It was his wedding night, and Altair should be in bed-either making love to his beloved, now his wife, or sleeping afterwards. But he had awoken with a full bladder and a restless mind, while Maria slept on, replete and contented. The sea breeze blew in, worsening the ache in his bladder, and he pulled on his robes haphazardly and stumbled out to find somewhere to relieve himself. Who wanted to wake up to chamber pot smell the morning after their wedding?
He realized how close he was to the deserted, destroyed Templar Archive. There-that ugly statue was half of some past Grandmaster. Looking side to side to make sure nobody could see, he spitefully relieved himself on the statue. Childish. But satisfying.
As he adjusted his robes, he realized something foreign was jammed in them. He went to remove it-ah. He had almost forgotten, before the ceremony, he and Maria had stolen a few minutes together, and he'd wound up with her incredibly expensive specially-made imported silk underthings stuffed in his sleeve. They hadn't had time to put them back on her, and he'd completely forgotten about the smooth, soft wad of fabric by his elbow.
He looked in the direction of the Archive, and remembered a snide comment she'd once said. So tempting...
If she found out, she'd probably kill him. Or laugh. Or both. Most likely both. He smirked a little to himself, and slipped into the deserted library. There-that shelf. He arranged her undergarment on the shelf, and held it in place with a half-destroyed book and a small statue, then departed, swiftly heading back to rejoin his sleeping wife.
Maria had stolen all the blankets in his absence, and after he quickly pulled off his robes and eased into the pile of bedclothes, she pulled him close for sleepy kisses. "Mmm...husband...where have you been?"
"Only relieving myself, my darling wife."
"Oh good. Wouldn't want you uncomfortable..." She rolled on top of him, grinning. He smirked back as she straddled him. Chances were she wouldn't miss the flimsy garment for days.