Work Text:
Ridin’
There’s something about seeing Shay in a suit that wakes the absolute worst in Haytham. It’s a rare treat, seeing his lover all dressed-up. Shay is a field man, he’s used to dressing for discretion and practicality, but ever since he started becoming more important to the Order (and to Haytham, as well) it became obvious that he couldn’t be running around in blood-stained rags and leather anymore. For practical reasons, all members of Haytham’s inner circle were granted positions in Abstergo Industries, meaning that they all have to adhere to certain rules regarding their appearance. Shay was no exception, as he was very appropriately given the position of “Head of Security”. In reality - Haytham’s bodyguard, the person always with him, shadowing his every move, twenty four hours a day.
“You have to dress the part,” Haytham had told him the first time they’d gone to the tailor to get Shay some new suits to go with his brand new job title. Shay had protested but Haytham’s word is law, and anyway, who dares stand between him and his eye-candy? Petty? Perhaps. It’s not abuse of power, he tells himself, it can’t be when the involved parties benefit equally. Not only does he get to shamelessly ogle at his lover as he struts around dressed like a million bucks, he also gets the pleasure and satisfaction of knowing that the man who earns so many lustful stares as they walk by is his, and his alone.
Well, “mutually beneficial” might be an overstatement here.
But Shay does look good. God, he looks divine, almost as good as he does when completely naked. The suit is just perfect, in that shade of black that’s just right, complimenting Shay’s hair and complexion harmoniously. It’s tailored to perfection, too, enveloping Shay’s impressive figure in the most flattering way. As he moves, Haytham can see it all; his tight legs, his firm ass, even his bulging biceps, shifting under the luxurious fabric as he barks around orders, whipping his men into shape. He's a gorgeous man, that is the undeniable truth, no matter how much he doesn't like showing off. Perhaps for the best, Haytham muses. All the best bits of him are for his eyes alone.
“Nothing gets past this perimeter,” Haytham hears him shout, his voice booming through the estate’s grounds. “Not without me knowing. Understand? If even so much as a leaf gets close to the Grandmaster, you lads are fucked."
Haytham bites his lip, his fingers curling around his cup of tea. It’s a grim, entirely British January morning, the kind where the cold drills through one’s bones, and Haytham can feel himself burn from within.
He finds Shay alone in the foyer, scanning through the estate’s floor plan for the millionth time.
“Shay,” he calls out quietly.
Shay glances around, relieved to see that it’s just the two of them. Yes, their relationship is the Order’s worst kept secret but appearances do matter. And, well, it makes for good foreplay.
“Feeling safe?” he teases.
Haytham is drawn to him easily, as if it’s a reflex. Moth to the flame, and all. He toys with his tie, runs his hand over the spotless white shirt, feeling the hard muscle under the crisp cotton and cashmere.
“All thanks to my bodyguard.” His hands skim under Shay’s jacket, feeling his gun and holster. “What a good job you’re doing.” His touch grows bolder, moving lower as he palms Shay’s cock through his pants.
“Haytham-”
“I want you,” he hisses, his voice all but a whine.
Shay nuzzles the side of his neck, giving him a long, canine sniff. Haytham moans.“Now?”
“Now.”
They hole themselves into the library and some part of Haytham feels pang of guilt for defiling the sanctity of the room he’d spend so many hours in as a boy. Shay settles in Edward’s armchair and Haytham kneels before him, sitting between his legs.
“And these?” Shay opens an ornate case that stands on the small table beside the armchair and plucks out one thick, fragrant cigar.
“Cuban,” Haytham chimes, caring for little else besides getting to Shay’s cock. “Best of the best, purchased for the joyous occasion of my birth.” Haytham undoes the belt and zipper and nearly purrs as Shay’s cock springs out. “Have one.”
Shay smiles shakily, looking down as Haytham puts his lips on him with little ceremony. “Very joyous, indeed.” He tips his head back, laughing shakily. "How fucking glad am I to have you - Oh!"
Haytham wastes no time in taking Shay in his mouth, grinning around his cock at all the little sounds he makes. After preparing it hastily, Shay lights the cigar and soon, the room begins to fill with a lilac plume of smoke and its distinct, rich aroma. The scene is almost holy, painted in the colors of adoring worship. It’s barely 10 in the morning and the light that pours in from behind the gray clouds is dim and little, barely enough to illuminate the room. The winter sun casts its weak rays on the mahogany panelling of the room, following the cigar smoke as it dances towards the ceiling, catching on Haytham’s dark silver hair as he prays his own kind of prayer. All within is quiet, save for the lewd, wet sounds of Haytham’s yearning lips on Shay’s cock and Shay’s own quiet moaning.
“Darling,” Shay growls, tipping his neck back against the armchair. His free hand slithers into Haytham’s hair, tugging on the roots. He lets his hand go limp, feeling it move along with his lover. He brings the cigar to his lips, taking a long drag and letting the flavor fill his mouth.
When they first met, Shay could have never imagined that Haytham would be so good at this. Even though he’s on his knees, he has perfect control over Shay, just with his mouth alone. His soft lips suck greedily, his tongue lapping around Shay’s length, collecting the drops of precum like it’s nectar. He stares up at Shay through thick lashes, his blue-gray eyes glimmering darkly in the dim light. Lower and lower he goes, opening his jaw wide to take all of Shay in, down to the last inch until the head is resting against the back of his throat. Shay squirms, his fingers curling into Haytham’s hair.
“Haytham,” he gasps desperately. The sweet, familiar numbness starts spreading over his body, moving from his feet and up. His own rugged breaths mix with the sounds of Haytham slurping and moaning on his cock.
“Fuck, Haytham-!” His stomach tenses, his cock tightening in Haytham’s mouth. He feels the pleasure in ripples, his jaw slack as he lets himself go, surrendering to the pleasure.
Haytham pulls back. The suddenness of the stop is so absolute, that Shay comes down crashing, gasping for air, his eyes shot wide open. His chest is heaving, his body shuddering with the intensity of his denied orgasm. He looks down in confusion, meeting Haytham’s downright devilish gaze. His glossy lips are curled into a wicked smile, his hand stroking Shay’s cock gently.
“Not yet,” he says with a click of his tongue.
Haytham gets on his feet, haphazardly removing his shoes and trousers, until he’s left wearing only his shirt, dress socks and garters. “Stay like that,” he orders breathlessly when Shay moves to undress himself. There’s haste in his moves, desperation. He straddles Shay before the other man can even get the chance to speak, gluing their mouths together in a smoke-filled kiss and they moan into it, savoring the mixed tastes of bittersweetness, eager hands grasping for each other. Their bodies meld together easily, naturally.
Shay brings his hand up to Haytham’s lips. “Get these wet for me, darling,” he asks softly. Haytham takes the fingers into his mouth and Shay watches him from behind a silk-thin curtain of smoke. He plants small kisses on the digits, swirling his tongue around them while his eyes remain locked with Shay’s.
Usually, they’re more organized but they had been at it again just this morning, and Haytham is still nice and loose, moaning softly as Shay pushes his spit-covered fingers inside him. There’s some friction but Shay talks him through it, showering him with praise and encouragement, telling him what a good job he’s doing, how tight and lovely he feels. Haytham rolls his hips along to the touch, all his lewd sounds pouring out to the room.
“Oh, Shay,” he keens, his fingers curling into his lover’s shoulders.
Shay watches him with the same reverence as one would observe a work of art in the making. His darkened, lustful gaze follows every little scrunch and twitch, every flutter of Haytham’s lashes as he rides his fingers. He can’t bless his luck enough, partially because he still can’t believe that Haytham Kenway would ever so willingly give himself to him, come to know him so deeply, so truly. Haytham opens his pretty, pouty mouth and Shay blows the smoke into it. He pulls his fingers out and smiles at the whiny little sound Haytham gives him.
“Need help?” he asks, all cheek and tease, his free hand settling on the small of Haytham’s back.
Haytham is panting, his high cheeks dusted bright pink, up to the tips of his ears. “Shut up.”
Moving slowly, Haytham impales himself on Shay’s cock, his jaw agape and his brows knit in concentration. Shay spreads his legs further, giving Haytham more room to move on. Haytham is aware of just how depraved he sounds, moaning like a touch-starved whore as he begins bouncing on Shay’s perfect cock, but he can’t find himself to care. This sacred moment is the only place in space and time where he can be who he wants, feel this numbing pleasure to his very core without caring about his image or responsibilities. His brain, always buzzing and heavy with things that made his hair go gray before he turned 40, can just be, melting to the sensation of this: the fullness, the deepness of it all.
“Fuck,” he mumbles. His hands roam over the expanse of Shay’s clothed chest, sliding all the way to his face and scars. He traces the thin white lines, all the while never stopping the hypnotic roll of his hips. It’s much gentler than when Shay pins him down and ravishes him but it’s twice as deep, close, downright delirious. With every little bounce, Haytham can feel the tip of Shay’s cock pressing against his prostate, making him see stars. He leans into the crane of Shay’s neck, pressing his drunk murmurs into his skin.
“Shay, oh, Shay…” His voice trails off, broken by a string of hushed moans.
“Want me to touch you, darling?” Shay purrs into his ear, his deep, husky voice going straight to Haytham’s cock.
His lover doesn’t respond immediately, taking a moment to swallow and find his words. He snakes one hand into Shay’s hair and tugs viciously. “I want,” he gasps, “I want you to put that out on me.”
“What?” Shay blurts. He’s no stranger to Haytham’s…appetite for pain in the bedroom, but this is new.
“Put it out on me,” Haytham demands again. His voice is rushed, panicked almost. “Please, Shay.”
Shay swallows thickly. He kisses Haytham’s neck and runs his teeth along his jawline, feeling his lover shudder. “Where, sweetheart? Show me.”
Haytham cries out as he leans back on Shay’s knees, bringing his shaking hand to point to a spot near the junction of his thigh, beside his leaking, aching cock. “Here,” he gasps. “Mark me here.”
Shay ashes the cigar off into the near-full ashtray on the side table. He searches Haytham’s face for any signs of doubt or concern but all he sees is rapture, the satisfaction pure and shameless on his lover’s open mouth and hazy, unfocused eyes.
“Hurry,” Haytham whines. “I’m gonna cum-”
Shay taps the cigar down, cooling it down a little bit before bringing it close to Haytham’s skin. Haytham’s breath hitches and he clings tighter onto Shay. Slowly, so as to draw out the sensation, he presses the cigar into Haytham’s skin. In all their time together, he has never heard his lover howl like that. The sound that leaves Haytham’s mouth is feral, a drawn-out cry of pain and pleasure mixed together. HIs body convulses, shaking with the sharp sting of the burn and the intensity of his orgasm. He whimpers, his eyes rolling back as a thin line of drool spills off the side of his mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Shay whispers in awe. He takes his lover’s neglected cock into his hand and strokes him into completion, letting him spill over his tight fist. Haytham’s walls squeeze around him so deliciously and he follows suit mere seconds later, spilling inside of the other man with a deep groan.
Haytham slumps forward, his forehead pressed against Shay’s. He runs his thumb across Shay’s bottom lip before catching it in a kiss. Shay’s hand skims lowers, rubbing comforting circles around the fresh burn.
“Does it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse,” Haytham offers with a small huff. He shifts, feeling Shay’s spent cock move inside him. “Thank you for indulging me.”
Shay reaches for Haytham’s hand and kisses it. “I live to serve you, my love. Though, if I’d known me in a suit would make you act like that, I’d be wearin’ one to bed.”
Haytham laughs. “See? I was right to insist.”
“Seems entirely self-serving, if I’m being honest.”
Haytham quirks a brow. “Are you accusing me of pulling rank for my own ends?”
Shay raises his hands defensively. “I wouldn't dream of it, Grandmaster, sir. Not when I’ve seen all the good and honest work you’re doing.”
He peppers Haytham’s neck with small kisses, following the trail up to his ear. Haytham hisses softly, a smile spreading across his lips. “...what is it that we came here to do, again?”
“Dunno,” Shay murmurs. “If you order me to stay in here all day and fuck you, I will.”
Haytham can already feel himself harden again, the burned skin around his cock protesting. “Do it, then,” he purrs wantonly, carding his fingers through Shay’s dark hair. He inhales deeply, letting the deep, smoky aroma pierce through his brain and intoxicate him. “That’s an order, Mr. Cormac.”
He can feel Shay grin against the skin of his neck. “As my master commands.”