He would never say it but it was intoxicating, the feel of this body closing around him choked him, the taste of his skin and mouth – all that was so particular to Malik – it was a drug. More powerful than renowned Persian saffron. His hands slipped on the damp skin, caressing the dai as if he wanted to imprint his image in his mind forever. Oh, he was close – it had been way too long. With a deft hand, he stroked the weeping erection of the man who was now drawing him into his hellish furnace of a body – a jerk, a stop – and something akin to an angered glare. As if daring him to actually go on – which he dared. Their mouths met again, neither yielding whatever advantage they had, if they were fighting, each doing their very best to make the other cry out. His strokes matched the now fast pace Malik had set, though he was sometimes barely touching him, forcing the dai to press himself against him. He could feel sweat coursing down his back, Malik's hand clutching his shoulder for leverage – which forced him to crane his neck not to break the kiss. The boiling desire that had been coiling constantly in his lower body was slowly starting to break free, sizzling his nerves and veins in a rush that made him question his own resistance. And still Malik was kissing him, dominating his mouth just as he let Altair control his every move. Who was using who was a question without answer at this point. Fingers coiled against the dai's flesh, making him let his head fall to the side with a feral growl. An hungry sound was heard from Altair at the sight – relief at not being the only one. His fingers tightened, inarticulate sounds pouring from Malik's mouth – some of which he suspected to be profanities. Altair lost it, rising to meet Malik, moans wrenched from their throats before being muffled by another searing kiss. I want to see you lost... king of swords...
It was as if Malik heard him, a sharp cry echoing as bliss washed over him – he knew more than felt his back arching backward, his head snapping as well – he knew because a mouth caught the joint of his neck. His whole body tensed, as if he was going to lunge, before all the pent up force was unleashed – breathtaking moment where he was absolutely free, without any attach – only the eagle's name to be heard. A choked sound followed, said eagle meeting his own demise, the overpowering wave of restrained lush breaking free as he felt Malik clamp on him. The coppery taste of blood invaded his mouth as his hands held the dai so close he could have broken his bones. He did not have time to process anything that happened, his orgasm having robbed him of his tendons, turning him into a boneless structure of flesh. Still, as he fell back, drawing his lover with him, he whispered his name – a late-call but he just found his voice back. Hoarse, throat chaffed by air and cries. Altair's mind was drifting off, barely noticing as Malik lazily moved to the side like a well-fed wildcat. He found himself stroking the back of the other man absent-mindedly. As his thoughts were darkening toward sleep, he let his hand creep toward Malik's stump, hesitant. He knew he was being watched but the lack of reaction made him grow bolder and he lightly touched the sensitive scar tissues. A wound that will never heal, a wound he himself inflicted to the only person he never wanted to hurt. Regrets were sterile, he knew it. But sometimes he wondered... how things would have been. All the while, Malik was left wondering... how did it come to this? To him losing it completely? And how come the air suddenly felt much lighter? How did it even started? He barely remembered anything until Altair came to him. Well, now was not the time to ponder, he will do it tomorrow.
The day after, Altair woke up to an absolute silence, if not for the light scraping of quill on parchment. Looking around, he briefly wondered where he was – he was pretty certain the batch of pillows outside did not transform themselves into a proper room with a bed. Wait... bed? A quick glance around told him that he was indeed in Malik's room. And that he was as naked as a newborn babe. Something was wrong – then memories came rushing in.
[FILL] Incense 8/
It was as if Malik heard him, a sharp cry echoing as bliss washed over him – he knew more than felt his back arching backward, his head snapping as well – he knew because a mouth caught the joint of his neck. His whole body tensed, as if he was going to lunge, before all the pent up force was unleashed – breathtaking moment where he was absolutely free, without any attach – only the eagle's name to be heard. A choked sound followed, said eagle meeting his own demise, the overpowering wave of restrained lush breaking free as he felt Malik clamp on him. The coppery taste of blood invaded his mouth as his hands held the dai so close he could have broken his bones. He did not have time to process anything that happened, his orgasm having robbed him of his tendons, turning him into a boneless structure of flesh. Still, as he fell back, drawing his lover with him, he whispered his name – a late-call but he just found his voice back. Hoarse, throat chaffed by air and cries. Altair's mind was drifting off, barely noticing as Malik lazily moved to the side like a well-fed wildcat. He found himself stroking the back of the other man absent-mindedly. As his thoughts were darkening toward sleep, he let his hand creep toward Malik's stump, hesitant. He knew he was being watched but the lack of reaction made him grow bolder and he lightly touched the sensitive scar tissues. A wound that will never heal, a wound he himself inflicted to the only person he never wanted to hurt. Regrets were sterile, he knew it. But sometimes he wondered... how things would have been.
All the while, Malik was left wondering... how did it come to this? To him losing it completely? And how come the air suddenly felt much lighter? How did it even started? He barely remembered anything until Altair came to him. Well, now was not the time to ponder, he will do it tomorrow.
The day after, Altair woke up to an absolute silence, if not for the light scraping of quill on parchment. Looking around, he briefly wondered where he was – he was pretty certain the batch of pillows outside did not transform themselves into a proper room with a bed. Wait... bed? A quick glance around told him that he was indeed in Malik's room. And that he was as naked as a newborn babe. Something was wrong – then memories came rushing in.