Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1942323.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF, Assassin's_Creed
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jared_Padalecki, Jensen_Ackles, Genevieve_Cortese, Jeff_Padalecki,
      Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Assassin's_Creed, Angst, Minor
      Character_Death, loss_of_family, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort,
      Friends_to_Lovers, Twink_Jared, Rough_Sex, Angry_Sex, Protective_Jensen,
      Body_Worship
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-12 Words: 16818
****** What we choose to be ******
by ElenyasBlood
Summary

              "We are what we choose to be." - Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad

     Being the son of one of the most respected man in all of Florence,
     Jared has a good life, a family and friends he can rely on. His life
     is filled with faineance and the feeling of being free and
     invincible. But sometimes things change and when Jared finds himself
     robbed of everything he cared about, he's quickly faced with the
     truth-- and with it, with the offer to reclaim what's rightfully his.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 
Jared smiled as he watched his big brother slip from the plain roof of their
mansion and into the courtyard, joining him on the small stone bench.
“Buongiorno, brother,” Jeff greeted and shot him a bright smile. “Up already?”
Jared nodded. “Father made me rise early." he replied with a frown. "Said he
needed my help.”
“Poor you, he's in no good mood after he heard the news of your nightly
adventures with Ricardo,” Jeff laughed and teasingly pulled Jared's hair with a
grin.
Jared ducked his head at that, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I
know,” he mumbled and was actually grateful that their father chose exactly
that moment to step out of his office and into the warm morning sun.
“My sons,” Gerald Padalecki greeted briefly, a steep crease appearing between
his eyebrows before he went straight to the point of his evident discomfort. “I
summoned the both of you to have a word between father and sons.” He paused
meaningfully. “I know you're young, I know you want to enjoy your life and I
don't even blame you. Lord knows I wasn't exactly a prig when I was at your
age. But—” and the faint smile vanished from his lips, his arms coming to cross
in front of his chest—“I've no time for your exuberant behavior. Jeff, we've
talked about that before but since you seem a little deaf to my words I'm going
to say it again: no sleeping around with Christina Vespucci anymore, capisci? I
already have enough trouble with the Sivori trying to ruin our name and don't
need further reasons to worry with my sons either whoring around—” he eyed Jeff
with a sharp gaze—“or going on midnight-strolls on Florence's rooftops with the
coinmaster's son,” he finished with his eyes falling onto Jared.
“Sì, Papà,” both the boys replied dutifully after a beat of uncomfortable
silence, Jared even having the decency to blush a little under his father's
scolding gaze.
“Va bene!” Gerald announced and finished the conversation with a short clap of
his hands, winking at his sons in an attempt to lift the heavy mood. “That
being said, Jeff, your mother asked for you earlier, go and see if you can help
her out. Jared, you're coming with me, I'll have you deliver a few letters.”
“Sí, papà,” Jared and his brother repeated and after a brief exchange of
mischievous grins, Jared followed his father into the mansion while Jeff went
to find their mother.
The air inside the office was stale and smelled like paper and ink. Dust danced
in the beams of morning light that filtered through the thick curtains and
Jared felt a familiar peace settling into his chest. He loved that room,
and—having grown up in it—knew every corner, every shelf and every little crack
in the floor panels by heart. It was a safe haven and he'd spent many hours
chasing mice and memorizing the patterns of the marble walls by the fireplace.
His father had already settled behind the large desk and the look on his face
was clouded with concern when Jared approached him.
“Jared, I need you to deliver these to—let's say friends of mine,” he explained
and dropped two tiny bundles on the table, both carefully wrapped in brown
paper. “They're waiting for you here,” he tapped on the map spread out on his
desk, “and here. Do it quick. Stop for no one, keep them safe. Not a soul can
know of their existence. Can you do that for me?”
Jared nodded. “What's inside?”
Gerald's face fell even more. “Evidence, son. These documents prove that the
Sivori commanded your Uncle Claudio's death as he tried to uncover their dirty
business with the slave traders from across the sea. With these packages I'll
hand in the truth and see it done. I want to see the Sivori hang for their
crimes against this city—and against our dear family.”
Gasping, Jared reached for the carefully hidden evidence. “How did you come by
these?”
“Research, son,” Gerald explained. “For years I have tried to uncover the
mystery of my brother's death and now finally I've found the missing piece. The
Sivori made trade with the Catalano all along; that's how they got so rich in
the first place and managed to conceal their crimes.”
Jared's mouth fell open. “But the Catalano have been banished from the city for
years! They got stripped of all their titles for plotting against the Medici
during the dearth, back when I was a little boy!” he exclaimed, agitated enough
to feel his cheeks heat up in the light of the recent revelations.
“I know, son. But they're still out there and they're still seeking Lorenzo de'
Medici's life. And it's all in those documents. The plotting, the proof that
they murdered your uncle Claudio in cold blood and their intent to strive for
murder again,” Gerald's hands were balled into fists, his lips a thin line and
his eyes hard with wrath when he said: "You see, my son, your task is of utmost
importance. You can not fail,"
“I will see it done, Papà,” Jared huffed out, a clipped reply before he grabbed
the packages, storing them safely under his exquisite shirt. Anger flared
through him like wildfire and he couldn't wait to run the hot, tight feeling
away with a good, long run through the city.
He was already halfway out of the door when his father's voice called for him
again. “And Jared? Travel safe, away from the busy paths.”
Jared's hazel eyes went wide as he grasped the implication lying in his
father's words. “But you said I mustn't—”
“This is an exception, son,” Gerald cut in and the look on his face softened
slightly, his features turning warm. “Be safe up there.”
“I will,” Jared nodded and with that he bid his father goodbye to leave the
comfortable office in favor of stepping into the bright light of the Italian
sun.
                                       ♦ 
It wasn't hard for Jared to find his way onto Florence's rooftops. His steps
were quick and certain as he hauled himself up, feeling the wind in his hair
and the sun kissing his skin as he reached for the red shingles of their
mansion. He was already high above the ground now, the people on the streets
mere colorful blotches in the corners of Jared's eyes.
“An exception,” he mumbled to himself as he started his slow jog across the
rooftops, carefully balancing himself over the small ridges and brinks of the
city's houses. The sun stood high in the sky, sending her golden rays to blind
Jared and determined to misguide him in his dangerous walk. But he didn't fall.
He knew the rooftop paths around his father's mansion well, had wandered them
at day and night. He had played hide and seek between the chimneys with Ricardo
and Jeff and had launched himself over many chasms back in the days, finding
new ways to travel around the gaping abysses when the road underneath turned
wider. Jared knew where to put his feet, knew where to place his strong fingers
and the harsh stone against his palms never failed to calm his heated temper.
He arrived at his first meeting place without much difficulty. The man he
handed the package to looked a little bit shady, a brown hood covering most of
his face and his clothing appearing rather shabby. He didn't thank Jared and
almost ripped the bundle out of his hands before vanishing into the shadows of
a giant archway.
“You're welcome,” Jared yelled after him sardonically, and shook his head in
disbelief. His brows were furrowed while he went for higher ground, crawling up
a steep building with next to no effort. “What a jerk,” he mumbled to himself
as he fell into pace again to head towards the Piazza della Signoria.
Jared took his time. He wasn't as familiar with this route and though he was
bursting with confidnce, he yet decided to play it safe. With both feet firmly
planted on the sand-colored shingles, he made his way through the city. He made
sure to avoid crossing any line of sight with the occasional archer—placed
there by the overly ambitious city guard—and with his cautious movements it was
already noon when he arrived at the Piazza. The second recipient looked a
little less sleazy, but his movements were jittery and the way he hastily
glanced around revealed his concern that someone might be lurking in the
shadows.
“That all?” he asked as Jared handed him the package. He grabbed it just as
avidly as the other guy.
“That's all my father gave me,” Jared confirmed and tried to step closer,
catching a little bit more of his customer's face.
The guy gulped. “Y-Your father?”
“I'm Jared Padalecki, Gerald is my father,” Jared nodded as he caught a glimpse
of the man's face. A shadow of a beard, dark eyes, a crooked nose and deep
folds around a thin mouth.
The man's stance folded. “I—I gotta go,” he croaked and was dashing out of his
hiding place with what could be a frown.
“Wait!” Jared tried to get hold of the man, but he was already heading down the
busy street with wide steps, roughly pushing people out of his way.
Cursing quietly, a visibly annoyed Jared decided to spent the hot midday hours
in the shadow of the Palazzo, at least until he had caught his breath and
decided what else to do on this godawfully hot, sunny day. Content with his
current location nex to the blacksmith and near the fountain, he hopped on top
of a few crates, ready to sit and watch the town's folk tend to their
businesses.
After getting his father's mission done, Jared felt somewhat satisfaction
settling inside his chest and something close to triumph curled in the pit of
his stomach. He did it. He'd delivered the final evidence that would lead to
the Sivori's arrest until their trials. They would pay for what they'd done to
the city and his family—and Jared had played a small part in the process of
their arrest. He had done what his father had asked for, had helped putting the
final knot on the noose the Sivori would hang on and that was quite something,
right?
Utterly satisfied with himself, Jared took his time to watch the Piazza in all
its glory, with the midday sun smiling down on the fair cobblestone. Florence
was a beautiful city and in the prime of its existence. People yearned to spend
their lives in its streets and everyday it grew larger. It was a good thing his
parents had chosen Florence as their new residence and Jared couldn't be more
proud of the blooming city he called home. It came as no surprise tough that
despite all the lively glory, Jared soon got tired of the noisy bustling around
him and after purchasing a bun from the neraby bakery he decided to go and see
Ricardo. He found his best friend not far from the Piazza, in one of the small
inns along the Via Masaccio, where he joined Ricardo for wine and a late lunch.
The food was good, the company hysterical, and it was already late afternoon
when Jared finally willed his legs towards his father's mansion after having
successfully wasted half a day's worth with light drinking and social
amusement.
The Padalecki's lived in one of the noble neighborhoods of Florence. With
Gerald being a successful businessman and trading goods with merchants from all
over the country, the family had achieved great glory and fortune over the
years. And if Gerald was known for his stubbornness and brilliant mind,
everyone praised the beauty and grace of his dear, beloved wife Sharon. They
were rich on friends—influential families all of them—and nothing seemed to
alter the Padalecki's reputation as one of the most honorable families in all
of the Tuscany. Born as the second child, Jared was to aid his father in his
business until Jeff would come of age and accepted his position as Gerald's
heir. But until then Jared was determined to live his life to the fullest,
enjoying wine and his freedom and—most of all—seeing the Sivori finally pay
their debts.
The walk home was long and every inch of the dusty road seemed to stretch under
Jared's heavy feet. What seemingly was but a single step on his way across the
rooftops, now felt like a mile down in the streets and soon Jared found himself
bored and cranky. For once the sun was hiding behind a bank of clouds—for which
the boy was grateful since it was already unbearably hot—and Jared inhaled
deeply when he finally spotted the home stables.
The air inside the building smelled like hay and dust and Jared couldn't help
but sneeze. It was eerily silent between the horse's stalls, no stable boy
busying himself cleaning out the area or watering the stomping animals. Jared
considered looking for those lazy boys, but decided to leave them to their
peace and go to find some more wine instead—when he suddenly froze. Something
wasn't right. The serene silence, the horses shivering with anxiety, their
muzzles wet with white foam and the total absence of voices floating in the
warm air was terrifying and Jared covered the distance to the courtyard in a
sprint.
His feet thrumming against the cobblestones, he burst out of the stables only
to find himself staring into the dead eyes of their private guard's captain.
“No,” Jared screamed in anguish as he came to a skidding halt next to the
butchered man. “No, Diego, no!” Blood soaked through Jared's pants as he knelt
down to cup his protector's head in his hands, laying their forehead's together
for the briefest moment before a loud clang inside the main house made Jared
get up onto his weak—oh so weak—legs again. He felt nauseous, his knees
buckling with every step he took towards the front door, and silent tears
streamed down his cheeks.
“Mamma? Papà?” He called as soon as he had crossed the threshold and for a
moment nothing but silence answered him—dreadful and heavy and absolute
silence. Then he heard footfalls inside the kitchen and Mia, their house maid,
appeared in the door frame.
“Messere Jared,” she cried out and was up and against Jared's chest seconds
later, her chubby face buried in his artfully sown velvet shirt.
Plucking the wailing girl from his chest, Jared pushed down the bile in his
throat so he could talk. “Mia, what happened? Where's my family?” he found
himself yelling, voice high-pitched and panicked as he held the maid at arm's
length.
“T-They came for u-us! all of us,” Mia replied, hiccupping. “Killed Leon and m-
my boy—”
Panic washed over Jared in a wave of cold, sour dread. “Who came? Where is my
family?”
The woman attempted to curl into Jared again, but he was already out of reach
and half way up the stairs. “Mamma?” he cried out in despair, clutching the
door handles as he stumbled inside every room just to find more dead
guards—Vincenzo, Emilio, Luis; their eyes forever frozen in a cold stare and
their blood covering the hallway walls. It smelled like steel and rust and
Jared wrenched back the tears as he staggered into his sister's room.
“Megan?” he screamed at the top of his lungs but only silence greeted his
desperate plea. “Someone? Anyone?”
There was a puddle of blood on the floor in Megan's room, and another in front
of his parent's bedroom and behind every closed door Jared found more
slaughter, more signs of violence and more needless death. Their servants—young
and old, didn't mater—lay slain across the carpet, their guts scattered across
the thick fabric and their clothing ripped open. Dead guards lined the gallery
and Jared found himself screaming until his voice cracked and his throat spat
out blood.
But no one answered; not his father nor his brother, and when he finally fell
into dead silence, the only thing he could hear were the quiet sobs of Mia
downstairs. Jared got up from where he had fallen to his knees and dragged
himself downward again, his pants stained with the blood of his family.
The girl was still standing by the kitchen door and wrenching out her name,
Jared found himself asking: “What happened? Where is my family? You have to
answer me—”
“It was Antonio Sivori himself,” Mia whispered, haunted. “Your Lady mother, she
tried to run but—”
Biting back a sob, Jared felt his patience falter. “Where are they?” he cut in
and the hollow inside his chest expanded endlessly. 
“I don't know. They dragged your brother and f-father outside. I was h-hiding
inside the kitchen, I was hiding, yes.” Her voice became slurry. “I was hiding,
t-tried to take my boy with me, tried t-to keep him safe. 'S my job to keep 'im
safe, right? They dragged 'em away, all of 'em. I was hiding,”
Jared felt a new wave of nausea wash over him. “Dragged them where?”
But Mia didn't reply again, no matter how soft Jared spoke to her. Her words
had turned to unintelligible gibberish and eventually Jared let go of her,
leaving her to her own devices as he stepped outside again just in time to hear
noises filtering through the thick air.
“The blacksmith's shop,” he mumbled and slithered through the heavy layer of
clotted blood that seemed to cover every inch of the precious the cobblestone,
heading for the worker's building. It was made out of firm stone—a little fort
inside the mansion—and hope blossomed in Jared's chest. What if the res tof his
family had managed to hide inside, doors barred and armed with what they could
find in the fires of the forge? He knew that Jeff was quite a fighter, quick
with sword and dagger, as was his father. What if they had fought back and won?
What if—
Jared almost broke the blacksmith's door down as he rushed inside just to see
all hope crashing down on him—and just in time to see a brutish man taking his
brother's life by beheading him with a huge ax. Gerald's body—slaughtered like
any ordinary pig—was spread across the anvil and his intestines poured out of
his stomach.
No word left Jared's mouth, no scream, no plea for mercy as they came for him.
He didn't fight back, didn't try to escape. There was nothing left inside him
and he almost welcomed the sharp blade against his throat.
“So, you're the last of them, huh?” Antonio Sivori rasped as he stuck his ugly
face into Jared's. “Pretty boy you are,” He pressed the dagger a little closer,
breaching the smooth skin across Jared's bobbing Adam's apple. “You're the one
causing my brother so much trouble, aren't you?”
Jared didn't react.
“Speak,” Antonio yelled and something close to madness flickered through his
blue eyes. After all that slaughter and bloodshed, he was all too willing to
lose his temper and Jared embraced certain death with a long, silent stare.
Riled up, the youngest Sivori pushed impossibly closer into Jared's space. “You
little shit, I'll have you—”
A rough shout from outside cut Antonio's musings short. “Messere, there's
trouble coming our way!”
And suddenly everything happened too fast. The blade was ripped from Jared's
throat and a hand circled his arm in an iron grip. Pressed against a firm
chest, he was dragged away from the forge and the hell that broke loose. Away
from his family's slaughtered bodies and their dead eyes, away from blood-
stained walls and into the silence of the stables.
Strong arms yanked him onto a horse and held him upright as the beast fell into
a hard gallop. Jared didn't see where they were headed, didn't care. Eyes
squeezed shut, his head bobbing against his chest with the horse's bucking
movements and his body completely numb, he wished for nothing but death. Every
fiber beneath his skin screamed for the black finality of dissolution, each
breath burning inside his rattling lungs until he eventually drifted into
devastating darkness.
                                       ♦ 
Jared awoke with a start. Hands clutching rough-spun sheets and his mouth open
as if it was about to release a piercing scream, he flung his body into an
upright position, his eyes snapping open. It took them a moment to adjust to
the fuzzy light before they could catch a glimpse of his surroundings.
“Where am I?” Jared heard himself croak. His voice felt broken and his throat
was tight from screaming and what felt like a bandage pressing against it.
“You're safe,” a low voice replied and squinting, after a few moments of utter
silence, Jared spotted a tall man to his right. He was dressed in a white robe,
a wide hood pulled low over his face, and a respectable selection of weapons
hanging from his belt.
A sharp jolt of pain interrupted Jared's observations as he turned his head and
his fingers flew up to his throat, slowly touching the tight bandage there.
“What happened to my neck?” he asked, blinking slowly.
“You were wounded by Antonio Sivori's blade when he attempted to murder you,”
the man replied dutifully and Jared shook his head in a vain attempt to make
things less real with the slow gesture.
“Where's m-my family? Are they safe, too?” he whispered, that tiny, painful
shred of hope still lingering inside him. Desperately he tried to convince
himself that everything had been just another nightmare. But the man opened his
mouth and the words that poured out of it shattered Jared's illusions with the
force of a thousand suns.
“They're dead, Jared.”
“No!”
Another voice interrupted his upcoming protest. “We're sorry Jared, but it's
the truth. Giovanni Sivori sent his eldest son to execute your family. Your
father was betrayed, all of you were betrayed.”
“But... I d-don't understand—I was... I-I... I delivered the evidence, I
didn't... I never...” Jared babbled, his head suddenly empty and he felt almost
delirious. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and there was a hole in his
chest, pounding, gaping, pulsating and eting away at his very being.
“The informants you handed the letters to were corrupt, bought with blood-money
by the Sivori,” the man explained and shuffled closer, sitting down next to
Jared on a small stool. “They back-stabbed your father and delivered the
evidence to Giovanni Sivori himself and not to the judges as planned.”
“But... it was... m-me then who—”
“No,” a harsh voice cut in and the gruff word almost gave Jared whiplash.
“Don't even go there, kid.”
“It's not your fault. You were blinded,” the man next to Jared explained and
gestured another person—seemingly a woman—over.
Stepping closer, the figure attempted to soothe Jared's troubled mind. “We're
here to help you, Jared,” she whispered—but to no avail.
“No, don't l-lie to me, i-it was me who handed them t-the final piece, I... I
delivered my family's death sentence.” And then Jared's world crashed down on
him and he curled into a ball of tears and heat and pain and screamed until his
lungs collapsed.
                                       ♦ 
The room was bathed in merciful half-light when Jared awoke the next time and
it took him a moment to scan his surroundings before he dared to make a move.
The room was scarcely furnished, just his bed and a small table with a candle
on top. The stool the man in white had sat on earlier completed the ensemble
and the walls were dusty, the once white plaster faded into a dirty beige over
the years.
“Where am I?” Jared asked into the silence and his voice stirred movement in
the corner to his right.
“Outside the city walls,” came the answer in the same low voice that had
replied to Jared before.
Jared nodded, his stiff muscles protesting. “And who are you?”
The man in white approached and Jared was glad when he sat down on the stool
again, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to diminish his bulky form. “We're
the Brotherhood, Jared, assassini. And we're here to help you.”
Jared stopped short. “Help me?” he asked incredulously and forced his dry,
chapped lips into a thin line. “If you're here to kill me you're more than
welcome to, but if you're here to mock me—”
“We're not here to mock you, and we won't kill you either,” a female voice
interrupted and another person materialized out of the lurking shadows. The
woman wore a white robe, too, but her hood was down, baring a beautiful face,
framed by thick ebony locks. Her eyes were just as dark and she smiled softly.
“We're here to make you an offer.”
Jared felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. “An offer? I don't think
there's something you can offer I could be possibly interested in,” he slurred
and clutched the sweaty sheets under his fingers harder, pulling them up to his
chin. He was still wearing his blood-soaked clothes.
“We're here to offer you revenge,” the man in white continued, paying no
attention to the interruption, his mouth—the only thing Jared could see for the
rest of his face was covered by the shadows of his wide hood—curling into a
smile. “Become one of us, become part of the Brotherhood and we'll teach you
how to kill your family's murderers.”
They words dropped like lead out of the man's mouth and a long silence ensued.
Jared didn't know what to answer and the hysterical, manic laugh was still
stuck in his throat. His head seemed to be filled with cotton wool and every
muscle in his body was sore from struggling in his sleep. Beads of sweat pooled
in the hollows above his collarbones and his eyes stung from crying and
watching his brother's head fall down over and over again in his pain-fueled
dreams.
This couldn't possibly be real. “Who are you really?” Jared asked eventually
and the man didn't stop smiling as he replied.
“My name is Jeffrey and I'm an assassino,” he explained, his teeth glistening.
“And I'll promise you by the honor of your father we'll teach you how to kill
and thus restore the peace inside your heart.”
“But I... I can't,” Jared protested weakly. Something fierce rung through his
body at the mention of possible revenge.
The woman laughed. “We've already been watching you for years, young man, and
we're pretty sure you can.”
“It's true,” Jeffrey confirmed and finally lifted his hood to show a wild, dark
face, his hair a mass of black curls and his cheeks covered in a scruffy beard.
He looked more like a pirate than an assassin, Jared thought, but still there
was something intriguing about the man. “We've been watching your escapades and
your walks across Florence's rooftops since you started climbing and now your
time has come. Join us, Jared, become a Brother of the assassins and watch the
Sivori fall to their death.”
Jared stilled. “What do I have to give you in return?” he asked after a few
moments of silence and Jeffrey grinned again.
“Aahh, you're a clever boy,” he mused, nodding his approval. “The only thing we
demand in return is your skill. Being part of the Brotherhood means to serve
our goal, to fight our enemies and to protect your Brothers. It means living by
our credo and acting like a true assassin. Always,”
Jared was sure everyone could hear the gears grinding in his head as soon as
silence stretched inside the room. He was agitated, his body suddenly vibrating
under the sheets and the thought of avenging his family was all-engulfing.
Wrath consumed the pain and fear and after a few heartbeats he felt himself
ready for the fight.
“When will I be able to kill the Sirvori?”
Chuckling lowly, Jeffrey shook his head. “We decide when you're ready. You'll
be trained by one of our best, a master assassin. He'll test your strength. The
days will be long and the nights even longer and you will question your
decision. But when he decides you're ready, you can go and do what your heart
thirsts for.”
Jared didn't waste another moment on second thoughts for it all lay clear in
front of him. He was going to become an assassin, a cold blooded killer, and he
was going to take revenge on the people that had took away his life within the
blink of an eye. He didn't fear the deprivations of the training and wasn't
afraid of the consequences—there was nothing in him but rage and the urge to
fill the void inside his chest with something—anything—that would make him feel
whole again.
“I'm in,” he croaked and his voice tumbled over itself as he agreed. “I'll do
it. I'm gonna become a Brother.”
The smile on Jeffrey's face became predatory and the woman next to him exhaled
deeply, her eyes glimmering in the dark. “Well done, boy,” the man rumbled and
stood again, his bulky form towering over Jared “You already know Jensen?”
Jared shook his head, unsure what to say when a third person—until now
completely unseen—stepped out of the corner by the door. He had lingered in the
shadows until his participation was requested—unmoving and unnoticed by Jared's
senses—and his sudden presence sent a shiver down Jared's back.
“He was the one who brought you here, you probably don't remember,” the woman
explained and her steady voice was full of sympathy. But Jared did remember.
Despite his body being paralyzed with shock and drained of every feeling, he
remembered the strong fingers around his biceps and the warm, solid chest at
his back. He remembered the firm press of a scruffy chin pressing against the
crook of his neck as they rode in silence and a smooth voice cursing quietly
under its breath.
“Never mind, boy.” Jeffrey shrugged, the weapons on his belt clattering with
the sudden movement. “Jensen is going to train you. Listen carefully to what he
has to say, follow his lead and soon enough you'll be ready to face your
enemy,” he said and Jared nodded in return, a stern look on his face.
“Rest now. Tomorrow will be here soon and you have to be ready. We'll see each
other again.” And with that and a last grim smile Jeffrey walked out of the
room, leaving nothing but a rush of cold night air and the promise of a better
future in his wake.
                                       ♦ 
Morning came too early and it greeted Jared with a harsh voice commanding him
to “clean up and get dressed. We set out in ten minutes.”
Stifling a yawn, Jared straightened up, carefully stretching his sore muscles.
The long hours in the uncomfortable bed had stiffened his muscles and he still
felt feeble and exhausted from the past events. But last night he had agreed to
become an assassin of the Brotherhood and with another quiet yawn and a deep
groan he got up to peel himself out of the blood-crusted clothing. His throat
became tight again at the sight of the rust-brown stains caking the
fabric—tighter even than from the press of the bandage—but he swallowed the
lump and went to clean himself with the cold water waiting for him in a bowl on
the table.
His new robes were light and in the same creamy white as Jeffrey's had been.
Jared wore them over a smooth tunic and soft pants and it felt like a leaden
weight dropping from his shoulders as soon as he let the warm fabric move
across his skin. A pair of simple brown leather boots—knee-high and a perfect
fit even around Jared's extraordinarily long, gangly legs—completed the outfit
and Jared wasted no time to leave his old clothes behind—heedlessly discarded
on the floor; a messy heap of blood and tears, they were nothing more than the
memories of another life.
“You're just in time,” the man—Jensen—greeted as he swung himself on top of a
dapple gray horse. He wore the same tunic as Jared and his wide hood was pulled
low over his face, only his chin poking out from under the shadows. He was
tall, even taller on top of the nervously prancing animal, and his broad
shoulders looked like they could carry four people Jared's size.
“Where are we going?” Jared asked as he approached a second horse, a chestnut
brown stallion with a white blaze and big, dark eyes.
Jensen waited until Jared was seated in the saddle, his upsurge everything but
graceful. “Monteriggioni,” he then explained and Jared caught a brief glimpse
of the man's muscles bunching beneath the robe before Jensen spurred his horse
into a sharp trot, leaving Jared no choice but to trail behind.
                                       ♦ 
The trip wasn't as long, but for Jared it felt like forever. He had never been
good at riding—just never felt it, really—and the one and a half hour long ride
turned into an eternity. Cramps jolted through his legs and he could already
feel the delicate skin of his thighs becoming sore.
But Jensen's stoic silence left no room for complaints and together they set up
a swift pace. Enthroned on his bulky stallion, Jensen looked like Mars himself,
put on earth to bring death and misery to mankind, and Jared found himself
intrigued by the thought. Jensen never lost his straight composure, never
glanced sideways to watch the peaceful landscape fly past and never looked back
to check on Jared. His whole presence radiated a quiet, dignified indifference,
with danger boiling just underneath the surface.
They rode in resolute silence and under a bright sun until the outlines of a
giant fortress appeared on the horizon.
“That's Monteriggioni?” Jared asked, mouth falling open and his eyes going wide
with surprise. He had heard of the fortress-city, but never seen it before.
Jensen only nodded in reply and increased his horse's speed with light pressure
against the animal's flanks.
“Wow, that's really... big,” Jared managed to squeeze out before his horse
leaped forward, following the gray stallion's lead and leaving Jared to bury
his fingers in the worn leather of the saddle.
They covered the remaining distance in silence again and Jensen only spoke when
they passed the city gates. The people didn't seem to mind the presence of
assassins, all but welcoming them with open faces and shy smiles. A few man
with lifted hoods and white robes waved towards Jensen, grinning from one ear
to another when receiving a short nod in response, and everyone without
exception made way for the two passing men and their heavily breathing horses.
“That's your new home,” Jensen explained after they came to a halt in front of
a narrow building with few windows and a little fountain in the front. “You can
sleep here, eat here. A Brother will see to your wounds if necessary and you
can move around in the city freely.”
“M-My wounds?” Jared stammered and glanced around.
Jensen nodded. “Did you think you'd be the first one to make it through the
training without so much as a bruise?”
Jared shrugged. “No.” And then the words bubbled up in his throat and he
couldn't detain them from slipping past his lips. “Where will you sleep?”
“In the villa, like all assassins,” Jensen replied after a brief moment of
considering, and with a sharp tug he pulled his hood down, exposing his face
for the first time. Light brown hair—disheveled from being trapped under worn
fabric for hours—greeted Jared and he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.
Slightly tanned skin, dusted with just the right amount of freckles, and green
eyes under a fan of golden lashes glaring daggers at Jared, were the next
things he noticed and when Jensen spoke again the boy couldn't help but watch
his lips move, stretching with every barked word that tumbled out of the man's
beautiful mouth.
“And now go and take a look at your new home, recruit. I expect you to meet me
up there—” he pointed his finger towards the slightly higher ground just below
the villa—“in exactly ten minutes. Don't be late.” And with a click of his
tongue he turned his horse around, pulling Jared's chestnut stallion along.
Jared blinked slowly, his mouth going dry and his throat working painfully.
Goddamn, what had he gotten himself into?
                                       ♦ 
Jared's new abode was small but cozy. Like the hut he'd woken up in earlier
this morning, it was scarcely furnished, but the bed seemed comfortable and the
table was big enough to carry a good amount of books and a bottle of heavy wine
on top. The walls were plain and freshly painted and a brisk fire danced in the
hearth. It radiated warmth and light and comfort and Jared decided to like his
new place. It was nothing like his old room with its heavy velvet curtains and
thick carpets, but then again he was nothing like the old Jared and it seemed
rather fitting to exchange luxury and opulence with the chance to take revenge.
Jared had no time to dwell on the hot feelings that boiled up in his veins as
soon as he thought about his family. It was probably for the best and Jared
shoved the memories away as he made his way through the city streets, climbing
the stairs to reach the training grounds to meet his new fate.
“Welcome, recruit,” Jensen greeted as Jared stepped into the circle that marked
the practice field. “You're a Brother now and thus you have to learn to fight
as one. Do you know how to wield a sword?”
Jared nodded vaguely. He hadn't exactly mastered the art of fighting—lacking
discipline and interest if he was honest with himself—but he was pretty good
with the dagger. He'd trained in archery as a boy and had always found his
skills sufficient.
“Then grab your sword—” with a swift motion Jensen hurled a blade toward Jared,
hilt first, and the boy caught it in mid-air—“and show me what you've learned.”
 
And just like that, Jared's training began.
The basics came first: sword fighting, archery, dagger mastery. The hours under
the hot Tuscany sun were long and Jared's skin burned under the robes. He
blocked and attacked, countered and dodged until his every muscle screamed in
agony and then some. He learned how to use the enemy's energy to inflict
massive amounts of damage, watched as Jensen showed him skillful sidesteps over
and over again and imprinted sequence after sequence in his brain.
He studied the art of killing someone without drawing a single noise by
stabbing him in the back with a short dagger, memorized the ways Jensen's
fingers clasped around his throat to show him how to properly strangle someone
and learned how to shoot a target in the eye from a hundred feet away. He let
his bow sing and his sword whir in the cool air of every new morning. He danced
to the beat that Jensen's feet stomped into the dust of the practice field when
they circled each other like two planets orbiting the same sun, and slowly but
deliberately he shed the old skin that became tighter and tighter every day.
The time Jared didn't spend outside, feet firmly rooted into the earth, he
listened to Jensen's voice echoing from the library's walls, lecturing him
about the credo and his deeds as a Brother. He told him about Altaïr Ibn-
La'Ahad and his fight against the Templar, about the very first assassins and
their course to fight for a free world. Endless hours were filled with
deciphering old Kodex pages, plowing through the library in search of just the
right book and discussing strategies and possible new inventions. Jensen made
him read books as thick as Jared's thigh and twice as heavy, he instructed him
to study maps of streets and the underground's secret webs of tunnels and
encouraged the boy in his sheer insatiable thirst for more knowledge.
Sometimes Jensen would vanish for a couple of days without saying a word. No
note explained his absence and other assassins—each grumpier than the
last—would take his place. Jensen never talked about his sudden disappearances
and Jared never asked. He knew that Jensen was one of the most skilled
assassins in all of Italy. His name was a legend under the recruits and even
the fully trained Brothers spoke of him with utmost respect and in a hushed
voice. He was known for never leaving any traces and never forgetting a face,
his mind as sharp as his blades and twice as quick. Those days Jared missed his
teacher dearly, his smooth voice especially and the dignified peace he spread
in the boy's body whenever he was close. But he never said a word and kept his
thoughts to himself, saving his longing for when Jensen returned to him.
And though Jared had never suspected it, life went on. Most of his nights were
filled with brooding over ancient scrolls, his days with the never ending clang
of steel against steel. Spring turned into summer and soon the days were hot
and the sun's heat unbearable. Jensen adjusted the schedule by shifting their
practical training into the tepid evening hours and Jared came to enjoy his
first lessons in stealth. It was by far the most exciting part at this point,
and Jensen's presence close to Jared as they made their way across
Monteriggioni's rooftops only added to the anticipation flaring through the his
body. Jensen was like a wall of heat—tall and solid—always at Jared's back,
guiding him with his smooth voice and fueling his ambitions. His grip was firm
when his fingers circled Jared's hips to launch him over a particularly wide
gap between two roofs and something inside Jared's chest unclenched when they
bolted through the air together.
As for the wounds, Jensen hadn't lied. Almost every evening Jared counted a new
bruise somewhere on his body, and shallow cuts and lacerations happened ever so
often. His body was constantly sore from working out and jogging through the
dust for hours. His muscles heavy and tired to the bones, he collapsed into his
comfortable mattress every night and didn't rise before sun dawn. He had more
concussions that he could count, his finger broke two times in attempts to
reclaim his sword from Jensen's hands, and bruises in almost every possible
color bloomed all over his skin. But he didn't complain—not once—just quietly
endured the skilled Brother's treatment as he saw to his injuries and then
forgot about them. But he never forgot the pain that had torn his heart apart
the day he saw his family die by the hands of another man. He never neglected
the searing ache, never put it aside or let it still inside his chest for it
was the only thing that was left of his family.
By the end of summer Jared knew how to perfom an assassination without being
seen. He knew how to vanish into the shadows, could fly over the rooftops like
a hawk and without ever missing a step. His fingers had grown strong, his body
turned from that of a scrawny kid into a young man's with smooth muscles
beneath warm, golden skin. He could assassinate a targeted subject from more
than ten feet above, could move as quiet as a cat and rarely missed an
opportunity to get rid of minor threats. He was quick with the dagger and even
quicker with his tongue and every arrow whirring from his bow found its target.
His hair wasn't shaggy and floppy anymore, but smooth and soft as it cascaded
down his neck. He wore it in a ponytail and the dull brown had turned into a
shiny chestnut under the hot Tuscany sun. He had grown fierce, had gained
weight and height, and one September evening he was finally prepared for his
first mission outside the safe walls of Monteriggioni.
“You ready?” Jensen asked as soon as they mounted the horses, Jared no longer
bound to ride Jensen's spare beast but proud owner of his own, black animal.
He'd come to like riding—had turned into an enthusiastic horseman even—his
skills advanced and well ahead of those of the other recruits.
“Ready,” he confirmed as he touched the weapons dangling from his belt: a small
dagger with a razor-sharp blade, a short-sword next to it. The leather straps
around his chest and back were spiked with throwing knives and another two
daggers waited in his leather boots, ready to spring to action any moment.
“It's a short ride to San Gimignano. Stay close,” Jensen ordered and after
Jared's confirming nod they left the assassin's fortress behind, heading North
towards the small city.
                                       ♦ 
The mission went smoothly and without any interruptions. Jensen guided Jared in
eliminating the secondary targets and kept a close eye on him during the
following observation. He gave Jared a reassuring nod before he went for the
main target—Paolo Zarbo, a misled priest with a liking for little boys—and a
proud smile tugged on the corners of his lips as Jared's blade pierced the
man's chest.
Relief and the sweet feeling of victory howled through Jared as soon as it was
done and he inhaled deeply. With warm, sticky blood pulsing over his fingers
and his ears catching the last beat of Zarbo's heart, he dropped the heavy body
into the gutter before he let himself be swept away by overwhelming emotions,
knowing that his first kill was only another milestone on his way to revenge.
“Requiescat in pace,” he mumbled before he straightened up again, securing his
dagger carefully. Satisfaction, adrenaline and laughter bubbled in his chest
and he had to bite his lip to keep himself form breaking into booming laughter
out until they'd mounted the horses and were halfway on their way home again.
“Did you see his face?” Jared howled and made his horse's ears twitch with the
sharp sound. “He didn't see me coming, did he?”
Jensen nodded. “It was well done, Jared. You're a quick learner and one day
you'll become a great assassin.”
“How much longer until I can return to Florence?”
The corner of Jensen's mouth twitched with amusement as they followed the
cluttered path through the endless fields of grass. The moon was round and pale
tonight and it made the scar across Jensen's lips appear silver and
beautiful—the perfect crown for a king of death. “You've killed but one
peasant, kid. Don't overreach yourself; there's still much to learn.”
Jared pouted. “But what about learning by doing?” he asked against the cool
night air as he tried to steer his horse next to the master assassin's enormous
beast.
“In our world, learning by doing means losing at least a limb. Being an
assassin means being responsible and acting as a reasonable member of the
Brotherhood. Every missed opportunity, every target you leave alive and every
second of your inattention could mean your Brother's certain death. Think about
it next time you open your cheeky mouth,” Jensen replied and the smile on his
face was replaced by a thoughtful expression, a steep crease between his brows
erasing the crinkles around his eyes. Jared's stomach dropped.
“Apologies, I didn't mean to offend,” he mumbled and they covered the remaining
distance in uncomfortable silence before bidding each other good night at the
city gates. There was nothing left of Jared's euphoric mood as he entered his
small abode and he didn't even bother to rid his skin of the priest's blood
before he crashed face first into the cushions, eyes falling shut and muscles
going lax the very second he hit the mattress.
                                       ♦ 
The next morning greeted Jared with an overcast sky and rain-laden clouds
riding a stiff breeze. He welcomed the change, but couldn't help a shiver as he
stepped into the training circle.
“Today we're gonna do an extra lesson with the daggers,” Jensen announced and
he seemed even more displeased than the night before. His jaw was clenched
tight and Jared could see his throat working from where he stood at the other
end of the practice field.
“Va bene,” Jared replied carefully, bowing his head in front of his teacher as
it was custom before he stepped forward. Dagger mastery meant close encounter.
It meant being in total control of a situation and remain in check until the
target's last breath was drawn. It was the most highly regarded art of killing
for an assassin and required a skillful performance and a sufficient set of
various capabilities.
“But first—" Jensen said before Jared could invade his personal space for the
purpose of dagger training—"let's do a race to warm ourselves up.”
And that they did. Chasing each other over the slippery shingles of
Monteriggioni's rooftops, they stirred up their blood and set their stiff
muscles burning. The cold air stung inside their lungs and soon they raced
towards their goal, Jensen mere inches ahead.
“You're getting faster everyday,” he panted after they'd found their breath
again, now strutting towards the practice field in a leisurely pace.
“I'm trained by the best,” Jared replied eagerly, relived that Jensen's gloomy
moody seemed to have lifted. “And I'm sorry for last night. I wasn't thinking
straight.”
Jensen glanced briefly at his recruit, emerald eyes drinking the boy's face in
before he nodded slowly. “Don't mention it again, Jared.” They arrived at the
practice field. “C'mon now, let's do some serious business.”
Today's training was hard—harder than Jared had it ever expected to be. At some
point the clouds had broken to release a sheer flash flood of water onto the
exercising men, soaking their robes and making them heavy around their
shoulders. But they kept on practicing new movements as well as already known
ones, every muscle in their bodies pent up with tension and their bones aching
for a break. Sweat was sluicing down their temples, blending in with the
pouring rain on its way down. Their cheeks were flushed with exertion and after
four hours in the weather, Jared couldn't seem to stand upright anymore. His
limbs shook violently with each flick of his wrist or side-step to dodge and he
was afraid that he might lose hold of the blade between his fingers any moment.
“One last time,” Jensen yelled over the humming downpour and took his position,
his body still moving with the grace and elegance of an absolutely deadly
predator. His wet hair stuck to his forehead and the look of his striking green
eyes was piercing, calculating and challenging.
“I can't,” Jared heard himself reply and the muscles in his back cramped
painfully, his guts twisting and his knees buckling under the weight of his own
body. His blood felt like lava—hot and thick and unwilling to flow inside his
veins—and the cold had numbed his ears, fingers and toes.
Jensen clenched his jaw. “Yeah, you can,” he mouthed and the look on his face
changed from challenging to downright provocative. But Jared only shook his
head in response, for once defeated by his own body, and was about to bow and
leave the practice ring as he felt strong finger curling around his biceps.
“We'll do it together then,” a low voice rumbled against his ear, a puff of hot
breath clouding against the boy's skin and sending a jolt through his aching
body.
Whimpering light, Jared bowed his head in allegiance. "Yes master," he muttered
breathily as he got into position again, arms raised and feet firmly planted
into the mud. His body went rigid the moment he felt a pair of warm hands
travel down his flanks.
“Good composure,” Jensen muttered against his recruit's ear, lips so close they
were almost touching the sensitive skin. “You need to keep your balance point
low to prevent yourself from getting knocked over, okay?”
Jared nodded and bit back a moan as he felt Jensen's hands trail further down,
across the bony cut of his hips and around to the smooth flats of his stomach.
“Right here,” Jensen purred and slowly spread his whole palm across Jared's
stomach, keeping him firmly in place with nothing but his right hand. “Now
move,”
It turned out to be the most amazing set they'd done all day. With Jared moving
under the guidance of the master assassin's skillful hands and Jensen mirroring
his recruit's every move, they fell into perfect synch after only a few
heartbeats.
“Left,” Jensen instructed and Jared followed without hesitation. His body was
wax in the assassin's hands, ready to melt into Jensen's heat. Jared bent and
stretched under Jensen's will, ran riot against his own screaming muscles, and
leaped forward in smooth motions just to feel Jensen coming after him.
Jensen's voice was low and quiet when spoke the final commands. “Up now, then
right,” he directed and for a brief moment his wet lips brushed Jared's ear,
freeing a moan from Jared's throat and making him jump into action. His nerves
vibrated under Jensen's touch as they finished the last movement, their bodies
combined in the perfect performance of death and whirring steel. Then Jared's
knees buckled and with a thud he crashed into the mud.
“Bene,” Jensen panted, his robe clinging to his chest and tracing the outlines
of his neatly cut body, every inch an invitation Jared yearned for. “Benissimo,
Jared.”
Nodding, Jared tried to catch his breath. He was done, every inch of his body
defeated and weary and though he still felt Jensen's touch like a lightning
bolt flaring though his veins he couldn't be bothered to move anymore.
“I'm gonna send Maria to help you up and tend to your wounds,” Jensen continued
and Jared felt his brow furrow in disbelief. The master assassin had praised
his skill only seconds ago and yet he seemed angry and displeased with their
current situation. Jensen's jaw was clenched in the familiar way and the
fingers at his sides balled into hard fists.
“We'll continue tomorrow at dusk, don't be late.” And with a last frustrated
glance towards Jared he stomped away, leaving Jared to his own devices and his
defeated body to rest in the cold mud.
                                       ♦ 
There wasn't much variety in Jared's life. Every morning he got up for a meager
meal followed by hard training and long hours of study in the library. His hair
grew longer, his skill-set larger, and by the time the fall's mighty
thunderstorms concussed the Tuscany he thought that he must've read every book
on god's green earth and learned every single way to strangle, gut, shoot, cut,
stab or hang a target.
His frustration grew—unnoticed by Jensen and the other recruits Jared
occasionally shared food and drink with—and only in the darkness of the
midnight hours, when the stormed howled through the streets of the assassin's
fortress-city, did he let his mind be consumed by the plans to steal away and
kill them all.
                                       ♦ 
Jensen disappeared again at the end of October and his absence was noticed
bitterly by Jared.
His new teacher was a fierce woman with hair as red as a lambent flame and eyes
as gray as the storm. She set up a brutal pace during their training and at the
end of the day Jared often wondered how he was still alive. Six days had passed
since he'd seen the last glimpse of Jensen—almost an entire week. It was the
longest the assassin had ever been away from the city and when Jared crashed
into the sheets that night—rain thrumming against the narrow window and
lighting flashing on the horizon—he saw panic lurking in the shadows. What
would he do if Jensen wasn't successful on his mission? What would happen if
Jensen had to face a superior number of enemies, swords drawn and the lust to
kill burning in their eyes? What if Jensen didn't return to him... ever?
“No,” he whispered and pressed his face into the cushions. It took Jared until
long after midnight until he finally fell into a fitful slumber, his dreams
fueled by sorrow and overshadowed by the overwhelming fear of being alone
again.
                                       ♦ 
The next day greeted them with hail as big as his balled fists, turning streets
and practice field alike into a slippery death trap. With Monteriggioni being
haunted by the weather and his new teacher occupied finding new ways to torture
him, Jared spent the day in the library, hidden in the silence of the books and
buried in his own thoughts. He was about to reread his favorite strategic
guide, when he noticed a small bird outside the window, its wings flapping
helplessly against the storm and its pointy beak knocking against the glass at
a frantic pace.
“Huh?” Jared murmured and was on his feet and at the window before he could
waste a second thought. He cracked it open, just a tiny wee bit, to let the
exhausting bird slip in.
“Hey little guy,” Jared greeted and made a cooing noise, luring the tiny pigeon
with the disheveled feathers into his palm. It carried a message, a skillfully
folded note clasped around the bird's leg, and Jared took it. The paper was
thoroughly soaked, of a dark brown color, and he weighed it in his palm as he
watched the pigeon huddle into itself in an attempt to get warm.
The note carried the emblem of the Brotherhood and though Jared wasn't a fully
trained Assassin yet, he sure was a responsible Brother, right? This message
could easily be meant for him, too. And in case someone was in danger—'Probably
Jensen.' whispered the little voice inside the Jared's head—it was his duty to
carry the message to the next highest Brother or Sister.
Jared took a deep inhale and opened the note. It was written with a hasty hand,
the crimson ink blurred from the rain but still clearly readable.
Giovanni Sivori & son back in Florence. Assassination permitted. Assistance
required.
It was signed with a little E.
The Sivori were back. Back in Florence. Their elimination was approved, their
death decided. They'd die by the hand of the Brotherhood—and in that moment it
was more clear than ever that it had to be Jared's hands that guided the blade.
He was promised his revenge, it was the offer Jeffrey had made him, and yet
Jeffrey wasn't here. And neither was Jensen. There was no one here to confirm
Jared's attendance for that mission, only the red-haired devil and a few
assassins that had come out of an age long ago. There was no one left in the
city willing to send him to Florence to see the debt paid and with the clarity
of a winter's morning Jared knew what to do.
He left the villa without informing anyone, bird and message safely tucked
inside his pocket. The hail prickled on his skin, cooling his burning forehead
but not so much his raging temper. “Their heads are mine to take,” he whispered
to himself as he stepped inside his abode, freeing the pigeon and gathering a
few of his belongings before he hurried for the stables. With a few coins
rattling inside his purse, his daggers and a handful of throwing knifes safely
hidden beneath his heavy cloak and a note left for Jensen on the small table of
his hut, Jared exited the city on the back of his master's dapple gray
stallion, hood pulled low over his face and his thoughts stained with red.
                                       ♦ 
Returning to Florence's embrace was like welcoming the touch of a long absent
mother and Jared's hair stood on end as he passed the city's gates. Shuddering
he tasted the air's rich scents and familiar flavors, bathed in the soft light
of the guards' flickering torches and reveled in the pleasant warmth emanating
from the city walls. Despite the rain and the late hour, people were bustling
through the streets, their cloaks drenched and their voices loud and cheerful
when they recognized each other through the thick downpour. The city's mood
seemed to be frisky and the inns spilled over with men and women, avidly
ordering one drink after another.
But Jared had murder on his mind and soon he left the busy streets behind as he
entered the shadows of the less crowded suburbs. He still knew every path by
heart and led the exhausted stallion through the labyrinth of roads and
avenues, alleys and lanes until he reached the stables in the East of the city.
Jared paid good coin to see Jensen's horse well-treated, watered and fed and
never once during the negotiation with the stall's owner bothered to reveal his
face. He left a false name and the stallion behind as soon as the proceedings
were done and waited until the stable boy's lantern had vanished behind the
rain's thick curtain before he pulled himself up onto the next building, hands
never failing to grip the next best jut as he made his way above, away from the
people and into the silence of Florence's rooftops.
With a little help of the thieves Jared found his way quickly across the city's
slippery shingles, a shady looking man pointing him in the general direction of
the posh quarters of Florence when he asked for guidance. The moon was covered
in thick clouds but Jared didn't need its light, his body moving on its on as
he walked the familiar paths, leaving abysses, tripping hazards and prominent
shingles behind before he finally approached the Sivori's new, grander and more
imposing housing. The walls were thick and the gilded rooftops peppered with
guards—but Jared didn't worry. His confidence didn't falter at the sight of
four armed archers pointing their bows at him and he executed them quickly. A
dagger to the heart, two throwing knives into the soft hollow just below the
throat to slice through their vocal chords, and a clean cut across the pulse
point on the last man's neck and Jared could continue his path without any
further interruption.
Heart racing in his chest and forehead covered in sticky sweat he made his way
down, using the many garnishments and golden decorations along the facade to
give his feet a safe step and after what felt like only a few seconds he
quietly landed on the small porch roof fanning over the narrow courtyard. Two
lightly armored guards fell to his razor-sharp blades, precisely led by the
boy's skilled hands. Something close to serenity settled into Jared's bones as
he snapped the neck of one of Salvatore Sivori's cousins with the force of his
own, burning muscles. His fingers barely registered the vigor they were working
with, nor did they notice the boy's strenuous opposition or the cry of triumph
that left Jared's mouth as soon as it was done and the man's body dropped to
the cobblestone, heavy and unmoving and robbed of its spirit entirely. Light
filtered through the air as the front door sprang open and more guards
appeared, six of them wearing thick golden armor and carrying heavy axes. Their
movements were slow and the tiny slits in their helmets didn't grant them much
sight—but with their hearts and throats guarded like that and their most
vulnerable spots buried under hunks of gilded iron, they didn't need to see
much anyway.
Jared's heart jumped into his throat as he faced the massive weapons they
yielded and for the first time since he'd left Monteriggioni the heavy
footfalls of approaching danger unnerved him.
“It looks like we have a guest,” An oily voice echoed through the courtyard and
there he was, Salvatore Sivori himself, Giovanni's last remaining son and
Jared's archenemy since their days as children. He hadn't changed much, though
he had become wider over the last several months. His face was fat and flushed
red with anger and a cruel sneer curled his thin lips. He no longer looked like
a snake, but a plump pig, ready to be slaughtered. “Who is it? Who pays me the
honor in the middle of the night I wonder?”
Jared didn't reply, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth and his back
touching the cool wall as he retreated enough to see his flanks covered. There
were nine guards between him and Salvatore's certain death, six of them heavily
armed, two average looking men and one archer. Jared had only three throwing
knives left but his fingers itched to guide his sharp daggers. He was ready for
the fight, ready to tear throats open and taste the blood on his tongue. He
wouldn't give up, not now with his target so close, would rather take those
guards head-on with nothing but his blunt fingernails and teeth instead of
backing off, and with a graceful sidestep and a quick draw of his blade he cut
the archer's chest open, warm blood splashing against the white cobblestone and
painting it red.
“Get him,” Salvatore screamed over the sudden clang of steel against steel and
the second guard fell with a gurgling noise, his throat touching the ground in
a bloody lump before the man could so much as blink. A throwing knife ended the
life of the third and last lightly armored protector and another found its
target through the narrow slit in one of the heavily armed guards' helmet,
blinding him, drawing piercings screams out of his mouth and leaving Jared
enough time to cut him down before he had to sidestep a massive onslaught given
by the remaining men.
Steel raked against stone in a harsh sound as five enormous axes, led by chunky
guards, were buried in the ground.
“Idiota!I said get him, don't kill him!” Salvatore blustered and he balled his
fat hands to tiny, soft fists, his face twisting in anguish and ire. He wasn't
calm anymore, his eyes going wide with every falling guard, and slowly he
seemed to realize the immediate danger he found himself in. “I want him alive,
I wanna skin him myself! Eccolo!”
Jared took a moment to regain his composure, willing his heaving chest to draw
deep, even exhales, before he lunged out again, aiming his dagger at one of the
guard's pulse points. He missed and the scraping sound of steel against steel
was like a death sentence for Jared, his heart racing and stuttering in his
chest as he felt the enemy's iron grip lock around his waist.
“No,” Jared yelled and anguish swept through his body as he tried to pull free.
This couldn't be the end. He wasn't dead yet, adrenaline still pumping through
his veins, fueling his rage and sharpening his senses. He launched a second
attack and this time he was successful, his dagger parting skin, muscle and
flesh as he buried it to the hilt in the guard's thick neck, buying himself a
moment to gather his thoughts again.
'Five guards down, four remaining. Focus Jared, you've trained hard during the
last months, you know how to handle such situations.' Jared checked his cover
and the position of his hood before he attempted another move. His ears rang
with Salvatore's constant screaming and the maledictions he sent his way.
Jared's grip was still strong, but there was an ache pounding inside his
strained muscles that slowed his movements down, making him vulnerable and
exposing his life to a bunch of grunting brutes in gilded armor.
“You'll pay for what you've done,” Salvatore exclaimed through the pouring rain
and his face had turned from red to crimson, his hands now clutching a jeweled
dagger of his own. “You can't win this, stronzo.”
Jared was tempted to object, but a searing pain exploding in his right shoulder
kept him from spilling the words, his mouth releasing a pained whimper instead.
More archers had appeared on the roof and another two or three arrows hailed
down on the cobblestone, some of them only missing Jared by mere inches.
“No,” Jared hissed and fought down the urge to clutch the tattered skin. “Not
now!”
A quick assessment of his wound assured him that it had been nothing more than
a simple grazing shot, but the amount of blood pooling from beneath the
lacerated skin made him change his dagger into left hand—his weak one. Jensen
had always said there were no weak hands for both his fingers had to be equally
skillful and it was in that moment that Jared finally, at the end of all
things, became acutely aware of how right his teacher had been.
“Now, get him. Get him!” Salvatore continued to bawl, steam rising from his
forehead and his grabby fingers moving continuously as finally his bulky guards
did as he demanded, all four of them crowding into Jared's space at the same
time and forcing him to retreat further against the cool wall in his back.
“Don't you come any closer, or I'll gut you,” Jared yelled, his voice firm
though he didn't stand a single chance. With another wave of arrows hailing
down on him, one close enough to draw a thin, red line across his cheek, and
the heavily guarded thugs pushing their axes into his face, his defense
eventually collapsed. He did manage to wound another guard by shoving his
dagger through the slit in the golden helmet and twisting it thoroughly until
the man gagged and winced in pain, but it wasn't enough. A hit against his
temple sent him reeling, his brain rattling inside his skull, and another blow
against his chest knocked all wind out of his body. Stumbling he fumbled for
the smaller blades hidden in the seam of his boots, but it was of no use as
another fist collided with his back, then another with his ribs.
Jared grunted in pain, but didn't back off. His fingers frantically scraping
against the cobblestone as he went down to his knees, his mind fiercely
clinging to the thought of revenge, he never stopped straining and struggling
against the vice-like grip around his limbs, every movement fueled by wrath and
anguish and despair.
“Take his arms,” Salvatore's voice was suddenly so very close and the tips of
his expensive looking shoes approached in the corner of Jared's clouded sight.
“I wanna see his face when I cut his throat.”
Two of the brutes followed Sivori's command like the stupid, obedient dogs they
were trained to be, and Jared's arms were roughly pulled behind his back until
he heard the joints in his shoulders pop. Another wave of pain gushed over him,
but it was nothing compared to the look of utter satisfaction on Salvatore's
face as soon he rid Jared of his soaked hood.
“Padalecki,” the fat man breathed and triumph flushed all across his chubby
features, an ugly laugh filtering through the night's cool air. “I thought we'd
finished you with the rest of your pathetic little family. But here you are,
ready for my blade to peel the face off your skull.”
“Fuck off, Salvatore,” Jared managed to choke out before a heavily armored fist
thundered against his cheek, making his head jerk around and tearing the soft
skin open with the sharp metal edges.
“No need to be so rude, little Jared, you're with friends here.” Salvatore
gestured around. “We value our time with each other and tell funny little
secrets. Let me start, alright?” He took his time to walk in front of his Jared
in a leisurely pace, his eyes never leaving Jared's mistreated face. “Well, how
about we start with a nice little anecdote about your sister, huh? Ah yes,
sweet little Megan, remember her?”
Nausea washed over Jared and cursing he gave another jerk against his
restrains, his body bucking under the iron grip and his knees pounding against
the stony ground. “No!” he panted and bared his teeth, snarling and hissing as
he attempted to break free. “You're not taking her name into your filthy mouth,
you're not—”
Another wave of Salvatore's hand and a second fist rammed into Jared's face,
almost splitting his head in two, and for a second Jared's body went lax. Red
fog swirled in front of his closed lids as his eyes fluttered shut and through
the haze he saw his father's guts smearing the forge's floor and Jeff's wide
eyes as the great broadsword of Antonio Sivori beheaded him. Dull pain ached
inside of Jared's body, waves of anguish and despair crashing against his
screaming muscles and for a split second he remembered Jensen's hands on his
stomach, the warm palm spread against his skin and the tingling sensation of
the man's plush lips grazing the sensitive shell of his ear. Everything was the
same as on that faithful day on the practice field: the rain, the ache, the
exhaustion—only the screams were different.
Wait—screams? Jared didn't remember his throat working and a quick look at
Salvatore ruled him out as the source of the sudden turmoil. But who else's
cries could pierce the veil through Jared's numbed mind? He got his answer when
an archer crashed to ground right next to Salvatore's pudgy body, the guard a
bloody pile of smashed limbs and his blood mixing with his companions'. Another
mutilated body followed quickly, and a third buried one of the heavy armored
thugs underneath the weight of its dead body. The sound of bones snapping and
skulls crushing was everywhere and Jared could taste death and decay on his
lips. He didn't jerk away when a fountain of fresh, warm blood showered him
from above—but Salvatore did. The look on his face panic-stricken, his thick
fingers clutching the dagger, he tried to retreat into the mansion in the cover
of the three remaining brutes, but is was already too late.
A flash of white flared through the air and seconds later two of the guards
went down like chopped trees, the echoes of their screams ebbing away in the
metal cases of their helmets. Jensen was merciless in his wrath, his hidden
blade tearing flesh from bone and after a few heartbeats it was over. Eerie
silence fell and Jared could see the assassin approaching his primary target
from behind.
“Salvatore Sivori?” Jensen drawled, his voice low and smooth and without the
slightest hitch of breath to it.
“Ye-yes,” the fat little man squeaked, the jeweled dagger clattering to the
ground.
“You're accused of plotting against Gerald Padalecki and participating in the
extinction of his family. You were also spotted by multiple witnesses at the
crime scene. Do you deny that?”
Salvatore's pants sported now a damp patch and the sharp stench of piss filled
Jared's nostrils. “N-No, I d-don't, but please have mer—”
“So you confess your crimes?” Jensen cut in and the sound of hidden blade
springing free was like music to Jared's ears. Salvatore nodded and a gurgling
noise escaped his mouth the moment Jared saw a flash of silver sliding through
his flesh, parting skin, vein and muscle and robbing the chubby man of his very
last breath.
“Requiescat in pace,” Jensen mumbled, dropping the dead weight to the ground
without paying much heed to the ungodly sound it made, and then he was all over
Jared. Like a thunderstorm he pushed into Jared's space, yanking him up and
pulling him close. All calmness was gone and his emerald eyes sputtered with
uncovered rage.
“What do you think you're doing, recruit?” he barked and his hot breath burned
like acid on Jared's sore skin. Jensen's right hand was balled up in the hem of
Jared's robe and after a few heartbeats of silence he pulled Jared's exhausted
body impossibly closer. “Answer me!”
It was an order.
“I wanted to take revenge as was promised,” Jared replied dutifully, his voice
wavering and with the heat of the master assassin oozing through his muscles
and the thrill of the fight vanished from his veins, Jared felt his strength
rapidly dwindling away.
Voices floated in from the street and within the blink of an eye Jensen was on
top of the narrow porch roof. “Come,” he snarled and let his fingers circle
Jared's biceps, hauling him up and over the edge. “Stay close, don't talk.
We're leaving.” And with that he fell into a swift jog, his finger never
leaving their place around Jared's arm, dragging him along until Jared felt
like he might collapse at any second.
                                       ♦ 
Their race seemed to go on forever. Dashing across the shingles, slithering
down rooftops, evading obstacles and leaping over the sharp edges of Florence's
buildings seemed to became an unattainable goal for Jared and his body grew
heavier with every step while his lungs seemed to shrink under his uneven
breaths. He didn't listen to the bells in the night—alerting the city guard and
spreading the word of a massacre in the Sivori mansion like wildfire—nor did he
pay any attention to the beautiful woman who opened the door after Jensen had
knocked three times. His mind was hazed with the metallic scent of blood and
the events of the night had left him jittery and on edge, ready to sink into
darkness any moment.
“Jensen, thank god you're safe,” the woman mumbled and pressed a kiss to both
the assassin's cheeks before eyeing the boy thoroughly. “That your recruit?”
Jensen nodded in return. “His name is Jared and he needs a bath.”
“Benvenuto, Jared. I'm Paola and this is my establishment,” She gestured
towards their surroundings. They were luxuriously furnished and the floor
covered in a thick carpet. “Know that you'll always be safe here. There are no
enemies of the Brotherhood under my roof. And now come, I'll show you to your
room.”
Jared—momentarily distracted by the giggling laugh of a pretty little girl
sitting in another woman's lap—didn't resist when Jensen pulled him along and
let himself be dragged into a generous room at the top of a short flight of
stairs. The windows were covered by heavy, red curtains spun of the finest
velvet and again the floor felt soft and pliant under the each step. The bed in
the center of the room could only be described as enormous and slowly Jared
blinked his mind awake.
“Where are we?” he asked, confusion clearly visible on his blood-stained face.
Paola—all soft curves and shiny hair—replied with a laugh.“You are in a
whorehouse, darling, and right now it's the safest place for your and your
master to be.”
Jared gaped at her. “But I've never been—”
“In a brothel? Well dear, there's a first time for everything, right? Feel free
to take a look around once you're cleaned up. Only the rooms with the closed
doors are occupied,” Paola winked at him and shot Jensen a warning glance
before she stepped outside. “But don't get light-headed, little Jay. Assassins
have to pay for my girls as much as every other customer.” She winked again and
then she was gone, only her sweet perfume lingering in the air between the two
men.
Jensen crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Go on, rid yourself of that
filth's blood,” he bit out, almost casually leaning against the wall. His gaze
was still wild, the fires still smoldering behind the controlled mask, and he
more than ever appeared like a predator ready to circle its prey.
Jared took an anxious look around. “I, um... are you gonna wait outside?” he
asked quietly and eyed the heavy brass tub in the far corner of the room,
filled with what hopefully was steaming hot water.
“No,”
“B-but I gotta get... you know,” Jared stammered, confused and still panting
heavily from their run.
Jensen snorted. “Yeah? Go on.”
“I have to get naked,” Jared whispered and suddenly felt his cheeks burn with
the thought of Jensen's wild eyes raking over his exposed skin. Words and
noises swirled around in his head, his mind spinning with the past's events,
and he could still taste a sheen of guards' blood on his lips. He almost
gagged.
Jensen shrugged and his gaze shifted, eyes going dark with hunger. “There's
nothing I haven't seen before, Jared,” he lectured and the slightest twitch in
his smooth muscles made Jared yearn for his touch, his skin longing to be
consumed by the assassin's warmth.
“Oh, okay,” Jared caved and after another two or three seconds of silent
staring he stumbled towards the tub. His weapons clattered slightly as they
dropped to the ground, followed by the heavily soaked and thoroughly ruined
robe. The once white fabric was splattered with stains of crimson and pinkish
red, blood caking around the hem—mostly Jared's blood.
With his mind occupied processing the events, Jared was beyond hesitating as he
stripped himself of his clothing. Piece after piece fell down, staining the
expensive carpet and he shimmied out of his pants at last before dropping his
aching body into the tub. Water clashed over his head and poured over the edge.
Meanwhile, Jensen stayed exactly where he was—leaning against the wall, feet
firmly rooted to the ground—and nurtured his cold stare. His arms remained
crossed and only the slight heaving of his chest signaled that he was, in fact,
still of this world.
Jared however drowned himself thoroughly in the hot water, wave after wave
washing blood, dirt and tear tracks away and bedding him in a soothing cocoon.
The fierce heat burned the metallic smell of blood from his skin and soon Jared
felt himself relaxing against the smooth brass. His hands unclenched, his jaw
slackened and even his heart eventually returned to a normal rate. He took his
time relishing the rare moment of peace, floating in the water, but at some
point he couldn't possibly make it last any longer and with a sigh he grabbed a
fluffy towel from the side table, burying his face in it to avoid Jensen's
still-piercing gaze. Jared was hardly out of the tub—the long expanse of his
naked body exposed to the assassin's fiery stare—as he started drying himself.
He was painfully aware of the Jensen's almost aggressive presence and a blush
that had nothing to do with the water's surging heat crept up Jared's cheeks.
“Are you done?” Jensen asked as soon as Jared had finished his task, now
busying himself with slinging the damp towel around his hips at the lack of
proper clothing.
He nodded. “Yeah, I—”
He didn't come any further because suddenly Jensen was in his space, crowding
him against the wall, pushing his face into Jared's and barring every possible
escape with his brawny body.
“Good, then we will talk,” he breathed and all Jared could see and feel was
Jensen, his rough palms against the cut of Jared's hips with nails digging into
the delicate skin, his freckles appearing golden in the fuzzy half-light and
his long lashes fanning around those mesmerizing, green eyes. “Now tell me
Jared, what the fuck where you thinking?”
Jared gulped. “I was taking what was promised to me,” he replied with a
surprisingly firm voice. Trapped between the building's cool touch and the
heated kiss of Jensen's body, he slowly felt his solidity return and with every
passing second his defiance grew until he didn't feel as self-conscious and
naked as before.
“Promised to you?” Jensen snorted, his hands continuing to claw at Jared's
strim waist. “Likeyou promised to be a good recruit and follow your Brothers'
lead, protecting them with your life?”
Jared shrugged. “Look, I was in Monteriggioni and you were gone, as was
Jeffrey. I got the message—”
“You mean you got hold of a note that wasn't yours to read?”
Jared felt a blush creeping up his cheeks at the notion, but he was determined
not to surrender to the accusations. “I saved that pigeon from its assured
death by letting it inside the library. None of us would have gotten the note
if it hadn't been for me. It would've been lost in the storm, carried away by
the wind, and Salvatore Sivori would still be alive.” Jared spat the last
words, agitated, and his whole body shook under the force of his overwhelming
emotions.
“As he would if it hadn't been for me, recruit,” Jensen barked and shifted his
position until his left forearm pressed against Jared's chest, keeping him
down, while his right hand loosened the knot that held the towel in place.
“What are you d-doing?” Jared stammered, but Jensen shushed him with a sharp
grunt.
“You disobeyed my orders,” the assassin snarled as he tore the damp fabric from
Jared's hips. “You left your place at the den and bared your Brothers and
Sisters to danger.” His fingers were now clawing at Jared's thigh, blunt nails
leaving angry red scratch marks on the creamy skin and Jared gasped, pink lips
quivering in distress. Jensen could tell from the way his pupils dilated that
Jared was aroused, his body betraying the reluctant look on his face and soon
he was bucking into the rough touch. “You stole my horse—”
“As you stole mine before,” Jared interrupted, but his voice drowned in the
words that followed.
“You returned to Florence and exposed yourself to certain danger by approaching
our primary targets without the right knowledge—” Jensen's hand moved
frantically now, bruising the delicate skin of Jared's thighs and drawing soft
whimpers out of the boy's mouth—"the adequate skill—” his fingertips brushing
the base of Jared's straining cock—"the right amount of respect and the proper
weapons,”
Jared was panting by now, his face flushed pink and his mouth falling open to
release a string of quiet little pleas. He didn't know when the situation had
changed from acutely dangerous into menacingly arousing, but his cock jumped
into action without any further inquiry. Rock-hard and the tip already wet with
pre-come it bobbed against his stomach, begging for attention and aching to be
touched by rough fingers.
Back arching against the wall, his mouth fell open to release a wash of barely
illegible words. “I-I... wanted—”
“You wanted to gratify your foolish thirst for revenge by sacrificing
everything to see it done,” Jensen cut in and the wildfire in his eyes
threatened to burn Jared away, eating him alive and devouring his every cell.
Uncovered rage, frustration and lust seared in the myriad of impossible shades
of green and Jared shuddered under the intensity. “You wanted to fulfill your
own selfish needs—and if that's how we're gonna play, we should start with
that,”
Suddenly Jensen's hand was around Jared's cock, gripping it tight and jerking
him roughly. His touch was like the lick of a flame and Jared cried out,
bucking into the searing hot sensation. Skin slick and cock incredibly hard, he
thrust forward, needing friction, and his eyes fell shut.
“J-Jensen,” he moaned and leaned in, begging for a kiss, something to stuff his
mouth and fill the void with, but Jensen jerked away, bringing his lips out of
range with his forearm still pressing Jared against the wall.
“You violated my orders and disdained the rules we live by,” the assassin
growled and twisted his wrist around Jared's cock, making him cry out in
pleasure. “You forgot yourself and your place.” Another sharp twist and his
thumb flicked to the leaking slit of Jared's length, pressing into theslick
heat. “You made me come after you, rode roughshod over everything you've
learned during the past months and you let the primary target escape.”
“I-I know,” Jared wheezed, hips jerking and mouth hanging open as he pounded
into the sleek heat of Jensen's palm. He was already close, his pupils blown
when he blinked those astonishing, foxy eyes open and his whole body quivering
against Jensen.
“You put yourself into serious danger, Jared.”
Jared's mouth opened on a reply, but the only thing coming out with a whimpered
“Mnnnghh—”
“You could've gotten yourself killed,” Jensen's voice was low now—every sharp
edge molten—his frantic movements steadied, and his grip became less vice-like
as he gently stroked Jared to climax. “I thought I might lose you tonight.”
Jared didn't know what finally made him tumble over the edge—Jensen's soft
voice, his nimble fingers or the sheer heat he was emanating—but it didn't
matter anyway for the result was the all same. Jared came hard and with a sharp
cry falling from his lips, head tilted back and eyes fluttered shut. His throat
worked as he whined quietly, calling for Jensen and finally spilling hot ropes
of come into the assassin's palm.
He didn't stop trembling even as the blissful aftershocks of his orgasms ebbed
away. One hand balled in Jensen's robes, the other clutching the solid wall in
his back, Jared didn't even try to stay upright on his own as his body slumped
against Jensen instead.
“'M sorry,” he mumbled as soon as he was capable of coherent sentences again
and was relived when he felt Jensen's resistance wear off, his arms now coming
up to pull Jared closer to his heaving chest.
Huffing out a half-annoyed, half-amused breath, Jensen let Jared fall into him.
“You're an idiot, Jay,”
“I know,” It was almost a sob that wrenched out of Jared's chest as he pushed
closer, curling into the assassin. He didn't mind the leather harness pressing
into his skin, or the blood still crusted on the assassin's hands, for Jensen's
closeness meant safety and warmth.
“I came home to find your note and thought I was gonna go insane with worry.
'Find me in Florence' were your words and when I found your weapons gone I knew
you were out to do something stupid,” Jensen continued with his voice tight,
the grip he had on Jared unusually tender. “The thieves told me about your
plans and when I arrived at the mansion, first thing I saw were all those
guards and you on your knees—”
Jensen's voice trailed off as he pulled back, soft fingers combing through
Jared's wet mane before sliding to the cuts and bruises blooming on the boy's
cheeks. The skin was sore, cracked open where the guards had punched him
repeatedly and the warm skin already started to swell. “Are you badly hurt?”
Jared shook his head. “'S okay, it's not so bad,” he replied truthfully and
nuzzled into Jensen's palm.
“I will have Paola send for the dottore,”
“No, it's okay, really. I just need some sleep,” Jared reassured him, a small
smile curling his lips. He felt exhausted, thoroughly worn out, and something
inside his head told him that he wouldn't last any longer. His legs were
already leaden, every inhale an effort he couldn't muster the strength for.
Jensen nodded. “I'll go and find a pigeon to send to Monteriggioni, let our
Brothers and Sisters know we're safe.” His grip was tight when he lifted Jared
from his spot against the wall with next to no effort, carrying him towards the
cozy bed.
“That's very cheesy you know, carrying me to bed,” Jared slurred and his face
scrunched up in discomfort as he hit the mattress. His body was sore all over
and with all the pent up tension gone he felt a dull ache lingering in his
every cell.
Jensen froze. “Don't get used to it,” was his clipped reply and then he threw
the blanket he was holding into Jared's face and was gone the moment Jared
curled into the sheets.
Jared tried really hard to stay awake, but after the exhaustion of the past
hours sleep came easily and he drifted off after a few quiet minutes,
surrounded by clean sheets and supported by a soft mattress. Curled into
himself he appeared almost small and Jensen couldn't stifle the smile that
curled his lips as he slipped back into the ample room half an hour later.
“Just a boy,” he muttered under his breath as he spread Jared's discarded robe
over the back of a chair before ridding himself of his many weapons. His
daggers stayed close to him even in his sleep as did the hidden blade, and they
clattered quietly as Jensen slipped under the covers, somewhat startling the
Jared.
“Jensen?”
“Shh, it's just me,” the assassin drawled and pulled Jared in until he rested
against his chest, warm fingers curling into his robe. “Go back to sleep.”
                                       ♦ 
Jared woke up to a tingling sensation between his thighs and when he managed to
crack an eye open, he found the room still covered in merciful half-light and
Jensen kneeling between his legs, his pink tongue lapping lazily at Jared's
cock.
“G-Good morning,” Jared peeped and rolled his head back, hips stuttering.
“Mhhn,” Jensen moaned, throat vibrating against Jared's strained flesh, pulling
a low moan out of his chest. “You taste even better than you feel,”
Jared gasped. “J-Jensen—”
The assassin rolled his tongue one last time against the pink tip of Jared's
beautiful cock then trailed his way back up, showering the bruised and sore
skin with sweet little kisses. He was still angry, still wound up from
yesterday's events and the clear evidence of violence on Jared's body sent his
blood boiling and his nostrils flaring.
“There's still some time before we have to leave,” he whispered, his tongue
licking around Jared's dusty pink nipple. With a groan he sucked the rosy nub
in, surrounding it with the silken heat of his mouth and making Jared quiver
with want.
“We s-should use it wisely then,” Jared moaned and his fingers came to rest on
Jensen's back, clawing at the rough-spun robe.
Jensen's breath was a puff of hot breath against the smooth skin of Jared's
neck as he laughed. “I'm already on it,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to Jared's
throat. “Jared.”
And then Jensen's mouth was at Jared's, soft lips pulling him in for a messy
kiss. It was absurdly arousing, their tongues clasping around each other, wet
flesh melting together at a frantic pace, fingers entangling in a rush. Jared
felt himself arching into the union, his body surrendering completely to waves
of pleasure crashing against him. He somehow found the strength to buck off the
mattress and with Jensen pliant and willingly, he rolled them around, finding
himself in the assassin's lap.
“Jensen,” he whined and they kissed again, tongues, lips and teeth a sloppy
mess. With Jensen's fingers moving down Jared's flanks, it felt like they'd
been doing this all their lives. Nothing seemed off limits though everything
was new and exciting and no word could describe the feeling that started to
bloom in Jared's heavy chest.
“I think I like this position,” he whispered as he straightened himself up,
Jensen sprawled underneath him in all his muscled glory, hair disheveled and
lips shiny and swollen from the kiss. He still wore his robe, but Jared caught
a glimpse of tanned skin beneath the collar, promising more.
Jensen laugh was gravelly. “That makes two of us,” he agreed and rested his
fingers on Jared's thighs, the rough, calloused skin a stark contrast to the
creamy flesh. His eyes were blotched with golden flecks, and Jared took his
time admiring the view. It was a rare opportunity to have the assassin beneath
him, stock still and waiting for Jared's next move. His chest rose and fell
gently, the smooth muscles of his flat stomach bunching slightly when he moved
to trail his fingers along Jared's thighs and Jared was almost dizzy with the
thought of exploring what lay beneath the white fabric of the robe.
“I-I don't know what to do,” he admitted after a few minutes of quiet
admiration. His hands had found their way to the planes of Jensen's chest,
stroking the firm pecs and splayingg his palms against the warm muscles.
Jensen's lips curled into a smile. “You could move a little for a start,” he
drawled, winking. He let his hips buck up just the slightest bit, nudging
Jared's, and slowly they fell into a rugged rhythm.
“That's—that's really good,” Jared moaned after a few experimental tries,
grinding harder as he watched Jensen's breath hitch. He was fully aware of his
own nakedness, his warm skin fully exposed to Jensen's hungry gaze, and his
cock bobbing against his stomach with every lazy roll of their hips. It felt
sinful and right and Jared found himself moaning shamelessly as he felt the
bulge of Jensen's cock rubbing along the crack of his ass.
“Do that again,” he wheezed and ground down harder, pressing back against the
firm touch and cursing the layers of fabric that kept him from feeling the burn
of Jensen's skin. But goddamn, the angle was just about right and the friction
delicious, bringing Jared dangerously close to the edge with a few more
thrusts.
Their movements became more erratic with every roll of their bodies, their
breath soon coming in short, ragged gasps. Jared's body seemed to move on its
own accord as he bent and stretched in Jensen's lap, letting Jensen ride the
crack of his ass. His skin was slick with sweat and his hair cascaded down his
shoulders as he let out a hoarse moan, his fingers fisting in the robe right
above Jensen's chest. He looked beautiful like that, legs spread, cock jerking
with the smooth roll of his hips, lips slightly parted, and Jensen felt himself
drawn to Jared like moth to distant moon. He was close, so close, his balls
tightening between his thighs, and it only took him another two or three
frantic thrusts before he spilled into his pants, soaking them thoroughly with
sticky wetness.
He moaned Jared's name as he came and shuddering he rocked up, and finally
stilled, eyes wide open to drink it all in: the golden skin, the chestnut hair,
the pink cock and the creamy come splashing out as Jared followed shortly.
“Jensen,” Jared whined as he slammed down one last time. "Fuck Jensen, I'm—"
“C'mere,” the assassin purred, gently coaxing Jared into his arms to pull him
down and kiss him firmly. “I think that was a pretty wise use of time.”
Jared nodded, smiling, his wet lips rubbing against the stubble covering
Jensen's jaw. “That makes two of us.”
They took their time coming down from their peaks, limbs entangled and lips
brushing together in a languid kiss. Jensen's fingers were gentle when they
combed through Jared's long hair and he tugged Jared close to his chest,
holding him where his heart was slowly calming down. Eventually the city began
to awaken around them, voices becoming loud near the windows and with the first
beams of golden sunlight falling into their room—and just like that, reality
made its appearance.
Jared's voice was small when he approached the delicate subject without further
introduction. “Am I going to be banished from the Brotherhood?”
Jensen inhaled sharply. “No,” he sighed. “But there will be consequences.”
Jared nodded and the look on his face could only be described as sheepish.
“What about the primary target, Giovanni Sivori?”
“He has to die,”
“By whose hand?”
Jensen's lips formed a thin line and his face hardened, eyes going dark.
“Ours.”
Jared shot upright, mouth agape. “Ours? You mean you and me?” He blinked in
confusion. After what had happened—after what he'd done—he was sure he was
going to be expelled from the Brotherhood, his chance to become an assassin
forever forfeit. But fate seemed to have other plans and Jensen only nodded in
confirmation.
“But how do we find him? He escaped when I failed to kill Salvatore and no
one—”
“By doing it the assassin's way,” Jensen cut him off, silencing him with a
stern look. “With patience, skill and deception.”
“When?”
Jensen's lips stretched into a cruel little sneer, his body coming to sit next
to his naked recruit. “The time to strike is now, Jared. Go and get your
clothes and we'll see it done. Let's give you what was promised and take what
should never have been given: Giovanni Sivori's petty life.”
“Sí,” Jared breathed and if he really meant to say 'I love you.' he was sure
Jensen already knew.
End Notes
     This fic is my baby and a dear treasure, because it melts two of my
     most beloved fandoms into one. It took me less than 48h to write it
     and it's a birthday present for my sweet_little_bird. HAPPY BIRTHDAY
     baby, I love you so incredibly much. Thank you for never letting me
     down. You're a miracle.
     Stop_by_to_say_'hello'_if_you_feel_like_it.
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