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.

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☃ 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
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Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The closest viewpoint wasn’t too far away, and the two of them scaled the walls hastily and scrambled to beat the other in speed, desperate to claim first place in their childish feud to be the faster climber. The climbing holds were sandy and duty under their fingers, and the tower much too tall and challenging for them, but it was exhilarating, and they would both insist that it was the adrenaline that had them giggling and laughing over weak insults as they ascended. Adnan had reached the top first, Hafez following closely behind. They gasped lightly, settling on the roof beam for a short rest amidst the windy billows of the flag above them.

“The view’s not bad.” Hafez admitted between breathes, his dissatisfaction quelled at the magnificence of the panoramic view of the city’s skyline. Adnan wasn’t too terrible for company, who, he had noticed, was smiling subtly at the breath-taking view. Hamah was quite alright, he decided, and it was an unspoken, mutual agreement that they would take a few more moments to enjoy the fine environment.

When they finally returned to the ground, strong, large arms held the both of them, a rough rag pressed against their faces and a putrid odour invaded their senses. Adnan struggling and a pitch darkness was all Hafez could remember as he blacked out.

-

Malik was in an absolute rage. The other assassins cowered towards the wall as he stomped past them in the hallways, and even the imposing guards of Masyaf shifted slightly as the stone ground below them seemingly trembled as he approached. His own thoughts were in pieces, it was outrageous, how could they, how dare they, and how painlessly helpless he was at the moment – that was all that would occupy in his mind.

He pushed past the guards in annoyance, and they, fearful of his wrath, were tight-lipped and allowed him into the Grand Master’s room wordlessly, despite the fact that he knew they would have done so at any other time. Altaïr looked up from his papers in genuine surprise.

“What ails you, brother?” He stood up from behind his desk, robes sweeping the table corners as he moved towards him in concern.

Malik tried to control the pulsing muscles in his body, the loud, incessant pounding of his blood in his temples. “They have him. A letter was sent.” He realised frighteningly calm his voice was as he passed the scroll that he had been scrunching tightly in his fist to Altaïr. “They took Hafez, Altaïr. They took him, and Adnan too. They took them.”

He watched Altaïr read the letter slowly, frowns etched on his facial features and how much he wished he would read faster because time was wasting and he simply wouldn’t forgive himself if the past, if history would to repeat across his future.

“They’re on an excursion in Hamah, aren’t they?” It frustrated him to no end how slowly Altaïr was taking this – wasn’t he the one who was the rash one, out of the two of them? He, that had no regard for consequences and would thoughtlessly rush into battle, why was he taking his time to ponder and contemplate?

Malik swore loudly. “Altaïr! This is… this is no time to think and evaluate slowly! Can’t you see that lives are at stake here?” Important lives, to both you and I. He knew Altaïr wouldn’t deny the connection he felt between him and Adnan, both orphans, both exceedingly talented, and both immensely arrogant. His mentorship to the boy was a personal sort of atonement, to hope and do everything within his power that blind superiority could not bring harm on another, of course Malik knew that. He understood all of that, but what he did not understand was why Altaïr was mulling over the obvious consequences, the bleak, morbid consequence, if they were to continue waiting.

“It could be a ploy. A trick to pull us away from Masyaf - we would be walking into danger and plausible death, Malik. It would be the last mistake we make.” Altaïr said, turning away from the paper and returning it to him.

“And, by not going, could be the greatest regrets of our lives!” He shouted, hand pushing the paper away. “Perhaps some of us meant to die months ago. What difference would it make if it had been then or now?” Malik bristled to stride away, but not before turning around to sneer, disappointment obvious in his dark eyes. “I was wrong about you. You have not changed at all. To you, we must all be your playthings.”

“Being the Grand Master has made you senile, Altaïr.” Malik offered the last statement acidly, and left. Damn if he was going to have to do this alone! He would condemn himself for eternity if he did not even try, and he knew it.

He counted, five minutes to his quarters, fifteen to pack and prepare – he whisked a passing novice and ordered to have the fastest steed prepared outside the fortress in twenty minutes time – another five to be outside the castle and an estimate of four hours on continuous horseback and he would be in Hamah.

Time was never on his side, he thought with irritation, kicking his room door opening and stuffing clean robes and polished ammunition. The worn leather fit his chest snugly, the throwing knives kept firmly in place as he tied up the red sash. Clean weaponry in his room was a preparation that never thought he would have to utilise, and he prayed hard, to Allah and even the wretched Templar-God that even if he wouldn’t make it back alive, at least the boys would.

His fingers moved towards the sword Altaïr had presented him weeks ago with slight unease. Maher, he had named it, but he didn’t think he could fight properly with the emotions that weighted it now. He clenched his fist, then pulled away, opting instead to secure the short blade tightly to his back. He would borrow a sword from the next Assassin he passed, and hoped that it was well maintained.

“A sword is for fighting, and not room decoration.” A wistful voice penetrated the soft noises of strapping leather. Malik turned around to see Altair standing at his doorway, arms crossed smugly, expression unreadable beneath the hood.

“Altaïr.” Malik acknowledged stiffly. And then he noticed the difference. The black robes have been stripped away, the leather vambrace of the hidden blade cuffed to his arm. Altaïr stood in uniform that mirrored his own, and it caught him by slight surprise.

“Time is wasting, you’re the one who said so.” He commented coolly. “Aren’t you equipping the sword?”

Malik blinked once, then smirked, taking Maher up in his hand and tied it to his hip.

“Get a move on then, and don’t block my doorway.”

A/N : That's all for this week, and the word limit makes for awkward chapter breaking.

Something based on this song ~~yes I still like this album~~: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1e4Y46rpZbk

Or rather, just the chorus:

Tonight I'm gonna give you all my love in the back seat
Bubble, pop, electric
Bubble, pop, electric
Gonna speed it down and slow it up in the back seat
Bubble, pop, electric
Uh-oh in the back seat

Any pairing would be fine, but if anon somehow makes it Des/Lucy I will compose you an album dedicated to your greatness.

Scrambling down the outside of the building and slipping back inside by the street level entrance put him in position to catch Ezio's attention as he walked past, speaking with Niccolò. Ezio took a misstep as their eyes met, causing Niccolò to turn and look also and they came to a stop in the hall facing him. Vittorio inclined his head respectfully to both of them but kept his eyes locked with Ezio’s.

As the moment stretched long, Niccolò looked between them with a raised eyebrow and then shook his head in knowing exasperation, making to leave but as he turned, Ezio reached out and grasped his arm, drawing him back to briefly mutter something lowly into his ear. Niccolò nodded after a moment and was released. He smirked at Vittorio before moving off down the hall with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Once they were alone Ezio took a step toward him.“It is odd seeing Marco’s whole face again after all this time.” His tone was conversational but with Ezio there seemed always to be an edge of something hidden in his voice, like a blade you might never see... and feel only briefly..

“No more odd than it must be for him to be without his mask after nearly a year.” Vittorio replied neutrally, remaining where he was but offering a lopsided smile.

“I would have thought you might be celebrating with him. There are rumors that the two of you are close...” The Maestro’s manner was offhand and teasing but the edge in his voice now sounded a bit like a challenge so Vittorio cocked his head to one side and displayed his knife-like grin.

“He is a bit young for my tastes... which is not to say that I would turn him away based solely on that...” He let his wicked grin dissolve into a playful smirk, crossing his arms behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling innocently, adding- “We flirt, but that is all... as yet. He likes to tease... I like to tease too.” Ezio took another step towards his position and again Vittorio did not step to meet him, instead he leaned on the wall casually, kicking a foot back to rest against the stones and relaxed his arms, letting them fall to his sides and pressing his palms flat against the wall at his back. He kept his face in a neutral closed-lipped smile, tilting his head so that his eyes were shadowed but not invisible.

Ezio cocked his head with mock-concern. “Is that all I can expect from you then? Teasing?”

“No Maestro, you well know what I would allow with you.” Vittorio smirked, showing just a glint of tooth.

“But not with Marco?” One more step brought Ezio to him and he leaned also against the wall but only onto one hand, planted near Vittorio’s head. Ezio was a bit taller than he anyway and Vittorio’s slouch just emphasized the difference. He looked up into the Maestro’s face, pulling his lips away from his teeth a little more and narrowing his eyes playfully

“With Marco, I wish to do something subtly different that what I wish for you to do to me, Maestro and eventually I will have him, just not tonight...” Vittorio’s smirk grew as Ezio made a tiny, strange noise, curling his finger tips into the stone near Vittorio's head.

Vittorio wondered how far Ezio might go with him here in the open hall where someone could happen past at any moment. He had never chanced to glimpse the Maestro engaged with any of the other Apprentices or the ranked Assassini or any of their agents in other guilds. The rumors of his activities were varied and colorful but just as Vittorio had done when he was Il Lupo, and had spied for the Templars, he took what he heard and filed it away for cross-reference. He never believed anything he heard outright. Everything demanded further study and consideration; demanded proof.

Of course that he had seen nothing did not mean the rumors were untrue, simply that Ezio was at least somewhat discreet and that more than likely the leaks came only from the loose tongues of those he had been with multiplied by the shameless speculators. He wondered briefly, should he entice Ezio to openly embrace him here, what reactions they might receive from passers by. Would he be the object of envy or would he just be assumed another notch on the Maestro’s bedpost?

OP anon is discontinuing this for the time being, too busy, not enough inspiration. Sorry!

~~Haha oh look I'm going to try and do my job how cute.~~

So going through the suspicious comment I had a thought. Whenever you post something with the http tag in front it will send it to the suspicious comments, so try and take that out before posting any links, and so I see people trying to post 1000000 times with "what happened/this didn't post the first time so I'm going to try it so many time f0rk won't know which one to clear" also I don't go through every post to make sure yours eventually made it after the 100000001 time so I don't know if I should clear it. Can the people who's post don't go through do me a huge favor and PM me if you don't see your post, if you do that I can go and clear it without you filling up the suspicious comments and making me cry.

Okay, ignore this, go back to having fun you silly kids.
-fork

More! Yay! Thanks for stayin' with me, guys! =D

Ezio was knocked into a wall as teeth sunk into the tender flesh of his throat around his jugular. Furious, he forced the beast-like man's head back with a snap and brought his knee to the small of the man's back, right where a particularly nasty wound was.

Il Lupo fell back with a jerk and hit the floor painfully. With his concentrated agility, he sat back on his feet with heels off the ground and leapt onto the assassin. Sharpened fingernails clamping down on the broad armored shoulders while he swung his knee to an unprotected spot, the assassin's groin. His lips twisted in satisfaction with watching the pitiful man crumble to the floor. Weaklings do not live.

Ezio's eyes snapped up to the shuddering male standing above him, his chest shuddering with troubled breaths as the effects of illness and extent of his wounds started his downfall. The assassin glared intently into Il Lupo's eyes, pulling himself off the floor and catching the man's wrists when he lunged at him again. A swift uppercut threw the snarling wounded onto the floor, and a boot crushed his torso: ribs crunching under the sheer pressure forced upon them.

The agony forced a grunt from the man's throat. A snarl took its place when clawed fingers dug into the soft flesh of the enemy's lower calf and pulled him down to his level. Pain raced through Ezio's veins as his leg was torn and slashed angrily and insulted by a powerfully packed punch to his nose, cracking under the fist brought upon it. He staggered back, but threaded his fingers through the hair and pulled Lupo off of him, sending repeated punches to his kidney and unprotected side.

Il Lupo gagged and vomited blood on Ezio's robes along with the medicine forced down his throat earlier. His eyes quickly filled with revenge and he slammed one fist into his attacker's jaw and another into his ribs. Using the armor to his advantage, Lupo skittered over Ezio's shoulder and slammed his feet into his spine. Shoving his weight onto him, the beastly male tore at his spine with vengeful rage and eyes rolled back before sinking his canines into the assassin's uncovered flesh at the back of his neck.

Blood sprayed into his eyes and his prey shook him off, rolling onto the balls of his feet and wrapping his hands around Lupo's throat and dragged him to the wall, slamming his head into the hard surface several times with blinded fury. Il Lupo crumpled under him, hanging limp and drawing troubled breaths and preceding to be thrown to the floor and pinned helplessly.

Ezio's fingers closed around his trachea and choked him mercilessly, brown eyes held a murderous lust for blood. Adrenaline racing through Lupo's veins fought off the current pain facing him, and numbed the force of the exact pressure threatening to collapse his windpipe. His brain forced itself to think of a way out and several strategies to use while his lungs burned with the intensity of Hell's flames for oxygen.

Spots threatened his vision as he tried to capture the opponent's hateful glare, and he would not let himself loose his dominance. No, he was in control. Blood from Ezio's nose fell to his gasping mouth and rushed into his nose, burning the flesh with its warmth and metallic scent stinging his nose. He spat the blood mixed with his own in his captor's face, some leaving a burning trail down his throat and nose and into his churning stomach.

"I will say this one last time: I am not your enemy." Ezio rasped, blood spraying from his nose in a sharp exhale. This was an utter insult to Il Lupo, and his blood boiled over dangerously, even as he drew in ragged breaths of exhaustion. Blood trickled from his forehead and down his nose, pooling into his ears from a wound. Lupo's oxygen supply was nearly depleted, and his brain began to shut down entirely.

Vittorio was unsurprised to find that he did not really mind either of those things. Because of his status a something of a prodigy he was frequently the target of jealously, just as he had predicted might happen and initially attempted to avoid. The others had to respect him though, if only for the fact that he really was just that good. If they could not show him up then some would display their frustration by attempting to mock him for one thing or another; his preference for men being one, even though such things were not prohibited or even discouraged within the Brotherhood. Vittorio let these sorts of comments roll off him as Il Lupo would have. He had seen enough to know that it was the way of any organization in which ranks were issued. Those who advanced quickly were always envied by those who needed more time. The instructors had done their best to admonish and cow the more aggressive Apprentices but several sparring sessions had degenerated into all out brawls because of other recruits rushing him as he trounced one of their fellows in a what was meant to be a one-on-one fight. He had found himself dueling two or more angered Apprentices on more than one occasion and it was eventually decided, by a glowering and clearly unamused Niccolò, whilst he grasped one snarling recruit by her hood and another by his throat, that Vittorio would only spar against Marco or in special cases, Ezio as they both could be trusted not to let their fight get out of hand.

As for being seen as merely another conquest for the Maestro Vittorio rather viewed it the other way around... But what did he care what the others thought of him, if he was not violating the Creed? They were all Brothers and Sisters and regardless of petty jealousies they would work as a team for the Brotherhood. Indeed many of those who had behaved badly toward him initially had come forward to apologize and excuse themselves to him for their actions and he had received all graciously and it was mostly well between them by this point, save for the pick-pocket he had schooled... Luciana. She still glared whenever she saw him. He would only smile disarmingly back at her and her cheeks would flare red and she would glare harder. Vittorio conjectured that she might have developed something of an unwilling infatuation with him and he briefly considered romancing her a bit just to see how much she actually hated him... But his fascination had never been much for women. Although he had found in his survival oriented life of thievery and brigandage before the Templars had taken him, that women were generally in possession of the most comfortable beds.

In the end he had not pursued Luciana, only continued to smile and keep his distance. She would either get over her humiliation or anger or attraction or whatever it was she was feeling or she would not. He offered no apology an indeed felt no contrition for besting her.

“Would you like to go somewhere... with a little more cover?" Vittorio asked as he finally moved off the wall, sliding forward casually. Ezio had leaned rather close to him and the action brought him to within a fraction of an inch of the Maestro as he paused and then passed, just brushing the knuckles of one hand across the other's abdomen; the touch so light it could have been accidental. Vittorio doubted Ezio could even feel it through his armor and heavy clothing but the effect was still an instantaneous and noticeable shiver; a sharp intake of breath.

He smirked as Ezio caught his arm and drew him back much as he had Machiavelli only a few moments before but Vittorio doubted very much that the Maestro’s whispered words to the other man had contained the same inflection as when he muttered into Vittorio's ear and in spite of himself Vittorio felt his cheeks warm. It was no wonder Ezio had such a reputation, even if he did not actually bed everyone he talked to, it might have felt as if he had, with a voice like that which could so weaken the knees; so heat the blood; so sully the mind...

With such innocent words...

I don't think it would be too confusing? But I'll start posting it!

“Is your archery still in need of improvement?” The blade was now a curl of smoke, slow and lingering in the stillness between their breaths and a tremulous heat shivered through Vittorio's belly and up his spine as he recalled that sunny afternoon under the olive boughs several days before. It would be moonlight dappling them this time if they were to return as it seemed Ezio was suggesting but at night they could be sure no one would be there and no one would arrive to interrupt them. The evening was young and warm and being outdoors under the sky with Ezio sounded very appealing. Guiltily he recalled the actual reason he had sought the Maestro and mentally chastised himself for his lack of self control and then again for the fact that it would not make any difference.

“I could use some instruction still... by starlight...” He smirked but then added more seriously, “I wished to speak with you in private anyway.” Ezio released his arm and Vittorio turned again to face the Master Assassin, smiling. “Shall we meet in an hour?” At Ezio’s nod Vittorio bowed and they each departed in separate directions. Vittorio meant to be prepared for whatever might occur this time so he quickly returned to his room and obtain some supplies. He considered the night warm enough to bathe in the clear pond near the archery range so he decided to beat Ezio there by at least half an hour.

After leaving Gallo it took him only a few minutes to find an unattended horse and make off with her. Once he returned to the city later he would release the animal to find her way home. Right now though she would serve to convey him to the range to meet his master.

As he rode across the countryside Vittorio thought upon Ezio. He fully intended to let the Maestro have him in any way he might like. Vittorio really felt no guilt about his own desires but he did feel something nagging him in the back of his mind when he considered Ezio. He knew some of his history, because of course people talked and Vittorio was always listening. They spoke in hushed tones of the conspiracy that resulted in the public hanging of his father and both of his brothers right before his eyes; how later, Cesare had lain waste to Monteriggioni and executed Ezio’s last remaining male relative; again right before his very eyes. It was even rumored that the pistola used to kill Mario Auditore had been designed by Leonardo, the renowned artist and inventor and a person very close to Ezio and although Ezio clearly bore the Artist no ill will for aiding the Templars, Vittorio wondered if the rumors regarding the Maestro and Leonardo were true, there were so many... He wondered if Ezio knew about the nature of Leonardo and Cesare’s relationship...

As if he had any business faulting someone else for duplicitously bedding persons from both sides... Also he supposed Ezio knew Leonardo had no real choice but to comply with Cesare’s demands, be they upon his mind and skill or upon his body... Yet another excellent actor like Machiavelli, it had quite surprised Vittorio to learn that Leonardo actually worked against Cesare to aid the Assassins. He had thought the man to only work for commission and he was a little ashamed to admit it had not occurred to him that the Leonardo might have been pressed into service.

As quietly as he could, Desmond slipped down onto the pylon of the bridge he had used to cross over the East River and get past the militarized border that separated Manhattan Island from the rest of the world. He had crossed using the trusses that made up the underside of the bridge where the only defense consisted of automated guns that were activated by some sort of sensor. Lucy had told him they were for detecting some kind of virus and Desmond had just accepted it, no matter how strange it seemed. It didn’t matter to him so long as they weren’t motion activated.

Now all that Desmond needed to get past was the line of marines that were guarding the area around the bridge’s base. He wandered towards the soldiers, doing his best to look as lost and uncertain as he could.
It didn’t take them long to notice him.

“You, stop. Hands in the air.”

Desmond complied after jerking to a stop with fear that he didn’t actually feel.

“This is a restricted area.” A young-looking marine said, strafing around Desmond with his gun trained on him. There were probably at least two more soldiers standing behind Desmond. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah… well, I-I’m looking for m-my fiancée, Melissa Stevens.” Desmond stammered awkwardly. “We decided that we’d meet here if we got separated, but I think I got confused about which bridge we were meeting at…”

The soldier gave him a skeptical look. “You expect me to believe you got lost.”

“Yeah? I mean I’m from Colorado—you can check my license--” Desmond felt one of the soldiers remove the wallet containing his faked license (though it was a damn good fake, he was valuable and the Assassin’s weren’t about to let him get caught because of a shoddy forgery) and twenty-ish dollars in ones and change. The marine grunted an affirmative and replaced Desmond’s wallet.

“We were on vacation,” Desmond continued smoothly, “when we got caught up in this…”

Desmond watched as the young marine’s expression softened as he filled in the blanks.

“Look,” the soldier began, “You can’t wait here. We’re all dealing with the quarantine and I can’t give anyone special treatment. If you promise to stay away from restricted areas I’ll try to find out if your fiancé has shown up at any of the other bridges.”

Desmond showered the marine with thanks as he led him away from the bridge and past the other guards.

“I can’t believe that actually worked…” He muttered as soon as he was out of sight of the soldiers and heading toward the safe house to meet up with the others.

Alex Mercer (though he had been called several other things, ZEUS, Blacklight, Monster, he and his subconscious were most comfortable with Alex Mercer even if it wasn’t right) limped towards central park. He wasn’t exactly sure where he should go from here; he’d spent almost his entire existence following other’s directions but now he was free. It was strange.

However, he recalled, he was only relatively free; there was still Dana to worry about. Most of him was glad to have something tying him down and whatever the rest of him felt didn’t matter. Dana was important. She had helped him, and, more importantly, Dana was Alex Mercer’s sister. The virus that Mercer had become knew what that meant even though he wasn’t human, even though the real Alex Mercer hadn’t known.

But right now, Alex was exhausted. For the first time he could remember, he just wanted to curl up, go to sleep, and not wake up for days. Dana was as safe as she could be in Ragland’s morgue, and he’d lost so much biomass in the fight with the Supreme Hunter and then even more riding the nuke’s shockwave and crashing back into Manhattan. The raven he’d consumed had been barely enough to get him up and moving and even then Alex still felt incredibly light, almost as if he would be blown away in a strong wind. He needed more biomass.

Central park was the one place he knew of where he could go to consume the walkers without too much trouble. There were no suitable buildings to convert into hives and, with no hives to defend, there wouldn’t be a need for hunters. No hives also meant no soldiers.

So he staggered to Central Park, some deep, unvoiced instinct driving him to find a dark place to hide and recover.

Vittorio realized he knew little of Ezio or the people close to him. Was anyone really close to Ezio? His eyes seemed so far away at times. A caged bird which remembers a time before its wings were clipped; a time before it even knew of scissors. Vittorio was much too intelligent to delude himself into thinking Ezio wished anything from him other than physical contact; sexual release. The man’s appetite was nearly as legendary as his skill at death-dealing and Vittorio took no issue with that. For himself it was almost fulfillment of a mission at this point; a task left unfinished which nagged at him for completion. However, he began to feel rather badly because Ezio probably did not need just another warm place to put his cazzo; another body to use as so many said he habitually did; that he used his admirers and his friends and his supporters; used them for brief pleasurable company or for their talents at politics or money handling or fighting; used their connections and holdings and armies... Ezio was respected and adored but at the same time he was also viewed as something of a scoundrel even among his closest allies and family members.

Did they not all see how they used Ezio in return? Used his blade and his power, used his ability to make money out of practically nothing, used his stealth and athleticism and his absolute willingness to go all the way to the most ridiculous extremes in order to win? The man was so tough he was seen as nearly immortal but one real look into his eyes would resolve any further thoughts on that subject. For all their surface humor and warmth there was a desolateness in them which made Vittorio shiver in recognition.

It was guilt.

It was rage.

It was despair.

Of course Ezio sought revenge for what had been taken from him... so many things. Of course he sought the temporary relief from pain that physical pleasure brought. Vittorio could understand that all too well-

for he was still doing it himself.

But he could try with Ezio, to find something more than just a brief connection... Maybe he could really learn something of the man. The more he had thought on it recently, the more it had become clear to him that he had very strong feelings for Teodor, feelings he could not put into simple words. Vittorio felt deep affection for Teodor but he truly wanted to help Ezio, if only just in thanks for simply being there by chance that one day and mistakenly giving a dead Templar a second chance at living...

He owed Ezio more respect than simply to lay with him for a personal tally or as a way to pass the evening. He resolved to give more than he would take with Ezio and he resolved to speak with Teodor about his feelings... soon.

If he could find the courage to even name them to himself.

As he approached the archery range he made the signal whistle just in case someone was there but as he expected the area was completely deserted. Vittorio hitched his stolen mount to the large tree by the hay pile so she could feed, hauling a bucket from the farm cottage to the pond and back with water for her, then quickly divested himself of weapons and armor and undressed, leaving his folded clothing atop his boots and making again for the pond to bathe himself. It was only an hour after sunset and the air was still heated from the long hot day, the water warm as it came up around his thighs and then engulfed him to the waist. He had been nervous at first, again recalling his near death in the Tiber but this small body of crystal clear water bore little resemblance to the murky river, with fireflies drifting lazily amidst the reeds at its banks, flashing their tiny lanterns. The moon was waning from half and still bright enough to illuminate the landscape along with myriad stars glittering like jewels scattered across blue-black velvet.

It was truly beautiful here and Vittorio thought suddenly that he might have been somewhat blessed to even notice it. Only because of the new life Ezio and the Brotherhood had given him; only because of his new eyes and his new heart could he see and appreciate such simple loveliness.

Never when he had been a Templar would have ever thought the eyes of an Assassin could see so much more than death.

Vittorio scrubbed his face and body with the clean water and released his hair from its ribbon, tying the satin strip about his wrist to keep it from drifting away in the placid water and soon enough he heard a high whistle from over the reeds.

Presently Ezio approached the bank holding a lantern aloft and wearing none of his usual armor or colors, his simple brown breeches were already unlaced and his loose white chemise gaped to nearly his navel. The hair upon his chest and belly was dark but not terribly thick and without his hood his chestnut locks fell loose around his shoulders, shorter around his face and across his forehead. The way it fell about his face made Vittorio wish to see it wet. Ezio smiled, waving in greeting and Vittorio beckoned the Assassin to enter the water with him.

Vittorio pushed his damp hair back from his face and smiled as Ezio set the lantern down on the grassy bank, kneeling to work the buckles on his boots free and then discarding his clothing haphazardly amid the tall grasses. Vittorio watched appreciatively as Ezio’s body was revealed, scarred and strong. The man was lean and muscular absolutely everywhere, his every line and angle telling the story of a man who was never at rest; who had been fighting for so long that it was practically written onto his very muscle and bone. And Vittorio had to also smirk at the ease with which the Maestro disrobed before him. Although it was the first time they would see each other unclothed, their intimacy was not cluttered by any emotion beyond lust and he did appreciate the other’s confidence. It spoke volumes of experience at least in physical matters. This time Vittorio would let it be simply that but if he somehow remained of interest after this encounter, he vowed to try to bring more life into those eyes.

With no desire to further damage Ezio’s heart, Vittorio promised himself that he would at least somehow reach it.

“That was not even close to an hour...” Vittorio accused with a broad grin as the man slipped into the water. He sent a small splash in Ezio’s direction as punctuation then was forced to duck low, laughing and retaliating with larger splashes as the smirking Maestro sent a huge arc of water his way with a cupped palm.

Ezio scooped up a double handful of water and scrubbed his face until it all drained away down his chest and muscled abdomen. Vittorio just watched as he spilled water over his shoulders and rubbed his hands down his torso, skin now glistening in the moonlight, cast golden at all the higher points by the nearby lantern on the bank. “It seems we both had the same notion.” Ezio intoned, wetting his hair and then brushing it back with his fingers.

“It was a good one indeed.” Vittorio replied, beckoning by curling his finger with an inviting smile. Ezio trod towards him, fighting the drag of the water and generating great waves around his naked thighs and hips as he moved. Vittorio laughed and pulled the larger man in as he drew near, their hands finding each other without preamble.

Hope you like it so far OP!

I was writing this in alternating AC and Prototype sections and just working on whatever I felt like since it wasn't posted anywhere. So I have more already written but not the immediate next part, but that shouldn't take long.

This was so awesome. It might just be my favorite misfire fill ever. You completely captured how I imagine Desmond in the Black Room will be, with the delightful surprise of Mike-from-the-bar-in-Philly. :3

Thank you, writer!anon!

Vittorio slid his fingers up over valleys and swells of muscle, outlining the scars from knife wounds on the man’s belly and the brutal arquebus shot but he did not linger over them as he supposed Ezio was not likely as enthralled by the knitted flesh which marred his own body as Vittorio was. Although when Ezio’s fingers found the ragged scars which cut diagonally across his back from his right shoulder to his left bottom rib he had to rethink his assessment. He jerked, shuddering as those calloused fingertips stroked laterally across the long raised striations where the sensations were just not the same as they had been when his there flesh had been whole. Ezio’s fingers spread flat and stilled, questioning where his voice did not and Vittorio reassured him by drawing closer and pressing his lips lightly to the smooth skin over Ezio’s right collarbone and then directly between them at the base of his throat carding fingertips through the coarser hair over his chest.

But his arms flew up about Ezio’s shoulders and he gasped in brief panic as he was walked back into slightly deeper water but it buoyed his weight, allowing Ezio to easily hoist him and he relaxed his arms, legs automatically wrapping around the Maestro’s waist. Ezio still lightly fingered the tightened, shiny flesh of his death-wound so Vittorio also returned to exploring Ezio’s scars, beginning with the one which practically defined his face, running nearly from the crease formed by his cheek, splitting the flesh of his upper lip and then continuing to a mirror image over the bottom. It terminated far down his chin and although partially obscured by his mustache and beard, it was still a major feature. Vittorio found it with his tongue, tracing the line of it from the coarse hair of his moustache down over the smoothness of his lips which parted for him to delve inside and he followed the thin line to where it faded into moist flesh.

He continued pushing his tongue in and it was met eagerly by Ezio’s, the hands which fingered his scarred back sliding down to cup his buttocks, lifting and drawing him in closer. They bumped and pressed together beneath the surface; cool water and hot flesh, the whorls and eddies of heat and chill caressing them like tiny fingers and they shuddered pleasantly against each other, pushing their mouths together even more ferociously. With increasing intensity they ground against one another roughly beneath the water, their waves lapping noisily upon the sandy shore and against the overhanging grassy banks and their melody of heavy breaths and appreciative groans and encouraging murmurs became entwined with the music of insects in the tall grasses and frogs in the lilies.

Vittorio let himself get dizzy with it. The night was still so warm and hypnotic with fireflies and moonlight and drifting clouds and the weightless environment of immersion eased all their motions, making them slow and graceful. The cool water flowing between their bodies made them slip against each other and where their flesh met and rubbed, delicious heat cut through the water. The skin contact created just enough friction to tease them both to throbbing, aching erectness. Ezio’s lips were hard against his now, forcefully sharing his breath and claiming him for this moment at least and Vittorio allowed it all. He could sense that Ezio wished to lead but not dominate and so he felt no trepidation about pressing back, tightening his thighs around his master’s waist and biting at his scarred lips.

Links please? ;u;

Their kiss broke when Ezio growled lowly, tightening his his hold on Vittorio with one strong arm around his lower back while the fingers of the other hand slipped lower. Again Ezio cupped and squeezed one of his buttocks before tracing his cleft lightly then dipping in further to intimately stroke him and the deep, nerve jangling thrill of pleasure and want he felt as Ezio touched him was undeniable. He gasped, pushing his hips back almost involuntarily, seeking more. It was wanton and whorish but Vittorio was not shamed by his body’s responsiveness. He had never been one to deny his own physical desires, even when he had been Il Lupo... His increasingly complex feelings for Teodor proved that. For he and Teodor it had certainly begun with lust but it had become so much more over time, although he had tried to resist it; tried to bury it; tried to deny it...

He still was.

It was only raw lust which was driving Ezio at the moment and Vittorio did not mind the Maestro’s enthusiasm in the slightest, moaning against the side of the Assassin’s neck where he had pressed his face when Ezio had begun to rock the toughened pads of two fingers over that sensitive pucker of flesh, keeping them also pressed tightly together front to front with his other hand. It all felt so good, the cool water and Ezio’s hot skin on his, Ezio’s firm grasp holding him in place; Ezio’s fingers kneading and spreading but not yet attempting to penetrate him.

Vittorio was becoming desperate for it though, panting against Ezio’s neck, torn between writhing back against the fingers which spread him and grinding forward into the hollow of the Assassin’s hip. Unable to decide and more or less pinned in place anyway he simply shuddered in Ezio’s arms.

He was not in a very good position to offer much in the way of return favors but Ezio did not seem to mind this; content it appeared, to pleasure his Apprentice. Vittorio wanted more though and moaned pleadingly.

The water sloshed around them as Ezio hefted him and turned for the shore.

“Nghhh.. Back at the range with my gear. I have a blanket and oil...” He muttered against Ezio’s shoulder, slightly embarrassed at how easily the Assassin bore his weight as they left the buoying water. “I can walk you know, you have only make my knees weak, not completely useless." He teased and Ezio chuckled, allowing him to gain his feet. They collected Ezio’s discarded clothing and made their way back down the path to the hay pile where Vittorio spread the blanket out in the fragrant grass beneath the stars and olive boughs.

A/N: I'm so sorry Anons!! Sorry OP! I have made you all wait so long for this update. I have been so swamped with work, both my job and working on my new house that I have barely had time to sleep let alone write. But I have this offering for you for now, so hopefully it will appease slightly. (Sorry also for the smut cliffhanger. I tried to make it gentle and I promise not to make you all wait so long for the continuation of the sex! OMG Finally the main pairing in this story is gonna fuck?! LOL This is not even close to done either. So much more has yet to happen! ILU all!!

god damn it, this is amazing!!!!!!!! I need more of this opium!

Sorry also for typos. I try but some always get through. :( Vittorio's last line should have read “I can walk you know, you have only made my knees weak, not completely useless."

I hate that I only see these things after it's already in an un-editable anon post. LOLKILLME...

but hurt!Altair is my fetish.
i love him, I swear!

Okay, prompt time.
Malik notices Altair seems to be loosing sleep, eating less; he's in an almost zombie-like state.
As much as Malik doesn't want to admit it, he's worried.
One day he confronts Altair, nonchalantly touching his shoulder.

Altair breaks down and begs Malik not to hurt him.

Malik is very confused and concerned.

What has happened to make Altair like this I shall leave up to you, author anons.

Here you go:

http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=1616073#t1616073

More fills would be nice, of course!

GOOD LUCK ANON. As an entering college freshman, I don't quite know how hectic all those things can get. :D So again, I say, "Good luck!"

[by the way, another beautiful update. I don't mind the cliffhanger. :D I love your story, and will wait eagerly for another update!]

Thank you Anon!! I just wish I had more time to write this story! I dream about it. LOL When I have no time to write I get antsy. XD Thank you so much for your support and understanding!

I am glad you are enjoying the way to fly! More soon I hope! <3<3<3

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.3

Re: Absolution - (6.2/?)

Re: Absolution - (6.3/?)

Needs more carsex

The way to fly. [40/?]

Discont!

mod musings and things you can skip right over

As A Dog Should 1.6/?

The way to fly. [41/?]

Re: OP: Protocreed = Assassin's Type?

The way to fly. [42/?]

Fill: Retrieval (1/?)

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The way to fly. [43/?]

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The way to fly. [45/?]

Re: I feel like such a bully

The way to fly. [46/?]

no subject

Re: The way to fly. [46/?] more A/N

I AM A MEAN PERSON

Re: I feel like such a bully

Re: The way to fly. [46/?]

Re: The way to fly. [46/?]