Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳plunder

in which your dress is most certainly a fine distraction. rated 18+

The door creaks shut behind you, muffling the raucous laughter and clinking tankards from the tavern below as Edward Kenway slips into the room. He's been out most of the afternoon, eavesdropping on conversations between guards and merchants along Kingston's streets, seeking confirmation this grand scheme you've cooked up will work out and not end with a trip to the gallows.

You adjust the neckline and bodice of your dress a final time. The maroon taffeta and white linen sit tight against your flesh, cut low to draw the eye of men and ladies alike, cinched at the waist, and slit high enough on one thigh to promise trouble. Taking in a slow breath, you steel your resolve and nerves—Anne always does this routine better than you.

Turning from the mirror, you face Edward, oddly nervous, truth be told. A cutlass or pistol in hand would be more comfortable than this. His blue eyes flit from the map and letters on the corner table to you, pupils darkening instantly with lust, and everything else stops.

"This should distract them, right?" You ask, hands smoothing along the front of your bodice laces and stomacher.

His throat goes dry, breath catching at the sight of you. He's always been quick with a rogue smile or clever remark, eager to bestow compliments too, but Edward only lifts a hand to his mouth. A poor attempt to muffle the guttural sound that escapes him as his stare drags shamelessly down your body: the swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the bare skin of your thigh. Suddenly, those documents and charts in the governor's storehouse don't seem all that relevant anymore—a prize worthy of plundering is standing right in front of him.

"Edward?" It's teasing, how you say his name like that—all innocent and the like, as though you're not dressed like Sin itself and all but beckoning him to take you here and now.

He drags his hand down his face, jaw still clenched tight, a flush creeping up his neck. "Jaysus," he starts, voice rough. "They'll empty their purses and thank you for robbing them."

"That's the gist of it," you say, stepping closer, hips swaying just enough to test him. "While they're gawking, you slip in and..."

Edward doesn't let you finish. He closes the distance in a long stride, hands catching your waist to pull you flush against him. The heat of him engulfs you—solid muscle, salt, and cloth and leather. You tilt your chin to look up at him, lips twisting upward, and before you can think to say anything or take another breath, his lips are on yours. It's as if he is a starving man when his tongue brushes yours—tasting your kiss—the second your lips part for him.

One hand slides up your back, curling at the nape of your neck to tilt your head how he wants. The other drifts lower, palming the curve of your hip, and lower still, until he grips your backside with a low, appreciative groan that reverberates in his chest.

You melt into him with little restraint, fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, and curse him for the heat pooling low in your belly as he walks you backward. Your bare shoulders scrape against the rough, wooden wall, but Edward presses closer, his thigh sliding between yours—the hard line of his body leaving little doubt about how much he wants you.

"Edward," you gasp, breaking from his kiss, heart racing. His mouth trails along your jaw and down your throat—lips searing your skin—beard scraping along your collarbone. Your hands slip into his golden locks, and instinct takes over when you tug at the roots, hard enough to make him groan—the hold he has at the back of your neck tightening. A cold shiver creeps down your spine as Edward nips at your breastbone, soothing the aftermath with his tongue.

"Christ, Dove," he mutters against the swell of your bosom. "You're ruining me." And have you ever seen him so needy and disheveled before? His hand squeezes your rear again, thigh pressing harder between your legs, knowing you want, need, the pressure and friction.

Damn him. Another kiss and errant touch, and he'll ruin you too. You whimper—a delightful sound—and it stirs Edward's blood, fanning the flames hotter. The plan. You need to protest, tell him this has to wait, but all you can do is chase his lips for another kiss—slow and open-mouthed.

For too long, the plan ceases to exist. He could have you like this all night, and you'd not complain, not when his mouth and hands are roaming your body, and he's whispering filthy praises and promises between kisses. Bet you're already wet for me, aren't you, love? Edward asks, voice rough at your ear. I'll have to carry you to the Jackdaw once I'm through with you. A promise you'll hold him to.

You gather what remains of your wits when his fingers tug at the laces of your bodice. Breathing hard, you place both hands on his chest and push against him, gentle but firmly. "Edward," you chide. "The documents."

He makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl, forehead dropping to rest against yours with ragged breath and half-lidded lusty eyes. "Bugger them," Edward mutters, stealing another quick kiss that nearly undoes your resolve. "We've all night to—"

"No." You smile despite the flush on your cheeks and the way your legs feel shaky. Cupping his face in both hands, you force him to meet your eyes. "We need those documents. The guards change shift in less than an hour. I distract them with... this," you gesture at your scandalous dress, "you get inside, grab the papers, and we'll be gone before anyone's the wiser."

Edward's jaw clenches—fighting every urge and instinct he has. He has half a mind to bend you over the rickety bed, hike up your skirts, and take you. A short round. His hands are still on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles over the dark silk. "And after?" he asks, voice low and gruff.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a teasing, feather-light kiss. A dangerous thing to do when he wants you so badly. "After," you promise, nipping at his bottom lip, "there'll be plenty of time for plundering."

Blue eyes flash with wicked delight, and a rogue grin splits his lips. "Never enough time with you, love," he says, gaze raking over you once more—savoring the sight. He'll let the image and thought serve as motivation to do the job clean and quick.

Before you can step away, Edward catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up as he leans in. This kiss is slower than the frenzied ones before. His lips move against yours with the same heated intent, though, tongue teasing just enough to draw another soft sound from your throat. For another blissful second, the plan fades again.

He pulls away, like it pains him to do so, and lets his forehead rest against yours for a heartbeat. Then Edward groans, adjusting himself and his coat, before catching your hand. He brings it up to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles. "Just..." Another kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Be careful. If any bastard gets handsy, I might forget the whole bloody mission and run him through."

"I can handle myself," you reassure him, hiking up your skirt to show the small dagger tied to the outside of your thigh—hidden from view even with the slit. Still, warmth blooms in your chest at his stubborn protectiveness. "And you'll be there to watch my back."

"And your front," Edward winks, "sides, and everything in between too, if I have my way." Rolling your eyes fondly, you give him a shove toward the door. He stops at the threshold, looking back at you one last time. "Later, love," he says, raising the white hood of his robes, "I intend to plunder every inch of you 'til the only name you remember is mine own."

He slips away after that, leaving you hot and breathless, and even more determined to see this mission finished quickly—the sooner it's done, the sooner Captain Edward Kenway can make good on every filthy promise.