Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Hidden Dagger and Bladed Fist	By : BlueBastard Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 9058 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from this franchise

Chapter List
- 1-Hidden Dagger and Bladed Fist
- 2-chapter 2
- 1
- 2
"If he is yours, then why is he here in MY arms and not requesting to be in yours-" Ezio started to demand.

But Desmond interrupted as he exclaimed none-too-subtly, "Him! I choose Altair!"

Altair smirked.

Ezio's face fell.

But Desmond just wanted his personal space back, "Now put me down."

"You choose that idiota over me?" Ezio questioned, ignoring the snarl from the rooftops, "But I can show you a much better time."

"I am not choosing anyone." Desmond grated, promptly ignoring the innuendo blaring in both Ezio's tone and body language, "Just put me down, Ezio. Please."

Ezio's eyes widened, not recalling departing his name to the boy. Though it sounded delicious rolling off the boy's tongue. His thoughts took a steep tangent.

"Do you beg in bed as well?" Ezio couldn't resist purring.

Just when Desmond didn't think he could get any redder.

Suddenly Ezio whirled on his feet, ducking under the long bladed swipe of the Arabian assassin, who had managed to leap silently to the ground.

Ezio released Desmond in favor of parrying Altair's next lunge with both hidden blades, even as the Italian stated, "Hey, hey, there is no need for violence amongst new acquaintances."

But Altair was already pushing off from Ezio with a slight tap of his sword, tackling Desmond against the wall and pinning him there, sword still pointed in Ezio's direction.

"What sorcery is this? Where are we?" Altair demanded, narrowed eyes on the Italian, but sharp inquiry directed towards the boy pinned behind him.

"You are in Venezia." Ezio answered for Desmond, taking a step towards them, "Now put your weapon away. I can tell you are of the Brotherhood as well. I am Ezio Auditore de Firenze. May I ask yours, my friend?"

Head cocked to the side, Altair took the man's words to be true. The same, if not overly decorative, assassin's robe adorned the suave man's form. That and the fact that Altair got the slight impression that this man was incapable of lying, though his inflated ego probably found no need in the diversionary tactic.

Altair took a step forward, sheathing his sword smoothly as he proclaimed, "I am Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, Grand Master of the Order in Masyaf."

"Impossible." Ezio frowned, "Masyaf has not been occupied for 300 years. The great man's name you have called your own has been dead for that same amount of time."

"Impossible, yet here I am. Though I do not know why you speak as though time has moved forward faster than it should..." Altair trailed off.

Then as one, they turned to face Desmond, who froze on the spot under such heated glares.

"Explain." Altair ordered.

-o-o-o-

"I'm telling the truth." Desmond repeated for the millionth time, facing the statue that was Altair, the Arab's arms crossed over his chest.

Ezio -thankfully not eyeing him like he was a piece of meat- paced around the abandoned room they had chosen to hole up in for Desmond's explanation.

The whole 'from the future' deal was slightly easier for the two older assassins to swallow because of Altair's current predicament, but they seemed more than unsatisfied that Desmond did not have any answers as to how to fix it.

"Yes, but how does this boy know us?" Altair directed his amber gaze to the Florentine noble, gesturing towards Desmond.

"I am not a- I am 19 years old!" Desmond said indignantly.

After which he felt heat rush to his face at the pointed stares both men sent his way, shadowed as they were by both assassin's hoods.

Through the animus, he had always been the one glowering at others. Silent and intimidating, though more so as Altair than as the boisterous Ezio. He never fully grasped the power of that look until then.

The fact that there were two of them... just wasn't fair.

Wasn't fair at all.

He felt compelled to answer, the double glowers eating at his nerves.

He always wondered why guards instantly caved to their questioning.

"You... are both my ancestors." He finally revealed, ignoring the boy comment for now.

Both assassins muttered simultaneously.

"You mean I am related to this feathered baboon?"

"Well that explains the good looks."

Then they glared at one another.

"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Ezio rumbled with an edge to his tone.

"Can you focus and think with your head for more than a few moments straight?" Altair growled, "And what I meant was your concern with strutting around in dyed and tailored clothing is a waste of time. There is no room for useless fashion preening in the Order."

Was this what the brotherhood was coming to? After all these centuries... THIS is what has become of the assassins? Altair scoffed.

Feeling the heavy weight of the elder's judgement, Ezio stepped forward rather than backed down. He was never one to back down from a fight. He had the scars to prove it.

Though he couldn't help throwing his good-natured humor into his defense. Despite the man's abrasive exterior, Ezio found a certain connection with the prideful man. It thwarted whatever anger would rise at the Arab's barbs.

"I resent that statement. I can think with both parts at once, thank you very much. And there is nothing wrong with looking good. Besides, it's easier to blend in this time and region with all the accessories." Ezio flashed his pearly whites, "And what can I say, the ladies appreciate the effort."

"Yes, the brainless ones." Altair's dry wit was even quicker than his draw, and twice as abrasive as the sandstorms of his homeland. Something Ezio was going to realize sooner rather than later.

"Ouch." The Florentine noble pressed a hand to his chest, as if the other had stabbed him.

"Back to the matter at hand-" Altair started to say.

"Idiota." Ezio interjected.

"Leech." Altair countered.

Then the Arab continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "-what proof do you have that you are from the future?"

Not even ready for the subject change after the little play with words between the two Master Assassins, Desmond stood there for a moment, struck with a brief period of dumb, "Uhhh..."

"Do you think a smack would help?" Ezio asked, scratching his head.

"Perhaps..."

Smack!

"Ow! Bastardo! I meant HIM. Smack him!" Ezio scowled, rubbing the back of his head.

"My mistake." Altair shrugged, though it was the least apologetic statement that had ever reached Ezio's ears. And after making more than a few ladies curse him to the nine depths of hell, that was saying a lot.

"Unbelievable." Ezio muttered, casting a dark glance at the Syrian before turning once more to Desmond. The youth looked absolutely breathtaking, especially with that confused look on his face. Unable to help himself, Ezio's mood did a total 360 as he continued in a deeper tone, "Do you require assistance finding evidence? Perhaps on your person? Pockets? Maybe underneath your layers?"

"What? No!" Desmond took a step back.

"YOU are the one who is unbelievable." Altair grimaced with a shake of his head.

Ignoring both their protests, Ezio continued advancing on the poor -and increasingly flustered- Desmond, "You, my friend, are inexperienced in this. You do not realize the vast potential you will acquire under my... tutelage."

Desmond backed up until he hit the wall, going so far as leaning his head back as Ezio followed in close proximity, "Sorry, not... er... interested?"

"You do not sound very sure of yourself." Ezio admonished in a tone bordering more pleased than Desmond would have liked.

Before Ezio could take it any farther, the firm palm of an unimpressed Arab assassin stopped the italian short of molding his body with that of their confused young descendent.

"Focus." Altair's amber eyes flashed dangerously at his younger counterpart.

"Merde! But I- He is so-" Ezio floundered for the apt description.

"Ezio-" Altair warned.

But the italian man continued, oblivious to anything else, "-so irresistible, I mean just look at him-"

"Focus." Growled the Arab.

"-I mean how can you not just want to ravish him into the ground-"

"What? Ex-excuse me?" Desmond's eyes widened.

"-and pound him to little pieces?"

"Ezio-"

Desmond interjected angrily, "I am right HERE."

"I mean honestly-"

Altair felt a permanent frown forming on his brow, "-*focus*"

"He is just so-"

"Hey don't ignore me-"

Snarling, Altair grabbed the front of Ezio's breastplate, shaking him once even as he placed a finger to Desmond's lips to silence him.

"FOCUS, Ezio." Altair hissed, "Patience. After everything is figured out, *then* we may ravish him."

"We?" Ezio cocked his brow.

"What. The fuck?" Desmond looked reasonably appalled, pushing off from the wall as the two assassins parted like the tide.

I mean, the animus had let him realize how much of a sex-crazed nymphomaniac Ezio was, but besides that one rooftop revelation with Maria, he had thought Altair to be completely celibate. And since when had they gone after the same sex?

It wasn't fair.

Desmond hadn't asked to go back in time to meet these guys, much less be on the receiving end of a shafting from either one of them.

Because there was no doubt about it. Should he be rolling in the hay with either of the two Masters, he was definitely not topping.

Not that he wanted to! Top or roll in the hay with them, or anything of the sort.

"Look, no one is ravishing anyone today, or any other day for that matter-" Desmond, pacing away, started to growl.

But he cut himself short under the pointed glares of both older assassins. One flashed golden, the other a darker brown.

"Besides, if that was the arrangement then why... would I... uh, help you?" The looks had darkened at each step of his sentence, bringing a storm-front of foreboding into the room. The two assassins made eye contact across the room.

Feeling the sudden urge to bolt, Desmond could barely suppress a most unmanly squeak as the Syrian's muscled form became a wall at his back, silent arms ensnaring his own, even as the Italian surged at his forefront, pressed along him in a fashion that was suggestive in every way possible. Heat flared within Desmond as he paused for a heartbeat, only to struggle the next, though it was dishearteningly futile.

"What are you-?" Desmond started to demand.

"If you do not agree..." Altair rumbled warningly, breath hot against the back of Desmond's neck.

"...then *we* do not have to wait..." Ezio continued with a purr, hand trailing down Desmond's side , not stopping until it reached his hip.

"...to take our..." Altair's free hand trailed down Desmond's other side, balancing the trails of heat on the younger.

"...liberties." Ezio growled, strong hand palming Desmond through his jeans.

Simultaneously, Altair ground into Desmond's backside, grip like steel on Desmond's hip.

Throwing his head back, Desmond let out a breathless gasp, molding easily into the crook of Altair's nape. The Arab smirked even as Ezio palmed the youth harder. Faster.

Desmond found his hips shamefully jerking to meet the Italian's touch, his trapped grip fisting a sleeve of either assassin, a wanton cry slipping past his lips.

Before his mind could slip further into the sinful abyss of pleasure, Desmond reached back into Altair's pouch, biting back a moan from the Syrian and Italian's skill, even as his fingers clasped around the familiar shape of a smoke bomb.

He started to lose his grip. The sensations overwhelming.

Weren't they taking liberties right now?

The thought pushed enough righteous anger in the youth, fingers re-gripping the bomb, praying Altair mistook the grip as anything but what Desmond planned.

Then he let the bomb loose.

Smoke filled the room, vision lost and chemicals stinging the sinuses.

Desmond shoved the other two off of him in a move that belied his younger years and experience.

The moment the smoke bomb had lit, the Arab and the Italian had been expecting an attack from an intruder. Not from their little descendent.

It was an... interesting surprise.

By the time the smoke cleared, Desmond was as far away from them as possible, standing on the ledge of the only window, glaring at the two like a hawk. It was so much like their own expressions, the two Master Assassins were rendered temporarily speechless.

Noting he had their attention, Desmond growled, "All right. No more of this, 'who can get in whose pants' crap. I'm obviously gonna help you guys, but it won't be because of any sort of threat to my person. Now let's find La Volpe or your Uncle Mario before nightfall. Someone has got to have a clue what happened to us. And the sooner we fix it, the better."

Before either of them could react, Desmond had turned and hopped easily out the window, as though it wasn't truly a five story drop.

Once again, the Arab and the Italian exchanged glances.

It didn't matter what the little sparrow said. By the end of this, he would belong to the better assassin. They wouldn't have it any other way.

Competition glinted their smirks as they followed closely behind their naive descendent.

They sailed through the window with the grace and ease of practiced murderers.

Desmond did not know what he was in for.

Nothing could ever prepare him.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hidden Dagger and Bladed Fist