28 • USA • Main: @psybrepunk • Sideblog dedicated to Grandmaster Haytham Kenway • I feel so remarkably normal about this man. Writing coming soon, I hope. Icon by @wyyvernn; banner is my personal photograph.
Author's Note: This was written (mostly back in like 2023ish..) after spending an unhealthy amount of time staring at this fanart of Haytham. Also the shirtless render of Haytham in the graphic is from this post.
Tagging: @sangheilihoes @vivvysstuff
You gaze down at the dashing man sprawled on the bed beneath you - your hands flat on his chest, his resting up above his head - drinking in every detail you could by the dim light in your boudoir. Deep-set slate eyes regard you calmly, a slight smirk pulling at his features. You aren't usually the one to be positioned atop, but here you are, straddling his hips in absolutely nothing. Your Templar companion however, remains in just his off-white breeches, which - to your delight - do little to hide what they contain.
The warm candlelight casts deep, long shadows from his sharp cheekbones, the strong Grecian-style nose, and those beautiful lips. God, how you love those lips. They were always soft and supple against yours, always smooth and plush. Silky dark locks peppered with grey fan out across the pillow and spill over one shoulder. The flicker of firelight reflects off the graying strands that originate over his ears, giving the impression that his long black hair is streaked with silver and steel as you card your fingers through its strands. You run your hands appreciatively over his muscular, rounded shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch up beneath his skin whenever he lifts his hands to gently grab your hips. Your hands continue their journey down his chest, caressing the diamond of soft, fine hair that spreads across his pectorals and points down toward his navel, where a smaller patch of hair trails beneath the waistband of his breeches.
“What did I do to deserve you, Haytham…” you murmur dreamily, forever in awe at how fortunate you were to have the Grandmaster's affection, as you plant your hands back on his chest and lean forward, softly pressing your lips to his. He responds with a large hand on the back of your head, pulling you in for a more fervent kiss before sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing delicately with his teeth. You make a small, involuntary noise and you can feel his member twitch beneath you, begging to be released from the snug confines of his trousers. You smile against Haytham's mouth, rolling your hips so that you slowly grind yourself against his bulge, enjoying how you can feel his breathing quicken beneath you. You trail your tongue along his lower lip, and he happily opens his mouth to you. As you deepen the kiss, a low sound rumbles through Haytham's chest, and you can feel him continue to swell. When you pull away his gaze follows you, a desperate look painting his typically stoic face. The Grandmaster isn't one to beg you with words, but his eyes plead with you to do more than tease him. You decide it's time to finally oblige.
You slowly unbutton his trousers, keeping your eyes on his face and enjoying how flustered you're capable of making your Grandmaster with very little effort. His breathing hitches slightly as you undo the last button, freeing his already throbbing cock from its former confines. You tenderly run your hand up his remarkably warm length, enjoying the silky skin and taking a moment to admire Haytham's rather impressive endowment. Those piercing grey eyes are dark with arousal, but quickly screw shut when you stroke him languidly, root to tip. His excitement glistens atop the head of his cock, a droplet rolling down his shaft along the path left by a large vein.
Haytham's parted lips and labored breathing tell you of his increasing arousal - if his throbbing cock hadn't - but as you continue to slowly play with and admire his manhood, the narrowing of those dark eyes and the set of his jaw signal impatience brewing. You grin a little. You love teasing him, but you know his willful restraint only goes so far. His leaking cock twitches in your hand, so very warm and begging to be given more attention. You oblige by unmounting the Grandmaster's pelvis, and you begin to shimmy the off-white breeches the rest of the way down his legs - revealing the remainder of his manhood in all its glory. You lean forward just enough to drag your tongue back and forth over the swollen head of his cock, enjoying the salty taste of his arousal. Haytham makes a husky noise of appreciation as you take him into your mouth, and an involuntary buck of his hips quickly pushes his cock against the back of your throat.
A large hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your lips off his manhood suddenly and leaving a tendril of spit from your lower lip to the very tip of his cock. “Not your mouth that I desire tonight,” Haytham murmurs ruggedly, in that intoxicatingly crisp accent of his, though his eyes linger on the drool connecting you to him.
You lazily crawl back atop your Grandmaster's tensely waiting body, hands deftly exploring every inch of hardened muscle and soft skin that you could reach. “Patience is a virtue, my dear,” you drawl, nearly a chuckle in your voice, as you parrot back at him the exact same phrase he had said to you a hundred times during your early training days.
Haytham's eyes narrow and a wry smile spreads languidly over those lovely, full lips. That characteristic low hum of his rumbles through his chest. “Hmmm. That's how you intend to play it, then, dear girl?” He cocks an eyebrow, a dangerous expression forming on that immaculate face. But you hardly notice, past the standard twinge in your core elicited by Haytham's face souring to any degree. Your mind is suddenly full of little else but thoughts of licking and grazing Master Kenway's glossy lower lip - thoughts of snaking your tongue past his teeth and caressing his mouth with yours. It’s no wonder you don’t even see the wheels turning in Haytham's mind as he awaits a response, nor think to brace yourself for what he has next in store for you.
Haytham is a skilled fighter, and extremely knowledgeable in the manipulation of the human body. You know this very well. And yet it always still manages to momentarily surprise you that he could so deftly grasp you by the forearms, hook one of his legs around yours and flip you over like you weighed nothing. It only takes a second to find yourself suddenly beneath him and at his mercy. A smile tugs at Haytham's lips at your wide-eyed expression; he is clearly pleased with the way he always technically has the upper hand. You are in his dominion now, at the mercy of his desires - the heat of his body and his breath bearing on you, and the musk of his increasing arousal impossible to ignore.
Large palms have your wrists pinned to the bed - not enough weight on you to hurt, but more than enough to make it clear that you weren't going anywhere. You twine your legs around his sturdy thighs, allowing you to once again grind yourself languidly against the curve of Haytham's manhood, helping coat the underside of his shaft with your slick.
Haytham's body covers yours thoroughly as he lowers himself onto his elbows. “You thought you were going to be in charge, hmm?” he purrs against your ear, before kissing and sucking with increasing intensity at the tender flesh of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you arch your back, pushing the front of your body up into more contact with him. As you move your hips beneath him, Haytham finally gives in.
In one smooth movement, Haytham sinks himself into you. You gasp, legs tightening around his hips to ensure he's buried to the hilt. He gives you a moment to relax around him, his eyes searching your face. Once sure he isn't hurting you, Haytham begins with long, slow strokes. Your back arches once more as the head of his cock drags along every sensitive spot you know, and you pull him down for a desperate kiss. Haytham's tongue wanders your mouth, your lips, your jaw, your neck - your eyes roll into the back of your head as the Grandmaster suckles particularly hard at your neck and you begin to imagine the marks his love will have left on you by tomorrow.
Haytham pulls back suddenly, sliding out of you, and you whimper at his absence. Upright again, a wicked gleam illuminates those stormy grey eyes as he drags the head of his member from the tingling nub at the top of your womanhood down to your entrance. Down, and up - he continues to tease you, watching you become first flustered, then indignant, impatient for him to fill your body once more. The torrid flesh of Haytham's cock feels like a trail of fire against your sensitive folds. You whimper, you whine, you beg - and when you think you simply cannot take another moment of his teasing, he plunges himself back into you. The shock of his entire lengthy member slamming into you ripples up through your stomach like lightning and you cry out. The tip of Haytham's cock bottoms out with every stroke as he takes you with no hesitation, no mercy.
“Is this what you wanted?” Haytham gazes down at you, a small cheeky smile pulling at one side of his lips. “You begged for this.” Large hands grasp your hips to anchor you both as he ruts into you. His pace is quick, but consistent, and every kiss of his cock against the entrance to your womb makes you more and more numb in the head, and less capable of answering your Grandmaster with any of the articulation he was able to maintain.
Though his composure begins to wear thin, his perfect facade cracking. Beads of sweat form at his hairline and roll down his temple. His cheeks flush, and his breathing becomes erratic. Haytham's hips keep their pace though, and before you know it the coil tightening in the pit of your stomach feels as if it will burst. As much as you want to keep looking at Haytham come undone before you, your eyes roll into the back of your head and stay there as lightning shoots up through your core. His name tumbles from your mouth like a mantra as every muscle in your body clenches around him and your back lifts up off the sheets. Your climax wracks your body in a way that only Grandmaster Kenway can cause, bringing him close behind you as you become impossibly tight around his throbbing cock.
Haytham's eyes screw shut and his lips pull back over his teeth in a silent snarl. He drops back down to his elbows, his face only a few inches from yours, his long hair falling on either side of your head. You can feel his stomach muscles knot against you, and those brawny thighs begin to quake as he leans his forehead against your neck. His breath is hot and his hands on your forearms are tight. He swells and quivers within you, and with a final guttural moan that vibrates against your chest, Haytham buries himself to the hilt in a last harsh thrust. Your legs stay clenched around his hips, locking Haytham in place as his warmth fills you with each rhythmic pulse of his cock, until his seed is beginning to overflow past his swollen shaft and onto both you and the sheets.
Your mind is numb and floaty in the intensity of your afterglow as Haytham slowly unentwines his body from yours. His seed seeps quicker from between your thighs, and you immediately miss the fullness that the size of his member offered once he's withdrawn himself. He settles next to you, both of your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath, and nuzzles against the crook of your neck. You adore these moments, the quiet intimacy of this powerful, stoic man still wanting to be in contact with you. There were many occasions where he would have left you in bed, washed and dressed enough to return to whatever esoteric work had him leaned over a desk, silently brooding in deep thought or reading and writing by firelight. Not this time. His arm wraps around your waist and holds you snugly to him. His breath is warm on your collarbone, and you hear it begin to slow. He's already snoring softly when you plant a kiss on his head, breathing in the smell of his steel-streaked hair, and murmuring “I love you.” He didn't wake; he never did in these moments, and it was just as well since you did not truly expect him to return the sentiment. At least not in so many words. A lady could hope. But for now this is enough.
It was a cool, crisp fall morning out at your country estate.
Since your new husband was busy all morning with meetings, you decided to take your horse, a beautiful black steed called Morrigan for a ride. It was the perfect chance to not only pass the time, but the perfect chance to break in your new riding habit, a lovely blue-green number that had been one of several wedding gifts from your husband, along with your horse.
Though the views of the fields were quite lovely, and Morrigan was in an agreeable mood during the ride, it wasn’t as enjoyable as you hoped it would be. The whole ride, your mind was filled with thoughts of your husband and how the two of you hadn’t seen as much of each other as you had hoped for. Especially since it had only been a few weeks since your wedding.
You knew that being married to the Templar Grandmaster Haytham Kenway knew that sometimes work would take him away from you, but as a new bride, you wanted your husband. It was one thing to not see him much during the day, it was another to fall asleep alone and wake up alone. Even more so when you spent the whole night dreaming of him.
After a few hours or so, you rode back to the house and took Morrigan back to the stables. Walking back into the main house, you were greeted by the butler, a tall, somewhat rotund man named Colville, who greeted you with great formality as he always did.
“Is the Master still in his study?”
‘Yes, Milady.”
Sighing internally, you considered going upstairs to change and spend some time writing letters. But after missing your husband so much from last night, you decided something needed to be done. After all, what was the point of being married to the Grandmaster if you couldn’t pull rank occasionally.
Walking towards the study, you listened for any raised voices. Some of the meetings as of late had been rather loud, but today, there was no sign of any discord. You gave three polite knocks and waited.
“Enter.” Came a clear, almost annoyed voice.
Opening the door and stepping into the study, instantly the room was filled with the sounds of chairs being moved. Quickly seeing that the Mistress of the House had stepped in, each of the men, dressed in various shades of red and black, stood up and bowed their heads respectfully, among them, dressed in mostly black, his dark hair pulled back sharply, your husband Haytham.
Quickly guessing that the meeting was now over, one of the gentlemen, dressed mostly in black with red trim, his own dark hair pulled back and with a scar on his face, spoke in a smooth voice tinged with a bit of an Irish accent “We’ll take our leave Grandmaster.”
As the men politely filed past you, the scarred gentlemen, a new member of the order named Shay Cormac, discreetly winked at you on his way out. He could only get away with such a gesture as he had been the one to introduce you to the Grandmaster.
Once the group had left and shut the door, you walked over to the desk, swinging your crop playfully in your left hand and removing your hat. Haytham sat back down at his desk as he took in the sight of you. He couldn’t help but appreciate how your riding habit showed off your lovely form.
“How was your ride?” Haytham inquired politely as you walked over to him and sat upon his desk.
“Unsatisfactory. Much like last night’s sleep. I kept waiting for you to come to bed. But when I had awoken, there was no sign of you. Colville told me this morning he found you asleep here in the study.”
“It was a later night than I had expected. And I didn’t wish to wake you.” Haytham confessed as he took your hand and kissed it, mollifying you somewhat.
“I would have appreciated being woken up.”
“Noted.” Haytham said with a rare, sweet smile.
“Have you any more meetings?” You asked, hoping there wouldn’t be.
“That was the only one for today.”
“Good. I’d like to have my husband’s attention for once.”
Haytham moved back the chair and pulled you towards him “You have it.”
Carefully maneuvering the skirt of your habit, you sat down in Haytham’s lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry things have been so busy.” He apologized genuinely.
“Like of a Grandmaster..”
“Such as it is” Haytham shrugged. He was very sorry that Order business had taken up so much of his time away from you, his new bride. But sometimes the order had to come first.
“What would have made your ride better?”
A stray, almost perverse thought entered your mind at Haytham’s suggestion. Glancing down, you noted his thick, strong legs and hips and you thought back to your wedding night, when the two of you snuck away the first chance you got.
“I think I would have preferred a different mount.” You replied in a silky voice “A much stronger one.”
one of my besties asked me earlier have i ever thought about haytham working at his desk by candlelight with his hat off, hair down, top two buttons of his shirt undone...... i think my brain may have shortcircuited a teeny tiny bit
Oh your bestie is so VALID!!
The candlelight gets all his best features highlighted
The curve of his nose
Hair falling over his face
He would be a mussed mess with a relaxation that seems unnatural to him but you enjoy the sight of him
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2087
