asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-01-04 10:19 am
Entry tags:
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
2; The wound [4/?]
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.
2; The wound [5/?]
“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.
Re: 2; The wound [5/?]
Re: 2; The wound [5/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-06-28 02:26 am (UTC)(link)Re: 2; The wound [5/?]
Re: 2; The wound [5/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-06-30 01:09 pm (UTC)(link)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
Re: 2; The wound [5/?]
2; The wound [6/?]
“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.
2; The wound [7/?]
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.
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.
2; The wound [9/?]
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.”
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.”
2; The wound [11/13]
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.
2; The wound [12/12]
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!!
Re: 2; The wound [12/12]
That was so fucking hot though. I can't wait till you write the rest 8D
Re: 2; The wound [12/12]
Re: 2; The wound [12/12]
(Anonymous) 2011-08-22 03:39 am (UTC)(link)This is absolutely fabulous. I loved how Malik intends to return to his present time and discover if Altair really was experimenting. And I love all the references to the differences between this younger version and the Altair he knows.
I cant believe we still have two more parts! XD Seriously, take as long as you need because that is awesome news for this anon to hear. :D
Re: 2; The wound [12/12]
You're making me blush, anon!
Mhm, I have to worry now about repetition or continuity errors! Hopefully the third and fourth parts of this will live up to everyone's expectations!
3; The soothe [1/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-09-23 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)A heavy thump sounded behind him, to the right. In a fluid movement he pulled his sword from its sheath and twisted to face the source of the noise, blade held defensively to block oncoming attacks to his torso. One could never be too careful.
He recognised the face straight away.
A young, adolescent Malik blinked back at him, eyes darting from sword, to the scar bisecting his lips and then all over his robes, taking in the details of the sweeping Grand Master's cloak. One hand – his left – was stuck in a sling that drooped from his neck. The other attempted to curl around a thick scroll, which he had dropped to his feet. Dust settled in clouds on his boots.
Altaïr relaxed and slid his sword back into its sheath, the defensive stance of his body melting away.
“Safety and peace, Malik.”
“To you too, Altaïr.” Malik replied and tilted his head in acknowledgement, a distrustful frown creasing his brow above a hawkish nose. They stared at each other evenly, Altaïr assessing the situation he found himself in and Malik wondering how Altaïr managed to appear older and as Grand Master. Something was greatly amiss. He licked his lips, his hand curling tighter around the heavy scroll and itching to take hold of a weapon.
“Let me help.” Altaïr said, and moved forwards, hand outstretched and heading for the scroll. Malik shuffled back minutely, grip wavering, causing a minute pause in Altaïr's movement. When Malik stilled he moved forwards again and hefted the scroll up, holding it out as an offering. Cautiously it was taken from him and cradled on Malik's arm as if it were a newborn child. They stared at each other evenly, until with a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat, as if in acceptance of what he saw before him, the young Malik turned swept behind a bookcase. His right hand dragging over the dusty wood, the Grandmaster lingered and watched.
Tucked away in a small, quiet corner, Malik had been studying at a low table. He sat on a worn and stiff cushion that prompted correct posture, and yet hunched over a myriad of scrolls that he had collected from all over the library, and took notes in minuscule. Casting a trained eye over one of the scrolls that had been spread over the wooden table Altaïr recognised it for religious texts – ah, yes, hadn't Malik been going through a small spat of religious interest about the age of eighteen? Had he not spewed religious quotes, and quietly asserted to those he felt he could that Religion was not the true answer? How right he had been.
With a small sigh Malik had sat back down and was struggling to place to scroll so that he might read it. His quill fell to the floor and he hissed a curse, frustrated. Out of habit Altaïr stepped forwards and took the scroll away, opening the text and weighing it flat with an ornamentally carved rock. It had been Malik's favourite paperweight and had broken three months ago in an accident. As he traced a fragile limb of quartz Malik snatched up his quill.
3; The soothe [2/?]
“You do not seem to be the Altaïr I know.” He grumbled, his irritation loosening his tongue, and dipped his quill before poising it above his parchment.
“No, I am not.” Altaïr said, and then smiled briefly in recollection. Thirsty for a fight, for challenge, for respect and for reverence amongst his peers, Altaïr would have hesitated to help anyone other than himself, Al Mualim, Adha or a fair woman at market when a young adult. From there his arrogance grew, and, after he had lost Adha, consumed him.
“I have grown much since now.”
Malik rested the nib of his quill on the parchment, staining a black spot of ink that bled out. “You make no sense.”
There were the first foundations of the caustic tone Malik perfected by the age of twenty in that voice and it made Altaïr shiver pleasantly and ever so slightly. Looking at Malik he was once again shocked by how young he seemed. His arm was there and whole (though out of commission), the crease between his brow was softer, the skin beneath his eyes sagged slightly with a tiredness that came with night of study rather than being purpled with nightmares of loss, and he was clean-shaven, his sharp jaw not yet shadowed by a small and stark, black goatee. He was young and whole and gorgeous (much more than he had been at such an age, for he matured much quicker, despite his relative youth.)
“I did not aim to confuse. I must ask forgiveness.”
Malik held his gaze a little while longer and then scoffed and looked to where his quill rested, re-inking it before scratching down a quick, short sentence.
“You most certainly are not the Altaïr I know.” Malik mumbled to himself, his bow arched with surprise and a touch of disbelief, maybe even exasperation towards the young man of which he spoke.
Altaïr contented himself with brief silence, and then moved to the more comfortable rug and cushions beside the study table, lounging in the light cast through a small window. It was all an illusion. All the Piece of Eden had ever created was illusion. There was no way that this was real and the only way to break free of the illusion – or at least the way he had found when he was last trapped – was finding the 'key' that took him there in the first place. Meanwhile he would have to do all he could to remain calm, keep the illusion from clouding his mind and judgement, and keep mass attention away from him, lest things fall into chaos.
“You wear the Grand Master's robes.” Malik drawled, watching him from the very corner of his eye. “Why?”
Altaïr sighed and got himself comfortable. Should he tell the truth? He picked at the hem of his black outer robe.
“Because,” he started, and then pushed his hood back to reveal his face completely. “in the future I am the Grand Master and you are my closest friend, my right-hand man...”
Malik feigned disinterest and barely hid the exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“And my lover.” It was better to tell the truth than to spin a faulty lie. They clung to lies, ripping it apart. The Apple enjoyed exposing flawed logic and burrowing into his mind, scratching away at his largest insecurities. No, best to tell the truth which he knew and keep them as calm as possible than give them an opening.
Malik's quill broke and bent in his grip. A second to late for it to be anything but forced Malik gave a short bark of terse laughter. The tone wavered with uncertainty. He discarded his broken quill, worrying for the cost of having it replaced.
3; The soothe [3/?]
“No, I am not.”
“You lie.”
“No, I do not.” Altaïr said, and then relaxed further into the cushions. He was tired, his mind had hardly enough energy to find a key when he had no idea what it might be. It would have to be close though, the Piece of Eden always made sure it was close. Perhaps it was Malik. It was most likely to be Malik. But in what way?
“There is no way that I would ever become your lover. Besides finding you unattractive in all ways I also do not hold such... unnatural desires.” Malik sniffed. “And you cannot be from the future, as that is impossible.” He fumbled for a new quill, dipping it again into his ink. If it weren't for Altaïr's knowledge of Malik's 'unnatural desires' and how he had fostered them from a young age he would almost believe the self-assured statement.
“Ah, but you do have desires. You yourself will tell me. All in due time, of course.”
Malik scowled and muttered a violent denial under his breath.
“...And yet you still do not believe me.”
The youngest of them whipped around on his pillow. “Of course I do not!”
Altaïr eyed Malik's frame, tense with fuming anger, and once again reminded himself to keep his mind in the future rather than the present.
“Well no, I suppose that a man would have to live through the act of falling in love to ever understand it.”
“Always the philosopher, aren't we, Altaïr?” Malik twisted back to his desk and tried his best to concentrate on his work. “Now leave me. Can't you see I have work to do? And I would return Grand Master Al Mualim's robes before you are found with them.”
“It started with an apology.” Altaïr hummed, and ignored Malik's command – it was only safe to stay in one place, and besides, Malik was the key. Somehow.
“An apology.” Malik mocked, and scratched out more words with his quill. By the sound of it this nib was far too blunt.
“Yes, and you forgave me. Well – you say that you did not, but in fact you will.”
“Your tenses are confusingly erratic.”
The slight tilt of Malik's head told Altaïr that he was listening intently, despite his comments.
“Then, when I became Grand Master I asked you to join me as an equal. You were only befitting the title.”
Malik did not re-dip his quill.
“However you believed that I was still trying to apologise; that I was not sincere. Though this is not true I still could not convince you to share with me this title. You became my right-hand man, an advisor and brother both in arms as in the brotherhood of the creed.”
“This does not explain how we were to become lovers.”
“How we are lovers.” Altaïr corrected. “And no, for that came later.”
“Oh, do go on.” Beneath the façade of sarcasm Altaïr could pick up on Malik's desire to hear more.
“As you wish.”
“I was being sarcastic.” Malik grouched, and for show took to writing a new line.
“I will be the judge of that.” Altaïr replied, and, when Malik remained silent as if ignoring him, smiled. “Love, as you may have heard, takes time to develop. As does trust, and one cannot stably exist without the other. Trust had begun to restore itself the moment I apologised to you, and despite many interruptions it steadily continued to bloom between us until I trusted you with me life and you trusted me with yours. All this time there was something between us. An object, and also a woman.” Altaïr paused to determine Malik's reaction to this. In his present – the future – Malik would protest that Maria ever troubled him. This Malik remained quite still. He was dreadful at pretending he was not listening.
3; The soothe [4/?]
“The object, more so after her departure than before, held my interest and threatened to overcome me. Still threatens... I become unwell all too quickly now for not looking after myself. You will be the grounding force keeping me to this...my world. You were jealous of it and angry at me...and worried. And you cared very deeply for me. I was mourning and short-sighted.
“One week you hid the object from me. I searched all day on the first day, driven mad. Then I rested. On the second I fought with you. On the third I realised that you cared for me greatly. That you had been a very...constant figure in my life.
“I considered all of my feelings for you, and so even when I retrieved the object I was haunted by confusing messaged and alien feelings. What I first dismissed to be brotherhood; platos, I then discovered to be eros. We confessed two years ago. I was twenty-six.
“You are very young for a Grand Master.” Malik mumbled, as if dismissing everything else Altaïr had told him.
“Even Al Mualim was young once.” Altaïr sighed, and wrenched his eyes from the back of Malik's head to the ceiling.
“Strange,” Malik smirked, and abandoned his work entirely to turn on his cushion and face Altaïr. “I never thought I would hear the day that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad did not sing Al Mualim's praises...Or his own.”
“As I have said, I will change much to become who I am now.”
Malik gave a thoughtful hum, not agreeing or disagreeing. A silence descended upon the both of them and a tiredness washed over Altaïr, coaxed upon him by hours of gazing into the Apple and the exhaustion of dreams plaguing his sleep. He yawned widely and silently, and then asked with his voice still distorted by his widened throat, “Do you believe now?”
Malik shook his head in reply.
Altaïr gave a small smile and a quiet, contented hum. “Yes, a man must live through it to believe it, I suppose.”
“And,” Malik started, gaining Altaïr's attention, “even if I did live it, I would not believe that you felt for me. Not if there was a woman.”
Ah, there it was; Altaïr's own little insecurity. What if Malik doubted his affections? And he did not mean this young Malik, but the one who grew from him. The Apple seemed to be erring on the edge of offence, beginning to scratch away at his vulnerabilities. He would have to move carefully and reclaim control, at least until his tired mind could grasp the key.
He turned his head to look back to Malik, and stared straight into his face; into his eyes. Malik stared back defiantly.
“You will become such an integral part of me that the moments spent with women will pale in comparison. Of that I am confident.” Some part of him twisted inside; a small, worrying voice that screamed for Adha's memory and for his love of Maria and their sons, but the overwhelming majority knew that the statement was true. “I hope that you will never doubt me.”
3; The soothe [5/?]
The Grand Master's eyebrows raised, and he saw Malik falter slightly, biting the inside of his lip and retreating into himself, inch by inch with each second passed. He steeled himself for a rejection, which he would no doubt use as evidence that he, Altaïr, was lying. Scrabbling for control Altaïr tried to think of how he could prove the future, and, as strange and alien as it sounded, prove his affections.
Malik had never been a material person. If you bought him something beautiful and practical then there was a possibility that he would take to it, and as a consequence take to you, but this was rare to come across. At the time of Altaïr's confession he had been contented with his words and an embrace, but the assassin had a feeling that this younger Malik would not be contented with such a small gesture. Especially as this Malik was hormone driven, attracted to him, free of the exhaustion they had both felt at twenty-six, and an illusion of the Apple all too ready to turn malicious.
“And how would you have me do that?” Altaïr asked, testing the waters and pushing himself to sit up. Malik had the chance to stand down, but did not take it.
“How did you prove it to me the first time?” Malik asked quickly.
“I told you, and then we embraced.”
“...I want more than that.”
Altaïr heaved a deep sigh. “I thought you might say that.”
A/N: Aaannd that's all for now.
/scurries off into non-existence yet again
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-09-24 08:20 pm (UTC)(link)Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
I crave plot with my porn, and you're delivering here. I love how the key to get Mailk back is to basically remind Altair that he will always have someone to strive against, and the key to Altair back seem to be for him to have feeeeeelings. Out Loud!
Also, the porn from 'The Wound' is way burning hot, in case you're wondering.
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
(Anonymous) - 2011-11-09 04:28 (UTC) - ExpandRe: 3; The soothe [5/?]
Re: 3; The soothe [5/?]
(Anonymous) - 2011-11-12 10:47 (UTC) - Expand