Disclaimer: I own nothing, and am not making any profit from writing this. ...But I would very much enjoy being owned by Shay, oh yes.
Warnings: Angst, explicit sexual content, spoilers, implied past Shay/Hope
Notes: Yeah, okay. This was meant to be a part of Saints and Sinners, but I decided not to use it for that. Regardless, I'm not about to let good smut to go to waste – especially when there's so little of it for this pairing. Takes place after Shay kills Adéwalé with a tiny bit of canon divergence.
Also, Charles lee is crying in a corner somewhere. *giggles*
Monster. I have become a monster.
Adéwalé's last words haunted Shay. He couldn't seem to get them out of his head, no matter what he did. Drinking hadn't worked. No, all that had earned him was a nasty headache and a horrible case of nausea. Shay knew he had the conviction to stay this path; he had to say this path. But the guilt was drowning him, and no amount of whiskey, beer and ale were helping him forget the mental anguish. Nothing could.
He leaned over, resting his head against the table in front of him with his cheek pressed against the warped wooden surface. It reeked of stale rum, and the rest of the busy tavern was just a blur of noise and motion that made him feel like he was on a ship sailing through a hurricane. Vacantly, Shay realized that he'd be a dead man if an Assassin walked through the door at that moment. He didn't care, really. He was tired of fighting. Tired of the guilt. He'd never be able to wash the blood from his hands; Lady Macbeth had nothing on his countless murders.
Through the pounding in his skull, Shay thought that maybe he deserved to die – at the least. Absently, he swatted away a thoroughly drunk young woman slurring him an offer of company for his coin. Gone were the days when sex was a good enough distraction from his misery. It helped for a little while, but then he'd wake up alone the next morning and know it was pointless. Irritably, Shay ran his fingers through his hair that he had let down and kicked the empty chair beside him. It wasn't just the guilt anymore, there was anger too. ...Anger that he had no way of venting. He didn't kill because he hated the Assassins, or because he wanted to. He had to do it, and it never got any easier. And with Adéwalé, it had only gotten worse. Monster. He'd become a monster.
"Come on mate, this is a right sorry state you've gotten yourself in." Shay heard a familiar voice call to him. Gist. He must have come looking for Shay when he hadn't returned to Morrigan in nearly three days. When the ex-Assassin didn't reply, Gist grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. The movement made the room spin, and Shay roughly shoved Gist's hands away as he fought to remain upright.
"The fact that you're still conscious, let alone halfway sober, after all that whiskey is incredibly impressive. However, Grand Master Kenway is waiting for us to report in." That snapped Shay out of his trance-like state long enough for him to realize he was being an idiot, but it wasn't enough to keep him from vomiting all over Gist the second he he tried to stumble forward. ...Perhaps it was a blessing that he blacked out mere seconds later, and didn't have to witness his first mate's reaction.
"Shay?" Shay opened his eyes slowly, but snapped them shut immediately as bright morning sunlight assaulted him and set fire to a massive headache. He only grunted in reply, and drew the covers up over his head. He didn't even know where we was, but it was his cabin on the Morrigan – if he had to guess. Well, going by the familiar scents of sea water, damp wood and whale oil in the lamp that was still burning on the table beside him.
"The Grand Master wants to speak with you as soon as you're feeling up to it. He's topside." Shay just ignored Gist and made what he hoped was a dismissive gesture with his hand, not trusting himself to speak. The Morrigan, then. Yes.
He listened as Gist's footsteps retreated, and heaved a sigh. There was nothing that terrified Shay more than risking Haytham's disapproval. He was really in for it this time. It wasn't like him to be such a fool, but he was really at the end of his rope. Gist was a good man, and he really tried to be there for Shay. Be he'd never understand what he was going through mentally. He'd never had to drive a blade through the heart of someone as selfless as Adéwalé. ...Nor had he been shot in the back by his best friend.
No, thought Shay, it wouldn't be the Assassins that eventually killed him. It would be the despair, and the overwhelming guilt. He knew he was doing the right thing, and that doing right was never easy. ...But this, this was too much. Monster, he heard Adéwalé's voice echo in his head.
"Aye, that I am." Shay breathed and finally opened his eyes, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. Miserably, he hauled himself out of bed. It took him a couple moments to right himself, as the pounding in his head increased when he got to his feet.
"Best get this over with." He told himself, dreading seeing the disappointment in Haytham's eyes.
"You look like shit." Gist said with a frown as Shay shambled out of the captain's cabin. He shot his first mate a venomous glare, but didn't reply. Where were they, though? They were at sea already, and the shore was nowhere in sight. But if Gist was here... Who was captaining the ship? Shay nearly ran up the stairs to the helm, in shock when he saw Haytham guiding the Morrigan as easily as if he'd been a sailor all his life.
"Full sail! I want to make Halifax by nightfall!" Haytham called out to the crew, and Shay shook his head in disbelief.
"You needed me, Master Kenway?" Shay said, coming up beside him and gripping the railing near the ship's wheel tightly for support.
"Yes, indeed. I would ask how are you feeling, but I daresay it's rather obvious." Haytham replied, giving him a stern glare. Shay shrank away a bit, shamefully. He wished he could just dive off the side of the ship if it meant avoiding this conversation. He shivered as his breath rose in misty clouds before him. The cold northern air did wonders for the throbbing in his skull, at least.
"Why Halifax, Sir?" Shay inquired, looking out over the open sea. The skies were grey and there was a nasty chill in the air. It would snow soon.
"One of our contacts uncovered an assassination plot against an off-duty Navy officer staying there. I don't know why the man is a target specifically, but he possesses an artifact they want." Haytham explained, turning the ship's wheel to starboard to avoid a hunk of ice floating nearby.
"A piece of Eden?" Shay mused, and rubbed his temples with his thumbs, trying to will away to mindless ache.
"Possibly, or it could be nothing. Either way, that isn't a chance we can take." The Grand Master said tartly. Shay didn't reply, he just watched absently as Haytham handled the Morrigan with ease. He'd admired the man since the day they met, but knowing that he knew how to sail on top of it all was incredible.
"Where did you learn to sail, Sir?" Shay asked, curiously. Haytham gave him an odd sort of sideways glance, and turned his attention back to the open sea in front of him.
"My father was a sailor, well, actually he was a pirate. That's beside the point. He taught me some things, the rest I learned out of necessity during my first trip to the Colonies. Gist has given me a few pointers, too." Haytham replied, in a somewhat subdued manner. Shay didn't comment. Though, he thought Haytham could deal with some improvement as he over-steered a bit when avoiding an icy sandbar, making the ship lean a little to far to the side for comfort.
"You know, Shay, what you need is a bit of proper distraction." Haytham said with a suggestive wink.
"That doesn't really help much these days." Shay told him bitterly.
"Maybe you're looking in the wrong places." Haytham told him in a comforting tone, and patted him on the shoulder lightly. "Take the wheel, would you? I think your crew is it the end of their patience with me." Shay gave him a small nod and gripped the Morrigan's wheel tightly. Haytham took up his usual place beside him and leaned casually on the railing. The wrong places? What did he mean by that?
They reached Halifax too late. The Navy officer was long dead, and there was no sign of any kind of artifacts that would interest the Assassins in his home. Angrily, Shay kicked a wooden crate full of old books that had been left near the fireplace in the handsome little cabin. Nearby, Haytham searched through a leather box he'd found under the bed. It was full of personal letters from his wife and children back in London, but nothing useful. Shay felt a pang of sorrow for the woman and his two sons as he helped Haytham scan through them for anything that stood out.
"There's nothing here." He said finally, shaking his head. Haytham mumbled something in the affirmative and brushed dust off his coat sleeves. Everything in the place was covered in a layer of dust. The man had been killed almost a year ago, and no one had touched the place – claiming that it was haunted. Posing as investigators for the Navy had been easy enough for Shay and Haytham, even more so with the Morrigan flying the British Naval flag.
"Poor sod," Shay said, frowning.
"I doubt there was ever anything here," Haytham said finally. "Let's go."
"Wait..." Shay muttered, noticing a floorboard that wasn't quite the same shade of mahogany as the others. Haytham got down on his knees beside Shay as the ex-Assassin pried the board up with one of his hidden blades. It came away easily, and revealed a small metal box nestled in a secret compartment beneath it. Cautiously, Shay pulled it out and Haytham picked the small lock holding it closed. It was empty, aside from a small collection of Native arrowheads – probably gifts from some of the Lenape clan that he'd been known to make contact with.
"Nothing, then." Shay said in disappointment.
"Indeed," Haytham agreed. "We should return to New York."
They walked in silence on their way back to the harbor, where the Morrigan and her crew were waiting. Shay tried not to think of the box of letters under the officer's bed. How many families had he destroyed? How many widows had he made? The guilt was back, in full force as he stumbled over a bit of uneven ground hidden by the snow. Haytham caught him by the arm, and Shay righted himself, eyes still downcast.
"Are you well?" Haytham asked with concern. Shay shook his head and went to keep going, but Haytham held him firmly in place from where he was still lightly gripping his arm. Shay heaved a sigh.
"I know what I have to do, but it's killing me." Shay said, aware that Haytham was waiting for an explanation. "It feels like I'm drowning sometimes." He elaborated.
"I understand. Though, not to degree that you have to cope with." Haytham said flatly. Shay turned to face him, prying his hand from his shoulder and brushing newly fallen snow off of his jacket. Haytham absently shook some of it out of his hat and drew his cape tighter around his shoulders.
"Adéwalé was a good man. I still think that maybe he could have been reasoned with, but killing him was the only way. ...Because the others can't see reason, and taking him out has them in disarray. God help me if I have to kill Hope myself. I loved her once." Shay shook his head and seated himself on the edge of a crumbling rock wall behind them. Mostly he kept his emotions in check, but there was a meltdown coming – he could feel it.
"And would you kill her? Or would you let your feelings cloud your judgment?" Haytham asked coldly.
"I'll do what I have to, and save my regrets for later." Shay answered dully. He could kill her, and all the others. He knew that. It wasn't the killing that was the hard part, it was what came after.
"I worry for you." Haytham said in a strained sort of way that sounded almost like some young woman admitting she was in love – like he'd rather tell Shay to jump off a cliff in order to save his pride.
"...Thank you?" Shay said, frowning.
"We should go." Haytham told him, shoving himself to his feet.
That night, Shay lie in bed wondering what it was that Haytham saw in him. Did he see a ruthless killer – merely the Templars secret weapon? ...Or was it something else? Maybe he saw Shay for what he really was: a tormented soul on a downward spiral. He replayed the scene from earlier in his head, unable to forget the haunted look in Haytham's eyes. I worry for you. Shay rolled over in the bed and buried his face in the pillows. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break down and sob like a child. He couldn't. He was stronger than that, had to be stronger than that. But what use was it? Everything that was good and right in the world wasn't meant for him. He was the harbinger of death, and that was the path that he had chosen fro himself. Because if not him, then who? He was a hunter, not a member of the herd.
What Shay really longed for was companionship. Sure, Gist was a good a friend as any and Haytham watched over him like a mother hen at times. ...But that wasn't the same. He missed the days of camping in the woods with Liam, telling stories by firelight and sparring well into the wee hours of the morning. ...Or the nights spent with Hope, that they had kept as their own dirty secret. Those were the only times he ever really allowed himself to forget the rest of the world. It wasn't the sex, though. If it was, one of those whores in Havana would have done the job just fine. No, he needed someone to confide in. Someone who understood him and what he was going through. Maybe then he could live with himself – look in a mirror without seeing a monster.
It was a light knocking on his door that dragged him back to reality, and out his self-pity.
"Do you have a moment, Shay?" Haytham called from the other side of the door. Haytham. A slew of images flickered through Shay's mind of conversations with the man. That knowing look in his eyes, and the fact that he was always the first to jump to Shay's defense like an angry attack dog when the others questioned his loyalties.
"Yes, Sir." Shay replied, shoving himself out of bed. He seated himself in the red velvet chair behind his desk as Haytham let himself in. Shay straightened the pile of maps and charts on the desk just for something to do with his hands as Haytham took the chair across from him.
"Still awake at this hour?" He asked, worry evident in his tone.
"It's that, or the nightmares. Insomnia is easier." Shay told him in a casual tone, while on the inside he was struggling with the sudden realization that the man in front of him was probably the only soul on the planet that actually cared about his well-being on a personal level. Well, of the ones that knew who he really was.
"What do you dream of?" Haytham asked, leaning back in the chair and fixing Shay with a questioning stare that seemed to pierce right through him.
"Lisbon, mostly. Sometimes of the people I've killed." Shay told him, staring pointedly at the maps in front of him.
"Lisbon? You were there." Haytham said. It wasn't a question, though. It was an observation. Shay wondered if he'd noticed the way his voice had cracked, when he mentioned the city the day he'd explained what the Assassins were doing. Probably. Haytham never missed a thing.
"Yes." Shay said with a small nod. "I watched thousands of innocent people die, powerless to do a thing to stop the destruction. The worst part, was that I caused it."
"But you couldn't have known." Haytham said in an oddly comforting tone. Shay shook his head.
"No, no. I think I did know, in a way. I wasn't cautious; all I cared about was proving my worth. I thought I could do that if I came back with a piece of Eden in my hands." Shay said bitterly. "That's why I have to atone."
"You may never be able to if you truly feel that way." Haytham said sagely.
"I know, and I don't expect to. All I can do is stop it from happening again. But it doesn't make it easier." Shay explained miserably and hid his face in his hands. Where was all this coming from? He was never the sort to fall prey to lengthy emotional discussions. He abhorred them.
"Then forget about for a while." Haytham told him pointedly.
"Unless you've forgotten how I managed to drink myself into a stupor last week, that isn't happening. ...Sir." Shay snapped with more venom than entirely necessary. The silence that followed was stifling. Shay glanced out the window that was covered with a thick fog, and closed his eyes – listening to the muted sound of the crew quietly singing a shanty into the night. He'd give anything to forget for a while, for someone to pull him out of the raging sea of his own guilt and self-hatred that was drowning in. But it wasn't that easy.
"I could help you forget." Haytham suggested, with a hint of uncertainty. Shay's eyes met his curiously. If there was anything he thought Haytham incapable of, it was nervousness. The man was bloody fearless.
"How?" Shay asked, frowning.
"Use your imagination." Haytham said flatly. Shay stared at him, wide-eyed as the implication dawned on him. His mind raced to that moment when Haytham had told him to find a distraction, and the way he'd winked at him when he said it. How had he not noticed before? Well, that was easy enough to answer – he was too busy being miserable to see it. Shay swallowed nervously.
"Is this a good idea?" He asked, his eyes meeting Haytham's questioningly.
"No one else needs to know," The Grand Master said with a shrug. "Unless, of course, it isn't agreeable to you."
"I – no. I mean, yes. But," Shay's heart pounded in his chest and he honestly wondered if he had fallen asleep and was having the most ridiculous dream. "Why do this? ...And what makes you think it would be different if half the women in Havana couldn't make a difference?"
"Why? Because I," Haytham's voice faltered for a moment, and he studied Shay like a hunter stalking prey. "...Because I hunger for you in ways that words cannot express. Long ago, I gave up on ever meeting another soul who could possibly understand the horrors I've experienced. ...Then I found you. And what would make a difference? Well, this could mean something."
All rational thought seemed to evade Shay as he stared vacantly at Haytham. He had a point. Perhaps if it meant something... It wouldn't fix things. Maybe, just maybe, if he had a proper outlet...
"Homosexuality is a sin." Shay said with absolutely zero conviction and a look on his face like a startled deer.
"You don't honestly care about that, do you?" Haytham asked incredulously. "Surely not, with the things you've done – both of us have done."
"No, not really. I stopped believing in God on that day in Lisbon." Shay said, barely above a whisper.
"Then, let this happen." Haytham breathed, leaning across the desk, his face barely inches from Shay's.
"At least let me lock the door." Shay muttered.
Shay's breath hitched in his throat as Haytham's lips met his in a chaste kiss. Any second thoughts he might have had flew right out the window as he felt the gentlest caress across the scar on his face, just below his right eye. His eyelids fluttered closed as he suddenly remembered how to breathe – and realized that he really had no idea what to do here. Haytham wasn't exactly one of his girls from Havana or Lisbon. Still, he was relatively sure he'd never been touched so softly and somehow it aroused him so much more than the rough handling he thought he preferred. ...Or maybe it was just because it was Haytham.
"You never did tell any of us what gave you this scar." Haytham murmured, slipping an arm around Shay's waist and pulling him closer. He didn't give the slightest resistance, and buried his face in Haytham's shoulder. He liked the way the slightly older man smelled, like gunsmoke and a touch of musky cologne.
"I don't know, honestly. Must have happened when I escaped Achilles' homestead. I woke up afterward, and my face was a mess." Shay answered, with a snort of amusement. "But it's fun to keep them guessing. I kind of like the one Gist came up with, about me taking a bayonet to the face during a tavern brawl."
"You are ridiculous." Haytham chastised him with a quiet chuckle and tugged the ribbon holding his hair back loose. Shay decided that he really liked the feeling of Haytham's fingers tangled in his hair. He sighed contentedly and dug his nails into Haytham's coat when the other man pressed his knee into his groin. This was too much, really. It was beyond him how he was standing, and why the devil he still had his clothes on.
"Are you all right, Shay?" Haytham asked, running his fingers through Shay's hair.
"I... I don't really know what to do. You aren't drunk, female and wearing lacy lingerie by any chance, are you?" Shay replied sheepishly, and Haytham laughed quietly.
Shay had always been the dominate one in sex, but he'd never been with a man – a man that he was normally willingly submissive to in almost every sense. Well, maybe that was the right answer right there. He had to let go of the reigns, and let Haytham take them. He sighed and melted against his body.
"Would you take the lead, Sir? I would like you to take me. And please... Be gentle." Shay asked, sure that his face was ten shades of red.
"Certainly." Haytham purred and kissed his forehead softly. Shay let his eyes flutter shut as Haytham sucked at spot on his throat and deftly unbuttoned his overcoat. He clung to Haytham to remain standing, his head was spinning from the intimacy and it was a wonder that he was coherent at all. Once Haytham got Shay out of his shirt, he guided him down to bed and straddled his hips. Before Shay had a chance to react, he leaned over and took him in a deep, searching kiss. Shay let his head fall back against the pillows, as the Grand Master trailed light kisses across his collar bone and brushed his thumb over one of Shay's nipples. Shay whimpered and arched his hips into Haytham's, their clothes erections touching. ...Which really made the intensity of it even more unbearable. But really, were his nipples always that sensitive? He outright moaned like a bitch in heat when Haytham licked and sucked at the other one. He really hoped the crew hadn't heard that. He was coming completely undone, and he was still wearing his pants. That needed to be remedied. Immediately.
Apparently Haytham caught his train of thought, as Shay felt nimble fingers tugging at the buttons of his fly. He held his breath as Haytham began pulling them off and let out a sigh of mindless relief as his throbbing cock was finally freed from its confines.
"You are beautiful like this." Haytham breathed in Shay's ear and licked at a particularly sensitive spot just below his earlobe. Shay wandered vacantly if he was going to reach his climax before Haytham graced his manhood with a single touch, because he was already halfway there. He opened his eyes just in time to see Haytham pull his own pants off and and toss them carelessly away. Shay swallowed nervously. Haytham was huge. He never got the chance to panic, though. Haytham soothed him with a slow, passionate kiss and caressed his face lightly with his hands. Shay melted into the touch, remembering that he trusted Haytham entirely. He was in good hands.
...Though, he couldn't stop the desperate, animalistic sound he made when he felt Haytham's soft, yet slightly calloused fingers tease his cock and balls. He thought he might have honestly died and gone to heaven when Haytham leaned down and took him in his mouth. He squirmed against Haytham's hands that held his hips firmly in place. Shay couldn't help it, though. He panted and gasped as Haytham swallowed him whole, the heat nearly overwhelming him. He let out a keening moan and dug his fingers into Haytham's hair – Haytham, surprisingly, let him. Shay didn't last long, and hit the edge hard, spilling himself in Haytham's mouth. It didn't matter; he swallowed every drop, and kissed Shay hard. The taste of himself on Haytham's lips, Shay decided, was one of his favorite things in the world.
"This might hurt a little bit, but trust me." Haytham told Shay, and spread his legs. Shay mumbled something affirmative, was too far gone in the pleasant aftermath of the orgasm. He didn't even tense up when Haytham prodded carefully at his entrance with oil slicked fingers. His breath came in ragged gasps as Haytham found a spot inside of him that seemed to light his body on fire. He was already getting hard again as Haytham inserted a second finger. It felt a little uncomfortable at first, but the touches soon turned into an incredible source of pleasure.
By the time Haytham decided Shay was sufficiently prepared, the Assassin hunter was a whimpering, moaning mess begging incoherently to be taken. Haytham was sure that if he asked Shay his name at that moment, he would just stare at him and shake his head. The way Shay threw his head back and bit his lip as Haytham slowly pushed his way inside of him was delicious. Gently, he reminded himself, gathering Shay up in his arms and tucking his face under his chin once he was buried to the hilt.
Shay let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and let his body relax against Haytham's, adjusting to the sensation of the other man's cock filling him. Haytham whispered soft words of endearment to him as he ran his fingers through his hair comfortingly and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Shay sighed quietly and nuzzled his face against Haytham's shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. He began to move, very slowly at first – with even, measured thrusts. Shay wrapped his arms around Haytham and unconsciously dug his nails into his back as he sped up a bit.
"Relax." Haytham whispered in Shay's ear. "And don't forget to breathe."
Shay nearly choked on the air, when he realized he wasn't breathing and focused on releasing the tension from his body as Haytham continued speaking to him in a quiet, husky tone. He had had no idea what the Grand Master was saying, but it didn't matter. The sound of his voice was comforting, and Shay felt like he was floating away on waves of pleasure as the last bit of tension left him. He was putty in Haytham's hands, and only dimly aware of the desperate sounds that escaped his lips as Haytham took him harder, at a fast but steady pace.
"I love you, Shay." Haytham told him sincerely, as he slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around Shay's length. It was his undoing. Shay bucked his hips and gasped Haytham's name as the world just exploded. He was vaguely aware of the feeling of Haytham's lips on his as climax took him. He couldn't ever remember it feeling like this, so... consuming. Intense. He didn't even notice the tears streaming from his eyes until the world swam back into focus as Haytham spilled himself deep inside of Shay with an inarticulate moan.
"Shay?" Haytham murmured, wiping the tears from his face with his thumb. "Did I hurt you?"
"Mm...? No." Shay mumbled, curling himself against Haytham, seeking the heat of his body. Haytham obliged, and pulled him close, still buried inside of him. He withdrew slowly and slid the blanket over shay. They could clean up later, when Shay wasn't clinging to him for dear life and sobbing brokenly from the intimacy of it all. Haytham just caressed him gently, whispering a million endearments and praises to him until he finally calmed and just lay silently in Haytham's arms, basking in the afterglow.
The first thing Shay was aware of when he slowly came awake the following morning was the odd sense of peace that had settled over him. Instead of waking up with a sense of morbid dread for what manner of murder he was going to have to plot that day, he only felt sleepy, sated and little... Sore? He shifted his position slightly, and his hazy mind registered the weight of a pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind. The memories returned in a flash, and Shay didn't even have to open his eyes to know that it was Haytham snuggled up to him. ...And there were so many things wrong with that thought that he -
"Good morning. How do you feel?" Haytham asked in a quiet whisper. No, there was nothing wrong with it, Shay decided. It felt right, waking up beside him, surrounded by his warmth.
"...Better, for now." Shay murmured, thinking that he'd very much like to just lie there forever and let the world go on without them. Yes, that would be nice.
"We had best get up soon." Haytham said, prodding him in the shoulder, and tracing one of his many scars with his index finger. Shay shivered at the touch.
"Won't be if you don't stop that." He retorted with a chuckle. "You do realize Gist has probably already figured out what we were up to by now, right?"
"Gist? I would be surprised if the whole crew doesn't know, given the noise you made." Shay buried his face in his pillow and swore vehemently.
"Shall we then?" Haytham asked, sliding away from Shay to sit up properly.
"Aye." Shay replied, not quite sure how to face a new day without feeling like he was drowning in hopelessness.