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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.”
We Have Your Cake and You Had Damn Well Better Eat It
“Open,”
Ice-blue eyes rolled skyward, but Alex complied, accepting the forkful of cake and chewing it with no small amount of disgust.
“I already told you,” he said after swallowing and making a face, “regular ‘human’ food just doesn’t do anything for me. It’s actually pretty damn gross.”
Desmond merely sighed and brought the fork, refilled, up to his boyfriend’s lips. “Well, it has to be doing something if you don’t have to absorb people as often to keep your strength up when you eat it,” he replied, “Now, open up,”
“Is that what all this is about? Desmond, I don’t consume the good ones! At least, I don’t anymore, and if you’re worried about me ‘eating’ you, I—” he was interrupted as Desmond stuffed the bite in Alex’s mouth and withdrew the fork.
“I haven’t been worried about you eating me since we first met, but I do have something of a responsibility to my own kind, you know, especially since the state of New York gave you a pardon only if you change your diet to suit their expectations,” when Alex opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, Desmond cut him off again, “I’d rather they just go fuck themselves too, but your existence is not something I want to take a risk with, babe.”
At this, Alex’s jaws worked on his bite of cake until Desmond was sure it had turned to water and he leaned over to kiss the virus, licking into his mouth when he stopped chewing to allow the contact. He really was trying to fit in as best as he could, and for that, Desmond was proud of him.
He felt Alex tense and, unexpectedly, the fork was plucked out of his loose grip by too-warm fingers.
“What are you up to?” Desmond asked, pulling back to regard the sly look Alex was giving him as he cut into the remainder of the cake on the table with the side of the fork and held the resulting piece to Desmond’s lips this time.
“I want to try something, open, and do not swallow just yet,” Alex explained, a gleam in his eyes that did little to comfort Desmond at all, even as the assassin did as he was told. Has to be the first time he’s said that to me, he thought a little sardonically.
The Death-by-Chocolate cake Shawn had bought was richer than he had expected, but so good, he had to stop himself from moaning out loud.
The moment the fork-to-mouth transfer was over, Alex took Desmond’s face in both of his hands and brought their mouths together, urging the other’s lips apart with his tongue and dipping inside to swipe at the rapidly melting icing.
“What are you—?” Desmond attempted to ask again, heart skipping a couple beats even as much of the blood in his body began heading south as Alex continued the onslaught until he had taken most of the cake into his own mouth.
“It tastes a little better now, not as fucking bland. Must be your DNA spicing it up.” Alex spoke against Desmond’s mouth, not even sounding out of breath, “Tastes more like human, I guess.”
“I don’t know whether to be creeped out or flattered that my boyfriend thinks I taste better than chocolate,” Desmond laughed, giving his teeth a cursory once-over with his tongue to make sure none of said chocolate had coated any of them. Alex followed the movement like a cat watching a fish swim in a pond, and imitated it, looking eerily thoughtful.
“What?” Desmond asked, with no small amount of apprehension. That expression usually only appeared when Alex was working out the best way to get him naked and Desmond could have sworn the virus’ pupils contracted just before he asked how much cake was left and if they could have some more.
Not gonna lie. I really want to write a Protocreed fic.
But on what?
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
OMG OMG OMG MORE PLEASE!!
I had never planned to write more to this really, but since you asked so nicely ;):
Desmond tensed, knowing it was highly unlikely he would get out of the way in time, and, despite himself, slammed his eyes shut in preparation for the blow. When it never came, he cracked open one eye to see the lethal edge of the blade less than an inch from his flesh, trembling slightly. Alex stood, poised, before him, the strange something back in his gaze as it raked over Desmond, leaving the assassin feeling frozen and oddly exposed in the acrid night air. Even if he could bring himself to strike, the hidden blade would be less than a mosquito bite to Alex.
Suddenly, Alex regained his arm and strode forward, reaching out to snag the front of Desmond’s shirt and yanking him close.
“Alex, what are you—?”
Before he could finish, Alex’s lips were on his, hot and insistent, tongue all but demanding entry as his hands came up to cup Desmond’s face and hold him in place as he devoured him. Desmond barely managed to suck in enough oxygen during the onslaught. This must be what it feels like to be under siege, he thought dizzily.
When Alex finally (Deep breaths, Desmond, deep breaths) drew back, his eyes were blazing in the flickering light of the ever-spreading fire as they bored into Desmond’s and he leaned his forehead against his before whispering against Desmond’s lips,
“I want you gone. I don’t ever want to see you again. I do, and you’re dead. Understand?”
“Alex, I—” Alex’s grip tightened threateningly, “—ow, I understand!”
They stood in silence then, the only sound the crackle of flames from the burning city and the occasional scream of agony, which made Desmond wince as Alex’s eyes darted to take in the reaction. Finally, he spoke,
“I love you.”
Desmond laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that further irritated his parched throat before replying, “I’m not even sure you know what love is, you maniac.”
Alex shrugged, gently brushing their lips together once more, and released him, moving backward toward the ledge of the building, gaze never leaving Desmond’s face as he did so. Desmond drank him in just as greedily, determined not to forget a single feature. Whoever said that losing love was better than never having love at all was a fucking idiot, he decided. This hurt way more than it should. Lucy’s death had seemed like a cakewalk in comparison, and Alex wasn’t even dying.
“Get out of here, you psycho,” he called, feeling his chest constrict and his eyes sting, “Blackwatch isn’t the only thing you have to worry about anymore. You’re going to have every peace-keeping organization in the world on your trail. Including the assassins.”
A look of true pain crossed Alex’s face then before reforming into grim determination as he turned and dived into the inferno below, disappearing before Desmond could move to properly look out over the wreckage of what had once been one of the world’s most renowned cities.
The sound of a helicopter’s blades slicing the air brought his head around to see one heading for him, no doubt, having been commandeered by Rebecca via some type of program she’d insist on explaining to him even though he wouldn’t understand a word.
Desmond sighed and looked out again in hopes of catching a glimpse of a dark-hooded figure dashing about to escape the blaze. If the others happened to see how his eyes had teared up, he would just blame it on the smoke.
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))
Finally some Protocreed Stuff again…
For my Gurlfriend!<3 Love ya!
edit: Fixed Alex Face because…naaah I wasn`t happy with it earlier :C
…was talking about Roosevelt’s wife and how, though she was an introvert, she was one of the strongest first women to come along. She hired an assistant to help her arrange get-togethers for all these really important women to support her husband FDR eventually got around to having an affair with her. Guess what this bitch’s name was?
Lucy Mercer.
No, you don’t understand.
Lucy. Fucking. Mercer.
Know what that means?
Protocreed has been around longer than we thought.
This is what I have been reduced to.
