Work Header


Work Text:

The argument had started because if there was one thing that Connor absolutely disliked doing, it was a stake-out. Particularly one with no clear aim or reason other than "I want you to watch this house for a day and tell me who goes in and out of it."

"No," Connor folded his arms and scowled.

Haytham's study in his New York villa was a picture of British colonial elegance, all imported, carved mahogany and leather-bound books, the walls decorated with framed paintings of London, but the austere order of the room stopped at his desk - that was choked full of reports and ledgers. Behind it, Haytham glared at him, looking harassed.

"Just do it, child."

"Tell me why."

"Because I've told you to."

"No," Connor repeated, narrowing his eyes, "I have business of my own to attend to. Instruct one of your lackeys."

"You've swept all my useful pawns in New York off the board with your ridiculous actions over the past few years," Haytham snapped, "Go. And try not to blunder into any guards and raise the alarm."

"Do it yourself."

"Oh, don't be so disagreeable, boy." Haytham pinched at the bridge of his nose, rubbing it. "I have not had the best of days, and I am in no mood to humour your insolence."

"Ask Charles Lee to do it."

"You are undoubtedly aware that Charles is in Massachusetts."

"Then your business can wait until he returns."

"Connor. Stop trying my patience."

For all his talk of wolf pups, Connor felt, as he grit his teeth, Haytham had much of an old wolf within him, sometimes snappish and quick to show his teeth when his position in his pack was challenged. "Do it yourself, old man." Old wolves had to learn their place.

"Don't turn your back on me," Haytham snarled, when Connor turned to walk out, and he ignored his father, taking another step. Usually, when they quarrelled, Connor would simply leave New York for a time, and when he returned eventually, Haytham would usually have forgotten about it or mellowed. It took less effort than before, when Connor would stand his ground and shout and end up being stared down anyway-

Something slammed into the back of his knee, causing his legs to buckle, but Connor rolled with the fall instinctively, bringing up his hands, but Haytham had anticipated this, grabbing his right wrist and shoving a thumb against the spring mechanism of the hidden blade, jamming it, while digging his fist into Connor's hood and pulling. Connor growled and bucked as he found himself crushed face-first over the polished wood panels lining the floor, struggling. Haytham, however, had already efficiently forced a knee into the small of his back, twisting his right arm behind his back to pin him.

"Don't. Turn your back. On me. Boy." Haytham grit out.

Connor growled, jerking at his wrist, but Haytham's grip only tightened in warning. "Let go of me."

"Will you do as I say?"

"Do your own dirty work!"

"You," Haytham hissed, "Are an insolent child, and if you insist on acting like a child then you shall be treated like one."

"What are you-" Connor flinched as he felt fingers undo and drag off his belt, then he pulled angrily at Haytham's grip as his other wrist was dragged up, his hands bound tight behind his back, the belt looped tight over the blade mechanisms. Twisting, Connor tried to make a grab for his dagger, only to freeze up as Haytham dragged him up over his lap. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you a well deserved spanking," Haytham snapped, "Davenport must have let you run wild for far too long. Tantrums ill become you, and if you want to earn the respect of others then you should curb your insolence."

"Speak for yourself!" Connor tried to get his knees up under him, only to freeze up again when Haytham roughly dragged down his breeches and hiked up his shirt and coat, then he yelped in shock as a callused palm landed smartly on his bared arse. "Haytham!"

"Start counting, boy. Or I might resort to my belt."

"Stop this," Connor snapped, then he cursed Haytham in Kanien’kéha as another blow landed, hard enough for him to wince.

He was no stranger to pain: the nature of his chosen vocation needed him to attain a higher pain threshold than most, and the blows were at best an irritation, but they were humiliating, and Connor hated being pinned and helpless, by Haytham of all people, with his annoying airs and haughty conceit. He was furious and unable to do anything but endure this, caught under his father's control, disciplined like some child and Haytham was keeping the blows out of rhythm, making it difficult to predict, pain stinging and bright in his mind as his skin grew more and more tender-

"Curious." Haytham had stopped suddenly, his hand lingering on oversensitive skin, and Connor shivered, then much to his own astonishment he realized that he was hard, and Haytham had noticed it, his thigh pressed against the curve of Connor's arousal. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Untie my hands and I'll show you whether I'm enjoying this," Connor grit out, clenching his hands into fists pointedly, and Haytham snorted, even as he squeezed Connor's sore rump and made him flinch and bite down on a whine.

"Hn," Haytham trailed his fingers in a light tease over reddened skin, then his voice dropped into the velvet purr that never failed to make Connor's cock twitch in anticipation. "Start counting, Connor."

"Counting...? Ah!" Connor jerked as Haytham smacked him again, but before he could snap a retort, Haytham had stroked his hand lightly over his skin again, making him squirm breathlessly.

"Well?" That hand trailed maddeningly down, dipping over his inner thighs, close to his balls, and Connor only remembered to breathe when Haytham chuckled. "Concentrate."

Connor pressed his cheek to the wooden floor and exhaled. Sometimes old wolves still managed the upper hand, and it was pointless to struggle further. "One."

His voice was going raw with his gasps and cries by the time he counted to twenty-four, and he was breathing shallowly, sweating under his heavy clothes, unable to stop himself from rubbing blindly against Haytham's hard thigh, strung out between pain and a thorny wash of pleasure that was new to him and all the worse for it. Dazed, panting in wounded gasps, Connor bit out another moan when, shifting, he felt Haytham's own arousal pressing hot against his belly, between their clothes.

"So." Save for a bit of a hitch to his voice, Haytham's tone was still clipped. "Do you recognise the error of your ways?"

Connor stared at Haytham over his shoulder blankly. His mind felt fogged with lust and pain, and focusing felt like it needed too much effort. Haytham arched an eyebrow, but when Connor continued to just blink owlishly at him, he sighed, and patted abused flesh with mock tenderness. "I suppose a single lesson wouldn't have been enough to beat all that stubborn insolence out of you. Come up here."

With Haytham's guidance, Connor managed to get clumsily back up on his knees, straddling Haytham's lap, choking out a whimper as sensitive skin rasped over soft breeches, then he moaned and cant his hips forward the moment he felt the hard curve of Haytham's clothed arousal against his bared and leaking cock.

"My clothes," Haytham sighed, with a downward glance, but the set of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes were hungry, and Connor leaned over to beg for a kiss, mouthing and licking at closed lips with a low whine, his balance awkward with his wrists still bound. A hand curled tight in his hair and pulled him back, causing to Connor moan unhappily. "Apologize first, Connor."

Connor frowned a little, a touch of his usual stubbornness struggling up over his desire. "For?"

"For your insolence," Haytham reminded him sternly.


"Well, I might be of a mind to leave you on the ground to your own devices while I return to my correspondence," Haytham noted dryly, his gaze flicking down to Connor's flushed cock, "Or, I might be so... moved... to forgive your earlier transgressions." His voice pitched lower and lower as he spoke, leaning in, his breath tickling up Connor's neck to his ear and making him shiver.

"Fine." An attempt to sound defiant only turned breathless. "I'm sorry."


"For," Connor growled, growing annoyed again, "Refusing to obey one of your ridic-" his words were swallowed in a yelp as Haytham pinched still tender skin sharply.

"Try again."

Connor sucked in an angry breath, then he let it out, surprised, as long fingers tickled up and under his coat, curling around his cock and giving him a light, teasing squeeze. Desire curled in a hot and winding coil, deep in his belly, and grudgingly, Connor considered conceding and retaining at least some tatters of his dignity, or running the very real risk that Haytham would make good on his word and just leave him bound and undressed on the ground for however long it would take for Haytham's ire to be satisfied.

Giving in reluctantly, he muttered, "I'm sorry, father." When Haytham arched an eyebrow, Connor leaned back in again clumsily, to press a slanting kiss against a mouth that remained resolutely closed. "Please?"

"Well, well. That's new," Haytham murmured, and just as Connor was wondering whether to try something else, the fingers in his hair curled tight, pulling him down for a possessive kiss that he choked a moan against, fingers clutching at the air as he opened his mouth eagerly to a questing tongue. Another hungry kiss, and another, and Connor stopped counting, lost, his shirt plastered to his chest with sweat and swelling lips wet with spit.

Rubbing himself blindly against the rougher wool of Haytham's waistcoat, Connor blinked as Haytham pulled him back again with a twist of his wrist and let go of his cock. At Connor's protesting moan, Haytham pushed fingers into his mouth. "Suck," he instructed. "That's all that you'll get for slick."

Normally, Connor would have jerked away in angry protest - he knew that it was going to hurt - but he found himself obeying instead, slotting his tongue between digits and teasing the valleys between Haytham's beautifully long fingers as he swallowed around them, getting them wet, and for all of Haytham's poise Connor could recognise his iron control fraying; Haytham's eyes were dark and wide, his cheeks flushed rosy.

Two could play at this, then - Connor closed his eyes and groaned, rolling his hips, and Haytham uttered something harsh and incoherent, pulling out his fingers and replacing them with a punishing kiss, thrusting his tongue into Connor's mouth as the first wet finger pressed against his opening and pushed in, confident. They'd had their games the night before, and Connor was thankful for it: his body took in a questing finger easily enough, even with just saliva for wet, and although the friction was gritty and hot it wasn't as unpleasant as he thought it might be, even when Haytham pressed in a second finger.

Three fingers, though - three burned, and when Connor made a low, unhappy sound Haytham gentled his kiss, and the fingers curled in his hair started to stroke, petting down to the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. "Ease down," Haytham whispered, and his usually controlled tone sounded broken, raw, and Connor sucked in a breath as his cock jumped in response. He bit down on his lower lip as he tried to obey, forcing his body to relax, and eventually, the burn faded, and Connor let out a shaky groan as Haytham scissored his fingers and pushed them deeper. Searching fingers soon took up a sharper rhythm, when Connor managed to relax a fraction more, then he jerked and slumped against Haytham with a whine when Haytham finally brushed roughly against that sweet bundle of nerves within him.

"Connor-" Haytham's breaths were harsh against his ear. "This might still hurt you."

In response, Connor nuzzled blindly at Haytham's neck, nipping at the skin just over his shirt collar, and hid a grin as Haytham muttered a low oath, reaching between them to free himself urgently from his breeches.

Connor regretted it, moments later, when the burn from bearing down felt far worse than three fingers, clenching up instinctively, and Haytham hissed, his hands clutching at Connor's hips. "Relax," he instructed, "Stop that."

"Hurts," Connor replied, in a strangled gasp, and shivered as hands rubbed soothingly up his sides to his trembling arms.

"You're doing so very well," Haytham said, if strained, and kept up the string of shaky praise until Connor had somehow fully seated himself; it burned and he didn't even feel the sting from his abused skin any longer. Slumped against Haytham's frame, he closed his eyes, evening his breathing, concentrating on caresses and petting hands, the soothing lull of Haytham's voice pressed against his cheek.

When his body eased off enough for the burn to fade into a gritty friction, Connor rolled his hips, experimentally, and Haytham jerked, as though surprised, then he closed his hand over Connor's flagging arousal and tugged, encouraging Connor to move with a push against his hip. The rhythm was awkward with Connor's balance still thrown, but eventually he found a savage, shallow pace that worked; his breaths felt raw and shredded in the heavy air and Haytham - Haytham looked wrecked, normally immaculate clothes clinging to his lean frame and stained, lips parted and kiss-swollen, watching as though he couldn't look away to save his life.

Connor liked that - liked how desperate he could make Haytham, liked how he could push the very boundaries of his control, loved to break down all that arrogant poise and reduce him to this, desire's prisoner, pulled bare. When Haytham shifted, pressing deep and hard at the perfect spot within him, Connor keened, and Haytham's fist clenched tight over his cock, almost too roughly, his next breath rattling behind clenched teeth - he was close.

Biting down on a smirk, Connor ground down, forcing Haytham within him as deeply as he could, and leaned over to whisper harshly into his ear. "Please."

"God-" Haytham gasped, his hips snapping up, shoving in as he spilled, his heels scraping up against the floorboards, then he bowed his head as he went boneless, breathing hard. Connor grinned, satisfied, and couldn't quite hide it in time by the time his father pulled together enough of himself to glance back up. "You!" Haytham's voice was too raw to manage any real menace, though. "I should just leave you as you are, you insolent brat."

"Like this, old man? I might not mind," Connor rolled his hips again, trying to tease, this time, and Haytham narrowed his eyes, then he shook his head and rubbed his thumb over the tip of Connor's cock, making him jerk for it, bastard, and at Connor's whimper he curved his free hand tight over the nape of Connor's neck, pumping his cock in a sharp, almost painful pace until Connor let out a low cry, spurting over long fingers and Haytham's waistcoat.

Haytham grumbled under his breath, wiping off his hand on Connor's coat and ignoring Connor's glare. "Get off. You are extraordinarily heavy."

"Free my hands first."

"You are not in any position to make demands, boy. Get up. I am not as young as I used to be and this is thoroughly uncomfortable."

"You're uncomfortable?" Connor scowled - his knees felt raw and his arse felt far more sore now than he was ever used to, but he gingerly climbed off, enough for Haytham to ease away with another oath and get to his feet, circling away out of sight. "My hands!"

"Patience." There was a rustling sound, as though Haytham had found some cloth to wipe himself off, then fingers were undoing the belt, dropping it beside him, along with a soiled cloth. "Clean yourself up. Get the salve yourself, you know where it is. And then go and run my errand."

"You still expect me to go and watch that house for hours?" Connor demanded, incredulous, even as he wiped himself off. No blood, at least. "Now?"

"Certainly. The information should still be useful even with the delay that you've engendered, and you can still walk. More or less." Haytham was back in his chair, collar already straightened. "Run along now." At Connor's glare, Haytham sighed loudly. "Oh, very well. If you'll perform this trifle for me, I'll be suitably appreciative afterwards. Satisfied?"

Connor stiffened, about to bite out a scathing retort, but Haytham had already turned his eyes back to his ledger book, rubbing a thumb lightly over swollen lips, unconsciously suggestive... and he hesitated. "Fine," he decided stiffly, instead, though an attempt to storm out of the room was hampered somewhat by a new limp - his breeches felt far too coarse now under his skin - and he didn't miss the way Haytham's lips quirked up at the sight.

Still, if anything else, under Haytham's tutelage Connor had learned how to bide his time, and he could wait. The old wolf would do well to watch his footing.