asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.

There are no request in this part of the meme.

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"You need to get out of these clothes so I can see where you're hurt," he said now incredibly grateful Sam had basically forced him learn all the important stuff he needed to know about giving someone medical help. Then it had been an excuse for them to spend more time together as well as basically turn Malik into a competent set of hands to help Sam when someone got hurt who wouldn’t panic under pressure like some people would. Altair nodded mutely and with Malik's help they got him out of that costume so he was naked from the waist up though Malik barely noticed. "Hold this here," Malik said pressing Altair's hand against a thick pad of gauze over his wound. He checked for an exit wound, there was none. "Where's the bullet?" he asked.

"I dug it out," Altair said softly. Malik winced, he knew that hurt, a lot. He picked up the bottle of pills and handed him two. "What's that?"

"Vicodin, it'll ease the pain," Malik said.

"How the hell do you have Vicodin?" Altair grumbled but took the pills, swallowing them dry.

"My arm still hurts sometimes," he said and was actually relieved Altair couldn't shut up, it meant he was awake. He fished around in his kit and pulled out the alcohol, removing Altair's hand and pouring it down his flank. Altair gave a sharp cry of pain and surprise as Malik cleaned the wound before putting fresh gauze over it and the other man applied pressure while Malik went back into the kitchen washing his hand and grabbed a lighter. "Okay, let me see," he said in a soft voice and Altair removed his hand and gauze, though did so slower, the pain meds were working. Gently he inspected the wound, which continued to leak blood, and was satisfied it wasn't dirty. He rapidly dug a needle and some thread from his kit and saw Altair eyeing it warily. "Its the needle or cauterize it," Malik said.

"Needle," Altair grumbled after muttering curses in Arabic to himself and Malik made him hold the needle with the hand not applying pressure to his wound as he threaded it on the second try. Malik lit the lighter and held it under the needle for a few seconds. "Okay, move your hand," Altair did and hissed when Malik made the first pass through his skin. After that though he didn't make a sound and when Malik looked up his jaw was clenched. He finished as quickly as he could, tying the thread off when he was done. He rubbed Neosporan gently on the new stitches to keep them clean before bandaging them up. "Okay, all done."

Altair gave a relieved sigh and sat back in the chair slouching, eyes half lidded in probably exhaustion and the meds. He muttered to himself in Arabic but Malik didn't understand most of it. Finally he looked up at Malik through his lashes looking a bit stoned, "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, not like I could just leaving to bleed out," Malik said. "What happened?" now that's he wasn't afraid Altair was going to keel over and die in his kitchen he wanted to know.

"I did something stupid on a job. Did the job, some security managed to get a shot off before I could get away, got me," he patted his flank gently but still winced when he did so.

"Why would someone shoot you? What were you doing?"

Altair's eyes were a bit glassy from the Vicodin and it was obvious he'd never been on this sort of pain meds for it to be effecting him this way. "My job," he said.

"And what is it you do?" he asked though almost regretted asking.

Can I like... not care about anoning anymore? Cool, thanks.
--

"Remember when we went to that art museum?" he asked and Malik nodded, "You said you were just going to assume I did something shady since I didn't tell you what I did," Malik didn't but it sounded like something he would say. All he could remember about that was Altair being annoying and being a tour guide in another language with the English subtitles turned off and kissing him in the rain, and the freak out on his part after of course. He nodded anyways. "Well... you were right," he said reaching into a fold of the pants of the costume and pulled out a handgun with a silencer on it. Malik's eyes widened at seeing it. But that wasn't all, he then reached further down and seemed to grab something from around his feet. A second later he tossed a bloodied knife onto the table. Malik stared at it. "I kill people."

Malik's eyes went from the knife and gun on the table to the shirtless man sitting at his kitchen table. At the moment he didn't look capable of walking a strait line let alone killing anyone. "Very funny Altair," he said with a strained smile.

"It'd be more funny if I was joking," he croaked.

"You could have lied," he said.

"I would never lie to you," and Malik looked into those amber eyes of him and knew he was telling the truth. "Others maybe, but not you," his lips worked their way into a tired grin. Malik felt himself flush and hated himself for it. He didn’t want to feel this way, especially not… not about a fucking murderer! He immediately thought wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black since what had he used to do? He’d killed people, it had been his job and he’d been deceptively good at it till he’d lost his arm. It still didn’t make him get goosebumps any less.

"Why did you come here Altair?" he asked thinking that it now made sense that he didn't want to go to a hospital, though why him of all people? Why not his family? Anyone but him really.

"You're the only person I know who lives on this side of the river," he said, "and," he added with a groan as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the chair, "if I was going to die of a gunshot wound I'd rather see you then my pig headed cousin I was staying with.”

"Well there will be no dying on my watch got it?" Malik growled almost teasingly. Why was he doing this?

He smirked, "Yes sir Gunnery Sergeant," he chuckled and gave an imitation of a salute, his hand and arm sloppy and uncoordinated.

Malik sighed but didn't exactly find anything amusing about the situation. "Who did you kill Altair?" he asked almost afraid to ask.

"You'll probably hear about it tomorrow on the news. I can't even remember anyway. The name isn't important," he said at the end like an after thought.

"Why did you then?"

"I was told to. Just a job," he shrugged.

"So what are you? A mercenary?"

Altair snorted, "Something that- I think you'd use the term- 'bush league'? No I'm not," he blinked at Malik and with a totally serious tone and face said, "I'm an assassin."

"No way, I don't believe you."

"I'm serious," Altair said and with those words Malik knew he was telling the truth because every time he said he was serious he always was, even about that last thing he'd promised Malik all those months ago. Here he was, sure he was all fucked up as well as high, but Altair had promised he'd come back... and he had. Malik wasn't even sure how he felt about that either. "Hey Malik?" he asked when nothing had been said for a while as Malik tried to just soak in what Altair had just said.

"What?"

"Do you hate me? I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I don't hate you, what gave you that idea?" He wanted to though, he felt like he should, but he didn’t. He should be angry at him for being the biggest flake ever but somehow after what had happened with Ezio he couldn’t muster the emotion to be angry at anyone at the moment.

"Nothing," he muttered before asking, "Can I stay here?"

"Like I'd let you leave like that," Malik said smartly and got to his feet suddenly feeling bone tired. "You can sleep on the couch," and he helped the syrian stand. He'd lost a good amount of blood and was weak, Malik realized the Vicodin might have been a bad choice. There was less blood in Altair's blood stream to dilute the effects of the medication, no wonder he was so stoned. Altair sank onto the couch when Malik let him go and he went to get some spare blankets and pillows. Altair wasn't exactly the first person to crash on his couch and he doubted he'd be the last. Altair was practically asleep anyways as Malik shoved the bedding at him and he made something like a nest on the couch. He was asleep in seconds.

Malik looked over at the table where the gun and knife were. He walked over to them and picked up the gun and ejected the clip, five shots had been fired and obviously the knife had been used. He clicked on the safety (fuck it had been off this entire time?!) and put the clip, the gun and the knife in the bloodied robes of Altair's costume and bundled it up before depositing it next to the couch. He looked down at Altair before deciding to put the bottle of Vicodin on the coffee table as well before leaving and going back into his room, locking the door as he did so and got ready for bed. The clock said it was fifteen minutes to three so no wonder he was exhausted. He fell into bed trying to get the image of Altair's peacefully sleeping face off his mind. It was very, very, hard.

YES!!! I am so excited to see this updated! I'm so glad that Altair was thrown back into the mix, and also a little surprised at how much of an asshole Ezio is. I love it.

Don't care about anon anymore. Sooooo, yeah, hi guys! This entire section is also just an excuse for Altair to kick someone's ass (since he does surprisingly little of that in this fill) and to get Ezio and him talking again. They're just STUBBORN IDIOTS!!

—
He didn’t look up when someone sat across from him at the desk where neat and boxed (now with locks) documents and summons and orders sat in arranged order from most important to least important. Altair didn’t need to look up to know who it was though. It was obvious to him. It was in the way he breathed, and how the fabric and armor expanded and moved against each other, the way he sat, with just the slightest fidget, as if he expected Altair to explode in his face. Altair said nothing, simply kept his head bowed as he worked over once again what was best to say. He still didn’t have a clue actually but he couldn’t let what had happened continue to come between what he needed to do in respect to what had happened.

Altair tipped his head upward, the edge of his hood flashing yellow for that brief moment as the edge of his vision cause the colors of his Vision before they cleared as Altair fixed Ezio with a level gaze. “Hello brother,” he said at last, “I trust your mission was as successful as mine,” he put the smile into his voice though he was not actually smiling.

“It was. Though I confess, I have not heard of your success, brother,” he said the word cautiously and Altair frowned; this would not do.

Altair leaned forward and pressed his forearms to the table, “Silvestro is dead, I have two left on my list,” he said simply.

“That is good news.”

“Yes, soon I will back to where my most pressing matter is playing nanny to the Borgia and her son,” he said it almost sarcastically, though lightly as well. He truly did not mind the task, not anymore anyway.

“I could give the task to someone else,” Ezio apparently didn’t get it. What else was new?

“No no, it is fine,” he held up a hand then he sighed, “Ezio, I am sorry for my outburst before you left,” he hated apologizing. It meant he was wrong, and he hated being wrong almost as much as failure, and really they were often one in the same. But he would if he needed to, just as he would lie conveniently when he needed to, sleep with someone to keep them silent, threaten a man Ezio considered his friend. He would do all that too, and had, so now he was adding apologizing to that list of things he would do.

“Oh,” he honestly seemed surprised, which it itself was not a surprise since he knew Altair was not one to apologize.

“It was nothing you did,” he continued.

“Really? It seemed it was my fault at the time,” Ezio said mildly.

“No, I had done something stupid. I should not have taken it out on you,” Altair frowned under his mask.

“It must have been something very bad,” he said warily, watching Altair’s reactions carefully.

“Unforgivable, to all parties involved,” he said and watched Ezio blink as he admitted to this and wonder, no doubt, what it was he’d done. Of course he respected Altair enough to not ask and Altair did not share further, Ezio wasn’t ready yet and maybe he never would be. Then suddenly Altair stood, “Come with me?” it was phrased as a question but he knew Ezio would obey. Altair knew because he knew Ezio and he knew himself and that people like Ezio, while leaders themselves, wanted people to follow as badly as others wanted to follow them. So he wasn’t surprised when Ezio stood and followed him when he moved away from the table. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said as they left the main room.

“Really now? I have yet to meet a mind reader,” Ezio says, his tone comes easier now, as if movement calms him, Altair wouldn’t be surprised if it does.

“Yes, and I know you’re still-” he doesn’t know which word to use here to not insult him. Afraid would be demeaning or anything like that would be a step too far. “Anxious,” he settles for, “about our last meeting.”

Ezio snorts, “I am not,” he says.

Altair, not stopping, just turns to Ezio and gives him a look that’s only just seen under his hood, now much more shadowed thanks to the bright sun as they leave through one of the doors to one of the inner practice yards. He’s satisfied by the shift of Ezio’s eyes and he knows very well that Ezio knows he’s seen it and knows that he’s a terrible lier. “I am still your friend Ezio,” even if he did screw up, “but, you can’t be worried of always angering your friends.”

“I do not,” Ezio said, he’s such a terrible lier it’s criminal.

“Quite,” is all he responded with, sounding unimpressed, making Ezio’s mouth turn down in a frown. “You should know that I do get angry often, and when I do, it is usually at no one but myself,” he continues and sees Ezio’s unease when he draws his sword, the short one that he keeps tucked up against his shoulder blades. “But I know how you are,” he says simply. “You don’t trust me and think that I’ll react badly to anything else you do, because you don’t want to offend me.” Ezio is visibly startled, because yes, that really is exactly it. “I want you to know that there is no bad blood between us, which is why I want you to attack me, work it out of your system,” he isn’t even holding his sword up, just with it curved towards his back.

“I do not think that is a good idea,” Ezio says.

“Why, afraid you’ll lose, Mentor,” Altair challenged, teasing him.

“I do not think it would be a fair fight. Few can match me in skill-

Altair interrupts him with soft laughter, “I would say do not make me laugh, but you already have, come,” he motions with his free left hand. “I am not afraid, for I will not lose.”

“You are very bold Aalam,” Ezio said eyeing him.

“It’s why you keep me around isn’t it? Someone must have the balls to tell you you’re wrong, and we know Machiavelli won’t look nearly as good doing it as I,” he prodded further, the amusement clear in his voice now.

Ezio chuckles, “Perhaps we should make a bet then,” Ezio finally draws his sword, it’s Syrian style but new with a gleaming style. Well isn’t he a copy cat? Altair is only amused by it.

“Oh?” Altair asked taking a careful step back when Ezio moved forward two.

“If I win you won’t wear that stupid mask anymore.”

Altair felt his brows up, “And what do I get when I win,” he didn’t use the word ‘if’ since now there was no doubt that he’d win, since he wouldn’t be doing that any time soon, not for Ezio at least.

“What do you want?” Ezio stepped closer.

“I will think about it and get back to you,” Altair said, for now there was nothing he wanted that Ezio could give him. “You’ll just owe me one,” he liked the idea of Ezio owing him one.

Man, for people champing at the bit for Altair to come back you're oftly quiet now that he is...
Also, back to my favorite! TEXT MESSAGES!!
—

Malik reached over and slapped his hand down on his alarm to make it sleep feeling exhausted. He blinked around and sat up very sure that everything that had happened after Ezio had left had just been a dream. A terrible and wonderful dream. Then he heard a rather quiet knock on his door that was very insitant. He rolled out of bed, mussing his fingers through his bed head and opened the door groggily. Kadar was home early it seemed. "Uhm... Malik. I don't mean to alarm you but I think someone's sleeping on the couch."

"Okay," Malik nodded slowly, well that coincided with his dream at least.

"And uh... I think its Altair. You know anything about that?"

Malik blinked, practically startled, he hadn't dreampt that up. He didn't know what was scarier either. "Yeah, I know," he said eventually

"Okay... well that's... Good,” Kadar said awkwardly. “Can I ask why he's there?"

"No."

"But Malik what if-

"Kadar," Malik snapped, "I said no. Just leave him alone," he said using his authoritative tone that he'd honed as a Marine. It was the tone he took when something stupid was going on and people were being idiotoc. On tour he used it on little buck privates who didn't know their heads from their asses. Kadar knew the tone and since he'd gone through the same training as Malik he knew what it meant. Even after all his time as a civilian there was only one responded for such a tone.

"Yes, sir," he said and left without another backwards word.

—

Sometime before noon Malik was startled out of his distant staring at his work computer when his phone went off. He normally didn’t get calls or messages while he was working since people knew better than to bother him so he raised his brow at it for a moment before snatching it up. It was from Kadar, which was even odder since Kadar definitely knew not to text him at work. He slid his thumb across the screen and opened the message.

‘Thanks for leaving the Vicodin for me,’ it read.

Malik blinked several times before he typed back, ‘Altair?’ How had he gotten Kadar’s phone? What was he even doing away? It was only eleven and after two Vicodin and a fucking gun shot you’d think he’d be a lot worse for wear, especially at this hour. And since the text led him to believe he’d taken more how was he, who got loopy on just two pills, functioning properly on enough pills to dull the pain?

“Yeah, just me. I asked your brother if I could use his phone,’ Altair texted back, drawing Malik out of his pensive state.

‘Oh.’ So intelectual, he knew.

‘Thanks again… for last night I mean,’ if a text message could be sheepish than this one was.

Malik’s face worked through a few emotions as he typed out a reply, ‘I’ll admit I don’t normally get people showing up at my door with gunshot wounds.’

‘I’d hope not.’

Then finally he can’t not ask anymore because it is gnawing at him. ‘How are you feeling?’ Why did he care? Malik didn’t want to care. God did he not want to care, but he did, his own empathy turning his stomach into a knot of worry at the idea of Altair still hurt (and probably a bit stoned) in his apartment. That was really just what he needed wasn’t it?

‘Changed my bandages earlier, just a little blood. I’m fine, thanks to you.’

Malik grinned slightly, relieved he was fine and tried to convince himself it was because he didn’t want people to die in his apartment. He didn’t believe himself either and had to change the topic and not dwell on it. ‘Good. Where’s Kadar?’

‘His room. I bothered bothered him for his phone. Somehow it’s more confusing to use than yours, and it’s not even a smart phone.’

Smart ass. ‘Eat something,’ he texted back now that he knew his brother was home so that meant Altair wasn’t home by himself. Which really would have been just what he needed. Not really.

‘I didn’t know if I was allowed…’

‘Eat something or I’m coming home during lunch break and making you,’ Malik threatened, hoping his tone carried through the text.

‘You’d feed me? Oh, don’t tempt me Malik,’ and Malik just knew that look on his face. That damn little smirk of his that had more than once invaded his dreams. But it was the message itself along with that knowledge that made Malik flush slightly, damnit. ‘Is there anything I’m not allowed to have?’ came the question when he didn’t reply.

‘Alcohol.’

‘K.’

Malik put his phone down and rubbed his face. Fuck Altair was at his house! Altair was at his house and probably wandering around half naked and- He stopped that thought abruptly. He was not going to think about half naked or any other sort of naked or fuck even about Altair at all. Not thinking about him at all would be great actually. He let out a soft groan and leaned heavily on his arm, face in his hand. Still didn't mean Altair wasn't still at his place, wounded, probably high and shirtless. As if the day couldn't get any better.

His phone vibrated again since he'd turned off the volume during their conversation when Rauf had sent him a dirty look from over his partition still looking a bit hung over from Malik's party the night before. 'Where are my things?'

'Wrapped them up in the costume.'

'Good thinking. I guess I'm a bit to tired still to realize the obvious,' and Malik frowned. 'Can I borrow one of your shirts?' Malik flushed at the question and hated himself for it.

‘Sure,’ it takes him longer than probably necessary to write that reply.

‘It’s really cold in here,’ he can imagine the tone, complaining and Malik fights a grin, he loses and it spreads across his face. He’d forgotten Altair hated the cold.

‘Tell Kadar I said it was okay to turn up the heat,’ he typed.

‘Hurray!! :D’ Malik chuckled to himself. Altair and his fucking emoticons. He honestly didn’t know anyone else who used them; just him. It’s juvenile and a bit endearing. Malik finds himself sighing, wishing it wasn’t. He doesn’t want to want this.

“Malik,” Ugo called from in front of him, “Vidic on the prowl,” he warned and Malik shoved his phone out of the way. He couldn’t focus on his work now though, not that he could before, but it was harder now because his thoughts kept drifting back to what could potentially be happening back at his apartment. He muttered a curse and at least looked busy so when Vidic strolled by like a buzzard he didn't get a talking to.

He scanned the floor when his phone buzzed again, this was a phone call though. He grabbed the phone and stepped out of the floor. "Hello?" the caller ID said Kadar but he didn't know if it was Altair or his brother.

“Mal,” Kadar said on the other end almost sounding distracted.

“Hey, what’s up,” he said going into the break room.

“You said it was okay for him to wear some of your clothes?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He’d definitely just said shirt, shit what if Altair had borrowed some pants too? He really didn’t want to think about that. Like really didn’t.

“Okay, just checking,” Damnit Kadar, more information! He wasn’t going to ask though, better not to know. “Also he says he wants to go out for lunch but he’s acting kinda weird-

“He’s on Vicodin, do not let him out of the house under any circumstances,” he said sternly, good distraction.

“Okay okay, I won’t… Stop that,” Kadar said to someone off mic though they were silent, he could only imagine Altair was making faces at hit brother.

“Order pizza or something. Just don’t let him wander, I don’t want to have to go looking around Cambridge for a high free runner with a gunshot wound,” no doubt Kadar knew about that since he’d probably seen Altair without his shirt. That wasn’t even half of it though. Not just what he’d said but a high, free runner with an adrenaline addiction and who could potentially kill you bare handed. Yeah, he really didn’t want to go looking for that in Cambridge.

“You and me both,” Kadar agreed with a sigh. “See you when you get home.”

“Yeah,” Malik nodded slowly to himself and hung up. His day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

You have no idea, you just made my day.
See who was 12 chapters to read ...
I love your story, like how it is told.
I love this paring and ...
I always try to leave a comment, but he deleted it
My native language is not English and I'm getting better ... but I think they do not like bugs ...
but still, congratulations on history!
I can add you as a friend?

Sure, don't really care. Don't do much here anyways.

—

Before the week is over Altair is already off the Vicodin and instead eats ibuprofen or Tylenol like it’s going out of style. Malik had to take away the stronger drug because of what it did to him. By then he'd decided he didn't like a high Altair either despite the fact that all he did was sit on the couch, sleep, watch TV and sometimes say he was hungry or cold. Malik didn't like it though because Altair was too still. Sure he'd seen Altair stand statue still before but this was different. It was like he didn't even have the energy to move and from what Malik remembered of him that was totally opposite of his normal mentality of staying still when he needed to but looked like he could jump up at any second and do a backflip or something like that.

The dirty costume had vanished one day while he'd been at work and he'd found ashes in the trash can later that night and he had no idea what had happened to the gun or knife. All he knew was that they weren't on Altair's person and that was good enough for him since he really didn't want some stoned assassin waving either of them around.

That was another thing Malik was coming to terms with. He knew Altair had told him the truth but it was still pretty unbelievable, Altair was an assassin. Just saying it sounded ridiculous. People didn't just go around saying they were assassins! Not only that but the idea was a bit preposterous, assassins were mainly people you read about in stories from before the twentieth century or played as in video games. He'd asked Altair after he'd stopped taking the prescription meds and was lucid and he'd given the same answer. It freaked him out a bit actually.

And of course like Altair had said news came out about the death of a local politician who'd been killed during a fundraiser for a project that wasn't all that's popular anyways. The police had no leads except for a five bullets they'd found on the crime scene that belonged to some unknown gunman. They were handmade bullets too and thus lacked a serial number which they could track. There were no prints, no hairs, no evidence of any kind save that a man in white with a hood had appeared from the crowd and cut the man's throat before anyone knew what had really happened. The news was freaking out about it and going on about how dangerous this man was and everyone should be careful.

Meanwhile Altair was asleep on his couch as he watched this news looking as innocent as a child. It was like he honestly didn’t care about what he had done. At first Malik had thought him heartless but then couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t ever felt bad when he’d shot someone, or killed someone. Still, that had been from a distance and— no, he was just trying to make himself into the better man. Really he wasn’t, they were both guilty of murderers and if Malik didn’t feel bad for who he killed then Altair deserved to not feel bad about his either.

On the Friday of the week Malik came home to an empty apartment. He knew Kadar had class but where the hell was Altair? Maybe he’d left since he was feeling better? Only that was a giant lie. The wound was still a bit inflamed and still full of stitches, it wouldn’t be fully healed for a few more weeks. It was so not a good idea for him to leave. Not to mention the police were technically looking for him even though they had no idea who he was. He had to remind himself not to worry and that it wasn’t his business before he started to panic. Altair could take care of himself besides and didn’t need someone like Malik to protect him. That thought might have stopped the panic but definitely not the worrying.

Relief flashed through him when Altair finally came back, opening the door without knocking, an hour or so later. Malik didn’t want to think about how he was able to do that since he didn’t have a key. He was carrying a duffle bag and looked freezing, shivering in a long sleeved shirt Malik had let him borrow for inside purposes. “Don’t you have a coat?” he demanded once he noticed.

“N-no,” Altair’s teeth actually chattered.

“Idiot,” and Malik pushed him onto the couch before going back to his room, to his own closet and pulled something out. When he came back to the living room Altair had buried himself in the blankets Malik had supplied. “For an assassin you certainly are terribly prepared,” he said sarcastically, draping the coat over the back of the sofa. “Wear this if you decide to go outside again, it’s getting colder out.”

“Thank,” Altair grumbled seeming unable to get under enough blankets. “Also, I have no idea how to handle really cold weather okay? I grew up in the damn desert, cut me some slack.”

“It snows in Syria sometimes,” Malik said smartly.

“Not where I live smart ass,” Altair growled.

“Fine,” Malik sigh. “Let me see your stitches,” he added, he wanted to make sure Altair hadn’t stretched his stitches by going outside and doing whatever it was he did. With great reservation Altair shrugged off the blankets, obvious he didn’t want to leave their warmth, and lifted up the thin sweatshirt revealing the bandages around the lower part of his chest. Malik leaned down and carefully peeled them back so he could see the stitches and was pleased by what he saw. “Looks good,” he said approvingly and nodded. “What’s in the bag?” he asked as Altair pulled his shirt back down.

“Gear, clothes, passports, money,” Altair said lowly as if not wanting him to hear.

“Passports?”

“Two of-

“Actually, no. I don’t want to know,” Malik held up his hand to stop Altair in whatever he was going to say next.

Altair looked up at him with a worried look and licked his lips. Malik’s eyes followed the quick flick of his tongue across his chapped lips before demanding he look away. He wasn’t doing this. “I expected you to turn me in,” Altair said after a short stretch of silence.

“You and me both,” Malik softly, almost to himself.

“Why haven't you?” Altair asked and Malik really didn’t want to answer that question since it meant having to really think about his reasoning. He didn’t want to know what he’d find in there. Altair seemed to sense this and reached out to grab his hand so he couldn’t escape the question.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted, not wanting to meet his eyes. “I mean, I should, you killed someone Altair,” he said trying to sound like he wasn’t the one in the wrong here.

“He was a bad man,” Altair said firmly.

"Even if he was you cut his throat," he stressed and wasn’t really surprised to not see any guilt in his eyes, "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It’s a job Malik. Just like that boring one you have I have my own, only it isn't boring."

"So you don't care. You're in it for the money."

"I don't get paid for it," Altair said. "Look it is really complicated, more than I could ever really explain and even if I could I wouldn't want too."

"Why?"

"Because it would be better if you didn't know. I don't want you to get hurt because of what you might know," he gave Malik's hand a light squeeze. "Are you going to rat me out?"

"No," he sighed and slumped down onto the couch next to him almost unable to believe he really wasn't. He was ex-military and swore to defend the country yet here he was with a guy who’d killed a politician. But this was Altair and he just couldn't. He knew it was only because it was Altair too, anyone else he wouldn’t have had any issue with ratting out "Just don't say anything to my brother, he might."

"Thanks," and with that same fearlessness Malik remembered leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He looked over at Altair at that and he was smiling that smile that totally melted Malik's heart and made his insides fold in on themselves as they flopped around his gut. It was such a perfect smile and Malik wished he had a camera, or something. Then slowly Altair leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Malik was totally helpless to this and kissed him back for a few heartbeats. God it felt good. So good and right and amazing and perfect and didn’t want it to end.

Then his brain caught up with what he was going and he stilled. God what was he doing? He promised he wouldn’t do this to himself anymore. No more, yet… here he was. “No,” he said and pulled away, “I-I can’t do this,” his voice cracked as he spoke and scrambled to his feet.

“Wait,” Altair managed to grab him before he’d gotten to far. “I’m sorry.”

“Altair you just can’t do that,” he said trying to make Altair understand everything that was right and wrong with what had just happened.

“I know. I just… sorry,” he said again. “That wasn’t very fair,” he agreed still holding onto Malik’s hand so he couldn’t leave. Malik didn’t even know if he wanted to even if he knew he should. He didn’t want to want this even if he did. He couldn’t remember a time where recently he’d wanted something this badly. But he refused to be hurt again, especially after that thing with Ezio and he was pretty sure he’d wrecked every single part of that relationship. Because of that he was telling himself no. “Maybe we should start this over,” Altair said a bit awkwardly after pulling a face and shrugging to his feet.

Malik’s lip became a thin line. He shouldn’t he really really shoulder. “If you want,” he sad with half a sigh.

“Hi, I’m Altair Kassab, what’s your name?” he asked and Malik couldn’t help it; he laughed. From anyone else it would have been a terrible, terrible line but somehow totally worked for Altair despite it being corny.

“Malik Al-Sayf,” he said grinning dumbly at Altair despite himself.

“Well Malik, I think you’re very handsome and I would love it if you’d come to dinner with me,” he said charmingly.

Malik couldn’t believe him, but at the same time was hardly surprised. This was exactly the sort of dumb stunt he’d expect Altair to pull actually and he was totally falling for it. He didn’t even care if he was either because this was priceless. “Okay,” he said totally unable to say anything else.

“Great,” and Altair smiled.

Malik was so fucked.

—

Malik was having trouble getting his key into the lock. He wasn’t exactly surprised since he was a bit tipsy, not drunk exactly, not really, just pleasantly buzzed. Altair was leaning against the doorframe next him just looking at him, which was for some reason significantly affecting his ability to use a door properly. “Having trouble Malik?” Altair asked so smoothly he actually slurred.

“Shut up you,” he said shooting a stern look at Altair who just laughed. He moved off the doorframe to try to help him but that was just distracting since it involved Altair being right on top of him, pressing against him. “You’re even worse at this than me,” Malik scolded him.

“Hmmmm,” was the only reply he got and lips pressed against his neck kissing. This wouldn’t end well. An arm went around his waist tugging at him as Altair’s lips and mouth worked across Malik’s neck.

The lock of the door clacked open when Malik finally managed to get the key in and they all but stumbled inside, half laughing at they did so as they tried not to trip over their own feet. Malik closed the door and didn’t even manage to lock it before he was pushed firmly against the door and a pair of lips found their way to his. Malik sighed against them and fisted his hand in Altair’s hair firmly, keeping him close. Altair’s tongue slid against his lips seeking admittance and Malik opened his mouth to allow that hot tongue of his to properly examine the inside of his mouth. He sagged against the door, more leaning against it now than Altair was actually pushing him against it.

His brows went up when he felt Altair’s hands pulling at the button of his pant and finally broke the lip lock. “No,” he said pushing away his hands, “I don’t have sex with drunk people.”

“I’m not drunk,” Altair smirked burying his face in Malik’s neck and tried to do what he’d been doing before.

“I also don’t have sex when I’m drunk,” Malik said keeping a somewhat firm grip on that adventurous hand of Altair.

“You’re not drunk,” Altair said playfully into his ear a grin on his lips.

“Mmm, a little,” Malik countered.

“Damn,” Altair groaned into Malik’s shoulder and Malik just laughed.

“Also, it is too warm in here for these,” Malik said and partially shrugged off his coat. He only got it half way off before his own hand was shoved away and Altair peeled it off him, his hands deliberately slow to find the contours of his body under his clothes. It then took all three hands to get Altair out of his own coat he’d borrowed since he was having a terrible time with the button/zipper combo that held the thing closed. It didn’t help that Altair couldn’t keep those teasing lips of his to himself because they kept finding Malik’s lips or neck or throat or jaw or any other space of skin that made Malik’s hand even more awkward than it was on it’s own when he was tipsy. Finally though it ended up on the floor and Malik shoved his hand up his shirt, fingers brushing carefully over his bandages but being far from gentle when they met skin.

“Are you sure we can’t have sex?” Altair complained and Malik just snickered with a shake of his head. He then proceeded to talk to himself in Arabic sounding more than a little frustrated.

“You’ll live,” Malik reminded him, taking his hand out from under those clothes to grab him by the chin to kiss him again.

Malik was distantly aware of some noise that should have been very familiar but seemed strange to him. He was to wrapped up in the Syrian to give it much thought though. Or he did until someone banged on the door startling them both.

“Malik,” Kadar called through the door. “Why won’t the door open?”

“Your brother has the worst timing,” Altair groaned into Malik’s ear.

“You’re telling me,” he grumbled. Why couldn’t Kadar have been in his room? Or even been somewhere else?

“Mal,” he called again, “Are you sitting at the door again? I can’t come in and hug you if you are-

“Kadar. Shut up,” Malik yelled back hating that little smirk on Altair’s face just then.

“Let me in, it’s cold out here.” Grumbling Malik pushed Altair off him and picked up his coat which was on the floor and opened the door. “Thanks,” Kadar said leaning down and picking up a stack of books. God his brother was such a nerd sometimes Malik was almost embarrassed for him. He gave them both a quick once over, “Are you two drunk or were you hitting the Vicodin?” he asked kicking the door closed.

“I’m not drunk,” Altair informed him.

“Yeah, drunk,” Kadar nodded, “You’re too lucid to be on Vicodin,” and Altair flushed. He eyed the two older men for a second before going into his room but didn’t close the door, as Malik heard him drop the books Altair leaned over onto him, hands on his shoulder and spoke into his ear. What he was saying Malik had no idea since it was in Arabic annoyingly enough but he got the idea and turned red. He shoved Altair when Kadar came back and tried to school his face back into order but found it difficult. “Hey Mal, you should go to bed.”

“Sure,” Malik said though didn’t really want to.

Kadar gave him a look then turned to Altair, “You, go to bed.”

“Make me brat,” he sneered.

“What were you even doing out so late Kadar?” Malik asked trying to think strait.

“Library, I have a paper due soon. Which is partially why I’m saying go to bed,” he folded his arms over his chest, “The other part is because I don’t want you bitching and moaning because you stayed up so late like on Halloween.”

“You sound like dad you know, stop that,” Malik shook a finger at him.

“Bed,” and Kadar grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around, marching him to his room, “You too,” he called to Altair who grumbled but made his way over to the couch before slumping into it. “Really brother,” Kadar sighed, rolling his eyes as he shoved Malik into his room.

“What?” Malik asked.

“Nothing, just noTHING!” he said as Malik fell onto his bed, dragging Kadar with him making his voice jump an entire octave in doing so. “Malik,” he groaned, “I have a paper to finish,” he complained into Malik’s shoulder since the older man was hugging him and not letting him go. After a few moments he sighed and hugged him back, “Let go and go to bed,” he said and Malik did let him go so Kadar could stand. As his brother left Malik kicked off his shoes and didn’t bother to undress before going to bed.

This prompt: forkinsocket. livejournal. com/16841. html?thread=763081#t763081

I've seen Prototype/Assassin's Creed crossover a couple of times, in artwork and fics. Usually the pairing is Alex MercerxDesmond, or Alex and Ezio.

Now here's a crazy idea.....how about someone trying out AlexMercerxLeonardo? 8D

Author!anon admits to not knowing much about Renaissance-era vampires, so I apologize ahead of time for any factual errors.

Leonardo was walking merrily along the streets of Venice, his new paints securely in his arms. He inhaled deeply: it was beautiful outside, and he could hear birds chirping and feel the sun shining. It was wonderful out. He padded along the streets to get to his studio, humming a hymn to himself. He paused when he thought he felt something trying to sneak up behind him, and he smiled: Ezio must be trying to take him by surprise again. He chuckled and hurried along to his studio, and when he felt the shadow fall over him, he spun and shouted, “Ezio!”

He looked the man over. He wasn’t anything special, and the man looked slightly taken aback. “My apologies: I have a friend who often does just that. How can I help you?”

The man blinked, then scowled and backed off. Leonardo tilted his head.

“Can I… Can I help you? I won’t hurt you: I promise.”

He blinked, and the man vanished into the crowd. He frowned and turned back. When Ezio actually did arrive, he had all ready forgotten, and he was sitting in his chair, nursing a cup of wine with him in front of the fireplace, laughing as the Master Assassin told him of his recruits’ latest missteps. When there was a knock at the door, he rose.

“Excuse me, Ezio.”

“No problem, Leonardo.”

He padded to the door and unbolted it to find a young woman standing there, a serious look on her face.

“We need to talk.”

“Excuse me? Ah, here, come in.”

He stepped aside and let the lady in.

“My apologies, but I do not remember you. Did I not do a satisfactory—”

“I was told you’re a man of science, Leonardo da Vinci.”

Leonardo puffed up a little bit with pride. She was gazing at him as Ezio often did when he was serious. He closed the door and bolted it, ushering her into his empty chair and dashing off to get her a glass. He offered her the wine as he came back, and she took it with a small nod. He looked her over, his lips pursed. She was unusual, to say the least. She didn’t hold herself like a woman—but more like a man. He noticed Ezio giving her a onceover as well, but with an entirely different expression.

“What area of Italy do you—”

“I don’t come from Italy.”

“Oh?”

“I need your help getting back to where I came from.”

Leonardo furrowed his brow, then scratched his chin.

“I can get you there, ma’am,” Ezio said, with that purr that made Leonardo wish it were directed at him.

The woman shot him the dirtiest look possible, and Leonardo covered his mouth to stifle his laugh. She looked back at him, and Leonardo smiled softly. “He can protect—”

“I need answers,” she growled, and his eyes widened as he watched her transform before his eyes.

He staggered back, trembling, and he watched Ezio rise, ready to fight. He gripped the edge of the table, utterly horrified. He had invited a monster into his house. He was going to die. The monster had blue legs—blue!—and a brown torso, with white frills peeking out from underneath. He looked terrifying.

“I-I—”

He was going to die. The monster looked ready to eat him. It must have been a vampire—the skin on its face was so pale, and he was here at night. He had waited for an invitation to come in. Leonardo knew that he was going to die.

“I need answers,” it growled, and Leonardo shrunk down.

“Leave him alone,” he heard Ezio say, and Leonardo made the sign of the cross as he fell to his knees.

“G-Great F-Father in Heaven, looking down on us on Earth,” he began. He clutched the silver-charmed rosary the Church had given him as a gift. He never believed he would see a vampire. “P-please, save us from this monster I unwittingly l-let inside my house. Oh, G-Great Father—”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I want your help.”

He looked up, shaking, and even Ezio was now by his side.

“I’ve been told you are the most intelligent man. You will help me, or I will kill you.”

“You’ll do no such thing, monster!” Ezio roared, and Leonardo took his hand, pressing the silver into it.

“W-ward it off,” he stuttered, hiding behind the man.

The monster rose and started walking toward them. “I don’t want to harm you.”

“Then step no further!” Ezio snarled, holding out the silver.

Silver warded off evil. Silver was pure. Evil couldn’t be around pure. He whimpered when the monster took the rosary from Ezio’s hand and tossed it aside—then pushed Ezio aside, into the wall as if he were a ragdoll. He could see the cloud of dust from where he smashed into the wooden wall.

“G-Great Father, ruler of all you have c-created—”

He made a high-pitched whining sound when the monster cornered him.

“P-please p-protect your-r sh-shee-eep!”

He shuddered and squeaked when he felt fingers grip his chin.

“Leonardo, I need you to tell me about the Apple of Eden.”

His eyes flew open and inhaled sharply, all fear forgotten as he stared into the light blue eyes. Of course a creature like this wouldn’t have gotten here all on its own. The Apple—he damned Ezio. He had told the man to let him study it more, but no, he had to take it for himself. He could’ve all ready figured out a way to have the man back home, but here he was, with a monster gazing into his eyes, and the Apple at the source of the trouble.

He grew serious, gathering himself as he reached up and tugged the hood down. The monster flinched, and Leonardo batted his hand away. He grabbed his chin, looking at the human face. He had curly brown hair, and he seemed to be peering into him.

“Fascinating,” Leonardo murmured, tugging on a lock of hair and touching the skin. “You have blue pants, do you not?”

The man blinked, then blinked again, then looked down at his legs. “Yes.”

“Fascinating. You are from the future, no? Incredible. To think we have come such a long way. Ezio… Ezio?”

He looked to his friend, and he rose, walking over to find Ezio rubbing his head. There was an indent in the wall where the wood had splintered from impact, and Leonardo squatted, cupping Ezio’s face. He was alert in no time.

“Ezio, I need the Apple. Fetch it for me, no?”

Ezio blinked, then gazed at the man behind him.

“He is a man of the future! He needs to get home, but he needs—”

“Fucking Apple,” Ezio growled, and he stood shakily. “I will be off first thing in the morning.”

He smiled, helping Ezio to his seat before turning the new man. He took him in again, now as a man instead of a monster.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, giving him a good onceover and gesturing to his seat. “How interesting… Tell me all about your world! We have some time to spare until Ezio can fetch us the Apple.”

The man raised an eyebrow, and he smiled. “Please, have a seat. I wish to know all about you, all about your world and how you have advanced to such complex design, and how you knew of the Apple!”

The man sat down, and Leonardo could feel the protective waves rolling off Ezio. It warmed his heart slightly as he drew up a chair and his notebook, sitting and fully prepared to take notes. The man looked between them, then took a long sip from the glass of wine he had previously offered him. When he set it down, he looked Leonardo in the eyes.

“I first came in contact with it when I was hired by a business called Abstergo to eliminate some targets of theirs. I work as a contract killer.”

Shivering with antici-

-pation.

Yaay, one of my favorite fics! Ezio you don't know what you're getting into. xD

Malik you know you want to drop your pants for Altair, just let him.

Malik's fingers shook – all ten of them. They rattled together, the bone of his large knuckles clunking together. He stood, partially robed, stiff, and relatively clean, in the corridor of the Grand Master's quarters. Just behind him by an inch or so and to his left was the door to Maria's room and beyond her room was Yusef's nursery, returned to its original purpose now that Malik had happily left it behind.

Maria had turned bed-bound last night, her pregnancy not only hindering her movement but snapping her into a strange state in which in one moment she would be tender and joyous and the next she would be tense and demanding. It would not be too long before she would birth her second child. Malik had been told whilst he was pushing furnishings back into the nursery that Altaïr and Maria planned on naming the child Darim if male, and if female then Amina. He had then been told that Altaïr was a foolish pig who was incapable of doing anything other than work, eat and sleep, and been demanded of a bowl of dates.

He had been quite quick to ready himself for a trip out into Masyaf in search of the fruit.

It was due to a mixture of the excitement at being able to stretch his legs again – stretch his arms again – and a great fear of seeing her upset. Not only would it stretch the strained, alien relationship he held and shared with Altaïr and Maria to an awful point, but Maria herself could be frightening when upset. Frightening and irritating. Malik will never forget the week Altaïr spent avoiding Maria after Yusef's birth, chased away by yowled oaths of pain she had spat at him during her labour. Of course, once the Grand Master returned to her side he could barely get away.

Malik wet his lips and stretched his hands by his sides. The corridor was chilled and cast in shadow, hidden away from the choking outdoor heat. And silent. It was quite silent. Beyond the curtain at the far end of the hallway, however, the mumble of scholars and the distant crash of training blades could be heard. Perhaps Altaïr would make soft noises to himself as he scrawled his findings onto paper.

What would they make of him?

The question had Malik rooted to the spot and wide-eyed, his fingers jittery and heart in a similar state.

Would he ever be accepted again? Would there be a silence similar to to that which welcomed him after the removal of his arm descending upon each room or each street he walked into or down? Or instead would there be the exact opposite? Would he be welcomed once more as a whole man?

A loud bang caused him to jump in place and twist rapidly on the spot. The door to Maria's quarters juddered violently in it's frame.

“Dates!”

Her muffled, indignant shout was enough to force his legs into moving, taking him swiftly towards the public and open part of the fortress. Quite honestly the woman could grate on his nerves at times, though he supposed it was only right to pay her back for giving up her rooms for him.

Before he breached the entrance to the main hall Malik had a moment to compose himself, running his right hand through his hair and then his left – just because he could – pressing down the front of his tunic and correcting his posture into something much more regal. Something that commanded respect. His sleeveless tunic displayed his left arm proudly. He stepped into the well lit, familiar, and missed open hall.

No one noticed him. At least not until he descended two flights of stairs and stood facing the entrance of the hall, gaining the attention of various middle to old aged learned men and fresh-faced guards.

A spear clattered to the ground. Two mumbling scholars at the end of a bookcase fell silent. Malik rose his head high, chin defensively pointed, and strode with uncanny and nostalgic ease to the wide, open doors. There would be dates for sale in the market on the other side of Masyaf.

Malik was back within the fort walls in twenty minutes, a small pouch of dates in hand and exhilaration threatening to burst his chest wide open. The breath that hissed through his nose held a tremor as he fought to keep his smile a wry twist of his lips rather than a dazzling and uninhibited grin. He had not necessarily been accepted, but he had been believed. The only thing he worried for now was the possibility of the Apple becoming renowned as a healing artefact, and for Masyaf to be flooded with the sick and elderly, vying for its powers and calling him greedy and filthy when he denied them. The Piece of Eden must not become common knowledge. It should not even be here. It should be destroyed. It should be far away. It should be gone and never come back.

Despite his fears on what could happen now that he had revealed his 'magically restored' arm, Malik still held a spring in his step when he knocked twice on Maria's door and entered.

Laying upon her bed Maria seemed the same as he had left her, however the rage in her eyes had softened, a small smile pushing to her cheeks to a rosy colour, something he had not seen before on her skin and refreshing. It gave her life where before her skin had appeared dead next to her black hair. In that moment she was almost beautiful, and certainly striking. Malik's eyes fell to what, or rather whom, she was smiling at. By her bed sat Altaïr, Yusef sitting in his lap and slapping his belt with the palm of his hand as a makeshift drum, and then grasping at the different layers with his stubby fingers, skin surprisingly pale when he was surrounded by swathes of dark fabric and the deep brown of leather. Turning his head towards Malik, Altaïr's smile transformed for the modest, fatherly twist of his lips into something slightly and yet at the same time magnificently different. The love changed.

With a brief smile – ever so brief, because Maria was just there and despite their strange agreement Malik never truly felt at ease with Altaïr when Maria was there with them, and sometimes worried himself in thinking of the woman, and whether she harboured for him any cold feelings – Malik tore his eyes from those of an odd, amber colouring and turned to the woman on the bed, stepping forwards and passing to her the bag of dates she had requested. She accepted it with a small murmur of thanks, eyes hardly fluttering away from her child, and the child's father, who sat patiently be her side. Yusef, trying to worm his way under the plated belt, gave a whine of frustration bordering on tears, and, with a breathy voice that betrayed a small amount of fear, Maria said something swiftly in French, so fast that it flew right over Malik's head. Obviously understanding, Altaïr took his son's hand away from the belt gently, until the boy rocked in place, face reddening with a forced sob. Crocodile tears began to fall, invisible and non-existent. With a whine Yusef fell into a tantrum.

More swift French, and Malik surmised that it must be their primary language of discussion, and that he had never been close enough to hear them speak when they were speaking as a family before.

“Malik, could we perhaps talk alone?” The change in language was enough to startle Malik out of his musings. Altaïr was looking at him expectantly as Maria indulged herself with a date. Before Malik could work out a 'yes' Altaïr was handing Yusef to Maria, who screamed loudly, and then quietened to a upset and stuffy murmur when he was given a rag to play with. A look was once again thrown in his direction, first by Maria who held within her eyes nothing of warmth, but a curiosity and something else he could not quite put his finger on, and then by Altaïr, whose look was obviously hungry.

“Of course.” Malik finally managed to reply, his palms becoming sweaty and his heart increasing into a faster beat with excitement. Various scandalous images that he had been entertaining for weeks began to bubble to the surface of his consciousness. With a peck to Maria's forehead and a muttered and French goodbye Altaïr was leaving her behind, Malik at his heels. The heavy door shut behind them with a catch of the latch; a heavy, metal clink. Hands immediately pushed Malik towards a wall. Lips caught the underside of his jaw, his jowl, and then finally covered his own, impatient, heated and sorely missed. Hands fisted at the front of his tunic and in his hood that lay unworn about his neck. A brief flash of a tongue left a heated path over his lips, coaxing them apart, and then Altaïr broke away and cold air washed over Malik's moistened lips. He was left blindly searching for more in a show of wanton behaviour that he rarely showed outside of his private chambers.

“Please tell me that you have the robe.” Altaïr murmured whilst cupping Malik's neck and resting their foreheads together. Malik was all too happy to nod, picturing the robe still wrapped in string on top of his mattress. Stroking the skin beneath his hand Altaïr muttered a scrambled thanks to all deities he could think of and then tore himself away from Malik to walk back to the curtained exit. With only a slight moment to quieten the rising excitement and need in his gut, Malik quickly caught up and fell into step with Altaïr. They headed to Malik's quarters.

*

The door shut softly on the corridor and already Malik was half-hard and grabbing at Altaïr, pulling him into another hot, passionate kiss. Around his tongue Altaïr moaned and squeezed Malik's biceps encouragingly.

His clothes were torn off in almost violent haste, Malik's five skilled and five clumsy fingers tugging and unclasping, pushing and pulling until the man stumbled on his braies caught in his boots and toppled onto the bedroll. Malik ripped off his own hood and tunic, desperate to feel cool air, hands, lips and tongue on his bare flesh and the caress of new, loose cloth on his back, whispering over his thighs. Two hands pulled at his left boot until he lifted up his leg and watched through lust-filled eyes as a panting and mostly naked Grand Master unlaced and tugged off his boots one by one. A flush travelled from his cheeks, down his neck and faintly stained his chest, darkening his skin. It would be hot to the touch, and Malik could hardly wait to feel its heat on his new skin, burning in the sensitive gap between his fingers.

With a heavy thunk his boots were thrown off in the direction of the door and hit against the wall. Altaïr was running his hands up Malik's legs, fingers spread and catching on fabric, making for the front which bulged obscenely with his erection. Clambering into a kneeling position the assassin moaned breathlessly, his face in line with Malik's crotch.

But no, this isn't what Malik wanted. He wanted Altaïr beneath him and chocking on moans, his own two hands flying all over the body exposed to him. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's mouth and the other on his cock. He wanted that hand to go from mouth to hole and be inside of him whilst he rolled Altaïr's balls in his other hand. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's hair, holding his head high so his moans would echo through the room loud and clear, and the other on his hip, pulling his back and forth to meet his thrusts.

“Altaïr, wait-” He began as the other's fingers creeped onto his inner thigh and slowed down to a tortuous pace in their journey to the ties of his braies.

“I want you in my mouth.” Altaïr said, as if expecting Malik's fantasies to be different. “I've dreamt about it.” Malik swallowed thickly and bit at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. “Woken up aching; needing the taste of you on my tongue.” Altaïr's voice was husky and tight as if holding back less intelligible noises. A fresh flood of arousal ran south, precome beading at the head of Malik's member and dampening the cloth covering him. The thought of Altaïr pleasuring himself was in no way new, and in fact the image had been well explored y the both of them many times, but it still coaxed him to tilt his hips forwards until he brushed gently against Altaïr's jaw.

Knowing his lover's consent when he saw it – the pure, unadulterated lust leaking from his every pore, and the hardness in front of him, no audible or visible rejection – Altaïr focused on nimbly untying the dai's braies and drawing out his heavy cock. At the sure touch on his arousal Malik groaned softly, his hips stuttering forwards until the wet tip of his member bumped against Altaïr's scarred lips. On his knees, Altaïr swiped his tongue over the smear of fluid left there, earning another, louder moan. The slight taste he had permitted himself, masculine and salty and Malik, had him anticipating more, and with a quick look at Malik's face he took the tip of Malik's cock into his mouth, drawing the dai into a wet heat that left him gasping.

Malik's right hand flew to Altaïr's head, grounding him as a pleasure that had been far too long denied to him threatened to take him away all too quickly. The head of his cock was attacked by a skilful, velvet tongue as he slowly sunk himself into Altaïr's mouth. The Grandmaster breathed deeply and evenly through his nose and shut his eyes. His hands pulled at Malik's braies until they fell and caught at his knees. The downy hair of his thighs curled beneath Altaïr's palms as the man hollowed out him cheeks and sucked, drawing out a long, pining moan. Malik thrusted softly and shallowly, his jaw hinging open and his hand now fisting in Altaïr's finely cropped hair.

Altaïr's tongue stroked along the underside of Malik's cock and he greedily sucked until precome and saliva leaked from the corners of his stretched lips and dripped viscously from his chin. The debauched sight paired with the sucking, licking and heat had raw tendrils of lust quickly beginning to overwhelm Malik, pulling from him soft keens that grew in volume and shortened in length with each motion of his hips. Unwilling to cut the rest of the day and night short he pulled away completely, his erection bobbing slightly in mid-air and puling at the skin of his midriff.

Opening his eyes Altaïr visibly swallowed and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. With a growl Malik used his grip in Altaïr's hair to pull the man up as far as he could his whilst on his knees and forced his head back until it was almost at a ninety degree angle with his shoulder blades in a swift, singular movement, stooping and plundering his mouth. Into their messy kiss Altaïr moaned brokenly and loudly. They broke apart even shorter for breath. Altaïr's hand had slipped between Malik's legs and was doing things to make him moan breathlessly.

“I'm going to fuck you, Altaïr.” Malik whispered, his free, new hand coming to cup Altaïr's cheek and then press its thumb past his lips until it slipped into the wet heat his cock and tongue had only recently left.

“Show me what your arm can do.” Altaïr replied around the thick digit, his voice equally quiet. Suddenly he tensed and held his breath. He thought he had crossed a boundary. Malik was quick to cotton on.

“Hand me the robe and I'll show you.” He promised, wishing to ignore the comment and lose himself. Altaïr nodded, Malik's thumb bumping his teeth. Sliding the soaked appendage out and over Altaïr's bottom lip Malik then wiped it on his braies as he pushed them to the floor and stepped out of them, Altaïr twisting on the hard mattress to grab the robe. He kicked off his boots and braies before handing the bundle to Malik, who kneeled to take it.

“Thank you.”

Altaïr leant forwards and nipped at Malik's bottom lip before drawing him into a short kiss, his hand going to tease his so far ignored erection. He remained silent as Malik untied the twine and let it fall to their side and then shook the robe out.

It was the regulation dark material just bordering on the very edge of black. The silvery white embroidery was usual, the clasps common, It was ordinary. It was good. It had two sleeves, both free and loose. Both usable. Malik shrugged it on and let Altaïr straighten it on his shoulders and fiddle with how it fell. His left arm was alight with sensation as the fabric whispered over it and tugged at the hairs on his arm.

“You're...You needed a replacement.” Altaïr mumbled, and then placed his hand in the centre of Malik's chest and toyed with the hair he found there. “Now...” He said, quickly changing the tone of his voice and the subject at hand, and began to sink back against the mattress. Malik smirked, his erection perking at the promise of attention. He followed easily.

“Lie back.”

Malik was pulled into a deep kiss by a hand on the back of his neck, their tongues tangling and sliding between them. Malik's replaced hand swept with feather-light and teasing touches over Altaïr's side. He ran a smooth, soft thumb over the creased, sensitive skin of the join where his inner thigh met his pelvis. Altaïr jumped and then pressed onto the appendage, groaning as Malik began to kiss down his neck. He rubbed his thumb back and forth whilst scraping blunted teeth over Altaïr's collarbone. The hand on his neck flew to grasp the shoulder of Malik's new robe tightly. Hips twisted and shifted in an attempt to move Malik's grip to Altaïr's straining arousal. With a bruising suck to the base of Altaïr's neck that would no doubt leave a mark Malik sat back onto his haunches, his own cock resting on Altaïr's thigh.

Under Malik's stare Altaïr unabashedly opened his legs until they fell akimbo. His erection leaked onto his stomach. Cruelly, Malik ignored it and swept his hands up Altaïr's sides until they reached his nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Impatiently the Grandmaster's hips shifted, and then rolled up and forwards until they teasingly brushed against Malik's sac, and then fell down again. Challenge and boredom swam in his eyes, mixing with the impatience and lust.

Determined to make this everything he had wanted it to be, Malik danced his fingers away from Altaïr's chest and to the tip of his lover's cock, hovering a millimetre away from the sticky head. Altaïr snarled impatiently. On cue Malik's left hand flew to his mouth and pressed in two fingers. A tongue swirled between them, igniting a flame of hypersensitivity. Malik gasped and finally took Altaïr in hand, pumping the organ with long, slow strokes. An appreciative moan was muffled by his fingers and palm. At a wicked twist of his wrist Altaïr moaned again and bit lightly on the digits invading his mouth. He gripped Malik's right wrist to hold his hand in place and buck up into the tight ring of his fingers fiercely and strongly, legs flexing. Malik's fingers slipped from his mouth and curled, dragging along Altaïr's toned torso and bypassing his cock, pressing his palm to Altaïr's thigh and keeping him pinned down.

“The oil.” He said, his hand left on Altaïr's arousal unmoving. Altaïr scrambled away and out of reach to a box at the side of Malik's bed, moving the oil lamp off of the lid impatiently so that he could rip it open. He fell back onto the bed with a vial in hand, sinking on the stiff pillows. A soft squeeze ans a few light stroked to his erection in thanks, Malik pulled his hands away from Altaïr's temptingly exposed flesh and took the vial, spilling the slippery oil over his left hand and lowering it to Altaïr's entrance. His first finger slid in easily and Altaïr had to grab the vial away from Malik's right hand when it threatened to drop.

Altaïr was burning hot inside. Thick, muscular walls surrounded Malik's new, hypersensitive skin and made him moan. He pressed up with his finger in an attempt to find the spot which would make Altaïr moan wantonly. He merely squirmed uncomfortably in response, and then reached down and gently twisted Malik's hand, bearing himself onto the finger. His sound of approval was breathy and quiet rather than the loud and strong moan he usually gave.

“There, just there.” He said, rolling his hips minutely onto Malik's digit. Malik pushed his down one-handed and drew his finger part-way out to press another in. When he searched this time it was closer to the mark. His new arm provided a new angle. Malik felt like an idiot for not thinking about that possibility when fantasising.

Altaïr moaned a few words of encouragement and swore, reaching to stroke himself as he usually would. Smirking, Malik quickly batted Altaïr away and took him in hand, palming and massaging the length. With a wanton moan that coursed straight through Malik's veins and to his hard member Altaïr ground down onto his lover's fingers.

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me.” He hissed and groaned as Malik pressed in another finger. Altaïr was tight and hot and strong around him as he loosened muscle and softly rutted against the thigh he was pressed his groin to. With suddenly oil-slicked hands (the vial rolled over the flagstone floor, empty) Altaïr reached beneath his leg in a show of flexibility and took Malik into his fist. The attention to his arousal drew out a long moan from Malik, who bucked into the tight passage made with Altaïr's fingers (one missing, and the stub always managed to swipe over the head just so and send his head reeling). He pulled his fingers hastily from Altaïr's entrance.

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Page 13 of 27

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (63/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (64a/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (64b/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (64b/?)

Re: Two Eagles (125/?)

Re: Two Eagles (126/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (65/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (66/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (66/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (66/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (67/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (68/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (68/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (70?)

Courting with Danger, Caring for Death 1

Author!anon admits to not knowing much about Renaissance-era vampires, so I apologize ahead of time for any factual errors.

Courting with Danger, Caring for Death 2

Re: FILL [5/?]

Re: Two Eagles (126/?)

Re: Altered Flight Pattern (70?)

FILL [6.a/6]

FILL [6.b/6]

FILL [6.c/6]

FILL [6.d/6]

FILL [6.e/6]

FILL [6.f/6]