Not very long but very NSFW, so please use discretion.
This takes place after chapter 11, and whether or not you want to consider this canon to the story is completely up to you. It just so happened that a few ideas like this came to me for various characters so they'll all be put in Behind the Scenes.
Please enjoy the smut and review!
Altaïr lay in bed that night, contemplating the day's events. Things had not gone at all as he had expected. Even though he did have some faith in his novice he was still not completely sure that she would be able to kill.
His thoughts were brought to where he had found her in the rooftop garden. The sun filtered through the green curtains, billowing slightly in the breeze. Sam's golden hair glowed as some of the light caught it, as he forced her gaze to meet his. Her skin was soft and warm where he touched it, yet her gaze was hard, barely masking her surprise at his actions.
He would never admit it out loud but he had loved that moment. They were close, and he could have made things intimate with a single word or brush of his hand. He had forbidden himself to think of Samantha like this before now. Not only was it a distraction, but she was his novice. It certainly bordered on the inappropriate.
However, his body seemed to not care. As he lay in bed his hard erection strained against the waistband of his pants, begging for release. It was amazing how simply the thought of her could do this to him.
His hand moved down and brushed the swell of his arousal, and it twitched at the slight contact. Altaïr let out a low growl, surely no harm could come from providing himself some relief if he did not act on the thoughts fueling his fantasies.
He did not touch himself again, not yet. A scenario was unfolding in his mind, one that he almost wished had come true.
He was in the bureau, alone and pacing, waiting for the return of his novice from her first mission. Just as he was about to give up and look for her himself, Samantha dropped down from the roof and into the small entryway.
Altaïr approached her, taking in the sight of the clothing he had given her for this mission. He had not been able to see it before she had left, but now her body was in full view, with no baggy outer covering to conceal it. It pleased him to think that only her target had seen her this way, and he was now dead.
He made it about halfway to her before she rushed up to meet him. There was something in the way she looked at him, a mix of lust and, still present, adrenaline from her kill.
There was no time to think before her lips met his. She had to stand slightly on her toes, but that only enhanced the feeling of his arms around her smaller frame as he returned the heated kiss. Her lips attacked him hungrily as they moved from his mouth to his neck, biting and then caressing the abused skin with her tongue.
Back in his room, Altaïr finally began to touch himself beneath the cloth of his pants. He imagined how Samantha would impatiently shove her hand into his pants to grasp him and let him know exactly what she wanted. A groan escaped his lips as his hand mimicked the action and sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine.
In his fantasy, Samantha would drag him into the foyer and push him down onto the pillows piled there. He would watch as her hands ran over the exposed skin of her body. Beads of sweat trailing down her neck and between her plump breasts, barely contained by the top she wore.
With a swift movement the sheer sash that had been around her waist came undone. She stood before him and wrapped it around his neck bringing him forward so that he was eye level with her hips. He didn't hesitate before grabbing her soft skin in his hands and bringing his mouth to lick and suck on the skin just above the waistband of her small underclothes. Soft mewls would escape her lips as he nibbled and teased.
Eventually she would tire of his game and forcefully push him back down and into a place of submission. She would put her thumbs in her waistband and pull her bottoms off at a tantalizingly slow pace. When that was done she would join him on the pillows, straddling his waist and ripping his pants in her effort to get at his erection.
By now, she would have no patience. Samantha would rub her exposed sex over him once, spreading her slick arousal across him, before impaling herself upon his length.
He groaned louder this time, within the confines of his room. Altaïr could only imagine how tight she must be. His hand stroked himself vigorously as he imagined Samantha beginning to move and ride him, breasts bouncing and nearly spilling out of her top.
His fantasy was moving faster, now, as he was beginning to feel a familiar heat pool in his groin.
Samantha would begin to rub herself, assisting in her own completion. She would grind herself upon him until finally her head would tilt back and she would unravel atop him, crying out as he moved to thrust from beneath her.
Before she could recover from her orgasm he would switch their positions and push her chest onto the pillows, her perfect ass raised in the air. She would have no time to protest before filled her up again. Samantha would squirm and moan as he pounded into her overly sensitive pussy. One of his hands would be firmly planted in the middle of her back, keeping her pressed into the ground, while the other grasped her waist.
Altaïr was panting and groaning now, as he imagined dominating her so completely. Sweat slicked his body and he continued pumping himself with his hand. He could only imagine how much better she would feel than his own meager attempts at pleasuring himself. He was so close now that precum smeared across the head of his dick.
In his fantasy, Samantha's small protests at his roughness would give way to loud cries of ecstasy as he continued to pound into her, each time reaching even deeper. He would enjoy the feeling of her soft skin in his rough hands and that she was his, and his alone. After this there would be no other.
As he thought this, the pleasure became too great and Altaïr spilled his hot seed on his chest, imagining how it would feel to pour himself inside her instead.
He laid there, utterly spent and slightly ashamed of his wicked fantasies. Altaïr hoped that the walls of the bureau were thick enough to where no one had heard him. However, the thought of Samantha, lying in her own bed next door, almost made him wish she had heard him. It would be even more satisfying if she knew that his release had been because of her.