sүηεsтнεsια
A/N: …I blame Los Angeles traffic.
The characters are going to be appropriately OOC according to my slightly deviant headcanon; it comes with the territory of writing such a fic. Regardless, I have tried my best to keep them as in-character as possible with no relevant leads to go off of. In addition, I've tried my best to craft this AU world with a bare-bones level of detail so as to give readers an idea about what this modern world is like. I apologize if it's too much detail and back-story for a one-shot fic!
That said, enjoy this as the standalone quickie it is meant to be.
A full moon had long since risen in the sky, its light casting a muted glow over the city below and limning every feature on the landscape. They were far up—too far up, in fact, if you asked Aveline—but the vantage point was too advantageous to compromise given the delicacy of the mission she and Connor had been sent on two days prior.
Well, that and the fact that their lodgings happened to be the penthouse suite of the most luxurious tower in the city. Curtains crafted of the most fine fabrics framed the view she beheld, dyed a rich red color and woven in with delicate golden threads. Floor-to-ceiling windows accented the room, as did a host of modern furniture and amenities. A leather sofa, mahogany coffee table complete with a selection of reading material, and even a pool table all lay in the living room.
The over-the-top aesthetic pleasantry of the room had gone mostly unnoticed by the two Assassins, however. Everything in the suite had been left virtually untouched save for the countertops in the joint bathroom. A travel-sized bottle of mouthwash lay haphazardly on the counter with the cap nowhere to be found, while Connor's half-finished cup of coffee had been perched precariously on the opposite edge since that morning. Used bottles of his-and-hers shower toiletries littered the marble stall of the conjoined shower and bath. Two oversized towels, one a delicate cream color and the other a rich red, lay draped over the tub-side ottoman. Aveline's gold earrings were nestled on a hand towel near the edge of the tub along with Connor's bear claw necklace, a family heirloom that served as the lone reminder of his long-deceased mother.
The pair were minimalists with everything except for their plans, their minds and methods fitting together as pieces of a puzzle would. Elaborate plans and excessive risk-taking were their modus operandi. Over the two years they had been partners, no task had been too great nor impossible for the pair of professionals to execute to satisfactory completion. Their confluence meant no others could surpass their proficiency, making them a particularly valuable asset to the Brotherhood.
Their efficient minds had unfortunately been preoccupied by the mission at hand, however, until they had arrived back to the room both tired and slightly wounded three hours ago. Their target had been close by—in the inconspicuous glass office building directly across from their own—but completing their kill had been far easier than locating the damned place the target was hiding in. They had employed every tool in their mental and physical arsenals in order to track down Domenico Lavazza and end his existence. The man had been under the aegis of nigh every powerful drug lord in the country, making him a nightmare to pinpoint in the densely populated city of Boston. The Templars seemed to have hands in every pie.
"You do not know what you toy with, Assassins," Lavazza had spat with his dying breaths, "…the world will never prosper…without those strong enough to rule it with an…iron fist." Connor had promptly cut off whatever else he had to say with an aptly placed bullet to the skull. Eyes closed, he frowned while turning away from the body sprawled on the floor.
He then simply mused aloud, "Why?"
"These Templars are all fools," Aveline replied, "and they do not waste an opportunity to prove it to us."
They left the building far less silently than they had entered it.
Now, Aveline de Grandpré grew bored; those who know her well also know that such a state inevitably leads the Assassin to seek entertainment wherever she may procure it. Her source of the evening was, unfortunately, not as willing to partake in her games.
She leaned against the expansive window of one of their suite's two bedrooms, her bare shoulder leaving a faint smudge on the glass from where her simple, emerald-green sleep camisole failed to cover her skin. The reflective glass of Lavazza's tower shone against the city lights and her distorted reflection greeted her somewhere in the jumble of shapes. She adjusted herself, careful not to put too much weight on her tender forearm from when she had been struck with the blunt end of a pistol earlier. The offending Templar had been quickly dispatched by a slash of her hidden blade, the kill one borne of practiced ease—razor sharp, razor clean.
While Aveline had managed to get away with a sore muscle and several microscopic cuts, Connor now stood in his room with abraded knuckles and a headache, courtesy of Lavazza's guards, that had gone from a torturous ebb and flow to a blessedly dull ache he easily overcame with the help of some ibuprofen. He absently rubbed a hand down his bare back out of habit, reaching towards the base of his spine and feeling that a half-healed puncture wound from three weeks ago had finally lost its biting edge. Small favors, and all that.
He uncharacteristically downed a glass of pricey whiskey in a hurry, the steel ice cubes in his glass doing nothing to cool the burn of the liquor. His nerves had gotten the better of him today. Fire rushed down his throat in a continuous liquid stream as he swallowed, but it only served to stoke the flame he was feeling even deeper inside—in a place the liquor could never reach. As he quickly pulled on pair of slim black sweatpants, he mused on how Aveline had gotten under his skin from the moment of their initial rendezvous two years ago…
"Achilles told me you would come," he had announced firmly when she introduced herself. He didn't know how he had managed to get his lips to move and words to emerge upon discovering that his "brother" from New Orleans was very much a woman. Not to mention a beautiful one who stirred to life emotions inside of him that he hadn't known he was capable of feeling.
"Oui," she replied darkly, "so he did." Her words seemed to ignite something within him that he still couldn't find a way to extinguish. She had immediately looked him up and down unabashedly and Connor had felt himself grow hot under her gaze. His clothes molded perfectly to his body, outlining every muscle and showcasing his physical strength. It was hard for her not to notice.
His train of thought began to depart towards thoughts his mind would rather not entertain when his cell phone took the opportunity to interrupt its course. The single, curt beep caught his attention and the alert box on its screen informed him of a new e-mail message. Quickly, he scanned through its contents and securely erased it.
Connor turned towards the door leading out towards the living room to call out, "We leave tomorrow morning at 7:00—our flight plans have been sent over to me now. Are you prepared?"
He heard the clatter of a chair in her bedroom before a firm "Oui," echoed out from the living room. Her bare feet padded across the marble floors as silently as only a predator's could, and from the nearly imperceptible sound of them, she was getting closer to his door. Even when she was at ease, she had the grace of a panther, noiselessly making her way over to her quarry. She appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against it in a way that conveyed the nonchalant suggestiveness only she could pull off. Clad only in her unassuming camisole, she still tempted Connor beyond imagining. Even with the high neckline and knee-length modesty her sleepwear provided, her curves strained against the material and excited him far more than the scraps of lace other women wore in order to lure men's gazes their way. Aveline did not need to resort to such base tactics to get a man's attention. She was many things, but a simpering fool was not one of them—and that garnered his attention as much as her skill as an Assassin did.
Connor sipped at his whiskey again to wet his suddenly dry mouth.
"How is your head?" she casually asked, her free hand reaching up to rake her fingers through her inky black locks and push them out of her face. Every word she uttered seemed to light a spark in his mind, and he would swear he felt each one like a caress in the darkest of places. Already he could feel himself growing hard, every drop of blood in his body seeming to flood to his groin in a hot rush.
"The pain is finally gone," he answered slowly, suspiciously. "I presume you have another reason to be here other than to ask about my health." One eyebrow rose in question.
Her next words were so casually delivered that Connor nearly flashed her a look of outrage. The smooth delivery did not help things, either.
"Bien sûr. Are you going to ask me to join you, Connor?"
Her tone was as placid as one who would be inquiring about the weather.
"I do not see why that is necessary." The burly man across from her had answered gruffly, clearly taken aback by her blunt question. They were partners sent to complete a mission; anything more was not to be entertained, no matter how much his baser needs demanded they be acknowledged. His expression, however, had something in it that highlighted the poorly concealed twinkle in his brown eyes. Despite his words, his demeanor told her he was deeply interested in pursuing this avenue of conversation.
During their time together, Aveline had proven to be as irresistible as she had bold. She held nothing back, speaking her mind at all times and sometimes being as rash as Connor himself, if not moreso. The dark beauty was a rule-breaker through and through.
"Je m'en fiche," she once bit out while sliding her blade deep into a Templar's throat during a stronghold infiltration attempt in Italy several months ago. Connor had just informed her that they were to remain undetected at all costs. "I vowed vengeance for our brother."
He had long since learned that rules did not apply to the lively Assassin if she did not wish them to. For this, however, he found he deeply respected her even more. He thought her wild streak to mirror his own.
Connor was shot back to the present when she responded to his words. "I simply want some company, mon ami," she drawled, absently running her thumb over her mouth. The male in front of her noticed instantly, following her finger as it ran across the plump flesh of her lips and ended its journey back at her side as part of a loosely clenched fist. "You are bored, too, non? Now that Lavazza is finished, we have done nothing but retreat to lick our wounds."
"As I said before, I do not see why that is necessary," he answered darkly. His eyes narrowed on her, his body tense as he awaited her next words. He knew that the Assassin before him lived life unfiltered, but even this brazenness was unexpected from her. Or was it?
"You are always so uptight," the dark-haired Assassin retorted sharply, "that getting you to relax is like solving a puzzle." Aveline answered in a strange tone, shooting him a scolding look. She had given him that same look when he nearly jumped off the ledge of a building last night before she had given him the signal. Connor was as predictable as a storm and as passionate about taking action as he was about the cause he fought for. There was no stopping him or his will, ever. His typical stony demeanor was the resultant effect. Aveline, however, still held on to her playful, brash impulsiveness at all times. She was a charmer at heart, and yet Connor had always been, at least outwardly, immune to her charms.
"Do not compare me to a game," he said brusquely, punctuating his remark by turning his back to her and placing his glass on a nearby table. She took the opportunity to walk over and stand behind him, threading one arm under his own and placing her hand on his shoulder. Her other hand slowly landed on his hip before sliding around his waist to rest on his abdomen. Aveline had always been bold, but never had she crossed a line like this. And Connor almost wanted her to do it. His traitorous body was responding to her, practically demanding that he respond to her touch like a tamed housecat.
He palpably froze as though his blood had turned to ice, and Aveline pressed her delicate hand lower before murmuring into his back, "What I intend is no game." Her slim fingers went to the waistband of his pants, slung dangerously low from his hastened earlier attempts at getting something on so he could relax. She felt the soft, dark hair leading downward from his bronzed belly, trailing lower until it disappeared past where her hand now lay. Slowly, carefully, she dared to move it lower, feeling him exhale in a low groan as her digits finally met the heated flesh below. It felt as though she were branding him with the heat of her palm. Her fingers had almost reached low enough to wrap around his length when he suddenly turned around and ground out, "Aveline, do you know what game you play?" His voice was slightly hoarse, as if he were holding himself back with great difficulty.
Aveline watched him, felt him as well as she could see him, felt deep inside of her whatever it was that he experienced as though her soul mirrored his in every way. At last, she answered by standing on her toes, bringing her mouth to his with a fleeting, delicate touch as her hand reached up to cup his cheek. Like the fantastical men of stone from the fairytales her mother read to her as a child, the normally statuesque Connor seemed to transform into a man of flesh and blood all in that instant. She felt a jolt of heat from his mouth, her blood igniting, and he seemed to melt from the touch. Their eyes closed at once, and she felt him inhale deeply as his mouth pressed down eagerly against her own. He tasted of whiskey and something that was uniquely…him.
Languidly and hesitantly, Connor allowed himself to wrap his arms around her hips, lightly anchoring her in place as if he were afraid he would shatter her with his touch. He was, in truth, afraid that he would fully lose himself if he ever let go of his control. Aveline sensed the hesitance, noticed that his grip wasn't as harsh as it could have been.
"I am no flower to be crushed in your hands, cher," Aveline suddenly drawled in a low voice. "Do not be afraid to touch me."
She is a woman who knows what she wants; she is an Assassin capable of both mental and physical feats of strength—and Connor knew this. He breathed deep in surrender, letting his grip on her tighten as he pulled her towards him. The length of her body was flush against his in a moment's time, the both of them sighing from the electric sparks leaping from where they connected. Aveline insistently pressed her mouth against his once more, running her tongue along the seam of his lips before slipping her tongue inside his waiting mouth once he parted them. After what felt like a slow-burning eternity, Connor broke his mouth away from hers to trail teasing licks and soft kisses down the side of her jaw and all the way down to her collarbone. Her clothing stopped his endeavor, and he cursed the barrier just before he felt her reach down and pull it up and over her head. Clad only in a pair of lacy green panties, she stood before him unabashedly. Her modest choice in sleepwear hid a dangerous choice in lingerie.
The male Assassin nearly lost his breath as he beheld her, creamy coffee-colored skin accented by scars he knew the story behind every one of. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing her bold features as she looked him straight in the eye; this woman did not know the meaning of meek even now. One eyebrow arched at him as he stared, thick lashes framing eyes of dark, molten honey. His eyes trailed even lower, admiring the perfect curves of her breasts; his hands ached to touch them, and his mouth waited for its turn to taste her. Aveline smirked, reaching forward to place her palms flat against the solid strength of Connor's chest before pushing him backwards towards his bed. He willingly moved, his eyes locked on to hers as his own hands helped her settle into his lap once he was seated on the edge of the mattress. She eagerly straddled him, legs firmly pressing against the powerful thighs beneath her. Connor hissed in a breath when she tightened her grip on him.
The delicious sensation of her heat pressing against his aching flesh sent a shiver up his spine, and Aveline ground herself against him to let him know she felt it as well. Her head fell back as she felt the smooth skin of Connor's cheek against her breast before his mouth opened and enclosed one nipple in its heat, his teeth lightly biting down and grating against her raw nerves.
"Oui, Connor, plus!" she growled heatedly, accent thicker than he had ever heard it, her hands fisting in his hair and forcing the heavy weight of her breast farther into the silken fire of his mouth. His tongue swept against her skin, circling until he felt the point tighten between his lips and her back arch against him like a bow. The other breast received the same lavishing attention before he released it to trail his tongue along her offered neck, placing slow, fleeting kisses down to the valley between her breasts. Only then did he stop to look up at her. Her expression was lost, her hands behind her and on his knees as she jutted her chest forward for his mouth. Her breasts rose and fell with her quick pants, her scent enveloping him and driving him wild. Aveline was, undoubtedly, irresistible.
Hands secured at her hips, Connor drove her down harder against him before she lightly pushed his shoulders back, gaining just enough momentum to make him lay flat against the mattress. "It is my turn to pleasure you now."
As her hands made their way excitedly down his abdomen and hooked on to the waist of his pants, his hips rose of their own accord while he blurted out, "No, do not—"
Aveline refused to listen, silencing him with a harsh "Shhh…!" and an equally harsh tug at his only article of clothing to divest him of it. The fabric slid down and off, revealing just where that trail of dark hair lead. His skin reminded her of the rich, milky cocoa she saw the locals drinking in Chichén Itzá, and she would wager his taste was just as sweet and heady. His scent was like cinnamon and the earth itself, a clean, masculine and spicy blend that made her head swim. She took a deep breath as she leaned over him, letting her tongue run slowly up the inside one of his right thigh in a slick, wet trace. His breathing quickened as her tongue slid closer and closer to where he wanted it.
Connor clenched his jaw tossed his head back as she finally gripped the length of him in her hand, slowly running her hand along the flesh in a curious manner. He arched into her hand when she ran her thumb along the tip, moistening the head and sending sharp lances of desire shooting through his entire body. A smirk uncovered itself on her lips as she slid her body far back enough to lean down and take him in her mouth.
Connor bucked sharply, sliding himself deeper into Aveline's waiting mouth with a low groan. He looked down, watching her head slip slowly lower as the heat of her mouth swallowed him. His taste maddened her, the silky feel of him sliding against her tongue as she moved. It was agonizing pleasure for him, watching her and feeling her all at once; a private show only he could see and sense. Aveline began to slide her head up, the friction so delicious he very nearly shuddered, their locked eyes making the connection so much more intense for him. Her hand still gripped him, working in tandem with her tongue to drive him into a frenzy as she slid up. Back down she went, and Connor felt his control hanging by a thread. She gazed up at him, catching his gaze, boldly holding it as she moved, over and over...
"Enough, Aveline. I cannot take much more of this," he ground out hoarsely as she descended once more. The normally silent hero vocalized his need, his thighs rigid as he fought to stop himself from coming right then and there, muscles shaking as Aveline ran her nails along them slowly. She stopped at nothing to coax him over the edge. "Aveline! Let me touch you," he firmly announced, one hand fisting in her hair from the exquisite agony.
Moments later, she rose up fully on her knees, licking her lips as though she had just finished the most toothsome of confections. Connor let out a shaky exhale from the loss of contact and the cool brush of air against his wet skin. She tossed her hair behind her, arching her back and putting herself proudly on display as she loomed above him. "Let's not be impatient, d'accord?" She gave him another deadly smile, gasping out a high-pitched "Oh!" when she felt his hands suddenly situate themselves at the lace of her panties and pull them down with one swift, hasty motion. She stood up on the bed to pull them all the way down and toss them aside completely. The cool air greeted her skin now, making her shiver—or was that his gaze causing her to react thusly? It seemed as though he were staring at her with enough hot intensity to melt steel, his eyes darkened from honeyed to a rich mahogany. "Move back," she suddenly commanded, and Connor obeyed, shifting his body until he was closer to the headboard. Aveline followed, crawling to meet him on her hands and knees.
Connor grabbed her by her ass, his hands firmly molding against the taut, supple flesh and pulling her down to him, positioned right where he wanted. She landed right back in his lap, spread open and feeling him against her—hot, hard, and insistent. Her slick folds slid against him, once, twice as he rocked his hips involuntarily. Both of them clenched their jaws, Aveline letting out a breathy whimper as she felt the head of his cock nearly penetrate her. "I am not finished with you yet, Connor," she whispered dangerously.
Carefully rising up on her knees once again, she gripped Connor's broad shoulders to hold herself steady while pushing him flat on his back once more. She slid herself forward, raising her hips and placing her thighs on either side of Connor's head. Hands gripping the headboard, she felt the heat of his mouth against her most intimate flesh and his hands reaching up to grip her thighs with a raw power that felt delicious. "Show me," Aveline purred, "how you wanted to touch me…"
Connor eagerly accepted her challenge, soundlessly giving his assent as his mouth opened wide to seal between the apex of her thighs. She smelled and tasted of lilies and citrus, fresh and floral, and he found it difficult to stop his tongue from running against her. Aveline gasped loudly, gripping the headboard hard enough for its carvings to dig into her palms. Her gasp slowly morphed into a moan as she felt his tongue firmly slip up the length of her, stopping at her clit and grinding against it with a strength only he could command. His rumbling chuckles of satisfaction sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, causing her thighs to quiver from the intensity. Teeth lightly closed down on the bundle of nerves and she would swear she saw stars dance behind her closed lids in the darkness. She stiffened, back bowed as she raised herself up on her knees once more.
Connor only stopped for a moment to rumble, "Does this please you?" before she felt one of his rough, callused fingers slip into her. Aveline had only time to scream his name before another joined it, his thumb circling her now swollen clit as he began a slow rhythm of thrusts and sweeps. She was so close, so blissfully close that she could feel it—and that was when he wrenched her off of him and got her on her back, his hands maneuvering her as though she were a mere feather. Her eyes sprang open, breath leaving her in a rush as she felt him settle between the cradle of her thighs and press himself against her fully. His hands were firmly pressed on the mattress, flanking her on either side as he held himself up. Face inches from his, she felt his lips at her ear when he spoke.
"I want to feel you come around me," Connor growled, uncharacteristically out of control as he ground their bodies together, flesh to flesh, heat to heat. Aveline whimpered, bemoaning the loss of her brutally-denied orgasm.
"I need you inside me now, Connor," she hastily breathed, not wasting another moment before she gripped his cock and slid it so deep inside of her that even Connor's eyes widened from the sudden onslaught of sensation. It felt so right to be this complete, this close, both of them taking a moment to marvel at the new sensations as they gazed into each other's eyes. Aveline almost came as he brushed against the deepest parts of her before she sliding back out, a slick sound reaching their ears before he pushed back in with his barely-leashed strength. She locked her ankles at his lower back, pushing him deeper every time he slid back into her.
Aveline's hands gripped Connor's face, her mouth crushing against his once more. Tongues slid against each other, breaths rushed and breathy sighs poured forth. Pressure built inside of Aveline's belly as his thrusts continued, and she could feel herself getting close again. "I am almost there, Connor," she ground out, fisting the sheets, "…faster!" Sweat-slicked skin slid against each other as he obeyed, slowing his pace with a maddening, slow-and-steady rock of his hips. Aveline bit down on her lower lip as she eagerly rocked her own hips against his, desperate for the delicious friction she felt when their bodies met after every advance and retreat.
Connor suddenly stopped, raising himself up and withdrawing from her wet heat. Before she had an opportunity to protest, he had grabbed Aveline and flipped her over, pulling her hips up and towards him before sliding back into her from behind. Her legs spread open for him as she gasped, allowing him to sink even deeper as she tossed her head back and pushed her hair back over her head once more. A grunt punctuated his actions as he withdrew once and drove back into her. Connor quickly began a steady rhythm, feeling himself already reaching the edge once again. It had ben torturous, holding himself back while waiting for Aveline to finish before him—and suddenly, she did.
With a muffled cry, Aveline clenched tight around him, stiffening for a moment before she went boneless from the pleasure and melted against him. Connor took the opportunity to hold on tight to her body as he pushed inside of her one last time, seating himself deep and letting himself become a slave to his primal needs. He nearly roared as he came from the sensation of her tightness gripping him, body relaxing and his blood going from a molten heat to a steady warmth in his veins.
Both Assassins collapsed moments later, panting from exertion and raw satisfaction as their limbs tangled together and lay unmoving for several minutes. Breathing gradually went from pants to slow, deep breaths and hearts pumped at a lazy pace. The heat from their skin dropped from a scorching heat to a warmth that felt like an ember of its previous fiery intensity. It took a bit of strength for him to crack open his eyelids and stay conscious, but Connor finally managed to do so before he spoke. "You truly believe me to be like a puzzle?" His gaze was still fixed towards the ceiling.
Aveline smirked in the darkness, a sharp exhale of air indicating to Connor that she found this amusing. "Not anymore," she said warmly, "because I think I've solved you."
Connor could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke and eagerly welcomed her hand when it gingerly found his own, safely tucking her slender fingers in his fist and holding her close.