Stubbornly Altaïr took that as a challenge and bore up onto Malik's fingers as they slowly spread him open and thrust shallowly in an attempt to make them brush against his prostate once more. His breathy, strained and quiet moan signalled what little success he had. Raising up onto his elbows and arching his chest away from the hard wood beneath it, he rolled himself back onto Malik's hand, shifting and gasping and awkwardly trying his best to recreate the pleasure he had felt before. Malik smirked and, after stiffening his fingers and pressing down towards the spot Altaïr had been so determined to reach, pulled his fingers out. Moaning, Altaïr rocked back as far as he could, following. His toes spread and strained upwards and his heels ground into the warmed stone floor. Malik pulled at the laces of his breeches impatiently. Altaïr twisted to watch him past the curve of his hips and buttocks.
This stranger...This absolute stranger with one arm, a familiar face – too familiar now that he stopped and looked at it and wanted it – and a grace and power both in body as in wit that he had not found in others for far too long a time, was going to fuck him. And he wanted it. Wanted it so much that he found himself edgy. He balled his hands into fists. He rocked back and forth on the spot. He caught whines in the back of his throat, and then let one slip and grow into a groan when the stranger – still nameless, Altaïr remembered, and suddenly regretted never getting an answer – shoved his breeches to his knees, took more fat in hand and smeared it over his cock. A smirk was on their face when they stood up, curled above their small beard, and hauntingly, frustratingly devious.
He had seen cocks before, and for a much longer amount of time as his own behind was suddenly in the way of seeing it any longer. Yes, he had seen them, mainly in the Hamam at Masyaf, and he had seen his own – of course – but not like this. Not flushed and wet and hard and wanting for him. The head, slick and warm but cool with the layer of lubricant over it, pushed between his cheeks and slid over the sensitive skin of his crack. He jumped. A warm, slippery hand pushed him to face the wall again.
“Relax, Altaïr.” Malik mumbled and leant over the young man, pressing open mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck. His hand left Altaïr's back and took hold of the base of his erection to guide himself in. Licking under Altaïr's ear – the taste of sweat and earth strong on his tongue – Malik pushed the tip of his cock against the prepared entrance. It held, held, and then opened, taking him inside a wonderful heat. He hissed and Altaïr grunted and snarled in pain. His head hit the wall and he ground his scalp against it, teeth grit. Malik stilled, and his hand moved to rub the small of Altaïr's back.
“Calm, calm...” He whispered, and waited for Altaïr's breath to become less strained and his shoulders to relax. He pressed himself in further.
“Your name. What is your name?” Altaïr hissed at the wall as Malik pushed his erection further in, tortuously slow.
“It is of no matter.” Malik replied, voice tight and controlled as he watched his length disappear into the man beneath him.
“I need to know.” The pain had pushed away the haze of arousal – though it still lingered, unwavering, on the edge of his consciousness, his member half-hard and easy to bring back to full hardness. Lucid, the thirst for his once attacker's and now lover's name plagued him and provided a distraction from the pain.
Malik sighed. With one final push after a long moment of waiting he was finally resting his hips to the plump flesh of Altaïr's behind. The dai moaned loudly, encased by tight heat. His heart fluttered at an increased tempo and his head swam. He plucked a name at random from his mind.
2; The wound [10/?]
This stranger...This absolute stranger with one arm, a familiar face – too familiar now that he stopped and looked at it and wanted it – and a grace and power both in body as in wit that he had not found in others for far too long a time, was going to fuck him. And he wanted it. Wanted it so much that he found himself edgy. He balled his hands into fists. He rocked back and forth on the spot. He caught whines in the back of his throat, and then let one slip and grow into a groan when the stranger – still nameless, Altaïr remembered, and suddenly regretted never getting an answer – shoved his breeches to his knees, took more fat in hand and smeared it over his cock. A smirk was on their face when they stood up, curled above their small beard, and hauntingly, frustratingly devious.
He had seen cocks before, and for a much longer amount of time as his own behind was suddenly in the way of seeing it any longer. Yes, he had seen them, mainly in the Hamam at Masyaf, and he had seen his own – of course – but not like this. Not flushed and wet and hard and wanting for him. The head, slick and warm but cool with the layer of lubricant over it, pushed between his cheeks and slid over the sensitive skin of his crack. He jumped. A warm, slippery hand pushed him to face the wall again.
“Relax, Altaïr.” Malik mumbled and leant over the young man, pressing open mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck. His hand left Altaïr's back and took hold of the base of his erection to guide himself in. Licking under Altaïr's ear – the taste of sweat and earth strong on his tongue – Malik pushed the tip of his cock against the prepared entrance. It held, held, and then opened, taking him inside a wonderful heat. He hissed and Altaïr grunted and snarled in pain. His head hit the wall and he ground his scalp against it, teeth grit. Malik stilled, and his hand moved to rub the small of Altaïr's back.
“Calm, calm...” He whispered, and waited for Altaïr's breath to become less strained and his shoulders to relax. He pressed himself in further.
“Your name. What is your name?” Altaïr hissed at the wall as Malik pushed his erection further in, tortuously slow.
“It is of no matter.” Malik replied, voice tight and controlled as he watched his length disappear into the man beneath him.
“I need to know.” The pain had pushed away the haze of arousal – though it still lingered, unwavering, on the edge of his consciousness, his member half-hard and easy to bring back to full hardness. Lucid, the thirst for his once attacker's and now lover's name plagued him and provided a distraction from the pain.
Malik sighed. With one final push after a long moment of waiting he was finally resting his hips to the plump flesh of Altaïr's behind. The dai moaned loudly, encased by tight heat. His heart fluttered at an increased tempo and his head swam. He plucked a name at random from his mind.
“Kamil.”