((Alice (the sylveon that fused to make Hayline) had the hidden ability cute charm. Basically any pokemon of the opposite sex became infatuated with them if they hit them too many times. The pokemon would stay infatuated with Alice until they were defeated or Alice was taken out of battle. Hayline still has this ability. However because they're genderless, this ability can affect any gender but the effects don't last as long. ))
((This was an idea Haytham-mun and I had on Skype that made us giggle until we decided to have it out as a drabble. Smut inside, you've been warned.))
An open window to Haytham's office was always taken as an invitation to Aveline, who crept in after dark, the flickering candlelight letting her know the room was occupied by her target. She innocently walks over to Haytham, who is scratching something out on parchment with a quill pen. Her arms go around his shoulders, a kiss to the back of his ear.
Aveline had to give him credit, he didn't jump this time. He must've been getting used to her sneaking up on him whenever he left his window open. Casually, he drew a blank piece of parchment over his written words, obscuring his plans from her wandering eyes. "You've been busy," he notes offhandedly, his hands coming up to rest on her forearms which were crossed about his collarbones.
"What makes you say that?" Aveline tilts her head. She had been snooping a good deal of the day before wandering over to the sprawling Templar manor crawling with servants scurrying about under Haytham's orders.
Haytham turns to her without standing, his eyes studying her face. A few dirt smudges gave her away and confirmed his suspicions. "You're later than usual," he explains calmly, though a small smile lifts at the corner of his lips. Judging from the color of the dirt, she was in precisely the area to be gleaning false information. Not that he'd tip her off about that.
"Ah, well, I apologize for upsetting your tight schedule," she snarks, a smirk in place as she leans in closer to give him a slow but sweet kiss that he returns with interest. The Assassin is about to mention something further to him when heavy footsteps sound down the hall. That and the call of "Oi, 'Aytham!" from an inebriated Hickey warn of impeding entrapment for the female Assassin. The window was too far away. Aveline's eyes dart around the room, but Haytham has already moved his chair back, nudging her toward the plentiful space at his feet that could hide her behind dark, heavy layers of wood.
Without the opportunity to protest or find a better spot, Aveline dives under the desk without a word or sound, backing up in order to let Haytham pull his chair back up to the furniture. She has just settled herself between his legs, her cheek against the inside of his thigh when the door bangs open and the sound of tromping feet becomes louder. From her position, she can see a sliver of Haytham's torso up to his shoulders. The man is perfect at feigning nonchalance, though she can feel the tenseness in his body against her cheek.
At first, Aveline attempts paying attention to the conversation, listening for anything that could be valuable information to her Brotherhood. However, it becomes obvious that it's just a few petitions for supplies to be brought in to the fort that served as their base. It was the basics; fresh water, linens, foodstuffs, and the like. Nothing revealing like an overly abundant shipment of weapons or moving of men.
Her attention wanes as the conversation continues to drone on about shifting expenses and such. Aveline can hear Haytham shuffling parchments above her as he checks some figures. She was growing bored and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to find something to do while stuck under this massive desk. Haytham had finally relaxed somewhat under her cheek when her eyes settled on his crotch, a wicked smile curving her lips upward.
Hello, distraction.
Having the sense to wait until Haytham has finished speaking, Aveline turns her head to breathe warm air right over the fabric covering him, letting the heat seep through the dark cotton. Almost immediately, she can feel Haytham's leg jump slightly in surprise, but, of course, her action could be taken as an accident.
That is, until she starts trailing taunting bites along the inside of his thigh. The lower half of Haytham's body immediately tenses under the sensations. When he speaks up to his men, he clears his throat first, then continues on in a remarkably level tone, tone only hitching when she runs her nose right over the slowly growing bulge in his pants when switching over to his other thigh to deliver more bites. She lingers at the juncture, pressing a slow, hot, open-mouthed kiss to the fabric that makes Haytham shift surreptitiously in his seat before rephrasing whatever statement he was saying, making it seem as though he'd changed his mind mid-way, despite it being unlike him to change on a dime.
Aveline grins mischievously when Haytham's hand comes down as though to rest on his leg casually. He flicks his wrist toward her; a weak attempt to get her to stop her taunting that is clearly working so well. She has to suppress a laugh as she reaches up, giving his index finger a tiny, affectionate squeeze before reaching a little further, groping him with the same affectionate squeeze she gave his hand half a second before. His hand moves to grip the fabric covering his thigh with white knuckles while she palms him discreetly, dexterous fingers already working his pants open. For once, she was thankful for his large, showy desk that hid such advances.
All attempts he makes to move her away from his crotch and save his sanity are ignored.
The Templar resolves to ignore the troublesome woman who was clearly intent on destroying his calm demeanor in front of his men despite the obvious danger. In fact, the danger seems to spur her forward, making her more daring in order to get the most subtle of reaction. The moment he feels her deviously soft lips on his exposed shaft, he asks Charles his opinion, knowing the man will be long-winded and give him a chance to regain his sanity. Damn that woman, he thought vehemently as she silently employs every dirty trick in the book to work him to full hardness and complete frustration that he can't just yank her out from under the desk, bend her over the thick wood and bury himself within her and return the torturous pleasure tenfold.
The hold on the parchments he was looking over tightens when Aveline begins to suck, that wicked tongue of hers flicking over his cock just so--Damn them, they were asking him more questions. Haytham is both proud and surprised at the level tone of his voice when he addresses his men, all collected patience and calculated calm, even when she begins to bob her head with an intensity that makes the Grand Master dizzy and curse fate that he can't bury a hand in those braids and thrust up into that hot, wet mouth.
His hand barely trembles as he writes out orders to secure the provisions his men are asking of him, no evidence of his body's struggle to stay calm in the bold inked lines, even as Aveline reaches into his pants to fondle and tease his sack, her mouth and hands now completely working him over. The Assassin was trying to get him to come in front of his men and only sheer willpower was keeping him from complying with her tenacity.
It seems like ages after Haytham hands the orders to one of his men before they finally shuffle out of his office despite his--regretfully curt--words of dismissal, using his work as an excuse to have more time alone to himself. The moment the heavy door closes, Haytham has leaned back in his chair, hands tight on the arms, hips bucking as he gives a few shallow thrusts before spilling into her mouth with a low groan that he attempts to keep quiet in case his men were still in the hall nearby. He tilts his head back down just in time to see her plush lips slowly pull away from his cock; the sight was a stirring image all on its own.
Aveline takes a moment to swallow, licking her lips before speaking in a voice so soft that it barely constitutes as a whisper. "Are they gone?"
Haytham's response comes as a wordless, breathless chuckle and a slow, incredulous shake of his head.
Haytham paced around his office, his mind was preoccupied with the ongoing mission that his men had undertaken. He knew that it was a simple enough mission, infiltrate the den and retrieve the map that pinpointed the location of all the Templar manors, and gathering places, burn the rest. It had come to his attention that the den would be unoccupied this day in particular, the Assassins preoccupied with other work elsewhere. They should have encountered little to no resistance, however it was taking them far too long to return which highly unsettled him.
But finally the knock in door came, “Come in,” he called. Charles walked through the door and looked apologetically at his Grand Master.
“My apologies sir, it took far longer than we expected.” He said bowing his head and closing the door behind him.
“I’m aware of that, what did happen?” Haytham asked furrowing his brows and offering Charles a chair to sit.
Sitting across from Charles, Haytham waited patiently for his friend to report the happenings of the mission.
“We expected very little resistance, however someone who appeared to be the master of the den was there, we were forced to fight, I’m proud to say that we did not lose any lives, although Hickey was injured, sir.” Charles said seemingly as an afterthought, he did not sound in the slightest sorry for the injury that Thomas had sustained. “We killed an Assassin and took the other two into custody to be questioned, including the one we think might be the den master.” He said proudly.
Haytham’s heart sank, their raid could have not possibly been near any of the dens that Aveline was affiliated with, there simply was no way that he would have overlooked such an important fact. Although if it bothered him he did not let it show. He nodded at Charles like he understood what this meant, and in fact he did, he would have to torture the Assassins caught and try and get as much information as he could out of them before killing them, so he stood followed by Charles and walked out the door. Charles kept explaining what a great feat and accomplishment this had been, how wonderful it was to have caught these two assassins and many other tales of his bravery and cunning during the mission, this however Haytham paid no mind to, his mind was once again elsewhere, hoping to whatever higher being out there that one the Assassins caught was not Aveline.
He walked into the first cell and tried his best to discern who the Assassin was; one of the Templars there was obviously cleaning what appeared to be a knife he had implemented in the torture process. Haytham’s heart was in his throat while he walked up to the Assassin, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he wore the Creed’s grey robes, a novice. A young man in fact, it almost pained Haytham when he lifted his head to meet his eyes by the hair.
“Now, do tell, where are the other maps?” He asked him calmly, but the man refused to answer.
Haytham nodded to one of his henchmen who was quick to slap the boy across the lap with a metal rod. He screamed in pain and Haytham repeated the question once again.
“I know nothing!” He claimed in a pained scream.
This time the henchman carelessly removed one of the man’s nails, his scream filled the room with anguish and although he took no pleasure from what was going on Haytham did not even flinch. He asked the question once more, hands held behind his back.
“I swear, I know nothing!” The man said between sobs, “but the other…. The one who was caught with me, they know!”
Haytham shook his head as another one of the man’s nails was ripped from his fingers, and this continued for quite some time, for every time he claimed to know nothing a nail was ripped, when there were no more nails to rip, a finger was unceremoniously broken with the butt of a sword.
“I-I swear…” He moaned and cried. “I know nothing.” He was a slobbering mess of tears and blood now. “The other…. The other knows.”
When he was certain that this man in fact held no valuable information to him, Haytham grabbed his pistol from his side and shot the man in the head, the shot had not stopped ringing through the room before Haytham was already out, followed by Charles. At this point he was annoyed, he had gained no information and had wasted precious time, by now the maps would have been reproduced and distributed among the other dens, if they had not gotten them all. He walked with purpose to the room adjacent to the one before, and opened the door almost in a fury, only to be stopped dead in his tracks, the person slumped over the chair, the bruised bloodied mess, the matted black hair, and the golden eyes that met his for a split second, he could recognize anywhere.
Aveline.
His world seemed to fall from under him, but he managed to seem unscathed. She was tied to the chair, there were several bruises on her face from when she had been hit, not doubt, when her silver tongue lashed out. One of the Templars is heating a metal rod until it is red hot, and there are several burn marks on her thighs and arms from the wounds inflicted to get her to speak. She had cuts, though not deep, in several parts of her body, and the plea on her eyes as they met his was not lost to Haytham. Her lips were pressed tightly, which informed him she had not given any information and she stared intently at the floor.
Haytham can feel Charles breathing behind him, wondering what was taking his Grandmaster so long to ask the questions. So he forced himself to walk up to her, hands behind his back pressed tightly together to keep them from shaking and asked the same question he had asked the novice.
“You might be more inclined to help us than your friend….” He mused in a steady voice that surprised even him. “Do tell, where are the other maps?”
Aveline said nothing, and as though in slow motion he saw the rod come in contact with her skin, heard her screams of pain and bit the inside of his cheek, if he were to act in her favor, they would both be compromised and killed, something he could not risk, as long as she was alive he could try to help. But dead… that was a thought he did not dare to humor. The room was permeated with the pungent smell of burned flesh and blood and he tried his best to not let the pain that was ripping him apart show in his face or in his voice.
He paced the room, looking everywhere but at Aveline, and when he did have to he focused his eyes just above her head unable to stomach the state that she was in. He repeated the questions a few more times, every time she kept her silence, and time after time the hot rod was applied to her skin. Her screams tearing through the room made him want to tear every single one of her attackers into pieces, he wanted to tear his own eyes out so that he may not see this, he wanted to tear his ears so that he could not hear this, but remained impassive, almost bored on the outside.
Finally after he had asked the same question about a dozen times to no avail he sighed in what he hoped to be a melodramatic boring tone.
“Dress her wounds, she obviously knows something she isn’t telling us, we gain nothing from this, soon she will pass out from the pain.” He instructed his men and turned his back on her, heading for the door. “We best try this tomorrow.”
Haytham walked the path back to his room, bidding Charles a goodnight before retiring to his chambers. Where he paced, for hours, concocting a plan that would help Aveline escape from the grasp of the Templars. But nothing that would not incriminate him came to mind. So he paced for hours, until he was sure that everyone was asleep. He hurried down the corridor towards her cell, and withdrawing the key from his pocket he opened the door silently, hoping that no one would awaken to find him in there.
Aveline had been asleep when he walked in, and woke with a start as her acute senses heard the door close almost silently, she stared at him wild eyed, like he was an attacker there to rape her, or worse kill her, he brought his lamp closer to his face and put his finger to his lips to let her know that they should be quiet, then he hurried to her side. Setting the lamp on the floor, he undid her ropes carefully so that it would not look like they had been tampered with. Then facing her he touched her face gingerly, an apology already forming upon his lips. She silenced him with a single kiss, and he felt the tears running down her face. Haytham swallowed through a knot in his throat and pulled away from her, his eyes searching her body, the knot growing bigger as he assessed the damaged she had taken, at the hand of his own men. He withdrew a loaf of bread and a flask of water from his coat and smiled apologetically at her.
“I’m afraid that if I tried to sneak supper down here they would know something amiss…” He whispered as he broke the bread into pieces before handing them for her to eat.
Aveline smirked, but ate greedily and drank water often. They sat there for a while, her eating silently the bite sized pieces Haytham was offering her, giving her the whole loaf to eat would have been painful, and her fingers were badly bruised, the only thing he could do for her now was break the bread into edible sizes for her, and provide her with plenty of water.
“What will we do?” She asked, staring at a piece of bread that she had yet to bring to her mouth.
“I do not know…” Haytham said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Perhaps… if I open the door… if I leave it unlocked…?”
“You have the only key… correct?” she asked him and he nodded. “That simply won’t do… They’ll know it was you.”
“I’ll leave the ropes badly tied when I part from here tonight, I’ll undo the hinges from the doors, they are not reliable to begin with.” He said, his eyes serious as he spoke. “You may run at first sunlight. No one shall be awake but me, when I come down for your interrogation and find the door unhinged, it will be assumed a fellow Assassin rescued you. I wish I could call for Connor to assist….”
“But as Grandmaster… you shouldn’t even speak of him.” She said nodding, understanding that his hands were tied.
“Make a run for it, you will find the stairs, they will lead you to the parlor, from there take a right through the servants hall and keep running until you see the green door at the end of the corridor. That will lead to the stables, take any horse you’d like, and get away.” He said, he emphasized his words by staring directly into her eyes, his plea evident now, he wanted her out and he wanted her safe.
Haytham stood and dusted his trousers, the leaned to kiss her forehead. A single tear fell upon her head before he quickly and sloppily tied the ropes that held her in place once more. He checked them to make sure she could effectively get out of them with minimal effort. Then used a small knife to unhinge the door. Before he left he looked back at her and smiled.
“I shall leave a satchel with food and water by the stables, they will assume it is mine and that you simply stole it on your haste to escape… Be safe Aveline…. I love you.” Haytham whispered, he then closed the door behind him carefully and hurried to make preparations for her food.
After placing the satchel by the stables he hurried back inside and into his own chambers and waited. He was used to sleepless nights, however this one dragged on eternally, and just as day break hit, he sat on the floor by his door to strain his hearing, to see if she would make it out safely. If everything went according to plan she should be out of there within fifteen minutes. He heard the door click close and almost sighed with relief if it were not for the footsteps he heard pass his own doorstep. He opened the door just in time to see Aveline turn right, as they had planned, however instead of meeting an empty servant’s hall he was greeted by a baffled Charles. Who had awoken early in order to question her, in hopes of breaking her for the time when Haytham arrived at the interrogation. Although baffled Charles was quick, and withdrew his knife, sinking it deep into Aveline’s side, before Haytham could even utter a word, a command anything to make Charles stop. He saw Aveline look in his direction as he hurried down the steps to stop Charles from killing her, but he was too late. Charles’ knife was upon her throat, and Haytham had just 3 more steps to go when it was sliced open in front of him. Aveline’s blood now soaked Charles’ clothes and had stained his own.
Of what happened next he did not remember much. He did remember writing many letters, giving many explanations and the funerals.
The Assassin had escaped, how? They were not sure. Charles had fought bravely, but the Assassin had bested him. Haytham had gotten there in time to see her slice Charles’ neck open and in a feat that would have surprised anybody, Haytham managed to slice her neck after a very once sided brutal battle.
Charles’ funeral was first, a very somber affair, a very quiet and secluded tomb.
Aveline’s was preformed privately. The only one present was Haytham himself, who had stolen her body after it had been unceremoniously dumped for the wolves to eat. He cleaned and dressed her, and bought her a casket lined with silk, made out of the best wood he could find, and after she had been buried, and the last words were said Haytham stood, crying over a mound of dirt. Inconsolably sobbing for the woman he loved and could not save.
