Laces loosened and unravelled, Malik slid a skilled hand over the flat, haired planes of Altaïr's lower abdomen and into his clothes, grasping him in his fist and letting the man fuck it with small, excited and stifled whines. He had to be a virgin to be so easily undone.
“You've never done this before, have you?” The Dai asked as he pulled his hand, slick with precome, from the front of Altaïr's breeches, and then tugged at the back of the clothing, pushing it down.
Altaïr shook his head quickly as he let go of the desk and shoved at the trousers until they could be stepped out of. He was naked and lithe, strong muscles bunching under his skin with his movements and feet blackened with dirt. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, body expanding and rising and then shrinking back into the wood.
He was young and untouched and Malik knew what it was like to be mistreated on your first time and outright refused to hurt this man – this man he would grow to love – the same way he had been. “I will be gentle.” He crooned, and ran his fingertips over a round buttock and then, at the persistent ache of his own arousal, pressed the strained front of his clothes to the other and rocked into the firm muscle. Altaïr's breath hitched and stuttered.
“No. Don't hold back. Please.” He whispered quietly, breathlessly and all but unintelligibly into the desk. Malik guessed that he probably wasn't supposed to have heard it. He pushed his robe off of his left shoulder and then shrugged it to the floor, letting air cool his warmed body and flush over newly exposed skin. His tunic remained on, hood back.
“Do you have a vial of oil?” He asked in reply, and pressed open-mouthed kisses on the small of Altaïr's back.
“Sheep's tail fat is in the chest.” Altaïr gasped, and his hands were occupied grasping the desktop or rubbing the top of his thigh, fingers creeping into the crease of his groin, ever so close to his erection yet unwilling to touch it lest this all be over too soon.
Malik scrambled over to the chest at the foot of Altaïr's bed and yanked it open, eyes darting over numerous objects – a few choice scrolls, a folded red sash, rags, a large empty space, ink, quills and finally three stoppered jars. On the second try an off-white, thick and gloopy matter slid around at the bottom the vessel. He shuffled back to Altaïr on his knees, jar in hand.
“And why do you have this, I wonder?” He asked, gently nipping the young man's rounded arse. Altaïr's hand curled into a fist on his hip. He didn't answer. Malik watched what he could of the younger man from his position on the floor, idly placing the jar on the floor and massaging a hairy thigh. Had Altaïr in fact been experimenting with penetration long before they had began fucking?
Thirty seconds and no answer later Malik discarded the question for another time – hopefully one he could tease out of the man when he was back ten years into the future.
2; The wound [8/?]
“You've never done this before, have you?” The Dai asked as he pulled his hand, slick with precome, from the front of Altaïr's breeches, and then tugged at the back of the clothing, pushing it down.
Altaïr shook his head quickly as he let go of the desk and shoved at the trousers until they could be stepped out of. He was naked and lithe, strong muscles bunching under his skin with his movements and feet blackened with dirt. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, body expanding and rising and then shrinking back into the wood.
He was young and untouched and Malik knew what it was like to be mistreated on your first time and outright refused to hurt this man – this man he would grow to love – the same way he had been. “I will be gentle.” He crooned, and ran his fingertips over a round buttock and then, at the persistent ache of his own arousal, pressed the strained front of his clothes to the other and rocked into the firm muscle. Altaïr's breath hitched and stuttered.
“No. Don't hold back. Please.” He whispered quietly, breathlessly and all but unintelligibly into the desk. Malik guessed that he probably wasn't supposed to have heard it. He pushed his robe off of his left shoulder and then shrugged it to the floor, letting air cool his warmed body and flush over newly exposed skin. His tunic remained on, hood back.
“Do you have a vial of oil?” He asked in reply, and pressed open-mouthed kisses on the small of Altaïr's back.
“Sheep's tail fat is in the chest.” Altaïr gasped, and his hands were occupied grasping the desktop or rubbing the top of his thigh, fingers creeping into the crease of his groin, ever so close to his erection yet unwilling to touch it lest this all be over too soon.
Malik scrambled over to the chest at the foot of Altaïr's bed and yanked it open, eyes darting over numerous objects – a few choice scrolls, a folded red sash, rags, a large empty space, ink, quills and finally three stoppered jars. On the second try an off-white, thick and gloopy matter slid around at the bottom the vessel. He shuffled back to Altaïr on his knees, jar in hand.
“And why do you have this, I wonder?” He asked, gently nipping the young man's rounded arse. Altaïr's hand curled into a fist on his hip. He didn't answer. Malik watched what he could of the younger man from his position on the floor, idly placing the jar on the floor and massaging a hairy thigh. Had Altaïr in fact been experimenting with penetration long before they had began fucking?
Thirty seconds and no answer later Malik discarded the question for another time – hopefully one he could tease out of the man when he was back ten years into the future.