Prompt: (forkinsocket.livejournal.com/19704.html?thread=4156664#t4156664) Prompt Summary: Teenaged Altair and Malik are transported into the future and see their post-game selves having sex.
A/N: A million hugs and kisses to my beta who is entirely responsible for making the fic coherent and fit to be seen in public. :’D
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They had been sparring when the world suddenly turned over their heads in a dizzying sweep of colors and lights. At first, Altair thought he had switched to his second sight, stunned into the grey vision as Malik slammed into him, knocking the both of them to the ground. There was a sudden burst of gold unlike anything Altair had ever seen, vast and all-encompassing instead of the single silhouette he was used to—but when he blinked, there was only Malik on top of him, the flat of his palm tucked under Altair’s chin to force his head back. Had there been the hidden blade strapped to Malik’s wrist, Altair would have been dead.
“What was that?” Malik had asked, pulling his hand back. He glanced down at Altair, seemingly displeased that his victory was only because of the distraction that overtook them. Not waiting for an answer, he looked around, the frown on his face deepening.
Altair scowled, more bothered by the heavy weight straddling his chest. “Get off-“ but Malik was already doing so and he did not bother to offer Altair a hand up, which suited Altair just fine. He’d rather have Malik’s thoughts elsewhere than on the fact that the other novice had just won their sparring match, distraction or no.
“The trees,” Malik began, sounding unusually confused for a moment before he swatted Altair’s arm, snapping, “Look, Altair.”
Altair stood up, taking the time to brush the dust from his robes to annoy Malik further. He was making quite a show of it too, until he noticed the shadow of leaves that fell across his arm and the cool air that blew against his damp skin—strange, for he remembered the sun being unforgivably hot and bright while they fought. Looking up, he was surprised to see leafy, overhanging branches above him.
“Where are we?” he asked, bewildered. As far as he knew, they had not ventured outside the fighting ring, and even if they had, Altair was sure he would have at least remembered vaulting over the barricade to chase down Malik—and it would have been to chase Malik, who had been retreating before he had taken advantage of the strange golden flash to knock Altair to the ground.
“Idiot. We haven’t moved,” Malik said, but his hesitant tone suggested that he had been thinking the same thing. He turned, observing their surroundings with a fixed expression. “The trees have grown,” he muttered, putting a hand to his left temple to rub the spot viciously.
And it was true. Altair could recognize the courtyard easily enough—the layout, the buildings that surrounded it—but everything appeared to be just a little bit off. The trees, as Malik had pointed out, were still at the outer edge of the courtyard, but had suddenly grown to provide shade that reached all the way to the sparring ring. The area smelled of fresh hay and grass instead of rusting metal and sweat, and even the grey cobblestones beneath Altair’s feet felt different, softer, more worn and cleaner too, devoid of muddy boot prints and old bloodstains. It was strange, almost overwhelming, to see the whole place in a different light—and a much warmer one, though Altair was not going to admit it.
“Malik,” he said, annoyed, “What did you do?”
Malik whirled around, incredulous. “What did I do? I am flattered, Altair, that you think I am capable of such sorcery that would clean the entire courtyard and make the very trees grow bigger, and not to mention-”
Malik’s rising voice had drawn the attention of an Assassin, possibly one of the instructors, though Altair could not identify him through the hood and mask.
“What are you two doing out?” the man called as he approached them. He did not sound angry, and his good-natured tone struck an odd note of familiarity. “Students should be inside the library, studying. Latin, I believe.”
Tomorrow Was Not Dull [1/?]
Prompt Summary: Teenaged Altair and Malik are transported into the future and see their post-game selves having sex.
A/N: A million hugs and kisses to my beta who is entirely responsible for making the fic coherent and fit to be seen in public. :’D
---
They had been sparring when the world suddenly turned over their heads in a dizzying sweep of colors and lights. At first, Altair thought he had switched to his second sight, stunned into the grey vision as Malik slammed into him, knocking the both of them to the ground. There was a sudden burst of gold unlike anything Altair had ever seen, vast and all-encompassing instead of the single silhouette he was used to—but when he blinked, there was only Malik on top of him, the flat of his palm tucked under Altair’s chin to force his head back. Had there been the hidden blade strapped to Malik’s wrist, Altair would have been dead.
“What was that?” Malik had asked, pulling his hand back. He glanced down at Altair, seemingly displeased that his victory was only because of the distraction that overtook them. Not waiting for an answer, he looked around, the frown on his face deepening.
Altair scowled, more bothered by the heavy weight straddling his chest. “Get off-“ but Malik was already doing so and he did not bother to offer Altair a hand up, which suited Altair just fine. He’d rather have Malik’s thoughts elsewhere than on the fact that the other novice had just won their sparring match, distraction or no.
“The trees,” Malik began, sounding unusually confused for a moment before he swatted Altair’s arm, snapping, “Look, Altair.”
Altair stood up, taking the time to brush the dust from his robes to annoy Malik further. He was making quite a show of it too, until he noticed the shadow of leaves that fell across his arm and the cool air that blew against his damp skin—strange, for he remembered the sun being unforgivably hot and bright while they fought. Looking up, he was surprised to see leafy, overhanging branches above him.
“Where are we?” he asked, bewildered. As far as he knew, they had not ventured outside the fighting ring, and even if they had, Altair was sure he would have at least remembered vaulting over the barricade to chase down Malik—and it would have been to chase Malik, who had been retreating before he had taken advantage of the strange golden flash to knock Altair to the ground.
“Idiot. We haven’t moved,” Malik said, but his hesitant tone suggested that he had been thinking the same thing. He turned, observing their surroundings with a fixed expression. “The trees have grown,” he muttered, putting a hand to his left temple to rub the spot viciously.
And it was true. Altair could recognize the courtyard easily enough—the layout, the buildings that surrounded it—but everything appeared to be just a little bit off. The trees, as Malik had pointed out, were still at the outer edge of the courtyard, but had suddenly grown to provide shade that reached all the way to the sparring ring. The area smelled of fresh hay and grass instead of rusting metal and sweat, and even the grey cobblestones beneath Altair’s feet felt different, softer, more worn and cleaner too, devoid of muddy boot prints and old bloodstains. It was strange, almost overwhelming, to see the whole place in a different light—and a much warmer one, though Altair was not going to admit it.
“Malik,” he said, annoyed, “What did you do?”
Malik whirled around, incredulous. “What did I do? I am flattered, Altair, that you think I am capable of such sorcery that would clean the entire courtyard and make the very trees grow bigger, and not to mention-”
Malik’s rising voice had drawn the attention of an Assassin, possibly one of the instructors, though Altair could not identify him through the hood and mask.
“What are you two doing out?” the man called as he approached them. He did not sound angry, and his good-natured tone struck an odd note of familiarity. “Students should be inside the library, studying. Latin, I believe.”