Crimmy Comments: Welcome readers! Although this fic is meant to divulge Haytham's past relationships for my other AC3 fic, Thicker Than Water, it can be read alone!

But please be forewarned; this fic, particularly the first chapter, is very smutty and can be triggery. This first chapter is the most violent and explicit of the lot.

While I respect that the contents herein will not appeal to everyone, please respect me by kindly not reading it if it offends you. Flamers will be thanked for their contributions and then promptly forgotten.

Chapter specific pairings: Reginald Birch/Haytham Kenway; John Harrison/Haytham Kenway/Templar Officer OC

Chapter specific warnings: Dub-con, Non-con, Mentions of statutory rape, Mentions of underage abuse, Double penetration, Blowjobs, Violence, Threesome, and Anal

Enjoy!

"He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." –Hunter S. Thompson

Ch. 1

Reginald Birch

Haytham didn't know exactly when it started.

He knew that he had been young and his body had been in the deepest stages of puberty. Possibly he had been 12? 13? Yes, that sounded right. His voice was cracking and hair had begun sprouting in places that it had no business existing. His new growth spurts had proved irritating, turning his most graceful counterattacks and movements into blundering stumbles and foolishness. He had been but a boy. It had been a few days after his birthday that initiated him fully into teenager-hood. He had turned the big 13 years of age and his boyish chest puffed as he made the hurdle one step closer to becoming a man. That was when Birch had first… It was when he had turned Haytham's childhood path down a rocky road of deceit and uncertainty for the second time.

Haytham had been frightened by the wandering hands and the harsh, whispered sweet nothings. Birch had taken him in, had trained him, had educated and all but accepted the task of raising Haytham. And now, he was doing something that Haytham was certain that no adult should do to a child. But what could Haytham do? He felt helpless under the weight of the man above him, who gave breathless, slobbery apologies. Haytham knew how to fight and how to kill, but how could he lash out against Birch? A part of Haytham loved Birch too fully and unconditionally to push him away, even though he knew that this was wrong.

So Haytham accepted the situation.

As the years wore by, it didn't hurt as much, physically or otherwise. It became as close to normal as it could be for them. In the daylight, Reginald Birch was a caring, but demanding, mentor and guardian. But at night, he became something else, something that only Haytham was privy to witness. At times, his own acceptance of the strange, utterly wrong situation startled Haytham. Other times, it sickened him. And sometimes, it comforted him. Even if no one else in the world could love him, then Haytham at least knew he had Birch's feelings to himself. Reginald had told him as much; he whispered his sweet poison in Haytham's ear, he let him know that no one else could possibly love a child so damaged—no one else but him.

When they finally settled down at the chateau in France, Haytham was frightened that the whole staff would know of his and Birch's strange relationship. But if they did know, then they said nothing. Haytham knew that at least some of them had heard his desperate cries during the night, as Birch fucked him ruthlessly into the mattress. They must have. And yet still…they said nothing.

Haytham grew older and his body filled and finally reached full manhood. He made his first official assassination and was rewarded with a particularly satisfying fuck. He was old enough now to where he could even dare think of himself and Birch as lovers. They could talk for hours on end, discussing politics and Templar plans. They could train until they were both sweaty and fatigued. And they could whisper to each other in the dark, where no one could hear them beneath the blankets. Haytham could dare say that they were lovers.

But he soon found that perception was wrong. It was only an illusion.

"Haytham, so glad that you could make it!" Birch greeted from a chair in his study, setting down his half drained glass of wine. Haytham surveyed the room. He had received a letter that morning firmly instructing him to meet with Reginald Birch at 8pm. Normally, such letters meant that they were to lie together, and that Haytham should prepare and lubricate himself in advance. But this time, Birch was not alone. There were two gentlemen seated in their respective chairs by the fire, each with wine in his hand.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I didn't know that we were expecting company. My apologies for my lack of manners. I am Haytham Kenway," Haytham forced himself into an immediate calm and set his hat on the end table. Birch had probably meant to introduce Haytham to more Templars and speak of plans and assassinations. It was an honest mistake to read too deeply between the lines of the simple letter. After all, he had just uncovered Jack Digweed's location the day before and had finally talked Birch into joining him on the journey. Birch probably needed someone to look after his assets while he was away and thus, these gentlemen were possibly the candidates. That was likely all. Yes, that was all.

"Oh nonsense, Haytham! Your manners are impeccable as always! Now where were we, oh yes! Haytham, I've told you about John Harrison before, yes? John, meet Haytham," Birch motioned from a fellow with dark hair to his protégé. "Ah yes, and this is Harold Smith!" Another motion from the other man to Haytham.

Harrison eyed him hungrily and Haytham found himself immediately disliking the man.

"Aye, is he every bit the fightin' dog you claim, Birch? He does look the part," Harrison drained his wine and Haytham found himself straightening his back, as if to make a point. Yes, he was a good fighter. And to know that Birch spoke highly of him filled him with a blossom of pride.

"Of course. As soon as an enemy lets Haytham get the upper hand, then the poor fool's as good as dead!" Birch praised, much to Haytham's thrill. "But you should be able to handle him. He's obedient when the correct…pressure is applied."

Haytham's stomach sank just a bit. Perhaps Birch was going to have him work with other Templars for a while? That was plausible, but something about the way that his mentor said those words made Haytham's skin crawl.

"Boy, you should sit while in the presence of the Grandmaster," Harold Smith, a man with shaggy blond hair and too few teeth, urged. It was a strange request, considering that there were no more chairs in the study to sit upon.

"No thank you, I think that I'll stand," Haytham made a conscious effort not to fidget. He had to prove that Birch's opinion of his strength was true. And his instincts told him that he would soon be tested.

"Sir, what would you have me do?" Haytham asked Reginald Birch.

Birch picked up his glass of wine once more and swirled the blood red contents with a smooth appreciation. He sipped it, drew it from his lips, and grinned something awful.

"Obey."

Haytham's brows furrowed and he felt his body tense in retaliation. John Harrison and Harold Smith stood and moved silently towards Haytham. "I don't understand, Sir," Haytham protested calmly, wishing at once that he hadn't left his short sword in his quarters. Harrison and Smith were both behind him. He could smell the wine.

"I told you to obey, Haytham. Now do not embarrass me, not in front of my friends," Birch commanded, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

Haytham's heart was hammering in his chest. He had a fleeting certainty that the men behind him could hear it, that they could feel it. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarled between gritted teeth, his hands clenching and his knees softening in preparation to defend himself.

"The meaning, Haytham?" Birch finished his glass of wine and stood only to refill it. "The meaning is that you obey me. I want you to do whatever these men want of you. And I want to watch. That's the meaning, Haytham. I ask for your complete and total obedience, nothing more and nothing less."

"Now," Birch sat again, adjusting himself so that he could see everything before him. "Kneel."

Haytham's heart stopped. He could swear that it must have stopped because he had the awful realization of what was happening, of what Birch wanted out of him. It must be punishment for seeking out Digweed without consulting the Grandmaster first. It had to be. He pulled his lips back into a snarl.

"No."

Haytham spun around, fist flying at Smith's ribs. They connected with a soft huff of air and Haytham ducked the punch from Harrison. He threw himself forward with a roar, tackling Harrison to the floor and pressing a knee into his abdomen. Rolling to the side, he quickly stood and raised his forearms in time to block a hit from the blond man. The three men grappled for a few more heartbeats before Birch cleared his throat none-too-discreetly.

"HAYTHAM KENWAY! CEASE THIS FOOLISHNESS!" he bellowed as he rose from the chair. Haytham hesitated, only for a moment. But that moment was all Harrison needed to kick the back of Haytham's knees. The young man crumpled to the floor.

"I have fed you, I have sheltered you, I have loved you and raised you and provided everything that you have ever needed and THIS is how your repay me!" Birch didn't need to stomp or storm about. The soft footfalls sounded like thunder to Haytham's ears as his mentor paced in front of him. "You have wanted for nothing! And THIS is how you throw my generosity to the wind! You clearly, blatantly disobey me in front of other Templars!"

Birch crouched to grasp Haytham's jaw, forcing him to look up at his furious mentor. "Who am I, Haytham Kenway? TELL ME!"

Haytham felt a tremble of fear shake his frame. It was small, almost imperceptible, but Birch would know. "You are the Grandmaster of the British Rite," he responded the best he could with his jaw in a vice grip.

"And what does a good little Templar do when the Grandmaster gives him direct orders?!"

Haytham swallowed, his gaze falling away from Birch's watery gray eyes. "He obeys."

"And what will you do you for me, Haytham?" Birch continued, his voice hardly above a whisper. "After all I have given you, after all that I have sacrificed for you, what will you do for me?"

This was wrong. Haytham knew that this was wrong and yet his mind only created escape plans with naught but dead ends. Birch had killed more men than Haytham could imagine. He could just as easily snap Haytham's neck and be done with his impudence. Or even if Haytham somehow did get past Birch, he still had the other two Templars in the room to contend with. They were good fighters. They were strong. Haytham had never felt so trapped in his life.

"…I will obey you," Haytham finally conceded, his eyes closing in defeat.

Birch smiled. "Good. You are a good boy, Haytham." He finally released his pupil's jaw and sauntered back to his easy chair. Once nestled into the soft warmth, Birch took up his wine glass once more. "Now Haytham, first I want you to pleasure these men. With your mouth."

Haytham's breath hitched in his throat and he felt stomach acid rising to his mouth at the idea of placing his mouth on another man's dick. It was one thing to suck Birch off, it was another to please a stranger. Harrison circled around Haytham, his breeches already undone.

"Well go on, boy. And don't you dare think of biting. I'll cut out that sassy tongue of yours if I so much think that you're getting too many ideas," Harrison growled, pulling his half hard cock out of his trousers.

Haytham swallowed acid back yet again and took a deep breath. If he refused, then he was certain that they would find a way to force him anyways. He just needed to play along. Perhaps this was some sort of test, some sort of awful, horrible test.

Haytham took Harrison's cock into his hands and stroked.

Harrison hissed quietly, his fingers kneading into Haytham's scalp. If he was trying to be reassuring, the attempt was laughable. But Haytham still pumped the elder man's dick, working it into full erection. "With your mouth," Harrison growled, pushing against the back of Haytham's head to spur him into action. Haytham grunted angrily and withdrew his hand for a moment to spit on his palm. He returned his grasp to the shaft in front of him and stroked until Harrison's cock glistened. Harrison pushed against the back of his head again, harder this time. His cock rubbed against Haytham's cheek, smearing some of the precum and saliva. Another shove, and this time Haytham finally opened his jaws and took the tip of Harrison's penis into his mouth.

The young Templar ignored the sour taste and focused on the job at hand. The sooner that he could get these men off, then the sooner he would be left alone and all debts to Birch would be paid. He could leave the chateau. He could run away. But for now, he just needed to get through this. He could do it. He was strong and had been through worse. He could do this.

Harrison gripped onto Haytham's hair almost painfully as he snapped his hips against his face. Haytham's eyebrows screwed in concentration as he relaxed his throat to accommodate Harrison's full length. Just when he was certain that Harrison would come, the elder Templar withdrew his dick from Haytham's swollen lips. A thin string of saliva followed the motion until it snapped.

"Come on, you can't just be spoiling John," Harold Smith said, pressing the head of his weeping dick against Haytham's cheek. "You need to be pleasing both of us. Don't forget that, boy."

Haytham glared at the blond man, who responded in turn by slapping his cock against Haytham's face.

"Keep them eyes to yourself, boy. I've never heard of a blind Templar doing much good for the order," Smith threatened.

Haytham growled inwardly, rage and indignation tightening in his chest. He took one dick in each hand and stroked them both. His tongue lathed one cock, then the other, moving back and forth fluidly.

It wasn't until he had Harrison's cock in his mouth that he knew that the man was on the edge. He gripped Haytham's skull again and ruthlessly thrust into his mouth. Haytham gripped tightly to the man's hips, trying to just focus on breathing, when he felt the hot seed spill down his throat. He coughed around Harrison's dick as the elder Templar rode out his orgasm. When Harrison pulled away, Haytham was certain that he was going to vomit. His stomach churned like an ocean wave and he fought to just breathe. Smith insisted that Haytham finish the job before catching his breath, however. Haytham did as he was instructed and sucked the blond Templar to completion. However, rather than ejaculating in Haytham's aching mouth, Smith pulled back at the last moment and came on Haytham's face. The thick semen dripped down his cheek and from his eyelashes. He grimaced in disgust, fished a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and wiped it away.

The two Templars pulled back, sated and rubbing Haytham's scalp as if he were a good dog. A slow clap came from the easy chair that Birch sat upon. He rubbed the sporting bulge between his legs and readjusted.

"Yes, that was a good show. At least, for the opening act," Birch grinned. Haytham felt his heart sink further and he stood in protest.

"That is enough. This sort of conduct violates Templar codes. It is the sort of behavior reserved for beasts, at best," Haytham snarled, throwing the dirtied handkerchief to the floor. It fluttered to the nice rug, dirty side down.

Birch's eye twitched a little as his rug was defiled. His cold, gray eyes shifted up until he stared at Haytham. "And what do you know of Templar codes, hm? You speak as if you know the ways of the world, but you are ignorant. You're only a child, barely a month past 21, who has been sheltered and cared for his whole life. You know nothing, boy. This world is not fair. It is not just. And for you to expect it forthwith is laughable at best."

Birch motioned to the two other Templars again. They closed around Haytham, making him feel more claustrophobic than ever before.

"Men need to be controlled. They yearn to be controlled, Haytham. You know this! You know that control is the only way to achieve peace in this world."

"But not like this," Haytham gritted out from between his teeth, eyes darting from one enemy to the next. "Templars must be nobler than this."

"Ideally, yes. But not everyone will respond to the same methods of control. For the more…rebellious type, we must take extreme measures. We must ensure complete obedience, even if we make monsters out of ourselves."

"Templars are not villains!"

"Oh Haytham, how young and naïve you still are. Assassins and Templars…" Birch took another drink of his wine and stood. He turned his back to them and pulled open a drawer in a nearby bookcase. "We are all villains."

Haytham felt his voice catch in his throat. He had sparred against the other swordsmen of the chateau. He had won every encounter. The only man he ever lost to was Birch, in both sword and words. And now, he could not fight back the searing burn of defeat. He could not win this encounter.

He glared at the other Templars. They were older, stronger, and more seasoned than Haytham. But Haytham was younger and faster. He could use that to his advantage. Birch may have defeated him, but he would not fall so easily to these arrogant hypocrites.

"Since our guest is proving more willful than we thought, I don't believe that he'll be disrobing himself voluntarily," Birch said whilst digging through a drawer that held the 'playthings' he would use with his young pupil. "John, Harold; undress him. Do as you will, just don't break his body. We need to ride out in the morning."

Haytham didn't waste another second. He ducked to the side and swept up behind Harold Smith to deliver a hard punch to his kidney. Smith gasped and elbowed the place where Haytham had been. Haytham gave a good, hard whack to the back of Smith's neck, hoping to knock him out with the blow. Smith crumpled to the ground with a shout of pain, but he was not unconscious.

Harrison dove at Haytham, a short knife unsheathed and ready to strike. Haytham caught the Templar's wrist and wrestled it.

"You won't be so high and mighty when we mess up that pretty face of yours," Harrison sneered, regardless of Birch's warning to not cause permanent physical damage. He shoved Haytham against the heavy oak door to the study, rancid breath hot against the younger Templar's face. Haytham gave a shout of fury and thrust his knee hard into Harrison's groin. Harrison's face purpled immediately and he turned to the side, allowing Haytham to stumble away from the door. However, he grabbed the back of Haytham's frock coat and wrenched it from his shoulders.

Haytham twisted as his arms were caught behind his back. He tried to finish pulling his coat off when a heavy blow hit the side of his head, making him reel. Smith coupled his fists together and hit Haytham again, sending the young Templar to his knees.

Haytham's vision swam as he felt the buttons on his waistcoat pop off and his undershirt was sliced down the middle. The room was spinning and his fingers felt tingly and numb.

"I said to undress him, not concuss him!" Birch snapped; his voice sounded like it was underwater. Haytham distantly realized that he would have quite the goose egg on his head once this was said and done.

He could feel cold air on his legs as his boots and breeches were stripped away. Panic snapped him away from his daze and he struggled, kicking and squirming as the two Templars tried to pin him down. Finally, his arms were free of his coat and clothing. He fought for control, trying to push the Templars, or hit them or smack them or scratch them, anything! He struggled like a wild animal caught in a snare, curses flying like growls from his lips.

But Haytham was flipped onto his belly and his arms were wrenched behind his back. A rope bound his wrists together. A disgusted sneer pulled on Haytham's lips. It was the same linen rope that Birch would use on his pupil when they were feeling rambunctious. The irony was not lost on him.

"Reginald!" Haytham roared into the rug. "Reginald! Cease this madness! You have made your point!"

Haytham received no response from his mentor. Only the hissing whisper of Harold Smith replied, "No, I don't think that he has yet, Princess. You're too wily for your own good. You need to be taught a lesson in obedience."

Haytham snarled and Smith looped the young Templar's discarded cravat around his mouth. He pulled it between Haytham's teeth and tied it taut behind his head. Smith grinned at his handiwork and pressed the side of Haytham's head into the rug again. He leaned half of his weight onto the young Templar's upper back, making it hard to breathe and struggle at once. Harrison gripped Haytham's hips and raised them until he was on his knees and his back was bowed painfully.

Haytham screwed up his face and tried to twist away as he felt cold, oily fingers rub against the cleft of his ass. This was happening. This was really happening. He was really going to be raped and there was nothing that he could do about it. The one person he might have relied on to save him sat in a plush chair across the room, a glass of wine in one hand and his cock in the other. Haytham was alone. He shouted into the carpet as one digit shoved inside of him.

"Now, now, boy. Don't be so tense. You'll only hurt yourself," Harrison chided mockingly as he moved his finger in and out of Haytham's body.

"Ha, you'd think with how often Grandmaster Birch fucks him, that he'd be a little looser! Innit right, Princess? You got all spoiled with the Grandmaster's cock that now you can't stand another?" Smith gave a sharp smack to Haytham's rear.

"And it looks like he even fasted and prepared himself for our special occasion! Little bitch was probably looking forward to getting his ass pounded tonight. He just didn't know by whom!" Harrison chuckled darkly, adding a second, then a third finger in rapid succession.

Haytham growled around the makeshift gag in his mouth, feeling his cheeks redden with embarrassment and rage. Horror wrestled in his gut alongside the shame and fury. It made him want to vomit, but with a gag in his mouth, he was bound to choke. Even though this was a wretched situation, Haytham still had no intention of dying. He would make these men suffer. He swore it to himself that one day, he would kill them both. It would go against their code to kill a brother in arms, but Haytham could make it look like it was an accident. Or else he could make it look like an enemy. Regardless, he could and would kill them. And as for Birch…

Haytham's body jerked as he felt the tip of Harrison's cock press against his ass. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, wishing beyond wishes that this horrific nightmare would end there. But no. Haytham was not so lucky. Harrison pushed inside of his reluctant body with a satisfied groan. Haytham jerked in pain at the sudden intrusion and buried his face into the rug.

"Oi, how is he? Is he tight?" Smith asked, his nails digging into Haytham's shoulders as he held the younger Templar down.

Harrison's head dropped back in ecstasy as he thrust into the unwilling body below him. "Fuck yes he is. The little bitch is clenching. I can see why the Grandmaster likes his ass so much."

"Well then finish the hell up. I want my turn. I wanna fuck him 'til he screams," Smith grinned wickedly.

"I'm going to take my time. Deal with it," Harrison grunted, hips snapping languidly into their captive.

Smith didn't seem too happy with that answer. For a moment, his nails bit angrily into Haytham's back before relaxing once more. "Finger him. Finger him while you fuck him. See how much this bitch can take."

"For once, that's a good idea you've had, Smith," Harrison reached his hand down to Haytham's face. Even though the younger Templar couldn't suck around the gag in his mouth, saliva was dribbling from his parted lips. Harrison slathered his fingers in the mess and withdrew them. He pulled his dick out partway and, with a freshly wet finger beside it, thrust back in.

Haytham jerked in surprise and squeezed his eyes shut. Birch had done something like that before. He had fingered him while fucking him, using two and sometimes three extra digits alongside his cock. Haytham knew that his body wouldn't break. It hurt, but he could handle pain. Pain was easy to compartmentalize and file away like a stack of invoices. But it still felt so wrong. These men were not allowed to touch him! And yet they were ravaging him, making him feel as if he were going to fall apart at the seams.

"Damn, he's taking two fingers and my cock already! Little slut!" Harrison crowed. It made Harold Smith fidget a little more and he kneaded the skin he was holding down.

"Do you think he could take two cocks? He seems hungry for them," Smith growled lowly.

"Go, clear off the Grandmaster's desk. We'll find out," Harrison released Haytham's hip and set his hand on the back of his skull. He fucked him slowly and smoothly, hissing between his teeth whenever he was fully sheathed and pulling out with a faint groan. Then, Harrison pulled out completely.

Haytham sucked in deep breaths as he rolled disobediently to his side. His body was shaking with rage and fear and pain and he tried to scoot backwards, away from the Templars intent on raping him.

"Now, now, you're not allowed to go anywhere yet, boy. You're still our guest of honor," Harrison gripped onto Haytham's leg and dragged him nearer. Still, Haytham struggled as the two men tried to move him over to the desk. It wasn't until Smith whacked the younger Templar over the head again that they managed to move his sagging body with relative ease.

Harrison lay across the desk as he maneuvered Haytham's limp body onto his lap. A quick thrust into the oiled heat was enough to have the younger man snarling again. Harrison gripped onto the backs of Haytham's knees, causing the man to fall across Harrison's chest face first. He gently thrust his hips into the inviting warmth, cooing words of encouragement into Haytham's ear. He could feel the youngest Templar's body shudder against him as Smith lined his cock up and pressed in slowly alongside Harrison.

A wounded, guttural, cry tore itself from Haytham's parted lips. His entire body seemed to convulse, trying to get rid of the intrusions. Smith held Haytham's hips in place, muttering dirty and filthy words as he fucked him.

"God, he's so tight with both of us. Fuck fuck fuck, he's just taking two dicks! Princess likes his cock, doesn't he? You can't be satisfied with just one, but you've gotta take two up the ass, is that it, Princess?" Smith goaded.

Haytham twisted his wrists against their bonds. His body was shaking like a leaf and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. His throat was tight, but his body suddenly forgot how to scream. He felt like he was going split, as if his body was going to snap into two! Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. These bastards would not get such weakness from him. They might ravage his body, but they would not take his mind. He comforted himself with thoughts of murdering these bastards. He would do worse to them. He would make them beg for mercy before the end of it and he would make them suffer. Not today, no, Reginald was watching. But they would answer for their transgressions.

Haytham groaned piteously into the gag as Smith picked up his pace. He felt his rear protest to the treatment, to the utter fullness enveloping his nerves. Smith's breath became ragged and short as he leaned over Haytham's body. His blunt nails dug into the youngest Templar's hips, no doubt leaving bruises and half-moon marks dotting his skin. Then finally, gratefully, Smith shot his load. Haytham could feel the warmth spurting inside of him. The heat was almost unbearable—searing and burning and far too warm—as the blond Templar thrust with abandon, his hips having lost all rhythm.

Then, once finally spent, he slowly removed himself with more grunts and pleased curses. Haytham sucked in a breath as he felt some of the pressure relieved. The sharp agony that had felt like shards of glass was replaced with a heavy throb.

"Sit him up," Harrison grunted, his voice flustered and heated.

Smith pulled Haytham upright, leaving behind a trail of saliva that had collected on Harrison's shoulder. He leaned Haytham's back against him, making him kneel, as Harrison gripped onto Haytham's hips and fucked him hard.

Haytham screwed his eyes shut, turning his head to the side as Harrison pulled his ass flush against him and came. More semen joined the initial mess and Haytham had a feeling that he could never be clean again.

Mumbling sated words of contentment, Harrison withdrew himself and rolled Haytham onto the desk. Haytham thought about kicking them as they moved away, but he hurt too much. His body was aching and his hands felt numb below his wrists. Only revenge addled fantasies comforted the young Templar as the other men dressed once more.

"My poor, sweet love," Birch cooed, his breath laden with alcohol. Haytham jerked as the Grandmaster caressed his sweaty, spit-smeared cheek. "If only you had been more obedient, then none of this would have been necessary." He untied the gag and threw it to the side. Haytham worked his jaw a few times, grateful that he could finally stop drooling all over himself. But he said nothing.

"You need only to obey me, my love. Obey my every whim, my every desire, and you will be spared the pain of these lessons," Birch tenderly rubbed Haytham's hips. The young Templar realized that Birch was still hard. A flare of panic rose in his throat, but he was too tired to fight. He just hurt far too much and his mind was still reeling.

Haytham found himself on his back, the edge of the desk digging into his spine, as Birch mounted him. Haytham's ass protested and he bit his lip to hold back the cry of pain.

"These men, these wretched men, they only pleased themselves. They didn't think about your pleasure, not for one moment," Birch continued as he moved his hips at just the right angle to make Haytham's eyes roll. His bound hands clawed at the desk beneath him, whether seeking purchase or escape, he didn't know.

"Only I can make you feel good. Only I can give you what you need," Birch took Haytham's cock in hand and worked it until Haytham was certain that all the blood in his brain had flown south. How was Haytham still able to get hard in this situation? He ignored the nausea and took in a ragged breath. He was little better than a whore. His father would be ashamed and disgusted. Tears prickled at the edges of his eyes.

"Haytham, my love, you have no idea how much you mean to me… It pains me to see others touch you. It hurts me more than it hurts you. I love you so much, so very, very much," Birch whispered his poison into Haytham's ear.

Haytham's back arched as Birch hit that spot again. It made him see stars and for a moment, nothing else mattered but achieving release. It would be like waking from a bad dream or drinking cool water when lost in the desert. Haytham needed to come and Birch knew every spot on his pupil's body to make him lose control. Every thrust and caress was measured and smooth. Haytham's body was a map and Birch was the cartographer. Haytham heard himself moan as he wrapped his legs around Birch's back, his hips rolling to meet with his lover's. Tears finally made a hot, wet trail down his cheeks as he cried out for more, more, more.

Distantly, he heard Harold Smith and John Harrison talking in awed, disgusted voices about the display before them. They called Haytham an animal. They called him a woman for liking cock up his ass. They called him a sodomite and for a moment, for a brief fleeting moment, Haytham didn't care. He keened loudly as he came, spurts of semen dotting his twitching abdomen. Birch orgasmed a moment later, releasing himself inside Haytham.

Haytham could feel the fatigue wearing on him as Birch pulled out. A mess dribbled down Haytham's thigh and Birch wiped away his tears as if Haytham were 13 years old again. He was rolled to the side and his hands were unbound. His wrists were bloody and bruised, but there would be no permanent damage.

Birch hovered over him, a fresh house coat in one hand, and kissed Haytham deeply. The two let their tongues intertwine before Birch pulled away in shock and surprise. Haytham had bitten him.

The young Templar's gaze was flinty and unreadable as he regarded his former mentor and lover. His tears had dried and his lips were stained red from the nasty bite to his Grandmaster. Birch breathed deep, waiting for the dam to break.

Haytham stared him in the eyes, all trace of fear suppressed. His voice was low, dangerous, and heavy with unspoken threats.

"Don't ever touch me again."

And with that, Haytham stood, painfully and tenderly, and snatched the house coat out of Birch's hand. He slipped the robe on, shoved his way past the other Templars, and went down the hallway to the wash room.

In the morning, he would be leaving to track down Jack Digweed, with or without Birch. Things could never be the same between the Grandmaster and Haytham, but that was for the best. Haytham could not afford any more interruptions.