“Of course.” Malik finally managed to reply, his palms becoming sweaty and his heart increasing into a faster beat with excitement. Various scandalous images that he had been entertaining for weeks began to bubble to the surface of his consciousness. With a peck to Maria's forehead and a muttered and French goodbye Altaïr was leaving her behind, Malik at his heels. The heavy door shut behind them with a catch of the latch; a heavy, metal clink. Hands immediately pushed Malik towards a wall. Lips caught the underside of his jaw, his jowl, and then finally covered his own, impatient, heated and sorely missed. Hands fisted at the front of his tunic and in his hood that lay unworn about his neck. A brief flash of a tongue left a heated path over his lips, coaxing them apart, and then Altaïr broke away and cold air washed over Malik's moistened lips. He was left blindly searching for more in a show of wanton behaviour that he rarely showed outside of his private chambers.
“Please tell me that you have the robe.” Altaïr murmured whilst cupping Malik's neck and resting their foreheads together. Malik was all too happy to nod, picturing the robe still wrapped in string on top of his mattress. Stroking the skin beneath his hand Altaïr muttered a scrambled thanks to all deities he could think of and then tore himself away from Malik to walk back to the curtained exit. With only a slight moment to quieten the rising excitement and need in his gut, Malik quickly caught up and fell into step with Altaïr. They headed to Malik's quarters.
*
The door shut softly on the corridor and already Malik was half-hard and grabbing at Altaïr, pulling him into another hot, passionate kiss. Around his tongue Altaïr moaned and squeezed Malik's biceps encouragingly.
His clothes were torn off in almost violent haste, Malik's five skilled and five clumsy fingers tugging and unclasping, pushing and pulling until the man stumbled on his braies caught in his boots and toppled onto the bedroll. Malik ripped off his own hood and tunic, desperate to feel cool air, hands, lips and tongue on his bare flesh and the caress of new, loose cloth on his back, whispering over his thighs. Two hands pulled at his left boot until he lifted up his leg and watched through lust-filled eyes as a panting and mostly naked Grand Master unlaced and tugged off his boots one by one. A flush travelled from his cheeks, down his neck and faintly stained his chest, darkening his skin. It would be hot to the touch, and Malik could hardly wait to feel its heat on his new skin, burning in the sensitive gap between his fingers.
With a heavy thunk his boots were thrown off in the direction of the door and hit against the wall. Altaïr was running his hands up Malik's legs, fingers spread and catching on fabric, making for the front which bulged obscenely with his erection. Clambering into a kneeling position the assassin moaned breathlessly, his face in line with Malik's crotch.
But no, this isn't what Malik wanted. He wanted Altaïr beneath him and chocking on moans, his own two hands flying all over the body exposed to him. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's mouth and the other on his cock. He wanted that hand to go from mouth to hole and be inside of him whilst he rolled Altaïr's balls in his other hand. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's hair, holding his head high so his moans would echo through the room loud and clear, and the other on his hip, pulling his back and forth to meet his thrusts.
FILL [6.c/6]
“Please tell me that you have the robe.” Altaïr murmured whilst cupping Malik's neck and resting their foreheads together. Malik was all too happy to nod, picturing the robe still wrapped in string on top of his mattress. Stroking the skin beneath his hand Altaïr muttered a scrambled thanks to all deities he could think of and then tore himself away from Malik to walk back to the curtained exit. With only a slight moment to quieten the rising excitement and need in his gut, Malik quickly caught up and fell into step with Altaïr. They headed to Malik's quarters.
The door shut softly on the corridor and already Malik was half-hard and grabbing at Altaïr, pulling him into another hot, passionate kiss. Around his tongue Altaïr moaned and squeezed Malik's biceps encouragingly.
His clothes were torn off in almost violent haste, Malik's five skilled and five clumsy fingers tugging and unclasping, pushing and pulling until the man stumbled on his braies caught in his boots and toppled onto the bedroll. Malik ripped off his own hood and tunic, desperate to feel cool air, hands, lips and tongue on his bare flesh and the caress of new, loose cloth on his back, whispering over his thighs. Two hands pulled at his left boot until he lifted up his leg and watched through lust-filled eyes as a panting and mostly naked Grand Master unlaced and tugged off his boots one by one. A flush travelled from his cheeks, down his neck and faintly stained his chest, darkening his skin. It would be hot to the touch, and Malik could hardly wait to feel its heat on his new skin, burning in the sensitive gap between his fingers.
With a heavy thunk his boots were thrown off in the direction of the door and hit against the wall. Altaïr was running his hands up Malik's legs, fingers spread and catching on fabric, making for the front which bulged obscenely with his erection. Clambering into a kneeling position the assassin moaned breathlessly, his face in line with Malik's crotch.
But no, this isn't what Malik wanted. He wanted Altaïr beneath him and chocking on moans, his own two hands flying all over the body exposed to him. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's mouth and the other on his cock. He wanted that hand to go from mouth to hole and be inside of him whilst he rolled Altaïr's balls in his other hand. He wanted one hand in Altaïr's hair, holding his head high so his moans would echo through the room loud and clear, and the other on his hip, pulling his back and forth to meet his thrusts.