Chapter Text
A cold serving dish full of food. A moonlit balcony closed off and silent. And freshly extinguished candles still smoking their displeasure. All telltale signs of an evening of being left alone after the promise of company.
Knowing how important and time-consuming his profession is does a little to ease the pain, but only somewhat. Tonight was supposed to be different. Special. It was supposed to mean something to someone other than you for once. And that certain someone is, yet again, not present. Hours of preparation and hope find their rest in the kitchen trash bin — food and candles and, if it could fit, the moon, too, would be in there. But it sits loftily in the sky in all its impartial splendor.
You close the curtains to the terrace and lock the door — disappointed as you are, you will not lose sleep over him again. That’s easier said than done as you spend the night drifting ina nd out of slumber with that same disappointing stinging at your tear ducts. He’ll be there in the morning as usual, letting himself in through the balcony no matter how securely you lock it. Waiting for you by the bed until you drowsily stir from sleep. And then the disenchanting dance begins all over again.
Another bouquet from the market. Another heartfelt apology. Another soft-spoken promise. Another delayed heartbreak. One day you’ll learn better.
The next morning, though, you rise with the sun and find yourself alone. Completely.
Feelings of regret and anger shift into dismay and anxiety. He’s always here the next morning. If something has happened… if something has kept him away… The pads of your feet hit the icy floor as your mind begins to flutter with plans, with possibilities of where he is or what may have happened. Anything could have happened to him — being arrested; caught out by a clever thief; or even — your throat nearly collapses at the thought — falling to his death in one of those crazed acrobatic stunts he’s always doing.
And that’s when you see it. The item that both relieves your worry and rekindles your rage, and it slows your panicked heartbeats only to jumpstart it with a fury. Your so-called love has been here. And he’s been so kind to leave a single note and a single flower. Both items find themselves in the trash before you even glance them over.
Now you’re not even good enough for an audience with him? Over the past few weeks you’d be lucky to have him for an hour or two a day. And even that time is spread out haphazardly between daylight and moonlight. And now… now there’s only a note and a half-wilted weed of a flower. That’s all he can spare? All he cares to give? After how long you’ve been together and how patient you’ve been?!
Stubbornness and willpower are no match for your curiosity, though. After a few minutes of pacing vexation you delicately retrieve the discarded letter.
Late nights working call me away. I ’m sorry, my love. I will make this up to you. Please wait for me.
- Arno
A disbelieving scoff leaves your chest empty, and you crumble the note and return it to the refuse bin. No. Not again. You won’t be sitting around waiting for him like a housewife waiting for her husband to return from war. For most of the morning, though, you’re pacing your bedroom in a manner not dissimilar from a worried wife. But unlike other spouses unable to do anything to intervene, you’re not completely bound from taking action.
A few steps later and you’re standing in front of your dresser bureau, staring at the reflection of yourself that seems to question if you’re really about to do what you’re planning on doing. You close your eyes and dismiss the mirror-faced doubt from your mind. The drawers slide open and your plan takes its first flight.
-✩-
Early on in your relationship with Arno, something ever-so-faintly had been off. The late nights, the wounds on his body from time to time, the way he was so secretive about his activities that took up so much of his day. Things progressed somewhat bumpily and it was only after a particularly heated night of confrontation that he confessed he was a part of this group of phantoms you’d heard about taking such wild liberties within France. He mentioned only that his work was important and that revealing any further details would put you in danger.
A sensible woman would have released him then and there. But your stubborn streak has never quite granted you the title of sensible. Before the trend of long days and nights spent alone, you two were inseparable. Before his so-called “profession” consumed him, you were able to be certain of your future together. But now, as you make your way through town, intent and disguised in the very robes he leaves in your home, you’re not quite sure what the future of that same day will bring.
And that’s how you find yourself outside of the building you’ve seen Arno occupy so frequently — this Cafe Theatre. If anyone knows where he is or what he’s up to, surely someone here would. You’ve seen him come here before, hooded and dressed leaping away from your balcony to the rooftops in the city. You’ve seen him joining with others dressed similarly, you’ve heard the rumors of the dangers of these hooded individuals day or night. Something is amiss and you intend to find out what is going on.
The building itself is quiet and casual enough as people carry on soft conversation during the mid-morning. A trace of movement in the corner of your vision confirms your suspicions, though — another hooded figure is quietly making their way down a side hall. Soft footsteps eventually carry to that same direction with no one taking note of your movement. But turning the corner shows the person you are pursuing is gone.
A quick glance shows a dimly lit staircase leading down to a… cellar, perhaps? You swallow your courage and approach, taking light steps in the same boots Arno has used so many times. Each step reveals more and more candlelight until the entirety of the chamber comes into view. Grandly decorated with cool air that fills your lungs; shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls; tables and chairs piled high with items; even a few curtained-off side rooms for additional, more private studies.
And then you see him.
Seated at the main table in the center of the room and peering over a table full of books and maps with candles blazing to provide enough light in the subterranean room. He doesn’t seem to notice you as you pass by, but there’s bags under his eyes from what you can only assume is one-too-many sleepless nights, and your heart crumbles at seeing him this way. He’s fully absorbed in his work and looks a mix of focused and distressed with his foot tapping absentmindedly as he pores over written word for answers.
Slow and careful footsteps eventually carry you to an armchair placed to the side of the room across from where Arno is seated. Still he doesn’t look up, doesn’t seem to notice you, and that’s fine. You carefully choose a book from a bookcase nearby, sit down, and thumb open your written selection. It’s several minutes later after you’ve gotten comfortable, after you’ve been staring Arno down between the vision allotted from your lowered hood and the rim of the book, that Arno stirrs.
He curses, slamming his current book shut and tossing it behind him with an inglorious flop. He lays his head on the table after, lacing his hands together behind his neck and remaining still, muttering and grumbling. The action is over soon after it starts and he sits up, inhales a deep breath. And then, eyes glinting in the candlelight, he seems to notice you. His face contorts — you can only hope it’s from embarrassment at having his outburst being witnessed instead of recognition of his clothes on another’s body.
“Did you need any assistance, Brother?” He clears his throat after asking, looking at you as he rubs tired aches from his neck. With your hood lowered, he’s yet to see your face, and from the way he angles his body toward the exit it does not seem he has any intention to investigate. You shake your head in reply to his question and he shrugs, standing. “Ah, then good luck with your reading —”
He stops mid-sentence, body stiff with his hand on a book that slips just slightly in his grip. Perhaps the gears in his head are beginning to turn with suspicions becoming too noticeable to ignore. What you can see of his lower half with your head bent at this angle shows him moving — moving toward you. “My apologies, Brother, have we not yet met? I’m Arno. And you are?”
You shake your head again. And immediately hear the book hit the ground. Arno has always been a clever man and the way he’s carefully considering you now… you’re not sure if it’s because of his allegiance to his group of phantoms or because he is truly unsure if there is an intruder in his midst. He steps closer, hand clenching at his side. “Rather impolite not to give your name… Brother.”
And once more. You shake your hooded head.
“Imposteur! Révèle-toi!” He hisses out the accusation under his breath, angling his head to get a better look at you even with you turning away. Left then right then back again before he uses a hand to rip the hood down, exposing your face to the cool underground air. His eyes widen at the confirmation and he immediately, almost comically, puts your hood back in place to hide your cross expression. He turns, staring around the clubroom to ensure the both of you are alone before he whirls back, gritting his question through his teeth. “What are you doing here?!”
“Well, my love, since you could not find time for me no matter how many times I request it, I have come to see what keeps you away.” The words cut him down visibly: the furrow of his brow loosens, his jaw unclenches, and tense hands go slack.
He exhales a cooling breath, staring down at the book in your lap before glancing toward you. Thick silence coats the space between you as you both stare on. Eventually, he breaks it. “My love, my little infiltrator, I meant what I said. I will make this up to you if you’d only wai—”
“I will not,” you interrupt calmly.
He stiffens at that, blinking out his attempt at understanding what you mean. You clarify with cold impartiality.
“You’ve asked it before and you are asking it again. I’m saying this now — I will not wait.”
The tension in his body returns. “Do I mean so little to you that you would not do as I ask? That you would come here and put yourself in danger after my warnings?”
“Your Brothers are so precious to you that you would allow me to wither and die in their shadow? You would so selfishly use your time and mine for the company of your Brothers?” The last word is practically venomous. He bites his lip hard but doesn’t break eye contact. Your hastily whispered ire bubbles back down before it boils over.
“I came to tell you that I will not wait endlessly for you, Arno. But I’ll not ask you to choose between me or your Brothers, either.” He takes a step back at your words, at the possibility that something like that could even be an option. You stand and move to set the borrowed book back on its shelf. “The way things are now, Arno, I… I can’t last this way. I’m here to show you that.”
He follows as you place the book in its proper spot, looking over his shoulder for any possible interruptions. With none present, he grasps your hand, leading you away from the main room and into a side study, pulling on ropes to make heavy parting curtains close. The room is small, cozily darkened with only a few candles present. And in the dim light, he turns to you, an unreadable expression on his face.
He swallows hard. “And if I change the way things are between us? If I give you what you need?”
You could practically draw the pleading look on his face now from the number of times you’ve seen it. And you scoff softly, not to be insulting, but from the notion that he would be willing to change any part of himself for you. It would be nice, perfect if he could spend just a little more time with you, but… “I can’t take you for your words alone anymore, Arno. I know you believe you will follow through, but it… every broken promise hurts and I —”
“But I’ve broken you… haven’t I?” He searches your face in soft light for an answer, for the answer. And as kind as sweet as he is, you try to hide your thoughts, something to keep the pain from him. But the realization on his face says it all. “How much of a fool have I been to chase you away by leaving you alone?”
Tremendous. Gargantuan. A complete and utter fool of elephantine proportions.
You caress a hand down his shoulder to his forearm. His hand begins the automatic motion of reaching out to cup your cheek, but stops and retracts. The pained look on his face is almost too much to stomach. “Arno, please. I’m — this was thoughtless of me to bother you here. I was just so… so angry. I’m sorry. I should let you go about your business.”
“No,” he gasps the word out as you pass. Before your hand can reach the closed curtain, his arm whips out to encircle your waist, pulling you in close with the warmth of his face buried in the crook of your neck from behind. The embrace is loose at first, but gradually tightens, as though he would be seeing you for the last time should you walk away. “No, no, no please. Please, stay.”
The foolishness of the act aside, you hadn’t expected Arno to begin breaking down with only you and shelves of books to bear witness. He lowers his head and the faint feel of moisture at your neck confirms your fears and your stomach twists — tears, just a few of them, smeared between his skin and yours. He softly sobs the word again: stay.
You turn in his arms to face him, seeing the tremble of his lip and the welling of his eyes staining his cheeks with sorrow, with regret. “Arno, dear…” Soft fingertips run across the wetness of his cheeks, clearing the traces of emotion on the face of one who is supposed to be trained to conceal, to hide away his feelings when inappropriate. Coming here to cause him grief and pain wasn’t what you were intending and now with him coming apart in your arms, you would give almost anything to ease his pain. “ I… this isn’t the end of us, Arno.”
It’s hard to voice exactly how you feel without giving false hope. It may not exactly be the end of your relationship, but for how much longer it can go on you’re not sure. Arno, on the other hand, looks to be reluctant to consider anything outside the moment, this moment. His grip around your waist is still iron-tight and burgeoning on painful. Before you can voice quiet protest, he moves several careful steps backward, pulling you with him in stumbling steps.
“Arno, what—what are you doing?” You ask as he walks you back until he turns and presses you against a corner of cool stone in the underground clubroom. He clouds your vision in shadowy unison with your hood, the flickering dance of candlelight just barely visible past his shoulders. And as he raises his arms to brace himself against the corner to press himself against you, your vision is full of him and only him.
“I’m following through on my promise.” He states simply, kissing the bridge of your nose, before dropping to his knees in front of you.
Candlelight swims back into vision as your cheeks flush bright crimson. You tense up as his arms begin to fumble with the familiar buckles and and ties of his clothes. This is an awful idea, perhaps the worst he’s had. But despite the clear danger, your blood is singing with need. In the past few months what scant time you two have been able to spend together, there has hardly been time to be intimate past heavy petting. Earlier in your relationship there had been plenty of sleepless, pleasured nights. But as time dragged on, as Arno became more and more involved in his activities, there was less and less time for you.
Before you can consider just how long it’s been since the two have you have had this sort of fun, he has your pants and undergarments at your ankles, revealing the prize he’s seeking. You steady your breath and place a hand on his shoulder to catch his gaze. You shake your head at him once in the silent underground study — bad idea, this is a very bad idea especially if he expects his Brothers to come and go as they please in these halls.
He nods his understanding and instead of moving to redress you, he slides a silencing finger to his lips. And that naughty smile behind his finger confirms it. He won’t be stopping and you’ll need to be quiet to keep from being caught.
He glides your leg over his shoulder and kneels closer to the place where your thighs meet, using his free hand to spread you wide and taste your eagerness for him. You hiccup down a moan and clasp your hands over your mouth, teetering on one leg for balance. His other hand gently strokes your thigh, spreading warmth across your skin as his fingers knead gentle motions.
“I’ve been awful to you, I know, and I can’t take it back.” He says between mouthfuls of air, diving down again to wrap his lips around your hooded clit, undulating his tongue against it to reveal the sensitive bud as his fingers rub gently teasing circles at your opening. Once the muscles in your leg begin to tremble from the pleasure and strain of balancing your weight, he purrs out a soft kiss and stands. He releases your leg and you’re grateful for it, but his hand stays between your thighs, delving two fingers in as deep as they can. “But I need you in my life. I’ve been a fool to mistreat you this way, and I can’t let you go without trying once more to keep you.”
You swallow your moans again as he leans in with an arm pressed against the stone over your head, trying to steady your wavering voice to a whisper as he kisses the corners of your mouth, spreading the taste and smell of yourself there until you tilt your head up to accept him. Soft and skillfully teasing tongue, nibbling teeth, and warm lips. He doesn’t let up until you’re kisses breathless and faintly dizzy, clinging to his lapels to steady yourself. “Arno, please, you don’t have to be so — god, we shouldn’t do this, not here!”
Both of you stiffen up when you hear it — footfalls coming down the stone steps. Multiple footfalls.
Your grip on his jacket tightens and you glance to him, worried and quietly frantic that getting caught would endanger both of you. He simply smiles, removing his slick fingers from your pussy and brings them to your lips, wordless and hazy-eyed with lust. You shake your head, furrowing your brows and jutting your chin in the direction footsteps and voices are coming. This isn’t the time to be naughty!
He rolls his shoulders in a shrug and takes his wet fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking both digits clean. The sight of him showing you his technique of wrapping and swirling his tongue provides an incredible visual stimulation to what had just been happening between your legs. Briefly, that hand disappears to begin to unfasten his own pants, the soft cloth falls away and rumples on the floor.
The sound doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Is that you, Arno?” A deep voice calls out from the other side of the curtain alongside the sound of shuffling papers and books. “I see you’ve been cooped up in here, again. You should try to get fresh air some time.”
The man in front of you gives a soft throaty laugh, eyes pinned on you as he strokes his cock and guides your leg up and around his waist. “Yes, Brother, eventually. But for the moment I’m trying to nurse this tremendous headache. Give me some peace, won’t you?”
“Of course, Arno, of course. Just gathering some supplies.” There’s some chuckles and sounds of clinking metal and retreating footsteps from the other side. A different voice, lighter and younger sounding calls out. “Say hello to that pretty thing of yours for us, won’t you?” And rumbling laughter from several men echoes in the chamber as they ascend the stairs and leave. Seems your stealthy infiltration was not as stealthy as you thought.
Arno’s lip twists to the side and his eyes roll.
“Merde, I shouldn’t have expected that to last for long.” Arno breathes the words softly against the skin of your neck as he pulls you closer and pushes his hips forward, gently gliding within you until you gasp out from the sensation. He begins thrusting shallowly, holding your leg at the underside of your knee against him. And again you’re balancing on one foot as you’re spread wide and pleasured.
“How…” You swallow a groan when his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot. “How did they know?” You barely get out the words before he angles himself to hit the tender part inside you that has you gripping him close and clenching around his cock. While not truly caught and certainly not exposed, it seems as though Arno’s company was fully aware of your presence. Your lover treats the discovery more as a nuisance than a threat and kisses his way up your chin, capturing your mouth before answering.
“I can’t say I’m surprised — you’ll learn we have eyes and ears everywhere in time, my love.” He groans against you, snapping his hips a bit harder as his breathing becomes more and more shallow. He presses his forehead against yours, staring lovingly to witness every whimpering moan silenced by clenched teeth and trembling lips. “Keeping a secret here is difficult — especially one as sumptuous as you.”
He shifts his arms under your rear, lifting you off the ground to fill you fully with his cock. You grip him tightly with your arms about his shoulders and your legs clinging to his waist, needing completion just as much as he does. And he thrusts hungrily into your warmth, catching your body between cold stone and hot flesh. Your nails rake across the fabric of his jacket, trying to pull his body even closer as your vision swirls and legs tremble. The clenching of your muscles around him draws a shuddering groan from him as his hands clench the soft flesh of your rear.
“Your compliments… ngh, will only get you s-so far!” He angles you by your rear to a deliciously frictional angle with the base of his cock rubbing against your clit with every bottoming out thrust. You groan his name, feeling yourself becoming unsteady in his arms, pleading your release and pleasure and more. More of him, more of his warmth and thickness grinding inside of you. More of every bit of him you’ve come to miss after all this time.
“Of course, my love.” He says as he plants soft, adoring kisses across your face. He continues coating you with kissing affection after the two of you come undone, tangled in each other and breathing out relief; and he kisses you as he redresses both your bodies, being sure to tuck your undergarments tight against your dripping sex; and again he’s still kissing you as he pulls you to sit with him in the lazy comfort of an armchair.
Even as the passion of the moment fades and you both regain steady breath, there’s an unpleasant feeling among the promise of recovery and change: doubt. It sticks ever closely to your heart, pulsing even as your beloved settles you against his lap, arms about your waist with no intention of letting you go. Tension aside, you allow yourself to lean back against his chest and the smile pressed into your shoulder offers some reassurance to clear the thick webs of uncertainty.
And the burst of a memory all but burns them away.
“…wait a moment.” You turn yourself to the side on his lap, tucking yourself into his fondly massaging hands as you rest your legs over the side of the armchair. “Arno, you said earlier that I’ll ‘learn you have eyes and ears everywhere’?”
He nods. “That is what I said, my sweet. And I meant it — you’ve a lot to learn about Assassins.”
The instant you raise your head to meet his gaze, to see if his words are genuine, he kisses the tip of your nose and kneads his hands gently along your lower back, looking entirely calm about his admission. His claim to being an Assassin. At most, you were thinking that he may belong to a ring of smugglers or thieves, but here he is taking your surprise a step further. Why steal or conduct illegal import and export when you can simply murder those in power?
“You want me at your side? So be it.” He notes your somewhat slack-jawed look and helps you close it with a single upward press of his index finger. “You will have me, but you will also be at my side. Here. In these halls.” He tucks your head against his chest and rests his chin in your hair, inhaling deeply and giving your body another firm, warm hug.