not go away.

It is then that Altair finally notices him and all at once his expression goes back to the one Malik knows all too well. The face that guarded all the emotions that Malik had thought, up until now, were nonexistant to begin with. That belief was shattered the moment he found the man (albeit accidentally) with his feathered friends.

"Is there something you need, Malik?" Altair's voice is controlled as he speaks to him, making Malik feel perhaps a bit of jealousy when he compared it to the joyous tone he had just seconds before. Frankly, he has to wonder how his friend had won over even one independent bird like the eagle, let alone seven, when his social skills with the other assassins were close to null.

"...the Master wishes to see you" Malik answers after a while and he notices how Altair's eyes shift from the eagles back to him.

A sense of guilt seizes him as he sees the other nod and slowly rise from his position on the roof before gently prying the talons wrapped around his form off. He whispers to the them, probably parting words from the way his shoulders are hunched just the slightest bit as if he is sad that he has to leave and the way the birds are nipping at this clothes as if to tell him to stay.

Altair shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the building where he can perform a leap of faith. The birds do not follow him.

Malik knows they are incapable of expressing emotions, being what they are but the mere sight of them looking forlornly after the assassin that had left made a small knot twist in his stomach. And he is completely unsure of why he suddenly says,

"Do not sulk, he will be back"

Seven feathered heads turn in his direction and freeze the assassin in their hard stares. In his head Malik blames Altair for his ridiculous decision in trying to console birds.

It's always his fault anyway.
-
(So anon read your prompt and couldn't get a bunch of eagles pining away over Alty out of her head... why do the all of my ideas come to me at 3 AM in the morning? anyway seriously hope this was to your liking OP ^^;...)

OH ANON THIS IS GLORIOUS HAHAHAHA SECONDING SO HARD!

I love how this section focuses on how the statue is becoming much more about the HORSE than the patron. Il Moro is kind of a creep, I'm not too sad the monument wandered away from the original purpose.

The description was really good, I could see the statue in my head clearly. (Actually sounds rather like a carousel horse!)

Im so sorry it has taken me this long to reply! forgive me?

Anything that you come up with, I am sure it will make my entire week so go for it! I'm just really really glad someone has shown an interest in this!

take your time anon! even if you found this again after two years and decided to fill it, I would still love you for ever and ever!

So cute~.

~~OP has not seen it either, but has a sudden, strange urge to...~~

*pouts*

Lol! I third!

NOTE: This fill might be extremely long. D: I've submitted it here: http://xxcrazyapplegirlxx.deviantart.com/art/Forgiveness-AC-251494096 as well, which might be easier to read. Enjoy my crappy smut.
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The howls of wretched agony ripped through the aching silence of the closed Assassins' Bureau. And with every tormented shriek, Malik flinched again and again, burying himself into a corner of the room him and the other Assassins had dropped into.

It was as if their was no door to begin with, because the bloodcurdling screams were so painfully loud; so deafening, they split not only his ringing eardrums, but stung his very being so acutely, he felt himself ripping at the chest. And the best he could do, was shut his eyes tightly and smash his forehead against the dark wood, sealed lips tense around clenched teeth; paralyzing fear gripping his stiff muscles.

It had been an accident! He really hadn't meant to—but damn it, why was Altaïr so stupid?! What had he been thinking sneaking around like some reptile?! In the dead of night at that!

Had he really planned to be killed?!

Allah forbid, please. What if he didn't survive? What if Altaïr didn't make this one? The wound—it'd looked serious. Deadly. The blood had been everywhere, stained the dessert sand outside, sunk into the cracked earth. It had pooled at the brunette's boots, darkened his pristine robes, wept down his lightly bronzed cheeks; spritzed from his very eyeballs. And Allah—he'd never seen a man in so much pain before... Never seen Altaïr experience so much suffering.

And all because of him.

How will I live with myself? How could he walk the streets of Jerusalem then? With shame, guilt, and horror all latched onto his shoulders? Hate for himself at his impulsiveness and Altaïr for his recklessness, notwithstanding the title of Grand Master, all swarmed within him, warring with his sanity. But, it really wasn't Altaïr's fault… No, it had all been the cartographer's doing.

Malik had wielded the weapon and Malik had brought it against The Flying One's face.

He was at fault here. Only him. And the shrill cry within that enclosed room, proved it.

The sun was boiling all life outside and the Dai had never been more inclined to remove his djellaba, but respect for his occupation and duty to remain composed in everything, outranked his want to cool off. Despite the blistering heat of Jerusalem He was only thankful the Bureau's cool stone walls could provide at least some measure of protection from the hot sun.
Moreover, Altaïr would be arriving at any moment, so undressing himself was definitely not an option. …Not that he would glimpse me, the raven thought darkly. Regret immediately speared into his soul for such a notion. What was wrong with him? Had he really become so cynical?

Furrowing his brows, the one-armed man bowed his head back to his unraveling map. He needed to focus on what he and the Grand Master had to discuss; not that he knew yet.

Shuffling footsteps caught his attention, but the Dai didn't lift his dark eyes from the parchment. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool, commanding his anxious nerves to relax, nostrils inhaling the subtle fragrance of his favorite incense. At least the vanilla and juniper calmed his twisting insides… a little.

"This heat," called a familiar voice, stepping over the threshold of the opened entranceway. "Can you believe it?"

Malik felt himself smile tensely, nodded, and then remembered… Altaïr was blind. "I certainly can and do believe it. I'm sweltering in my robes," he murmured in reply, sliding his compass off the map.

"Working on another one?"

The raven hummed in response and lifted the parchment, examining the areas' lines and proportions. He laid it down then and shifted his attention onto the approaching brunette, observing his languid, but careful movements, feeling sudden self-hate grip his interior. He narrowed his eyes, watching the other; analyzing how he took deliberate steps forward, arms at his sides, but fingers outstretched, as if testing the surrounding air about them.

It made the Dai furious with himself. Made him want to cut off his other arm—everything about this situation was driving him insane! And it had been for that past half year. Six months already! And still, the remorse shook him with such a fever, sometimes he was driven to sit amongst the cushions and just… wallow in his grief.

And the worst part of it! The very worst part of it all, was that Altaïr didn't blame him! In fact, the idiot had the audacity to claim they were equal now. Or, he'd said something stupid along those lines. Either way, after the Grand Master's incident, Malik had confined himself to his Bureau. He'd spoken to no one aside from the doctor and assistants that had provided aide to the injured brunette. And he'd taken it upon himself to travel back with the younger Assassin to Masyaf and care for him there.

He'd expected Altaïr to hate him. Utterly loathe him for what he'd done. But, astonishingly, the man had professed to feel nothing of the sort. He hadn't even argued being watched over and attended almost ridiculously. And at first, the one-armed male had been concerned. Worried at this eerie acceptance the Master Assassin had of his situation. But, the brunette had confirmed and explained his opinion.

He didn't hate Malik at all and appreciated all of the help that he'd been showered in.

And the raven hadn't been sure what to think then—what to feel.

Nevertheless, here was Altaïr now, grinning earnestly down at him, his posture confidant and his eyes and the bridge of his nose bandaged still. And they always would be. Because, after the accident, the Grand Master's eyesight had become dysfunctional and sensitive to any kind of severe light. The healer in charge hadn't been able to give any details, let alone explain properly what exactly had occurred. But, at first, he'd given little hope the Assassin would survive.

As the days had passed, the brunette had merely grown weaker. But, then came the weeks where the Dai had restored his faith in Altaïr's recuperation. And then the months went and the younger man was up and about like nothing had happened at all!

And yet, Malik could find no solace in this. Especially not after having glimpsed what exactly he'd done to the other's face with his blade.

He'd practically ripped the eyeballs from their sockets and now, all that was left, was the presently healing scar, jagged and prominent, over Altaïr's features. He couldn't even describe what it looked like. In part, because he'd forgotten, since he'd only seen the aftermath once. And, in another, because the sight was too gruesome to express… well, it had been.

"Brother, I've come to ask for your judgment on what I should do about an ex-Templar," Altaïr stated casually, taking care to lean against the wooden counter, the aroma of incense drifting under his nose. The memory of Malik hunched low over his maps and the little pot of aromas burning at his side, quirked his lips upward in response, but he made sure to hide his smirk.

"Is it that woman? Maria Thorpe was it?"

Altaïr nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, body turning to face the Dai, despite the fact he could see absolutely nothing. "She's come to me seeking refuge. Those who were once her allies, have become her enemies and I am unsure whether I should trust her or not."

The cartographer couldn't tear his eyes away from Altaïr's scarred lips, his pupils following their movement as they spoke, when they pursed together, when they stretched into a thing smile…

"Malik?"

"Ah, yes. Well, if she's mended her ways, perhaps you should aide her." What was he talking about? He was usually so skeptical about everything… But, his irises settled back onto the brunette's mouth.
…Allah, he was distracted today.

"Maybe you are right," mused the Grand Master, lifting his head to fix his eagle-tipped hood. But, in the process of doing so, his fingers dumbly bumped against his right eye and he hissed, instantly bowing his head forward.

The Dai jumped from his stool and immediately worked his way around the counter to stand before the other. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, brows furrowed, hand already unsheathing the brunette's head, revealing his short-cropped hair and bandage.

Altaïr merely waved him away, mindful to not shake his head too much. "I just hit myself by mistake. Nothing serious."

Malik repressed the urge to smack the man on the side of his head and settled for punching his chest. "Idiot."

The Grand Master simply chuckled and for a moment, the raven was entranced. Drawn to the other's heartfelt laughter—soft but merry. Genuine.

Guilt washed over him again, clutching at his aching heart, settling deep within his breast. It was just so disheartening to see his ally—his closest friend—this way. So feeble and clumsy. It was like looking at himself… Was this how others felt when gazing at him? When they strolled past him and noticed his missing limb?

Suddenly, he felt calloused digits tracing his jaw line and his dark eyes snapped upwards, studying the indents in the bandage where Altaïr's own would have been. And he swore, for a moment, those green-hazel eyes were burning straight through the cloth hiding them and staring right at him. But, the raven said nothing and maintained his curious gawk, stilling even further as those rough fingers brushed past his finely kept beard.

"I can feel your tension, Brother," the Grand Master said softly, his breath whispering across Malik's lips. When had they become so close? "Tell me, what ails you?" his voice was so quiet; alluring.

Blinking hard, the Dai pulled away from the other's grasp, frowning. "Don't touch me like that, Novice," he growled, ignoring the way his heart palpitated beneath his ribcage. But, he could see the brunette's grin only widen, the marred flesh of his mouth stretching gracefully. "This isn't funny. Nothing about this is humorous Altaïr! Everything is just an effortless ruse to you, isn't it?!" He was furious now! Enraged at the simplicity Altaïr reacted with. "I'm tired of it! Hit me! Right now! Punch my face as I stand before you! Do anything to quench the humiliation and remorse that torment me!" he almost begged rather than demanded. And his voice, although not necessarily desperate, held that frantic tone.

The Grand Master simply shook his head, his expression downcast. So, Malik still blamed himself for what had happened… How long would this go on? How many more times would he have to assure the Dai he held no ill feelings towards him? That everything had been forgiven and forgotten? He was alive and well! And although blind, he could still manage on his own. "Quite frankly Malik, I've grown tired of it too," the brunette replied, stepping forward, aware of the presence before his body. "I don't know how else to express my opinion on this matter. I haven't the slightest clue how to better convey my thoughts. And I will not harm you to get them across."

No, he would never hurt Malik again. Not after Solomon's temple. He'd already damaged the man too much and nothing would ever make up for the loss of his arm… and his brother.

"I don't care! I just—I can't take this guilt anymore! I've made you lose something so important, so vital, it's just… Why don't you hate me?!" The Dai felt like he was being shredded. Their was a hopelessness that gripped him so tightly, he felt he couldn't breathe. And how he wished Altaïr would just choke the life from him. Just squeeze it out…

"Malik, I can never hate you…" And his words were so wretchedly honest, that the starkness of their truth stunned him. Because, sincerely, Altaïr could never loathe this man before him. Could never genuinely feel rage or unadulterated bitterness towards Malik… Because, it would hurt him to do so, after everything they'd underwent as allies; as comrades; as close friends. "If my words cannot make you understand why, then let my actions…"

The Dai had watched, mesmerized by the way Altaïr had shed his braces and leather armor; how he'd easily removed his scabbard and belt; how gracefully he'd loosened his dark red sash, letting them all fall into the quiet of the Bureau leader's private room. And the cartographer hadn't protested when the brunette propelled him father into the shadows of the cool room, watching as his tunic and robe clung snugly around his form.
He felt the younger Assassin's mouth at his throat, brushing along the pulse of his vein, licking a moist trail overtop as it reached his earlobe, confidant fingers slipping underneath the cloth of his djellaba. And with a gentle tug, he felt those same lips part, breathing gently into his ear, desire searing into his very root.

He'd argued at first. But, Altaïr had silenced him with his exploring mouth, sure lips covering his own, swallowing his breathless moans as the man caressed rough fingertips down his spine. And Malik arched into that heady kiss, feeling his manhood thicken beneath his dampening breeches; against his shaking leg. Something about this all—it felt surreal to him.
How could Altaïr know where to nip his skin with his teeth? Where to curl his digits? Where to tug at the laces and hems of his clothing? They'd never done this sort of thing… He'd never done this before…

The raven lost himself in it all. He let his eyelids flutter shut as Altaïr finished removing his garments and pushed him into the cushions, tongue traveling over and across his nipples, tugging and pulling, drawing sensuous groans from his throat. His wrist was pinned above his head by a strong hand and although he could feel the brunette's robes still on him, they might as well be gone, because the heat they both felt, couldn't have been more electrifying.

The Grand Master reveled the choked sounds he purged from the raven beneath him. He let his mind focus entirely on the aroma of Malik, on the very musk of his skin; sandalwood and juniper and vanilla filling his lungs. He loved how the Dai always smelled of parchment and ink and home. How his body felt firm underneath his teasing hand; how the coarse hair of his chest slipped easily though his fingers; how the very contours of his muscles rippled beneath his nimble digits. …How his weeping length throbbed in his palm every time he stroked the engorged shaft. Everything about the Dai was driving him mad, making him ache with his own need and he could only press his hardened member into the cushions, moist tongue licking over the perked nipples of the raven.

He wondered dimly what expression his friend possessed now, but the notion vanished just as quickly as it'd appeared.
Releasing Malik's wrist, Altaïr dipped his head down and pressed tender kisses along the Dai's manhood, darting the tip of his tongue out to drag against the wet slit. He heard and felt the one-armed man writhe beneath him, but he merely sucked the swollen crown into his mouth, allowing its heaviness to settle against his tongue, calloused fingers lightly rubbing the raven's inner thighs. And then, he took the entire shaft into his heated cavern, teeth gingerly scraping against the warm flesh as he moved his mouth away. Only to take the tender length in again.
His lips tingled as he heard Malik gasp, delighting in the man's winded groan.

"A-Altaïr… Too much," was all he could manage and with a final swirl of his tongue, the Dai felt the younger Assassin drop his manhood, a shiver creeping up his spine at the cool rush of air passing over him. Opening his eyes, the Dai watched as the brunette stood and sauntered towards one of the shelves, searching fingers reaching into a basket and pulling out a small bottle of salve, amazed at the way the Grand Master seemed unfazed by his blindness. Does he honestly remember where that was? he mused, but he didn't delve too much into his thoughts, since Altaïr returned at once.

Swiftly, the Assassin slipped out of his tunic, robe and hood. With the small pot in hand, he opened it and swiped his fingers with the cold substance. Placing the object aside, he turned and faced what he assumed was Malik's general direction. Leaning over the man, he rubbed his tender and swollen flesh against the Dai's, mouth pressing against the other's hot-flushed ear and without warning, he pushed in a finger, immediately feeling the body beneath him stiffen. "Relax for me, Malik. I will not hurt you."

And Malik did relax—or he tried to at least. He loosened his rigid muscles and forced his spine to settle back down into the cushions, only to have his attempts be in vain when he felt himself being stretched further. As he was breached, he could only bite his lip and curl his arm over the brunette's shoulders, eyes closed tightly, that hot mouth at his ear whispering soothing nonsense. But, the pain of having his entrance opened and explored—the sensation was unnatural and agonizing; burning. Still, Altaïr was deliberate with his movements, only pushing in his finger when he deemed the Dai had fully tranquilized his muscles.
Soon enough, he added a second, scissoring the nimble digits and by the third, the raven was a moaning, gasping wreck of a man, practically begging the Assassin to finish him off.

Removing his hand, leaving Malik feeling empty, the Grand Master straddled the male beneath him, wishing for the first time, so desperately, that he could see what the Dai looked like—just for this moment he wanted a glimpse of Malik's flushed features and half-lidded eyes; he wanted to gaze intensely into those smoldering coals and lose himself in the other's gasping mouth as he was taken.

But, despite his heartache, Altaïr grasped the raven's legs and hooked his knees carefully over his shoulders, taking great measures to lean down and with tenderness he didn't even know he could muster, sunk himself soothingly into the tight heat of Malik, feeling the one-armed man constrict his member so achingly delicious, he almost fell over the edge.

The moment he felt the brunette stroke into him, the Dai felt he was being torn apart. The pain that speared up into him was excruciating and foreign; alien; nothing like the calloused fingers that had stretched him. This was so much more; so much more profound; intimate. And yet, through it all, he could feel just how sensitive and tender Altaïr was being. Could feel when the other shifted only when Malik gave his silent consent.
He just couldn't fathom how the Assassin knew just when to move. When had he studied such personal body language?

With a motion so suave and compassionate, the Grand Master rocked his hips forward gently, listening to Malik as the hiss he elicited turned into a low moan. Pulling back, he drove himself in deeper, adding pressure, his thighs meeting with the back of the Dai's rear, the muscled legs hooked around his shoulders going slack. Again, he canted his hips upward, angling himself as his hands planted themselves on either of the one-armed man, feeling a quivering hand stroke his cheek.
Pressing into that soft palm, Altaïr thrust in again, rewarded with a lustful groan that lost its breath. But, that hand remained, caressing his jaw line, shaking fingers ghosting over his bandaged eyes.

"Can you… forgive me?" came the trembling voice beneath him and cautiously, the brunette lowered the Dai's legs and wound them around his hips, another moan reaching his ears. Leaning over the writhing body, the Assassin pressed his forehead against Malik's, smiling, even as he plunged into the man's enveloping warmth.

"I already have," he replied soundlessly, the feel of the raven's roaming fingers digging into his short-cropped hair clawing a quiet growl from his chest. "Being blind is no disillusion to me, Malik. I've grown to love the smells of the world, the sounds and textures of all things. The colors are but a memory, but I know they are there," he whispered, the pleasure of this man engulfing him so greedily licking flames of bliss at his skin, all over his body. "I want you—need you to stop feeling guilty over something that's long past." The fingers in his hair curled even tighter and he could feel the Dai's hips moving to meet his thrusts, pulling him in farther, the pool of heat bubbling within his belly.

"Our mistakes…" he breathed out heavily, rolling his hips, feeling the other's legs constrict around him. "They are done… and…" The heat, it was burning him, boiling through his vessels, gripping his heart. He felt so close to that edge; dangerously close.

Malik was lost. He heard Altaïr's words, but the roar of his own irregular breathing and loud moans were driving him insane. And each pump, each stroke, made him feel like he would burst, until the brunette slammed into him with such a ferocity, he thought he'd passed out.

The pleasure that rocketed into his very soul had him seeing white hot stars and from then on, every time Altaïr hit that same spot, his eyes rolled back and his throat choked on his breathy groans. "Ha-hah." It was as if the Assassin knew just where to thrust into him; knew how to perfectly drag out his helpless gasps and half moans. And to lie beneath this man—beneath Altaïr—and hear his groans of pleasure as he was taken, it was madness.
Sweet madness that made him both forget and remember what'd he done to the brunette.

With trembling fingertips, he began to unwind the bandage around the other's eyes, biting his lower lip to stifle his heady noises. Altaïr never complained and the Dai was careful with the cloth, revealing the scarred flesh of the blind Assassin's eyes, closed gently, never to open again.

Moving to sit up, feeling Altaïr relentlessly rock into him, Malik wound his arm around the man's shoulders and with the same tenderness the brunette had showed him, he kissed those shut eyelids and brushed his lips over that scarred mouth, groaning desperately when Altaïr shoved up into him. Their bodies bound so intimately, that the thought burned arduously within the raven's mind. He could feel Altaïr's manhood striking him so deeply, he could barely see straight and he bounced along frantically, half lidded eyes straining to keep open, if anything, to gaze at the brunette's flushed features; his sweating skin.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Re: The roaring 20's

Assassins May Cry

Fill: Unexpected Encounters (1f/?)

Re: Fill: Unexpected Encounters (1f/?)

Fill: Unexpected Encounters (2/?)

Re: Fill: Unexpected Encounters (2/?)

Re: [Bonds Unbroken 5/?]

Re: In your clothes

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Re: Equitazione - 2/?

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Re: Dude, it's my bureau.

Re: The roaring 20's

Re: Vacation

Forgiveness. [1/?]

Forgiveness. [2/?]

Forgiveness. [3/?]

Forgiveness. [4/?]

Forgiveness. [5/?]

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