Desmond slowly opened his eyes to see a stable, probably one close to the Assassin's bureau in Jerusalem. Another thing he noticed, though, was that he wasn't Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Grand Master of Masyaf; no, he was still Desmond Miles, assassin in training who went through his ancestors memories for two or three months now. He immediately went on guard, knowing that this shouldn't be happening, and that he would have been able to tell if they placed his in the Animus while he was asleep. Quickly checking his person, he found his own hidden blade and his throwing knives tucked away in their compartments in his belt.
He slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, attempting to center himself. The first thing he was going to have to do is figure out what time it was, and whether or not he could get back to his own time if it wasn't already his time. Upon opening his eyes, though, he realized quickly that he wasn't in his time, considering the fact that he had to duck behind a wall to avoid the eyes of Templar scouts, looking for anything suspicious.
He made a speedy and silent path to a pile of hay that would completely hide him from view and slid underneath of it. Luck must have been, shockingly, in his favor today, because he wasn't heard or found by the scout, and there was no assassin waiting in the haystack (namely, one of his ancestors of this time period). As soon as it was safe to do so, Desmond slipped out from under the haystack and liberated a beige robe and dark belt from a small hook inside the doorway.
Altaïr normally found Jerusalem to be a very peaceful place; yes, there were guards always out for his blood and a certain ex-Assassin that was not very fond of him (he could still feel Malik's glare of daggers from the bureau entrance way, and he was near the stables), but it was still a peaceful place. So when he had to hide from a Templar scout that, somehow, recognized him, he naturally ducked into the stable and hid in a stall that was separated from the rest of the stable, and hidden by a secret doorway. Once the scout left, though, he heard some ruffling of hay, and the sound of someone moving around.
Naturally, he brought out his hidden dagger and crouched by the hidden door, waiting for the person to come close to it. Altaïr heard someone curse and nearly silently come in his direction, as if he was backing up, and decided that now would be a good time to strike.
He didn't expect the sight he saw, though, when he opened the door enough for him to peak through.
A man, slightly shorter than himself, was backed up nearly against the wall, and facing him was the Templar scout that he had hidden from previously. And apparently, the idiot thought the stranger was him. That just got Altaïr's attention, because there was no one that looked like him anywhere in the areas that he prowled, otherwise he would have heard of it.
So, he decided after that, that he was just going to listen and watch until he was forced to kill one of them.
Desmond was cursing inside his head; how did the scout know that he was there? "So, I guess that I'll be the one to kill the infamous Master Assassin, eh, Altaïr?" That sentence only continued his mental tirade.
In a split second, Desmond lowered his head and sprung the mechanism of his hidden blade. He quickly sprung from where he was standing and slashed a red line across his neck; at the same time, he took the sword from the man's grip so it wouldn't try to stab him in the gut, along with it being a second weapon. Desmond lowered the man to the ground, happy that he died silently, and closed his eyes. "Rest in peace," he whispered, knowing that to take a life required a small prayer to their spirit; something that he had picked up from Ezio. A slight click of a door closing made Desmond spin around, his free hand going to his throwing daggers as his bloody hidden blade shone in the small amount of sunlight that came through the closed windows.
A second curse filled his mind; the person standing where he was a small time before just had to be Altaïr, didn't it?
"And who are you?" Altaïr asked in the same, threatening tone that Desmond was used to using, not receiving. Desmond was scared into not being able to speak, which was not a good thing when Altaïr was expecting an answer.
He gulped dryly and said, "Desmond, Desmond Miles." A look of curiosity crossed his ancestor's face, and Desmond nearly flinched at it.
Altaïr didn't know what to think of the boy who looked almost exactly like him, down to the same scar. His golden eyes narrowed as he attempted to say the other's name. "Dez-munhd... Miles... an odd name; where do you come from, Dez-munhd Miles?"
A flush encompassed Desmond's face, bringing confusion to Altaïr's emotions and expression. Another almost flinch came through Desmond's frame. "Um... I highly doubt that you would believe me," he murmured, slowly shifting away from the elder and more experienced man. Unfortunate for the young man, Altaïr reacted faster than he could move, and managed to pin him against his own body, knocking away the hand at the knives he felt along his belt, and he held the hand with the hidden blade tightly, examining the hand itself.
"How can you use a hidden blade and still have all your fingers?" Altaïr mumbled, causing another flush on Desmond's face.
"Uh... you see..." Altaïr raised an eyebrow at the hesitation that the other man had in his voice and mannerisms. It was then that he noticed exactly what the younger looked like underneath the partially drawn up hood. The short brunette hair reminded him of his own, and the chocolate brown eyes that stayed focused on the floor were closely colored to his own when he was that age. "It's kind of a long story, and as I said, you might not really believe me if I told you..." Desmond said quietly, his voice muffled from Altaïr's robes.
"Try me, Dez-munhd," Altaïr said, trying to get the younger to relax. He felt a small sigh pass through Desmond's lips, and he knew that he had him cornered.
Desmond didn't even try to struggle against Altaïr; he knew when he was cornered, and his strength was far out matched by the elder man holding him against his body. He was still unsure as to what was going on; not seeing any red blips or hearing Lucy or Shaun talking to him was currently freaking him out. This shouldn't be happening; he shouldn't be back in 1191, in Jerusalem, and talking to his long-dead ancestor. That left him somewhat pliable to what Altaïr wanted. Unfortunately, that left him in a sticky situation, because he knew that Altaïr would not believe him if he told him the truth.
He made a split second decision, and spilled the truth. All throughout it, Altaïr stayed quiet and focused on his face, amber eyes trained on Desmond's shy eyes. At the end of his tale, Desmond stayed stock still, not moving until he felt a hand that had been on his daggered wrist grip his chin. And even then, Altaïr was the one moving him, not even putting any effort into the movement. "Dez-munhd, do you really think that I'll not believe this?" Desmond's eyes shot up towards Altaïr's, seeing his amber orbs closer than what he felt comfortable. "I can see your shoes, and can tell that you are telling the truth; as you said, the Eagle Vision is very helpful in telling who is a friend, and that is exactly what it is telling me." A flush rose on Desmond's cheeks, and his eyes attempted to scuttle away from the mesmerizing amber eyes that were turning into a dark honey color; he could easily see the lust that, shockingly, was easily read in those normally cold eyes.
Altaïr slowly led Desmond back in the direction of a hidden door, because he clearly remembered there not being a door there for his ancestor to come in and leave from. "Altaïr, wh-what are you-"
The older Assassin cut him off, shushing him into silence. "Calm, Dez-munhd," Altaïr whispered into Desmond's slightly flushed ear. "There is a hidden stall behind the door, and Malik is coming this way. I don't think that him seeing you will just cause him to blow up, and quite possibly call you a novice, which you are, but..."
"He'll think I'm you when he says it," Desmond finished as he was led into the hidden stall, and the door was closed behind them. Gently, he was pushed against the door by his ancestor, who shook his head when Desmond started talking again. They stayed in that position as they heard the one armed man enter the stable, not going towards the hidden door, but checking everywhere, as if looking for something or someone.
A sigh could be heard, and the two were shocked when Malik said quietly, "Wherever you are, Altaïr, I hope you keep that boy safe; I already knew that he was going to appear here at some point. Don't worry; I've already given that mission to someone else, without your permission." After that, they heard Malik walk out. Desmond let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looked up into the confused dark honey eyes.
"I'd say that that is as good of a parent giving permission as I'll ever get," Altaïr said, but then continued, "I just don't understand why he said that he knew you were here. Have you conversed with him at all?" Desmond shook his head.
"I just got here, and had to hide in the hay when the scout came in. I don't remember seeing you enter, though, unless there's a second entrance in here that I don't know about." Altaïr nodded and decided to act upon the permission inadvertently given by Malik; at least, that was what Desmond figured, considering the fact that Altaïr then pressed his lips against Desmond's neck. A gasp slipped out from his lips as his sensitive neck was assaulted by quick, dry lips, and occasionally a cat-like tongue slipped out to taste. Unconsciously, Desmond's head tilted back to give the older male more access to his neck, and he arched against Altaïr's hard body. A hand slid through his short hair, holding his head in that position.
To be continued…..
AN: Hello! Yes, this is my first Assassin's Creed Fanfiction. What's more, I've only read the books and other Fanfictions, so I don't really know much about Desmond's personality. Please tell me if it is OOC or correct; any critique is welcome. Just not flames and such things as that.