"Why?" Kadar asked, looking down at himself. "I'm in sweats and I haven’t even showered from work."

Malik didn't like where this was going. Even Desmond had paused, watching the situation with an eyebrow arched.

"Because I'm going to take Malik's temperature--" Altaïr began, only to be cut off by Kadar's, "Then why can't I stay?"

There was a brief pause, barely anything, before Altaïr responded, "With my dick. So leave.

Gagging noises were heard from both siblings as Malik contemplated drowning himself in his soup. Altaïr remained impassive, though, staring at Kadar who looking as though he was about to vomit.

"Come on, Kadar," Desmond said, tossing him a jacket. Kadar caught quickly, slipping it on and grabbing his carton of food. They moved swiftly, looking suspiciously around the apartment as though they could see their brothers fucking on every surface possible. "You can crash at my place. Enjoy your night, sickos."

Malik finally came to his senses as the door shut, turning sharply and practically sucker punching Altaïr in the ribs. He couldn’t get much of a windup, but he still felt Altaïr’s ribs sink in at the impact. The man groaned, grabbing the assaulted area and dipping his head down.

"What?" Altaïr hissed, moving onto the other side of the table when he noticed the murder all over Malik's face. "It got rid of Kadar, so we can, you know. Consummate. Remember? Remiss in your duties..."

Malik's sigh was harsh, fingers going through his hair and tugging at it roughly. "Sometimes I really, really want to beat you," Malik growled out, fingers pressing into his eyes.

Altaïr shrugged carelessly as he tossed his finish carton of food into the trash. "You're more than welcome to try. Actually sounds a bit kinky..." he responded, coming over and wrapping his arms around Malik's middle from behind. And Malik let him, because the contact felt nice. And he did love Altaïr, despite being as subtle as getting hit by a bus.

So when Altaïr tilted his face for a slow kiss, Malik returned it almost eagerly. More eagerly than Altaïr had apparently expected, considering he let out a little noise of a surprise and kissed Malik harder.

"Okay, okay," Malik conceded, pulling back with a flushed face and wet lips. Altaïr looked to be in a similar position, eyes dark when he watched Malik carefully, the way his lips moved to make words. "I need to shower first, but afterwards, yeah?"

"Yeah," Altaïr breathed out, sounding a little too excited before tugging Malik into another kiss.

It was more biting than actual kissing, teeth against lips and even the brush of Malik's teeth against Altaïr's tongue. He pulled away with another laugh, pressing their foreheads together. "Go. Bed," Malik directed, turning on the stool to stand. Altaïr was more than happy to comply, though not before winding an arm around Malik's back to grab his ass and tug him forward for a dirty kiss.

"Go," Malik groaned, shoving at his shoulder and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Altaïr's salute brought him back to their earlier days, with too much sand and sweat. Dressed in uniform, washing their weapons before themselves. Kisses that always tasted like blood and desperation. The memories weren't usually pleasant, but there was still a hot wave of lust that went through him, settling at the apex of his thighs, when he thought about returning to his tent to find Altaïr there. He was always only dressed in his boots and pants, scars along his body and patches of gauze taped to new wounds. He had always been so lean and cut, eyes glittering with the mischief that they lacked these days.