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Curiosity	By : anyasy Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 7251 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassins Creed, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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31 Days Prompt: Jan 01: this universe we
cannot control
New
Year! :D Happy New Year�s, everyone!
Hunting Eagles

Maximilian�s
house, set so close to the port of Acre, somehow managed to smell persistently
of sandalwood instead of fish and human refuse. The heat of the afternoon
sun was only partially shuttered out by the heavy curtains; the noise of the
street half drowned in folds of cloth. He could make out the distant
shouts of hawkers at their stalls, the shrill cries of beggars, and susurrus
murmur of street level conversation.

The
walls were rough under his palms, and Alta�r was sweating under his clothes,
his teeth bared, a tongue wet against his ear, his hood folded against his
back. Maximilian grunted, behind him, shifted, and began to move
again, slow and maddening and deep, Alta�r�s flesh between his legs held
in a pleasant prison within hot, slick fingers, an arm wrapped around his waist
that bent him back against the spymaster.

The
clamor of alarm bells had long faded, and yet Maximilian was taking his time,
mouthing at his neck, wet and teasing; his body was numbingly hot, the room
stifling, his labored breathing in heavy pants as he curled fingers into claws
against the wall, braced himself, the folds of his breeches uncomfortable against
his knees, and bucked. Maximilian growled, deep and liquid like an
animal, and rolled his hips, deliciously harder, making him moan, breathless.

Alta�r
knew he was due back in Acre�s Bureau hours ago, but under the other man�s
skilled attentions that had already long become as abstract as his instinctive
questions; all he could concentrate on was moving against Maximilian�s rhythm,
trying to force it, learning. If he moved sharply, pushed back,
Maximilian would hiss; if he clenched, there was that rumbling sound that was
so much like a purr, a growl; if he whispered the other man�s name, there would
be a breathy snarl. Alta�r had never felt so much pleasure.

Still,
the shreds of his discipline kicked his mouth into obeisance, as much as the rest
of his body was by now quite beyond his control. �Max� Maximilian.
I have to go.�

�What,
when you are like this?� Maximilian grinned against his neck, slow and lazy,
and tugged lightly at swollen flesh, making him shiver and thrust desperately
into the fading pressure.

Alta�r
considered protesting, but (and this despite the opinion of some of his
compatriots, and certainly his late Master) the assassin was actually quite
intelligent, and could guess that any further complaints about the pace would merely
slow it further.

Instead,
he took a shuddering breath, pitched his voice lower, rougher, and said, �What
am I supposed to say to� to have you take me harder?�

�Merely
that,� Maximilian growled, next to his ear, and snapped his hips forward.
Alta�r listened to breaths and moans and fleshy slaps, closed his eyes, sank
his teeth into his arm to mute his cries, as his body began to sing.

--

He
made his report first thing in the morning, slipped out as the sun began its
slow ascent. Maximilian had but yawned and turned over in the bed when he
had completed his absolutions, but had grinned and sat up, later, when he
returned, somewhat irritated with himself for doing so. Richard�s
spymaster for the Holy Land was handsome even in dishabille, his short russet
hair tousled, scratching at his trimmed beard, the sun having baked his skin
bronze even past his broad shoulders.

Maximilian
beckoned, with an inviting smile, but Alta�r sat stubbornly at the corner of
the bed and folded his arms. He still ached from last night�s shared
intimacies, but it was pleasant. He didn�t want to know if that
was why his feet had brought him back to the sandalwood-scented house.

�What
is your business in Acre?�

�Technically
Acre belongs to the Lion,� Maximilian pointed out, settling against the
headboard. �My business in Acre happens to be legitimate, unlike yours.�

�You
seem little inclined to turn me in to the guards.�

�Your
target was a slaver who owned half the pleasure houses in Acre, and men sometimes
speak matters to whores that are best left unsaid. Your silencing him
took a little weight off my mind. Besides, I am sure that the last night
would have been far less enjoyable for the both of us were you consigned to a
cell than to my bed.�

Alta�r
glared at the spymaster, who smirked, and drawled, �Though I admit to having
some issue with your �Creed�. You assassins have a quaint notion of
innocence and guilt.�

�We
investigate each target before acting.� Alta�r said, a little more coldly than
he had intended. He was the best of his kind, and he remained somewhat
unnerved (and yes, annoyed) that both King Richard and his spymaster continued
to view him as a moral curiosity rather than anyone dangerous. �We
do not harm innocents.�

�No
man is innocent. And besides, how would you then see the guards? Many
guards and soldiers enter their occupation for the sake of coin for their
family. Does that make them any different from the merchant on the
street?�

�If
they raise their blade against mine-�

�Do
they always do so first? Or do you kill some simply because they are in the
wrong place at the wrong time? Assassins oft kill the archers on the towers and
the battlements before stalking their targets, after all. Preparation is
everything.� Maximilian�s smile was now chilling. �Do not take this as
criticism, merely as my personal curiosity.�

�Then
by what reason do you kill? Do you blindly follow your master�s orders?�

�Of
course not. King Richard appreciates criticism from his spymaster.
And as far as I can tell, he does nothing without a reason.� Maximilian leant
forward as Alta�r looked away, biting absently at his lip, and carefully put a
hand on the assassin�s thigh. �You are a good man. That surprised
my King.�

Alta�r
blinked at him. �It did?�

�Enough
that he did not kill you on the spot for butchering your way into his camp,�
Maximilian said dryly. �Men with a good heart amuse him greatly. He
told me as such afterwards, when he called me to his side and bade me and mine
leave Masyaf alone.�

Alta�r
narrowed his eyes.

�I
merely felt that, with its leader dead and many of its men scattered or
confused, it would be a fine opportunity.� Maximilian continued,
unconcerned. �But my King was of the opposite opinion. Though if
you were to ask me truly I would think my poor King far more interested in war
than in governance, and that where possible he is happy to spare anyone with a
pretty face. So we are to observe. I did think you would become
Master, though.�

�I
did not think myself suitable,� Alta�r said stiffly, ignoring the underhand
compliment. Perhaps they had been infiltrated. He would have to
find out.

�Men
who do not think themselves suitable are often the most suitable,�
Maximilian�s stroking hands had wandered up to his cheek. �But I confess
myself pleased. Were you left to govern at Masyaf� breaking into your
little fort simply to meet you may be beyond my capabilities.�

�So
you came to Acre to observe?� Alta�r noticed that speaking to Maximilian was
often difficult. The man changed subjects so smoothly and quickly that it
was often several conversations after that one even realized his original
question was still unanswered.

�Certainly.
I heard that you were about.�

�King
Richard-�

�Has,
as you have no doubt observed, a rather loose interest in governance.� The hand
pushed back his hood, the thumb tracing his ear.

�He
also seemed to have little interest in the Piece of Eden,� Alta�r said, watching
Maximilian carefully. Richard the Lionheart had been more curious about
Alta�r�s notion of morality and his reason for living the way he did than in
Robert de Sable�s dying ramblings.

�My
King has no use for superstition,� Maximilian said easily, and in those cold
eyes Alta�r read ironic amusement. �And if he has no use for it then
neither have I. Keep it safe, or destroy it, I have no interest in what
you have chosen.�

�Some
would call that a shallow choice, for a spymaster.�

�The
Sword of Excalibur. The Holy Grail. Pieces of Eden. The
Ark. The world is full of superstitious artifacts, Alta�r. But my
King charges me to watch the world of men and feed him information about their
movements.�

�A
Piece of Eden would make King Richard victorious in any war.�

�Would
it? You certainly killed its last bearer easily enough.� Maximilian grinned,
tracing his jaw. �King Richard has little interest in �magic�, and
besides, what use is an artifact that would end all wars to a warrior-King? He
has no interest in such methods of control. Nor have you, I see.�

�So
you would have me believe that you care not what happens to the Piece.�

�Aye.
I give you my word that other than professional concerns, my only interest in
Masyaf�s assassins regards your immediate whereabouts and schedule at any point
in time.� Maximilian favored Alta�r with a searching, lascivious stare that
made the assassin cough hurriedly and instinctively cross his legs.

�I
am expected in Masyaf.�

�So
it would seem,� Maximilian said agreeably, and pounced.

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