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Prototype and Assassin’s Creed.
Protocreed.
Alex Mercer and Desmond Miles.
AlexDesmond.
Almond.
Goddammit.
I’ve been infected.
(hahaha see what I did there?)
Sleeping has become the equivalent of an Olympic sport. Fitting three grown men (or rather, two men and one overzealous, demon hunting teen, as Alex likes to point out) into one bed is a fight to the finish. Alex, though he is loath to admit it, cuddles in his sleep. He tends to latch onto the closet victim and ensnare them in his grasp, with or without the creepy black tendrils. Desmond chalks it up to his lack of human contact after his infection. Alex ends up holding Dante out the window of their apartment whenever the teen laughs at him about it (not that the drop would do much harm to the boy anyway). Dante, much like his conscious self, is a chaotic tornado. Sometimes he needs space, sometimes he burrows close, most of the time he falls out of the bed from all his twisting, turning and shoving (he swears it’s Alex’s fault but neither of the others have actually caught the virus in the act yet). Desmond is the happy medium and normally takes the middle spot, to separate the two extremes. But sometimes he wakes up at night, screaming and thrashing over phantom losses, images of Ezio’s brothers or Altair’s family flashing through his head as the Bleeding Effect runs its course. On nights like those gentle kisses and murmured comforts flows from either side of the bed, to sooth the young assassin back into peaceful sleep. And in the morning they always awake to find themselves all entangled, unable to discern which limb belongs to whom and whose hand has found its way where.
“Come on guys,” Desmond interjects, shoving arms between the two men and attempting to pry them apart, “We’re in a public place, is the macho stare down really necessary?”
Dante grunts, a smirk wriggling its way across his bruised face. Alex isn’t much better, glaring through slit eyes at the dark-haired teen. Both are reluctant to be the first to break contact and Desmond can almost taste the tension in the air. “Please, not right now? I have to come back to this shop every week! People know me here!” He struggles with pulling the two towards a more secluded part of the grocery store, where there won’t be as many prying eyes. The young assassin can already see the old lady from down the street peering at them from behind her enlarged bifocals.
“How ‘bout this? You both can pick one if you promise to stop making a scene?” he pleads, a hint of desperation lacing his voice. Both pairs of eyes flicker his way and back again before Alex backs off, followed soon by a grinning demon hunter. Desmond heaves a sigh of relief, running a hand through stubbly hair. He pulls open the first freezer door he can find and peers inside, “Alright, one carton of strawberry sundae for Dante and one plain vanilla for Alex.” The assassin begins to shut the glass door when a black tendril silently creeps its way past him and retrieves a small container of coffee flavored ice cream. Alex tosses the box to Desmond who just manages to catch it before it slips to the floor. “Don’t forget you,” the virus mutters quietly, hooking a finger in one of the assassin’s jean belt loops. Desmond feels the faint burn of a blush rise on his cheeks before leaning in for a quick peck on the man’s chin. Not to be forgotten, Dante leans in close, impatiently waiting for his own kiss which is promptly given.
“But seriously you guys, this is the last time I take either of you shopping with me.”
This isn’t the Protocreed fic I talked about (maybe) posting before, but I’m listening to cheesy, sad music and just read the Alex Mercer wiki page so I’m inspired. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but don’t be too harsh since I have a hell of a time writing these two in character.
“Alex, please.”
As the tip of the blade threatened to break the skin of his throat, Desmond didn’t move his gaze from Alex’s piercing blue stare.
“You don’t have to do this—”
“How would you know? You’re one of them, after all. Just as blind. Just as…selfish.”
“How is what you’re doing any less selfish?” Desmond demanded, pressing forward until a prick of pain made him stop, “You’re killing people, Alex. Not just Blackwatch. Not just the people who hurt you.” He gestured to the burning city below them, still not taking his eyes off the other. “Alex, you did this. You’ve destroyed…everything. And for what? Because you don’t think humans are worthy—?”
“Just shut up.” Alex snarled, looking, if it was possible, more feral than he had earlier, covered in Heller’s blood, holding Dana by the throat. Desmond hadn’t felt nearly as terrified and helpless as when Abstergo had tried to destroy the world. “I should have killed you first. You…you cloud my judgement. You make me question everything I’ve learned. Everything I’ve learned that proves I’m right. No one deserves to be spared. Not even you. Especially not you.”
Desmond dared a swallow and had to hide a wince as the steely biomass cut deeper. He was running out of time.
“Alex,” he tried again, lower this time, in a voice he knew had gotten him very positive responses before, “babe, don’t do this.”
There was a flicker of something in those icy eyes then. Something warm and fiercely loving before it was abruptly snuffed out, replaced once more with cold distance.
“Goodbye, Desmond Miles.” Alex said in an equally chilly voice as he drew his blade back and swung it toward Desmond’s neck.
((Just to make sure I don’t receive hate, this gif is not—I repeat—NOT mine. In case you can’t see the watermark in the corner. It’s a deep-seated fear of mine that I’ll get anon hate for something like that even if it’s not my intention to infringe))
