Okay, so, with the stress of all things college and all things stressful, I decided I didn't need to do NaNoWriMo this year. Instead, I will focus on writing relaxing stories. Like this one.
He sighed, drumming his fingers on the elegantly decorated table and pulling at the embroidered bird mask his brothers insisted he wear. He looked out at all the people dancing on the floor, wishing it was over with as he sighed again. He hated parties like this. He wanted to go home and sleep the night away. It was truly a beautiful hall, filled with tables and chandeliers, expensive drinks and food, and he just wanted to take a nap. He hated parties.
Of all the things his brothers allowed him to do, parties were the one thing he hated. They kept him under strict lock and key, training him to be an assassin. He didn't want to be an assassin—he wanted to be a pilot. He wanted to feel the air whip around his face and watch the ground race below him. He didn't tell his older brother, Ezio, that he kept a stash of newspapers with stories of sky pirates below his bed. He didn't tell Altair about wanting to own a ship. And he most certainly didn't tell them about his fantasies about Zeus.
His lips curled lazily, and he pushed the mask up regardless of the masquerade. He wanted to meet Zeus sometime. The man was a serious sky pirate, for hire for the most dangerous jobs. He was a master at all things illegal, and not the Empire, not the surrounding countries, no one could stop him. There were rumors he was inhuman, an experiment that escaped from many, many centuries ago from the crumbled Gentek company. He could only imagine just what the man would be like, cold and sociopathic, and his ship (the Blacklight) would glide like the best, black and matching with the night sky, able to vanish in a heartbeat. He inhaled sharply, his heart pounding at the thought. He could—no, he stopped himself there, sighing again, disappointedly, and kept doodling with his finger on the tablecloth.
Ezio had often wondered if his lack of motivation was because he was still a virgin. Desmond never told him it was because he was a dreamer. Altair had often said they needed to find him a good woman. Desmond never said it was Zeus that plagued his filthiest thoughts.
With another dramatic sigh, as if someone was around to hear, he folded one arm under his chin and stretched the other across the table, closing his eyes. The music was excellent—perfect for falling asleep, which he had every intention of doing. He exhaled slowly, slowing his breathing and wishing he were anywhere but at the table, and he slowly found black taking over his thoughts as the orchestra filled his dreams with visions of the ship he would one day own. He had hardly started thinking about her when he was jolted awake by the sound of a chair moving.
He blinked, his eyes drawn toward the mask on the man's face. It was black velvet, embroidered with gold, flat against his face. His skin was so pale, contrasting sharply with the colors. He was done up in an extraordinary suit, something from a far off country. The layers were intricately tied and buttoned, laced and buckled. Stark white gloves clung to big hands, and he found himself staring as he took in the man. With a flush, he ripped his gaze away and looked back at the tablecloth.
"Is someone sitting here?"
He looked to the seat. Ezio was sitting there, and he would be pissed if someone else was sitting in his seat. Of course, Ezio had also said to never deny beauty a chance to sit with him, and the man was gorgeous, so, by his brother's standards, he shouldn't let this opportunity pass him up.
The man gave him a skeptical gaze, and he quirked an eyebrow. It was then he noticed the crystal, cold blue eyes staring at him.
"There was someone sitting here."
"They don't matter. 'Sides, they won't come back from the dance floor for a long time."
The man shook his head and sat down gracefully. "Thank you."
"Hell, thank you. I don't even want to be here. Now I have company at least."
"If you didn't want to be here."
"It was that noticeable?" Good, perhaps Ezio would notice.
"Masks should be worn on the face, not the head. What's your name?"
"Desmond Miles, yours?" he asked as he pulled his mask back down.
There was silence for a little bit before he found his eyes drawn back to the man again, taking in every detail, every inch, and he realized he was envisioning this man as Zeus. He flushed: this man was certainly worthy of a title like that. He could see him prowling a sky ship, stealing materials and souls alike. He felt a small shudder go down his spine, and he looked away quickly when the man looked back at him.
"Is something wrong?"
"No," he murmured, more interested in willing the heating of his blood away. Even the man's voice was alluring. He dared a glance back up when he saw the man staring at him, smirking, and he scowled. "What?"
"Would you like to take a walk?"
Desmond blinked. Actually, a walk sounded great—anywhere but here. He nodded and rose. "Sure. Where to?"
"Around the palace, perhaps?"
He sighed, relieved. "Sure. Let's go."
He found Alex to be companionable, quiet, occasionally interjecting with a little bit of commentary about an artifact or a piece of artwork on display, usually about how much it would fetch on the black market. He found himself smiling slightly.
"Are you an auction appraiser or something?" he asked.
The man scoffed. "No."
His breath hitched a little bit, and he stopped in the hallway. That left only one other option in his mind. He watched the man meet his gaze, and he tried to contain himself. "A sky pirate?"
The man stared at him a while before his lips curled upward, and Desmond's eyes grew wide as the smirk grew.
"I was hoping."
Desmond would never have to imagine Zeus again. He was convinced this was his flesh and blood. He was going to have a field day next time he needed to jerk off. This man was everything he had ever hoped for. He let himself stare, watching as the man walked over and pushed the mask off and onto the floor. His eyes widened more, and the man chuckled.
"Is this a fantasy of yours?"
He felt the man grab his chin gently and pull him in for a kiss, and Desmond eagerly grabbed his head, closing the distance eagerly, and damned if it didn't feel wonderful, all the way across the hall, and into a room, and on the bed, and he was never going to ever sleep again if he kept imagining Alex doing that just one more time with his hips.
So... should I continue? Don't worry: the sequel to Volacious is coming along. It's all ready as long as the other, and I'm only halfway done. e.e