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sweetcocopowder · 20 days ago

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Day Twenty Five: Rough Sex

Synopsis: Haytham needs to let off some steam and he loves to rile up Shay. But maybe he's gone a little too far with somethings he has said tonight.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Haytham Kenway / Shay Cormac

Warnings: Rough sex. Anal sex. Spit as lube. Manhandling. Name calling. Begging. Biting. Marking.

Notes: I wrote this like, ages ago in march sometime when I saw a shay fanart of @especiallyhaytham 's. Thank you for the go ahead in march to write something inspired from that art piece. I'll find it and tag it in this post when I have the time haha. It's currently late when I'm posting this fic.

It’s Haytham’s foot that Shay trips on. The tavern becomes as silent as a cold night as Shay lands on the wooden floorboards heavily. The former assassin should have been able to regain himself easily. But with the amount of ale and whiskey flowing through his flush cheeks, he all but faceplants into the floor.

Gist stares wide eyed before he turns his attention back to the bartender and his drink. He’s aware of the mood that his Captain is in tonight and the last thing he wants is to be caught in the middle of it. He takes a slow, long slug of his ale. He doesn’t dare get in the middle of the two.

Shay silently gets his hands underneath him. His hair spews around his face, his band coming loose in the tumble. He doesn’t get up right away, the knock to his head making his already light head spin. His stomach churns, but he keeps the contents of his stomach down with a thick swallow.

The Grandmaster on the other hand, looks down to Shay from the corner of his eye. A frown sits deeply on his features, his brows furrowed with disappointment. He uncrosses his hands from behind his back and taps two fingers on the bar. The bartender perks up, making sure that it’s his attention Haytham wants. He places down the glass he’s cleaning and takes only two steps towards the Grandmaster.

“A glass of water please,” Haytham says firmly.

The bartender is quick to grab what is needed. His fingers work nimbly, grabbing a glass, giving it a quick wipe out before filling it with stale water from a small barrel. Something that Haytham personally wouldn’t drink but that’s not his intention.

Shay stands up, swaying where he stands. He opens his mouth to speak but all is forgotten very quickly. The glass full of water is thrown into Shay’s face and the Irishman barely flinches. The water drips from his chin and drenches his hair to his face. Gist can’t look away this time, his mouth agape with shock and terror.

The bartender takes two steps away from Haytham.

Shay wipes his face of water, his brown eyes staring dangerously at his Grandmaster. He pushes his hair backwards and out of his face, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him. He doesn’t dare turn around to meet these newfound judges of the drunk. But he feels the most sober now than he’s been this entire night.

The Irishman will give himself some credit here. He did warrant this behaviour from Haytham. Urging him on and pestering him when all Haytham wanted was a report of the week’s events to him. He could have waited. He knows he could. But he wanted it now, like some spoiled child.

And maybe because he wanted to see Shay. And maybe it’s been only a week but this Irishman has weaved his way into Haytham’s life and it’s infuriating. And to top everything off, the first thing that Shay does is come to the closest tavern with his crew instead of reporting to his Grandmaster first. He knows something must have gone unsatisfactory on his hunt for the former Assassin. Haytham thought he grinded out all those habits. But this habit is one that Haytham has been trying to break, and it isn’t going too well right now.

Haytham sets the empty glass back on the bar with a soft, tink. “I was expecting you in my office, not here acting like an insufferable buffoon as soon as you hit the dock,” he speaks as if he’s scolding a teenage boy.

And that only gets on Shay’s nerves even more. But he bites his tongue. He knows his place. He may not be the best at speaking to his superiors, but he knows when the time and place is. Yet Shay’s hands clench into fists as a single drop of water drips from his nose, trying to hold things together the best he can.

Two hands clasp Shay from behind, dragging him away. Gist chuckles lightly to his Grandmaster before him. Shay’s wolflike eyes never leave Haytham. Many, many thoughts run through his head and none of them are pure.

“I do apologize for the Captain here, sir,” Gist expresses his regrets as he makes Shay take another step backwards. “Our week was filled with mishaps and whatnots. We were to hope that the ale would lesson our… irritation before attending your office, sir. I can have that report on your desk by tomorrow morning!”

Haytham will give the Templar one thing, he is good with his words when he needs to get out of something, and maybe that’s just the reason he’s in the Order. But that alone isn’t going to get Shay out of this one.

“I want it on my desk before midnight, tonight,” Haytham speaks sternly, his voice as solid as stone.

Shay suddenly rips himself out of Gist’s hold and straightens himself up. He pats down his coat and flicks away the loose strand of hair that has fallen over his face. His cheeks are flush with ale and his teeth gleam as he smiles like a wolf that snarls at its prey. Haytham watches the wolf closely.

“It’ll be there,” Shay speaks without the slur that was thick on his tongue before. “I’ll see to it personally, sir.” He mocks the formality of his politeness with a slight bow of his head. “Good night, Grandmaster.”

And with that, the wolf stalks out of the tavern as loudly as he had come in, pushing someone aside that dares not move from his way. Haytham watches Shay leave with a frown and his nose slightly scrunched.

“I do-“ Gist starts but stops when Haytham raises a hand.

“No need,” he says. “The report will be there. That is all that is needed.”

Gist nods and doesn’t push any further. With a glance out of the corner of his eyes, Haytham leaves with a small nod of his head. He leaves the Boston tavern with his hands clasped behind his back, the same way he entered.

The Boston night is lit by the amber streetlamps and the ally ways loom with an eery darkness. It’s oddly quiet tonight for this time of the hour. He only passes a few other men that dare walk this late. Haytham keeps his pace unwavering and his shoulder square, his ears pricked for any noise. But none come. No dangers stop him. He arrives at his house just fine.

It’s a satisfactory house on the outskirts of Boston. Two storeys with a nice garden that is well looked after by the men that Haytham have hired. The curtains are drawn closed and the lights are off.

All but for the office window. A yellow light can be seen from inside, the curtains blowing out of the open shutters. Haytham hums to himself but doesn’t find it surprising when he finds the front door unlocked. How many times has he told him not to do that.

Haytham leaves his tricorn at the entrance but doesn’t bother with his coat. He takes his time going up the stairs and turning to his office. The door opens with a click and inside, as expected, stands Shay.

He stands with his back to Haytham, his hand outspread on a rolled-up piece of paper on the table keeping it open. The report from the week and Shay’s scouting. He lets go of it and the paper rolls back up, bouncing once on the table before becoming still. There was no time to go back to the Morrigan and retrieve the report. He must have had it on him the entire time. Explaining his arrogance from beforehand.

Shay’s hair is tide back but a few wet strands still fall over his scarred brow. He looks to Haytham with a deep-set frown upon his face from the corner of his eye.

“There was no need for that,” Shay spits out quietly.

Haytham rolls his eyes and wonders over to his desk. He keeps clear of Shay though, those wolf-like eyes never leaving him. He keeps to the other side of the table, knowing best from past experiences. But at Shay’s comment, Haytham can only sneer at it. He takes the report from next to Shay’s hand and reads over it lazily.

“Yes, I’m aware but you should know well that, that behaviour is not needed in public,” Haytham more mumbles than speaks it. He looks up from the report to the other, “Or have you forgotten?”

Shay all but roars as he slams a hand down onto the table. “Humiliation!? Is that something you’re so worried about!?” He bellows, his accent thickening and slurring with the alcohol still on his blood. Shay is never an angry drunk, Haytham knows what type he is. “I have a crew that will now snicker and speak of me behind my back!”

Haytham keeps a calm demeanour. Clearly, he overstepped tonight. Shay steps around the table and in unison, Haytham takes a small step back.

“Insufferable,” Shay chuckles at that. “I’m well aware, sir. I’ve been mocked and called such things my entire life.”

“I said no such thing!” Haytham barks, lying through his teeth. “That was my last intension!”

Shay almost snarls at that, taking a step forward. Haytham doesn’t move, instead standing up wider and taller, jutting his chin out. This only makes the situation worse.

“Last intention!?” Shay snaps as he jumps forward and grabs the front of Haytham’s coat. He pushes the other man into the wall with a loud thud. “You-“

Haytham grabs onto Shay’s hands and bellows over him, “You were the one that took a step out of line! You forget yourself sometimes behind these closed walls!”

Shay goes quiet but the fire of defiance still flickers within those dark eyes. If he wanted to harm Haytham, then he would have thrown him against the wall. This was more like a light tap to their standards.

Haytham continues, “You need to control yourself outside of these closed doors. Especially when you’re intoxicated. Otherwise I wouldn’t have to called you such insufferable things to drag you out of this la la land you like to-“ Desperate lips crash into his to silence him.

Shay’s grip on Haytham’s coat tightens as the kiss is all but romantic. It’s all teeth, sloppy and the faint taste of shit ale is still on his tongue. But Haytham returns it all the same. He grips onto Shay’s waists, urging him forward and closer. The hunger and anger behind Shay’s kiss is more on the lines of an assault. Haytham hisses as more than once his lips are bitten down on.

Haytham tries to get a grip in Shay’s hair to pull him away, but that doesn’t happen. Shay grips onto both of his wrists and slams them against the wall above his head with a loud thud. He holds Haytham up high that he almost has to stand on his toes. It takes the Grandmaster by complete surprise, forgetting just how strong Shay’s strength is.

Shay’s assault ventures to Haytham’s jaw where he bites and sucks at the stubbled skin. Haytham hisses in a breath of air, squeezing his eyes shut as the other continues down his neck. One hand holds onto Haytham’s wrist as the other rids his throat of his necktie and the first few buttons on his coat.

“I should mark you where everyone can see,” the Irishman hisses into his skin.

Shay bites down hard into the nape of Haytham’s neck that it breaks a deep groan from within his throat. He squirms a hand out of Shay’s grip and grabs onto the hunter’s throat, pushing him away. Shay snarls like some wild animal, quickly wrenching the hand from his throat to slam it back into the wall. Wolf eyes stare at him, teeth bared in a snarl.

“I don’t wish the need to cover up in public,” Haytham snaps but all that authority is gone from his tone with just how breathless he is.

Shay huffs a laugh, one that makes Haytham feel a little pathetic. He lets go of Haytham’s pinned hand to only grab him by the front of the coat and pull him across the room. The Grandmaster stumbles, almost tripping over himself if it weren’t for the grip in his coat. The next thing takes Haytham by pure surprise, Shay all but lifts him into the air to only slam him down onto Haytham’s desk with a loud crash. Haytham is surprised in that moment that he didn’t go through the wood with how much force was behind it. He grips onto the sleeves of Shay’s coat, teeth bared like a dog ready to snap.

“So, you get the privilege to be a grand Samaritan while I’m made the fool in front of others!?” Shay snaps loudly. “No. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to make sure everyone knows how improper the Grandmaster of the Templar Order can be.”

Haytham knows for his reputation he should push Shay off. He knows he could if he wanted to. But every single word of Shay’s goes straight to his cock. He can feel his face going a flush red that Shay notices well enough.

With the strength he showed before, Shay flips Haytham around and pushes him into the desk. Every single paper and report that was in order is now in disarray as Haytham is pushed over it. He goes to bring him off the table a bit but he’s all but slammed back down into the wood with a hand on the back of his head. His chest heaves against the desk, heart hammering within his ears. He keeps still, gripping the edge of the desk as he spies Shay from the corner of his eye.

His pants are quick to be torn off and they’re left to pool at his ankles. His cock is pressed painfully against the table, fully hard and twitching with every movement that he can feel happening behind him. He flinches as a firm hand grabs at his ass painfully. He breathes out lowly, trying to hold himself together but the low whine that comes from his throat has his face flushing.

Shay kicks his legs out wider with a boot, as far as Haytham can go with his pants still at his ankles. He feels very exposed, his ass on full display to the man behind him.

Yes, he’s riled Shay up in the past to get this result. But tonight, he thinks he’s gone a little too far. Yet he doesn’t find himself complaining about his current situation. Not when a rough, spit slicked thumb is pushed into his ass to knead him from the inside out. Not when a hand comes to grip into his hair and keeps his face pressed into the desk. And especially not when Shay begins to bite and mouth at the back of Haytham’s neck.

Haytham flinches, the desk creaking underneath them as Shay swaps his thumb out for two thick fingers. The older cringes at the burn, gripping onto the edge of the table with white knuckles. Shay thrusts a painful pace, working Haytham open on nothing but a little bit of spit. But it’s glorious and has Haytham groaning deep noises from his throat.

It doesn’t last long though, just enough to make sure that Shay is going to split him in two. Haytham wouldn’t mind, but now he at least knows that at least some respect towards him does shine through.

The head of Shay’s cock pushes at Haytham tight rim, smearing precum and fresh spit onto his ass. That’s the little warning Haytham receives before Shay is pushing in. He grinds his teeth together and groans a choked sob as Shay’s cock thrusts half way in. He pulls out a little before pushing all the way in, knocking a bark out of Haytham below him. He grinds his hips a little, causing a hiss to escape Haytham’s lips. It stings, yet his cock weeps are what Shay gives him.

Shay pulls out sharply to only begin a brutal pace. The first thrust knocks a pained moan from Haytham, tears springing to the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them shut. The table creeks with each movement and Haytham holds onto the table, his groans turning to moans as the pain slowly ebbs to pleasure. He turns his head to look at Shay but a hand threads through his hair to grip painfully at his roots, all to push his cheek into the hard wooden table.

“Sh-ah- Shay,” Haytham pants out, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets himself be used.

“Shut up,” Shay grunts out through clenched teeth. “I think you’ve said enough for tonight. Don’t you think?” He asks.

Haytham tries to look up at Shay, but he can only stare downwards into his table. He nods the best he can with Shay’s grip on the back of his head, the only noises slipping through his lips being pants and moans. He’s only let Shay ravage him a few times and with each passing time he’s only craved it more and more. Riling Shay up so that each pound of his dick into him is painful yet oh so pleasurable is something he’s found he loves. Letting go and having Shay have his way is enough to release all the months’ worth of stress he holds on to his shoulders.

Suddenly he cries out as teeth sink deeply into the nape of his neck. He squirms but Shay holds him in place as he maintains his pace, his hips only stuttering a moment before continuing on. A tear slips past his eyes as Shay laps at the bite with his tongue before he does it again on the other side of his neck. The table jolts loudly with how badly Haytham flinches. But all while his dick weeps painfully against the hard wood. He can feel sticky precum easing the painful friction he was panting over that was becoming unbearable.

Shay hasn’t touch him once and Haytham could cry out. His dick is trapped between him and the table, unable to reach. He slithers a hand down though, trying to wriggle in between himself and the table to touch himself but his efforts are short lived. Like before, Haytham’s wrist is grabbed and pinned into the wooden table with a loud thud.

“After the shit you pulled tonight you think you deserve to have some leisure?” Shay growls in his ear.

After a moment, Shay pulls out entirely. His hands stay where they are on his head and his wrist, not letting up for a moment. Haytham tries to wiggle back at the sudden loss of Shay but the Irishman holds him tight. Haytham’s eyes stare widely at the table, wondering what is going through that man’s head.

“I’d love to see the Grandmaster beg for it,” the grin in Shay’s voice can be heard from a mile away. “That would be a sight now wouldn’t it. Haytham Kenway, begging for cock.”

Haytham swallows thickly, brows furrowing. “You can’t be serious,” he murmurs.

The hand on his wrist disappears to only come back and slap him on the ass. He flinches, the table screeching a little across the floor. His dick twitches beneath him and he all but whines at the sting.

“Come on, Haytham,” Shay purrs. “I think you’ve gotten your way too easily in the past that you’ve all but forgotten what it’s like to beg and plead for shit these days. Wouldn’t do you any harm, might teach you some manners.”

Haytham hesitates, wondering if Shay is serious in this moment. He’s curious on what the Irishman will do. And as if waiting too long, a harsh slap is what he’s reward with that stings worse than the first. He groans deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as Shay kneads his ass with a large hand.

“Please,” Haytham breathes out quietly.

Shay towers over him again, bending down just over his ear. “Say that again,” his words curl around Haytham’s delirious head.

Haytham swallows thickly, peering at the other man from the corner of his eye. He must be a sight. Face pressed into the table, drool pooling around his face, hair a tangled mess. Must be ridiculously satisfactory.

“Please,” Haytham says a bit louder. “I need you to fuck me.”

Shay stands up, eyes wide at the profanity. “My, my, Who knew Haytham Kenway could have a such a dirty mouth on him,” he slurs, his accent thick.

“Oh pleas- AH!” Haytham cries out as Shay slams his entire length in. Haytham moans deeply, shakily breathing as Shay begins a quick pace, his cock hitting that sweet bundle of nerves with each pass. It’s all too much and has Haytham’s legs shaking where they’re pinned by Shay. The hand in his hair tightens and he finds himself only needing more.

“I want you to come only on my cock,” Shay grumbles down near his ear once again.

Haytham shivers at that, panting louder as louder as he can feel that coil of heat tightening in his gut. With his own dick trapped and getting only a little friction from where it is, he doesn’t think he can.

“No- I can’t,” Haytham stutters out.

Shay grabs one of the Grandmaster’s thighs suddenly with the hand that use to be on his wrist and brings it up so his knee rests against the table. The new angle gives Shay better access to drive into Haytham, all the better to drive into the older’s battered prostate. Haytham cries out, stuttering and moaning, trying to collect his breath the best he can but it’s futile. He feels every nerve come alive with each pass, his balls tightening as the tension coils even firmer.

“That’s it,” Shay groans. “Just like that.”

Haytham shivers, gripping onto the edge of the table as he cums. He cries out, his entire body shaking at how violent it is. He squeezes around Shay’s cock, stuttering him in his movement but he continues on. He knocks the moans out of the Grandmaster as he rides him through his orgasm, loving the way that his face scrunches up and his mouth falls open to let everything out.

The look alone brings Shay closer to the edge and he has to pull out quickly, letting go of Haytham entirely to pump his own cock. He cums with a groan, hot white ropes landing onto Haytham’s ass. He’s been ridiculed before for coming inside of his Grandmaster. Even in a state like this, he doesn’t want to step over that.

Haytham shivers on the table, panting as he tries to collect his breath. Maybe he did rile Shay up a tad too far tonight, but by lord was it worth it. He may not be able to sit down properly for a few coming days, but no one will question it. He’ll say it was a bad horse ride. Over his dead grave would he admit to something like this.

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