asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.

There are no request in this part of the meme.

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

“Every day, Altaïr. Every day you do this to yourself!” Malik threw papers to the floor from the desk with a grand sweeping gesture, a blazing glare directed at the man standing by the grand window, who looked on passively. The pigeons fluttered and cooed in their coop at the violent movement.

“It's necessary. I have to know how it works.” Altaïr replied calmly, glancing briefly to the strange artefact that had rolled to the floor, parchment now littered around it.

“Killing yourself is not necessary. I should just take that thing away from you right now.” Malik spat. Altaïr shifted restlessly, hands clenching and unclenching.

“But you won't.”

Malik stooped to grasp the cold metal ball in his hand, admiring it's weight and size as it immediately seemed to make itself at home in his palm, gaining the gleam it would often hold at human touch. “You're right.” He mumbled as he straightened up, and eyed the sphere with a mixture of disdain and intrigue. “I won't.” Altaïr's hand covered what was exposed of the Piece of Eden and Malik looked up to catch his eye.

Beneath Altaïr's eyes lay heavily laden bags, purpling and sallow. What were once sharp and golden eyes seemed desaturated and much older than should be in the face of a man of twenty eight. His lips were drawn into a thin line. An errant beard grew from his chin, scraggly and unkempt. Malik shook his head slowly.

“If only I could go back in time and warn you of how much of a novice you would continue to be, even when Grand Master.” He sighed. Altaïr's eyes darkened as he bowed his head slightly, and then there was intense heat blossoming over both men's palms and a blade of light that cast them both into nothingness.

A case if where being careful of what you wish for. Especially around powerful artifacts. Really looking forward to how this will play out!

So looking forward to this. Great beginning...

*camps out to wait for more*

I like this prompt's set-up. And I love your writing. How could it go wrong? XD

Ahh thanks. I'll be going for the suggestion in the prompt's thread that the OP liked the look of? I guess the only way it could go wrong is if it distracts me from preparing for my exam tomorrow...

Altaïr dragged the cloth slowly and carefully over the blade once more, peering at the polished metal revealed with a sharp and critical eye. Scuff marks scratched into the side blurred the face of his reflection and his lip curled as he rubbed at them to no avail.

For an hour now he had been cleaning and polishing his blades, having retired to his quarters out of boredom and for feeling too warm to wear robes and armour and too paranoid to shed them and bare his flesh. But sat in his room he had the perfect view of both the door and the small window, and whilst the air was still enough for him to detect movement the thick stone walls kept it cool despite a lack of a breeze. He had stripped himself down to only his breeches and sat himself cross legged on his bedroll comprised of straw, rugs and down-stuffed cushions, pulling his belt towards him and piling up his blade kit from the small chest at the foot of his cot. He had begun his ritualistic method of cleaning his weaponry close to an hour ago, treating each knife like it was worth a fortune in his cloth-covered fingers and then returning them gently to their leather pouches.

There was a strangled cry from outside of his window, echoing starkly off of the walls of Masyaf and within his own Spartan room. He pushed himself from his place to stretch his legs and roll his shoulders, peering through the slot in the thick stone and down towards the training ring. The two students fought on, not visibly hurt, but directly below his window, the wall where he had once been taught to climb, a crowd gathered. Poor sod had probably twisted his ankle or wrist. Altaïr snorted to himself. What an imbecilic thing to let happen. Injuring yourself during escape or during a mission was more likely to lead to your death than standing and fighting. Wounds were hazardous; easily infected and they acted like a retardant, opening blind spots that would not exist otherwise. Creating a certain sluggishness in movements. Altaïr would never make such a careless mistake. He was sure of it. It would not only compromise himself but also the Brotherhood should he be caught and interrogated.

Then again, he somehow found it unlikely that, should he ever be put in such a situation, he would be defeated even then. He had gone to his quarters after an unsatisfying slew of easily beaten opponents, after all. Just once, he though quite arrogantly, he would like to feel challenged. Physically. Mentally. Mentally. It seemed that only a few people who still entered the training area could provide him with entertainment, and currently they all seemed to be out of commission. Rauf was on a mission in Damascus, Habib had been found dead just under a week ago and buried three days prior, Zakiy was also out on a mission with his work partner Bishr in Acre and Malik, though not having beaten him in the ring for over a month now but still possessing a brutal stubbornness that had Altaïr keyed up at mere thought, was injured and studying scrolls rather than honing physical skills. Anyone else that sprung to mind had risen above the need to train daily, their robes now a lighter shade and something Altaïr strove towards with single-minded determination.

He took one last lingering look at the crowd below as a young novice, aided by another, hopped towards the fort entrance, and turned, swiftly taking his place back on his bed and picking up the blade he was working on. A fwip and clank followed by a sudden burst of air signalled a knife flying past. He rolled onto his feet, spreading his legs to shoulder width and bending his knees, holding the blade in his hand at face level as he sought the source of the attack. In dark, scholar robes and one armed, dagger already caught in a strong and practised grasp, the intruder stood, eyes narrowing intensely. Blood beaded and dripped from a small wound in Altaïr's arm. He had met his challenge.

WOOO! SHINEY.

No, really, discarding the hyperbole common to the meme, you've made very skillful use of a trope (careful what you wish for) and painted a really interesting look at the inside of Altair's head circa his novice days. Arrogance is a natural conclusion if you ARE better than everybody else.

*waiting*

Thank you very much :)

*writing*

My God this is taking a long to write! I hope I can quench thirst by giving you a part of this long long chapter!

Malik swept his eyes over the figure before him and immediately recognised them for who they were. Altaïr. But he was younger. Much younger. His face and body were fresh and for the most part unscathed. The stubble on his face was still fuzzy and patchy. The scar dissecting his lips was a fresh pink signifying its youth. What can only be months ago this young Altaïr had been smashed in the face by the hilt of an enemy's sword.

Malik and Altaïr stared at each other from across the length of the small room.

“Who are you?” Altaïr finally spat, adjusting his grip on the knife.

“Safety and Peace.” Malik answered, choosing to be entertained by Altaïr's ignorance rather than offended and hoping that the familiar greeting would calm the abrupt tension between them.

“That isn't an answer.” Altaïr growled, and glanced to where Malik's left arm should have been. Malik decided that the tension wasn't going to go away that quickly, then. Judging by Altaïr's young age he was likely to still own the brashness that had managed to force him up the fighting ranks, and the distrust of all who wielded blades against him that had turned him into the perfect weapon to be used by Al Mualim. And anyway, it has been all too long since he had managed to have a good physical brawl with Altaïr, the Apple having turned him into a tired and stubborn man.

“You're right; it isn't, Altaïr.”

Altaïr's hold on his knife slackened momentarily at the shock of hearing his name and Malik pounced, swiping at the young man's feet with a kick and swinging at Altaïr's shoulder simultaneously. The swipe was easily blocked, but Altaïr stumbled when toughened leather hit his ankles and Malik forced the boy to the wall behind him, their blade grinding together in the space between their necks.

“Distracted? A novice's mistake.” Malik breathed into his face, and watched as Altaïr's expression twisted with anger and felt the rawness of the emotion in his next lunge, forcing him backwards. He stumbled slightly despite himself and only just managed to block a fierce swing at his disadvantaged left side. They parried quick and precise blows, Malik recovering with haste from his mistake, before an opening was revealed and Malik swept to Altaïr's right and span around 180 degrees to face his back. The edge of his dagger pressed lightly at Altaïr's neck and his elbow jammed between the adolescent's shoulder blades as he swung them both around so that Altaïr was pressed to the wall, breathing heavily and frozen at the touch of metal on his vulnerable neck. They recovered their breath.

Slowly Malik eased some of the pressure he was using to grin Altaïr into the wall, warningly pressing the blade against his delicate flesh. He dragged it feather light and fleeting until the tip rested warningly at the back of his neck just above the nape. He eyes mapped out the expanse of flesh that made Altaïr's back. It looked so clear. Gone were the whip scars he had gained at 20. Gone was the burn from the explosion in Damascus. Gone was the long, jagged scar of a dagger curling from beneath his armpit to the centre of his back, which had taken months to heal properly as he had continued to rip the stitches out. Or rather not 'gone' but not yet there.

“What are you, some cowardly Templar? Afraid to even wear your own colours? Come to kill me in my bed after walking amongst my brothers?” Altaïr hissed into the stone wall, frame tense and ready to spring into another attack.

Malik snorted a little. He had no idea at all, had he?

“No such thing, novice.” He replied, and moved the dagger down the back. He wondered, if he made a scar, would he see it again when he went back to current day Masyaf? The thought was tempting, but foolish and possessive. Altaïr would no doubt not approve, here in front of him and there as Grand Master. He drew the knife away from the flesh as if to dampen the temptation. In an instant the young assassin twisted like a flame and hit a blow to his ear, thankfully without a weapon. Malik swore violently and leapt back as Altaïr swung in a wide arc, slicing through the air his chest had occupied. Malik veered to the right in a stumble, hip banging into the plain wooden desk and scraping the legs across the floor slightly before it hit the wall behind. Malik brought his blade up to block an attack as his ear throbbed hotly and painfully. He groaned through clenched teeth. A clumsy slash at the joint where arm met shoulder allowed him to knock the knife from Altaïr's hands and to the floor.

Altaïr sprung back confused as Malik threw his own weapon in the same direction and then flung himself at the young man, pressing them both to the opposite wall. A knee bruised his hip and he let out a huff of air. Hands hit at his sides and back. In what escalated to blind panic Altaïr's blows had become sloppy and unrefined. Malik managed to use his writhing to his advantage and press Altaïr's front to the wall and pin his hands behind his back. In his grasp Altaïr continued to pant, snarl and struggle.

“Always so determined, Altaïr. So ready to throw yourself wildly into the situation at hand.” Malik mumbled behind Altaïr's squirming form. “Hardly the best of traits. You should know the limits of your capabilities.”

Altaïr hissed and thrashed, Malik's grip tightening in compensation. “In a fair fight I could easily beat you; a cripple.”

Malik blinked slowly, brushing the insult aside. Altaïr, he knew, would one day change. He still tightened his grip on this Altaïr, though, grinding his wrists together. “What is unfair about this fight?”

“You steal into my room with god's speed and stealth, call me by my first name and refuse to tell me yours, tease me and string me along in some game. You could have killed me yet instead you discard your weapon.”

Malik felt bitter mirth bubble up within his stomach. The number of times that he had awoken to Altaïr in his room in a cold sweat, mumbling to himself some insanity the Apple had pressed upon him, held knowledge above his head and teased him with snippets of truth – but of course Nothing is True, and so why should he 'burden' Malik with such terrible knowledge? – were too many to count. This was merely catching up on such times with a ten year head start to Malik.

He leant in closer and rested his lips on the shell of Altaïr's ear, forcing the young man to grind his cheek further into the stone wall, his jaw clenching. “Now where is the fun in killing you?” He sighed and made to explain himself further; that he did not aim to torture or hurt Altaïr in any way, but Altaïr kicked up between his legs fiercely. His thighs clamped together lightning fast on the ankle, preventing the heel from slamming up into it's destined point. For one terrifying moment his stomach disappeared into his ribcage and he thought that he had lost his advantage, but Altaïr struggled once more and attempted to wrench his foot from between Malik's legs without success and it settled back into place. He laughed breathlessly with relief.

“Peace, Altaïr, peace. I really mean you no harm. I do believe that we got off on the wrong foot.”

Altaïr wrenched his foot free at last and knocked his knee into the wall, no doubt creating a new bruise under his breeches. Malik released him completely and took a few steps backwards until he leant back on the desk, relaxed.

“I am an assassin, you needn't worry.”

Altaïr span to face him, rubbing at his wrists and stretching out his knee whilst gingerly fingering the cut made on his wrist by Malik's throwing knife. “Yet you come into my room and attack me? I have not even seen you here before.”

“I tend to stick around Jerusalem.” Malik replied shortly and crossed one leg over the other.

“You still do not answer all of my questions.” Altaïr spat, and anger was written clearly on his face again. If there was one thing he hated it was being made a fool of, and not only had Malik pinned him down more than once in their tussle but he was now twisting words to create an air of intellectual superiority.

Malik hesitated, remembering just how he had managed to find himself in a much younger Altaïr's quarters and about ten years into the past. The Apple was a godforsaken and evil tool. It was well enough that it had turned Altaïr into a stoic scholarly figure, forever chained to his desk physically whilst his psyche plundered vast fields of knowledge, but now it had brought Malik into such areas of confusion. He stared at the man before him with a frown on his face. There was such a possibility that this was all a hallucination of such realism it was painful, and yet he could not be sure. His hand tightened on the desk beneath it, feeling the roughness of the grain and the bite of the hard edges into his fingers.

“I do not suppose that you have seen a golden sphere at all, have you?” He finally asked, and he knew that it was not an answer but it was all he could say for fear of messing with what could be the past.

Altaïr scowled at him, “How mysterious of you.”

“I do not know how I got here or why, or even how I get back. I just appeared.” Malik sighed.

“And still that is not the answer I was looking for.”

“So I appeared in a place that seemed foreign at first, and I hear movement behind me. If I was captured by anyone they would need to die, no? So I struck.” The Dai explained and then brought up his hand to rub at his ear with was tender to the touch. “Of course I recognised you immediately for an assassin, and I try to make peace, but you are not so happy to back down.”

Altaïr's eyes flickered to the pile of blades he had left on the bed, his belt which held those cleaned and polished and then finally over the weapons that had left their hands not too long ago.

“I should hope you aren't planning at coming at me with a knife again. Your blade work is so messy at times it's a wonder you have not decapitated yourself.”

Eyes narrowed tightly at Malik but instead of turning back to the knives sitting on the rug they remained trained on his face, and Altaïr made no move towards the weapons, instead relaxing ever so slightly. Malik raised his eyebrows surprised.

“I had thought that your head was so big anything anyone said to you other than praise would have merely bounced off the flesh enclosing your ears.”

Determined not to cave to Malik's jibes, Altaïr clenched his jaw tight and his scowl grew heavier.

Malik had not seen him so easily irritated in years now. It was intoxicating to see him even considering lunging at him with something other than lust or fear. When they had first began fucking he had quickly found that his wit was a heady aphrodisiac to Altaïr. Now when he threw insults they were either brushed off easily with the knowledge that Malik did not truly mean to hurt Altaïr beyond reason or fed by obscene moans and lewdly rocking hips. Briefly Malik wondered whether this effect presupposed his relationship with Malik and dragged his eyes over Altaïr's bare flesh. He had not yet even grown into his broad shoulders, though it did take him a lot longer than most other boys. About the time that he married Adha his chest had finally filled out.

“How stoic.” He eventually remarked after his eyes had lingered on the front of Altaïr's breeches for long enough. He looked back up to their face. “Not even one attempt to prove me wrong? Or am I right?” He chuckled with the full intention of riling Altaïr up further. “Are you truly only a hot headed and stuck up Novice just waiting to be knocked off of his high horse?”

A little harsh, perhaps, but it had its desired effect. Altaïr lunged at him.

Malik dodged quickly to the side and grabbed Altaïr's undamaged wrist, pinning it behind his back and forcing him to bend over the surface, Altaïr's free arm flailing wildly in an attempt to hit him. Fuck, he had missed the feeling of challenge. Beneath him, Altaïr thought very much the same.

“I'll take that as an affirmative.” Malik murmured into Altaïr's ear as he spread himself over the boy's back. Altaïr snarled into the wood very much as he had the stone wall.

“But you like this, don't you, Altaïr? You like being reminded that you are not a God. You like being challenged. You like being forced to submit.” Malik blew a stream of cool air over the shell of Altaïr's ear. The fabric of his robes and tunic cut into and stuck to Altaïr's sweaty back as it bucked in an attempt to force Malik off. He smiled a Cheshire grin when the younger man's struggles faltered and returned a lot weaker and half-hearted.

“You know, it's about time that somebody taught you that not everybody's so easily beaten as you should think. There are circumstances when you should walk away and not...compromise-”

“I would never compromise the Brotherhood.” Altaïr insisted, and he sounded in that moment so honest and sincere Malik forgot when he became the man who cost him his arm and brother and instead could only see the man he now worked with day to day. He remained tight-lipped and surprised, but unfaltering in his grip.

“And I suppose I should just submit to you?” Altaïr growled after Malik remained still and the vibrations rumbled over Malik's chest bringing him into the present – a much deeper past than Solomon's Temple.

“'Depends, does it feel right to?” Malik was unsure of when his voice had dropped to a silky, flirtatious tone but it probably had something to do with the compromising position they found themselves in and the intimacy he shared with Altaïr after he had earned his forgiveness. Altaïr had stilled beneath him, silent but for his panting breath. His back heaved under Malik's chest. It was ever so familiar to feel, despite the layers of cloth between their skin.

Aaaaand that's all I'm giving out at the moment...Oh God don't kill me. Things have been hectic as fuck recently and ugh...So many important decisions! I assure you of this, though, part 3 has begun and so will hopefully be up quicker and part 4 is going to be much shorter and easier...

Oh fucking god more of this needs to exist as soon as humanly possible before I explode from the ust.

I will try my very best!

"And I suppose I should just submit to you?” Altaïr growled

Um, yeah. That's sort of the idea!

Wow. This is hot, non-anon. I am reeeeaally looking forward to the rest but go at your own pace. I'll just keep re-reading...and shivering in anticipation. :3

Thank you. Things are hectic over here, and my dishwasher just broke, too! Dishes are piling up everywhere!

A long moment passed between them and Malik wondered if he had acted too quickly or too brashly. He sighed heavily and straightened up, releasing Altaïr's wrist. Altaïr remained bent over the desk, gripping the edges tightly. “Never mind. Safety and peace.” He rested his fingers on the small of Altaïr's back slightly and then stepped away, hoping to find some way out of this mess that did not include buggering his ten years younger lover over his desk.

“Yes.” Altaïr then mumbled into the wood, flattening himself further against it in embarrassment. Malik looked at him surprised as he twisted his head to catch Malik's eye. “Yes, it feels right to.”

Malik couldn't stop a smirk from spreading over his face as he leant over him again, hand braced by Altaïr's shoulder. “Is that so?”

In reply Altaïr rocked back slightly until his backside rested on the front of Malik's lap and cast him a strange look caught between defiance and a flutter of want. “Yes.” He replied with a certain definiteness that made Malik truly consider taking the man.

He must have looked surprised.

Altaïr twisted as he rose to his feet, Malik instantly falling into a defensive position in reaction to their fighting. But instead of moving to hurt the Dai, Altaïr only bent his head to the raised arm, brought a hand to the elbow with a feather light touch, and kissed the fabric of Malik's sleeve with their eyes still locked. In was not a wholly arousing thing to watch or experience and Altaïr would definitely need the practice in the eight years before he would find himself in such a position again until he could make Malik melt, but the message was clear enough to decipher.

Malik relaxed his arm, moving it instead to the side of Altaïr's neck with a firm but non-threatening grip and then pulled the young man closer until they were nose to nose, halting so that their lips were still inches apart and surveying the emotions that flickered over Altaïr's face.

Minute shock, excitement, hunger, hesitation...and certainty. He was stupid to have doubted him in the first place. Altaïr did not take what he did not want, even when humbled.

He gave a small hum, still watching the curve of Altaïr's brow should it gave any new information and the heaviness of his eyelids, and then in a quick movement they were out of focus and cast in shadow and lips had sealed forcefully and none-too-pleasantly over his; more of a press of teeth against teeth with lips unfortunate enough to be in the way than a kiss. Malik pulled away abruptly and took hold of the back of Altaïr's neck again.

“You're actually as much of a novice at kissing as you are at breaking out of holds.”

He gained a scowl for his efforts and he fought the urge to roll his eyes at the show of aggression, knowing that it would lead to provocation and result in either more bruising unrefined kisses or another fight. A fight probably followed by such kisses. Also, a part of him wondered if Altaïr would be a better lover if he taught him a few tricks now rather than during those sloppy, not at all good first times with each other.

“Softer.” Malik said and leant back in to press their lips back together without the pain that had been there before. Altaïr eagerly reciprocated and he must have been following Malik's advice because this time he wasn't attempting to cut off circulation to their lips by grinding their jaws together. Malik threaded his hand up into the short, sweat-dampened hair at the back of Altaïr's head and tilted the both of their heads so that they slotted together easily, happy to undulate his lips in chaste pecks and take it slowly, considering all of his options. Of course Altaïr – headstrong – gripped Malik's sides fiercely and pressed his tongue out from his mouth to insistently tease the seam of the Dai's lips. Malik's grasp in his hair tightened considerably and he pulled back again, tired with Altaïr's inability to start things slowly.

But he had no chance to voice this as hands flew from his waist to his shoulders and dragged him close again, a mouth lavishly attacking his neck with a rapidly drying tongue and a lack of finesse. He sighed, surprised by Altaïr's enthusiasm. There was nothing to do but go with it and hope that his superior knowledge and skill would soon melt the younger assassin to a less aggressive state.

Malik let his hand smooth down the curve of Altaïr's back, sticking to the sweat, until it could grasp at his buttocks, revelling in the pause it created and the small gasp of breath that moved on his damp skin. Teeth grazed the sensitive flesh beneath his ear, followed by a wet kiss and a searing suck. His knees weakened at the flood of arousal accompanying the action and he fought to keep quiet. The young man in his arms would no doubt be insufferable if he thought that he was at all good at this.

Intent on besting Altaïr, Malik quickly and roughly spun him around and forced him to bend over the desk again, pinning him down with his own weight just as he had during the last moments of their fight.

“What are you doing?” Altaïr spat into the wood, immediately tensing, and Malik pressed his hips into Altaïr's behind and pressed full kisses to the nape of the man's neck to answer. Beneath him Altaïr relaxed into the wood and shuddered at a long lick from the top of his spine to his hairline and at the half-hard length he could feel resting on his arse. The salt on Malik's tongue was strong and fresh and he fought the urge to spit, instead biting softly at the column of tissue presented. A deep groan rumbled in Altaïr's chest, small and quiet as if stifled, and sparked a flash of fierce want within Malik's loins. He took in a sharp breath and rubbed his hips against Altaïr's clothed behind, his hardening cock tenting against his own breeches..

“Altaïr,” He sighed, releasing the flesh and looking down at the quickly pinking imprints of his teeth. “I'm going to fuck you.”

Another moan, louder this time, bounced off of the wooden desktop and Malik grinned because he knew exactly how Altaïr ticked when he was in the bedroom. His hand flew to tug Altaïr's hips back and then creep around to the front, palming the hot, hard length trapped in his breeches momentarily before struggling with the fastenings. Altaïr shuddered into the woodwork, hips rolling forwards in search of attention.

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.

“Spread yourself for me.” He said, voice husky and low, and Altaïr's hands hastily flew to pull his cheeks apart and expose a clenched pucker. “Good.” He mumbled, and kissed the dimple where Altaïr's ring finger dug into his skin, slowly making a path towards that hole so delightfully exposed to him and listening to Altaïr's choked whimpers. At the first swipe of his tongue over the tight pucker Altaïr was already panting and keening through gritted teeth. He fought back a smile in favour of pushing his face closer until his nose uncomfortably pressed against flesh, and lashing out his hot tongue again to lick and tease and pry. His hand slid over Altaïr's on densely muscled flesh as Malik gave an obscene moan and tightened his tongue into a hard spear to ease it past Altaïr's loosened hole.

Altaïr chocked back a groan, tugging his hand out from beneath Malik's to desperately grasp and tug at his erection with quick, efficient movements until he came into his own hand, whimpering.

Malik withdrew and kissed the pucker twice before turning to the jar he had abandoned. Altaïr was boneless on the desk, panting.

“We're not done yet.” Malik purred, his voice husky and lust-filled. Between his legs Altaïr's softening cock twitched and the young man jerked in place, hypersensitive.

“Are you going to fuck me?” He asked, throat sounding wound tight and voice breathy.

“Yes.”

Malik removed the sealed lid of the jar and delved his fingers into the cold, unpleasant mixture. The slick fat coated his hand well, and when he removed his hand the smell was not too unbearable.

“I'm going to prepare you first.”

Altaïr nodded his consent, but still jumped when cold fingers smeared the lubricant over his hole.

“Just relax.” He mumbled, and then traced the ring of muscle with his middle finger twice, feather light, until slowly pressing it in. Immediately he was surrounded by tight, searing hot muscles on all sides. He could faintly feel the heightened rhythm of Altaïr's heartbeat around him, pulsating. He pushed his finger in further to the second knuckle. His other fingers obscured him from going in any further, pressing their knuckles on the slippery skin. Altaïr was breathing heavily beneath him.

“Think of something else. Don't dwell on it.” Malik said, and shifted in place as his erection began to ache from a lack of attention.

“You're in me.” Altaïr choked. A flood of arousal rushed south. The front of Malik's breeches dampened with precome.

“Not yet.”

He crooked his finger to press against Altaïr's prostate. Though a centimetre or so shy the reaction he gained was beautiful. With a concealed whimper Altaïr bucked in place, unsure if he should grind into that finger or pull away, overwhelmed. Malik pressed down again, straining his hand to reach in as far as he could. When Altaïr rose his hips to meet him he slid in another finger and gently scissored them.

“I'm not going to break.” Altaïr growled indignantly into the desk and rocked his hips back.

“Yes you are. Now shut up and enjoy yourself.” Malik chided, and then spread his fingers further, loosening the strong muscles. Altaïr remained silent, breathing heavily and hips twitching up onto Malik's fingers when they came close to his prostate. His cock stirred and hardened again between his legs as Malik squeezed in a third finger. He signalled a twinge of pain with a soft grunt and by scrabbling at the wood beneath his palms. “See? You're as much of a novice in bed as you are in a fight. Look before you leap.”

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.

“Kamil.”

Under any normal circumstance Altaïr wound have easily been able to see that the name was a mere anagram of 'Malik' and everything would have crashed around them. But this was not normal circumstances, and Malik was grinding himself in a slow circle, losing what little patience he had left and sending Altaïr into a fit of moans and short, soft keening sounds. The young assassin's brain scattered. The soft head of Malik's cock pressed fleetingly over his prostate and stole his breath. He bucked back onto the cock splitting him open and all was undone.

Head against Altaïr's neck and arm holding him above the young and prone form, Malik thrust, and with a moan Altaïr bucked back to meet him a moment too late. He met the next one dead on and violently, moaning louder as pleasure spiralled from his prostate to the tip of his hardened arousal, which dribbled precome to the flagstones. Malik watched as the muscles shifted in Altaïr's back with increasingly gruff groans and forceful thrusts. Next to his ear he could hear everything from the hitched breath and harsh pants of his lover to the moans and curses and the whimpered, 'Fuck me' that pulled from him a full-bodied moan. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the room, echoing off the stone walls, floor and ceiling and mixing with their moans and the wet sounds of their meeting. Sweat was in Malik's eyes and he wiped it away on Altaïr's shoulder, only to find that also slicked with sweat and not at all effective. On Altaïr's next moan and whispered plea his hand scrabbled away and down to his cock, jerking it once more. Malik took the lobe of his ear into his mouth and sucked it before murmuring quietly and huskily to the other various obscene promises.

“I'm going to make you come again, Altaïr.” He panted, and Altaïr hung his head and replied with another sound, desperately tugging at his erection and bucking towards the harsh meeting of their bodies. “Going to make you moan. Going to make your legs useless. Fuck-” He broke off and grit his teeth, straightening up and gripping Altaïr's hip with bruising force, pulling him back to meet each forceful thrust. “Going to make you howl.”

Altaïr's voice bounced off the wall in front of him, loud and breathless. The hand on his erection squeezed gently. It pumped desperately. Jerkily. It was no longer about rhythm but about release. Pulled back on the cock that was fucking him and feeling the intensity of his orgasm build and build he gave himself over with a long moan. Come spilt from Altaïr's cock and fell to the floor. It joined his older seed in painting the underside of his desk. His voice broke. Malik had pulled out, still hard and close – very close – and his hand was tugging at Altaïr's side, forcing him onto his back and bruising his hip on the side of the desk. He stroked himself quickly over Altaïr's slowly softening cock until, with a moan, he too came, painting white stripes over Altaïr's lower stomach. It beaded in the tangle of his coarse public hair and dripped slowly and lewdly down and over his sac. Caught in the aftermath of his climax and captivated by the stunning sight Altaïr made he smeared the viscous fluid with his fingers. The skin under his fingers jumped. Through tired eyes he looked once more at that barely scarred chest.

A hand, tentative and barely shaking and warmer and smoother than he could remember, touched his hip. Drawing away Malik stumbled over to the bedroll and collapsed onto it, his legs tied by his breeches tangled around his knees and caught by his boots.

After a moment of sitting on the bedroll alone, regaining his breath quickly and easily and feeling all energy leave his body, the sound of Altaïr joining him and the heat of a wiry body falling down next to his was tangible in the otherwise still atmosphere. A hand on his jaw drew him blindly into a sloppy kiss. With a loud and muffled moan he recognised a fluid between their tongues, slick and salty and very obviously the come they had both spilled. Altaïr swallowed audibly and omitted a small sound from the back of his throat. When Malik opened his eyes he found the young man with his eyes closed, hovering mere centimetres away. With his lips kiss swollen the line of a fresh scar on his lips was strangely invisible, whereas in ten years time he would know it to stand out further; fiercely cutting into the plump flesh.

He cleared his throat, Altaïr pulling away at the noise, and got to shoddily pulling his breeches back up. Altaïr eyed his clothes by the desk. His trousers were stained with his climax from their place on the floor, watching the rapidly drying come on his stomach and around his cock. He would need to wash off any evidence and then visit the Hamam, thought the thought of being in any place with so many nude males had him on edge. How would he be able to survive in a room full of exposed members when one had been inside of him not too long ago?

On his knees Malik finally pulled his breeches the rest of the way up and, by resting on his haunches, managed to do them up. Not very well, but well enough. For now. With that done he rested back against to wall, legs stretched out in front of him and exhaustion making itself known throughout his body. An argument followed by a fight followed by a good fuck. He hadn't had one of those in a while. Altaïr shuffled to sit at the head end of his mattress near his blades and polishing equipment. That was what must have gone in the gap within the chest, Malik noted. He hummed to himself thoughtfully. Altaïr's eyes immediately snapped to him.

“Kalim, you said?” He asked, and his throat sounded slightly hoarse. A slight quiver to his brow gave away his brain beginning to string things together and connect dots. Malik panicked slightly, though did not let it show on his face. He questioned how he would get back once again. Fragments of Altaïr's research flitted uselessly through his mind. He raked through his memory to try and find a clue in his last moments in the future. He grasped widly at an idea and hoped it was not foolish, nor that the Apple would reject it.

“Altaïr, I have come to warn you that-” He began, but suddenly Altaïr had snatched up a knife and was holding it in front of him.

“You are not who you say you are.” He hissed, eyes narrowing. They then widened suddenly. A look of realisation dawned on his face. Malik felt panic and fear seize him. “Mal- ?”

“-That you will continue to be a novice, even when Grand Master.” Malik blurted out in a rush. There was a jerk at the nape of his neck as if someone had yanked his hood. White flooded his vision and caused him to screw up his eyes. He was thrown backwards.

A/N: Bit of a miscount there, sorry guys. Also, sorry for how long this took to get out!! I mean - really, over a month!! This is my most neglected piece. There are still 2 more parts to come out. I can't guarantee being at all faster, so I just hope that the finished product will make up for it!!

Gah fuck! What a freaking tease this is! Don't worry about making us wait, I'm way guiltier than you /hasn't updated a piece in about two months+

That was so fucking hot though. I can't wait till you write the rest 8D

1; The Reason

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