It should not happen – here he was, staring at Malik as he remembered doing when they were but novices. Old times long since gone. And still present – and he wondered – did he change this much? His chest was distinctly rising and falling, skin gliding over taut muscles – when did the dai get this attractive? His mind suddenly shut down, leaving him staring at the man with his face inches from his own. This was bad – he could feel the heat radiating from Malik, his breath almost scalding his lips. He could smell something in the air, without being able to place it. And he was utterly unaware of the effect his proximity had on the rafiq. That is, until a pair of lips crashed against his own, awkwardly at first, then in a more domineering way. Taken aback, he could not help opening his mouth – apparently in protest. Maybe he should not have because his friend took it as an invitation. While Altair's mind was flailing and swearing to whatever God there must be that it was utter madness and that he had no part in it, he found himself leaning into the kiss. Leaning so much that when he managed to catch his breath again, he was hovering above Malik. And the smouldering look the man sent him went straight south, not even consulting HIM! Now, that was awkward... and Malik looked so out of it that Altair was at a loss – should he shake the rafiq until he came to? Reaching for Malik's shoulder to do just that, he almost yelped when an arm shot upward to wind around him neck, bringing him downward. A whisper, hot against his face – almost like a whimper, if he did not know Malik so well. But maybe it was – memories of teenage experiments flooded his mind, blurring and blending into his face. He had to brace himself not to crush Malik, right knee digging into the mattress for support. Perhaps it was a terrible move when he felt the dai nothing short of grinding against said leg, his back arching from the mattress. He looked so lost that Altair's mind flew out of the window. The consequences, he knew, would be dire. But he would be a liar if he denied this burning sensation that invaded his every cells. Crushing Malik's lips with his, he rocked against him – fabrics coarse, almost painful.
It was intoxicating, worst than anything he could have tasted in his life, that much was certain. Through his foggy vision, all Malik could see were the piercing eyes of a bird of prey. He knew whom those eyes belonged to and he cringed at the thought of having Altair seeing him like this. He could not explain it – not why he needed, yes, needed, to bring Altair to him and not letting go. Malik felt as if he was drowning and the only thing he could cling to was the assassin – and when the man kissed him again, he did not even try to repress the groan that escaped him. It was hunger, a greedy desire that made him yearn for the man, despite all that they have gone through and the rancour – past the bitter words – back to the days when they were younger. Back then, it was a thrilling new experience – part of him knew something was wrong with this whole situation. The tug on his hair made him look up, vision slowly clearing into seeing the man towering over him. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted Altair all to himself, he wanted him so badly that if the man kept on staring at him without moving, he was going to go ballistic. Apparently, the message passed between them because Altair went back to plunder his mouth, leaving him breathless. Lips inches from his own, lick the lighter scar, wondering where this came from once more. Hands running over his sides, pulling his shirt up – uncovering tanned, scarred skin. Normally, he would cower from anyone's gaze but not now – because Altair knew most of those scars, he had helped him bandaging them. Those fingers left embers in their wake, making him shiver under his touch. It was almost gentle, something that Malik would never associate with his friend – Altair was not tender to anyone. Whispers forming against the moist air, like a plea – stop playing, bastard.
[FILL] Incense 4/
It was intoxicating, worst than anything he could have tasted in his life, that much was certain. Through his foggy vision, all Malik could see were the piercing eyes of a bird of prey. He knew whom those eyes belonged to and he cringed at the thought of having Altair seeing him like this. He could not explain it – not why he needed, yes, needed, to bring Altair to him and not letting go. Malik felt as if he was drowning and the only thing he could cling to was the assassin – and when the man kissed him again, he did not even try to repress the groan that escaped him. It was hunger, a greedy desire that made him yearn for the man, despite all that they have gone through and the rancour – past the bitter words – back to the days when they were younger. Back then, it was a thrilling new experience – part of him knew something was wrong with this whole situation. The tug on his hair made him look up, vision slowly clearing into seeing the man towering over him. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted Altair all to himself, he wanted him so badly that if the man kept on staring at him without moving, he was going to go ballistic. Apparently, the message passed between them because Altair went back to plunder his mouth, leaving him breathless. Lips inches from his own, lick the lighter scar, wondering where this came from once more. Hands running over his sides, pulling his shirt up – uncovering tanned, scarred skin. Normally, he would cower from anyone's gaze but not now – because Altair knew most of those scars, he had helped him bandaging them. Those fingers left embers in their wake, making him shiver under his touch. It was almost gentle, something that Malik would never associate with his friend – Altair was not tender to anyone. Whispers forming against the moist air, like a plea – stop playing, bastard.