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

“I don't worry. Just as long as I'm out of this bed sooner than later.” Malik grumbled into the air and kicked violently at the thin sheet encasing his legs. It was nowhere near as much exercise as he craved but possibly the best amount he was going to get for days. In the warm air Malik wiggled his toes appreciatively and looked down at his legs, covered by breeches. They lay still before him, mocking and buzzing with unused energy. He wanted to go out. He was sick of these walls, sick of this room, sick of this bed and sick of this arm. The Apple was a cruel and disgusting artefact and Altaïr would do good not to touch it. Ever.

Malik glared at the ceiling, which was too much of a common sight for him now, and taunted him with its familiarity and its boundaries. The first thing he was going to do when his arm was fully functioning was train like a novice as he approached his first tournament; furiously, chaotically and without break until he was exhausted. They usually learnt after their first bad experience. But Malik craved that all encompassing and almost agonising tiredness. Craved the boneless feeling that came with hours of rigorous training. The ache the next day or perhaps the day after that. And he craved the outdoors – oh the outdoors! – and fresh air and the breeze and the sight of trees and green instead of grey grey grey and blue blue blue through the tiny window.

But when Rauf reappeared it seemed that he wasn't going to have that for a long time. In fact he was going to have less of it, if that was at all possible.

And if you were wondering, yes, it was possible, as proven when Rauf set down the supplies he was carrying in his arms and went to the gaping window to pull the shutters closed and lock them before stuffing the alcove with sheets. Malik whined as the natural light disappeared. A chuckle brought his attention to the door, in which Altaïr stood carrying a pail of water, a pail of coal and the apparatus to hang a pot over an open fire for cooking.

“Are you going to cook me now?” He grumbled, still not fully comprehending what was happening. Altaïr chuckled again and shook his head as he knelt beside Malik's bedside. His eyes homed in on the skin creeping down Malik's arm and the pot of dead skin with a frown.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Fabulous.” Malik groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “I need to go out. I hate this room. I hate you. I hate the Piece of Eden.”

Rauf was making a racket with the coal, tipping it out into the floor and scraping rocks to make a pit.

“It won't be too long now...”

He was lying. It was actually quite some time until Malik could relax, if you could call what he was doing 'relaxing'.

First there was the chocking smoke which forced the men to reopen the windows to air out the room. Cue the painful removal of skin times three. Then the fire was too strong. Two more skin layers gone. Then it was smothered and smoky again. Goodbye to four sleeves. Then, finally, Altaïr hung a pail of water over the fire and they all waited patiently for it to boil.

Actually that bit's a lie. Rauf paced and cut even more skin from Malik's arm and Altaïr was so restless that he went to find Maria and set up a room for her in another wing so that she, Yusef and their unborn child weren't at risk from the heat. And Malik sweltered lying in his bed and became acutely aware that he reeked and was reminded that being stuck to bedsheets with your own sweat was definitely not an enjoyable experience. By the time the water had begun to bubble and steam Malik was well and truly fed up.

“Finally.” Rauf sighed, and wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing the beads of sweat that had gathered there and soaked the wispy hairs by his temples. Malik gave a groan as, with a sting, the sleeve on his arm tore again. It was cut from him with a resigned whimper. “The steam will fill the room and before you know it you will be much better. That arm of yours will be as good as knew.”

“Excellent.” Altaïr had re-entered the room and was dragging his hood off, sweat already shining on his skin. “You can go now. I will watch over him.”

“I'm hungry.” Malik grumbled as Rauf stood and sluggishly moved to collect his things.

“And have someone bring up food from the kitchens.”

Malik thanked God, or some other variety of deity, and then cursed the fabric wrapped around his legs for being too thick and heavy in the heat and sticking to the sensitive skin behind his knees and on the sides of his thighs.

Rauf left as quickly as the stifling room would allow him as Altaïr stripped himself down, his face clearly showing his displeasure towards the dense hot air as he panted a little for breath.

“It's too hot.” Malik grouched and shifted in his bedroll, skin peeling away from drenched sheets before having to make contact again. “And I smell.”

“When your arm is complete, Malik, you can bathe.” Altaïr said patiently as he folded himself against the wall and blessed it for retaining some semblance of cool temperature.

“And show it off to the world?”

“If that is what you want, then yes.”

There was a long pause as Malik mulled over the idea of revealing his arm to the brotherhood. Would they all react as Rauf had? Or perhaps they would do differently? Shy away or poke and prod? Would they feel more comfortable around him now that he was whole?

When his arm was first removed and he made his first journey beyond his sick bed wherein he was thought to most likely die, he had been treated like the plague. It was a shame, a deep shame. The brotherhood, which he had thought to have been so accepting of all people should they hold the same ideals and goal, was now shunning him. He moved to Jerusalem and away from the staring eyes – eyes that he had known and had trusted – to stranger's gazes as soon as his wounds would allow him. Would he receive the same treatment, or would it be completely different?

How often did one lose an arm and live to tell the tale?

How often did one grow that arm back in the space of days? A week?

It was a miracle. The Apple had, once again, created a miracle.

He stared at his growing limb with an analytical eye, managing to trace the path of veins that stood outside the muscle mass, and a thought came to him through the haze of his mind as that skin visibly covered more and more of his arm.

“I did not pine for my arm, Altaïr. I just thought of it in passing when holding the Piece of Eden.” He looked up and rested his head back against the stiff pillows, watching the man pressed to the wall as it slowly gained a layer of condensation.

A glimmer in his lover's eyes told him that Altaïr was listening despite his lack of movement or sound.

“I felt plenty whole and plenty capable without it.”

“But you still wanted it.” I was a statement, not a question, and Malik did not nod his head because that would create a fold in his neck where the sweat would stick and his hair would soak itself further.

“I wanted to feel like and equal.” He admitted to the ceiling, tearing away his eyes. There was no reply. For a long time they sat in silence, the skin of Malik's arm finally passing the point it usually broke at and continuing past his elbow undamaged. The door was knocked and Altaïr answered it to accept the rice and new pail of water handed to him. They ate in silence and topped up the water as it boiled away. And then as Malik pressed into his mouth a final scoop of rice Altaïr smiled and strapped on his hidden blade.

“You have better start training soon if you wish to beat me.” He said, a smile concealed in the corners of his mouth and challenge sparking vibrantly in his eyes.

*

By the evening the skin on Malik's arm had ripped twice but reached over his hand and was coating his thumb, working its way towards his fingers. Malik still itched with unused energy and he kicked his restless legs in place, occasionally snarling at them in frustration and working in a flurry of movement before calming again and dropping them back to the straw mattress. He watched Altaïr with a mixture of envy and hunger.

Altaïr had taken to training to pass the time. He had openly considered paperwork, though the papyrus would be hard to work with in the moist air and who would want to be hunched over in a tight and small ball when heat surrounded them so suffocatingly? The thought of working on the Apple had worked its way into his mind, but the thought of taking the artefact close to Malik had felt wrong and he no longer entertained it. So he trained with his hidden blade strapped to his arm, sword and sheath at his hip, dagger in its holster on his back. And he was bare but for the weapons and his loincloth.

He stabbed at the air mercilessly and Malik eyed the strain of his legs with barely contained excitement. The hashish in his system made him boneless but for his ever-moving legs.

With a twist Altaïr swept a blade up through the air in a graceful arc, flipped it in his grasp, and brought it down quickly and violently. The muscles in his arm bulged, his chest expanded and contracted with his breathing, his washboard stomach tensed and quivered. Even his legs tightened and bunched with the movement. Want stormed over Malik again, and this had been going on for hours. And yet, somewhere in his addled mind, there was still a reminder that the man before him slept with Maria only next door, that this was the room in which Yusef, his son, was born and nursed and that it would be wrong for them to indulge in any of the activities that sprung to mind when he watched Altaïr bend over slightly and the loincloth barely cover anything at all.

He swallowed thickly as his breeches seemed to tighten once more and he willed again that it leave. But this one seemed stubborn. After what had to have been over an hour of watching Altaïr train and denying himself even the full fantasies of what he could do it was about time that he got his comeuppance.

Need washed over him. Need he wouldn't usually deny. It throbbed in time to his heartbeat and crushed any resolve he had. As if a dam had broken a flood of images and memories and fantasies all twisted into one overwhelmed his mind. His breath hitched and the bulge in his breeches grew. Altaïr looked over to him quickly, eyes hovering on the progression of his skin as it wound around his fingers.

“Make sure you keep your fingers apart.” He said quite breathlessly and took a short break to turn so that his back faced Malik and walk towards his clothing and armour where he had left a wooden cup of water.

And he wasn't-

But he couldn't-

And please don't-

But please, please do-

And he bent over to grasp his cup and the sight drew from Malik a long, low pining noise between his teeth. The arousal was almost painful.

Altaïr whipped around and his eyes fell first on his arm again but then snapped to the obvious erection in Malik's breeches.

“I swear, Altaïr.” Malik said, voice husky and eyes dancing all over Altaïr's frame with an almost feverish pace. “I swear that as soon as my arm is whole I will fuck you so hard.”

And Altaïr was panting for another reason now and staring at Malik torn between ignoring it, leaving or crawling to him on all fours. He took a tentative step forwards.

“No! No. Fuck, Altaïr...Why the fuck did you put me in this room? Fuck.”

Altaïr froze in place, unable to explain his reasoning. In truth he had wanted Malik and Maria to perhaps bond over his current state so that things would not seem so jarring and perhaps, in the end, he could give in to one of his deepest, darkest desires.

The bulge in Malik's trousers was still highly visible and not softening at all.

“Leave, Altaïr, before we do something that we'll regret.” Malik finally hissed, a hint of desperation in his voice, and leant his head back, screwing his eyes shut.

“But-”

“Leave.”

When Altaïr pulled on the most of his clothes, hurriedly topped up the boiling pail and left, his knees were still weak from the choking grip of arousal that had taken hold of him.

I think I loved this last part of the update the most. Also this line “I swear that as soon as my arm is whole I will fuck you so hard." Such a wonderfully Malik line and I eagerly await him following up on that threat 8D

Oh he will, my dear anon. He will.

I don't know whether to love you for updating or hate you for being such a damn tease

~~There's no competition. You should obviously love me.~~

And Altaïr was panting for another reason now and staring at Malik torn between ignoring it, leaving or crawling to him on all fours. He took a tentative step forwards.

Nnnggghh. UNF. This is about as torturous as Malik's skin regrowing. Man, I wish Altair had just said, "No. We're going to fuck" AND THEN THERE WAS SEX. XD

So excited to read the rest!

Oh, but it will be worth the wait!

“I have brought you something.”

Malik wrenched his eyes away from the puzzle in his hand to Altaïr, who stood in the doorway looking gaunt.

“You have been with it again, haven't you?” He replied, eyes immediately focussing on the bags beneath Altaïr's eyes and the unkempt hair that stuck to his chin. The Apple, no doubt, had interrupted his sleep once more.

“It is of no matter. I bear gifts.” Altaïr shook the present in his hands, calling forth a rustling noise.

“It is a robe.” Malik said as he stared at the dark fabric wrapped in twine and caught a flash of silver embroidery at the hems.

“Your old one is ruined and not of much use any more.” Altaïr shrugged and sat cross-legged on the floor at Malik's side.

“That is true.”

They lapsed into a silence, Malik turning his attention back to the contraption in hand and sliding a few tiles within the frame. The aim seemed to be to create an image by moving mobile slats one at a time. So far it proved infuriating and addictive, and he had completed it three times already.

“How is it feeling?”

Altaïr was staring at his arm, at smooth, fresh skin free of any and all blemishes and hair from the point at which a huge scar banded tightly around his biceps to his fingertips, void of nails.

“Sensitive.” Malik answered truthfully, and flexed his fingers thoughtfully, as if to remind himself that it was actually there.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not yet. I seem to have earned a break.”

“It is well earned. Have you bathed yet?”

“I did so yesterday night. I couldn't sleep for itching.” Malik tinkered with the puzzle again, and then everything clicked, he made a small sound of triumph, and he quickly slid everything into place. A proverb stared back at him, embossed against the wood. Since his skin had started growing back, four days ago now, the regrowth of his arm had been much easier. The skin came in thicker layers each time and quicker, as well. He was left with a plump and whole limb comfortably resting on his left side – hypersensitive, but manageable.

“Would you like to try the robe on?”

Malik hid a smile in the swell of his lip where it was barely noticeable. “Perhaps later.”

“Mali-”

“I want to first wear it when I fuck you.”

Dead silence.

“I see.” There was definite strain in that voice.

A pinch of sharp pain. Malik's fingers bled just past the last knuckles. His fingernails had just split the skin open.

After cleaning the small wounds Altaïr had left again, a murmured goodbye to Maria who was moving in again

*

Two days passed. Malik stared at the stubby fingernails of his left hand, and then scratched at the back of his right. It was a magnificent feeling. For all too long had he been forced to use his incapable teeth – or worse, find a makeshift scratching post like some animal. But now he could use his own flesh to rid himself of it.

He could hold things. He could hold heavy things (well, not that heavy, the new arm was weak, after all). He could hold a book open with one hand and turn pages with the other. He could light fires and torches by bashing two pieces of flint together in each hand. He could reach spots on his back he had been unable to for years.

However he was more occupied with scratching with his right hand than his left.

Irritably, he snatched his right hand away from it's partner and violently scratched his left forearm. Reddened skin flaked to the floor; a product of his scratching rather than the cause. No, the cause was the thick, black hairs that were slowly inching their way through his skin. Unlike the nails they did not bleed. They itched.

It was a torture worse than a bit of blood.

At least, he thought cynically, he was acknowledging that he had his left arm. Then again, it was nigh on impossible not to.

Malik gave an irritated, teeth-gnashing snarl.

At this rate it would be days before he could finally fuck Altaïr the way he wanted to.

Yusef cried next door.

God guys, I am so sorry for disappearing for so long. I hope that some of you are still clinging on over here. My schedule's finally let up a little bit now, so I hopefully can get more work done. And hey, not too long now until the end, hooray!

Happily clinging on! ^^ Can't wait to read more. So glad you're still going - there are so many fantastic fics that get abandoned in this meme.

Too true, and such a shame as well. I hope to focus much more on the other 2 fills I am currently working on as I am close to finishing one and dreadfully behind on the other - then I should be able to get this one wrapped up. And then I think I will take a holiday from filling to focus on other parts of my life.

So glad you kept going! It gives me hope that even if the writer is gone for a month, they'll still come back :)

God this is a beautiful fill. The tension is just mounting too as Malik becomes more and more his old self and just ahg, I can't wait wait for Malik to do terrible things to Altair 8D

I only hope that I will do the terrible things justice when writing them!

Take as long as you need to; this fill is fucking fantabulous and I don't care that isn't a word, I'm making it one.
My F5 key. It is breaking.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH HELL I WENT THROUGH TO REPLY TO THIS.

ANON, I LOVE YOU. You made my day with this comment. You really did. The end is written and now just needs to be typed up and improved. I hope that you don't expect me to buy you a new keyboard because I'm broke.
LOVE EVERYWHERE.

Shivering with antici-

-pation.

Malik's fingers shook – all ten of them. They rattled together, the bone of his large knuckles clunking together. He stood, partially robed, stiff, and relatively clean, in the corridor of the Grand Master's quarters. Just behind him by an inch or so and to his left was the door to Maria's room and beyond her room was Yusef's nursery, returned to its original purpose now that Malik had happily left it behind.

Maria had turned bed-bound last night, her pregnancy not only hindering her movement but snapping her into a strange state in which in one moment she would be tender and joyous and the next she would be tense and demanding. It would not be too long before she would birth her second child. Malik had been told whilst he was pushing furnishings back into the nursery that Altaïr and Maria planned on naming the child Darim if male, and if female then Amina. He had then been told that Altaïr was a foolish pig who was incapable of doing anything other than work, eat and sleep, and been demanded of a bowl of dates.

He had been quite quick to ready himself for a trip out into Masyaf in search of the fruit.

It was due to a mixture of the excitement at being able to stretch his legs again – stretch his arms again – and a great fear of seeing her upset. Not only would it stretch the strained, alien relationship he held and shared with Altaïr and Maria to an awful point, but Maria herself could be frightening when upset. Frightening and irritating. Malik will never forget the week Altaïr spent avoiding Maria after Yusef's birth, chased away by yowled oaths of pain she had spat at him during her labour. Of course, once the Grand Master returned to her side he could barely get away.

Malik wet his lips and stretched his hands by his sides. The corridor was chilled and cast in shadow, hidden away from the choking outdoor heat. And silent. It was quite silent. Beyond the curtain at the far end of the hallway, however, the mumble of scholars and the distant crash of training blades could be heard. Perhaps Altaïr would make soft noises to himself as he scrawled his findings onto paper.

What would they make of him?

The question had Malik rooted to the spot and wide-eyed, his fingers jittery and heart in a similar state.

Would he ever be accepted again? Would there be a silence similar to to that which welcomed him after the removal of his arm descending upon each room or each street he walked into or down? Or instead would there be the exact opposite? Would he be welcomed once more as a whole man?

A loud bang caused him to jump in place and twist rapidly on the spot. The door to Maria's quarters juddered violently in it's frame.

“Dates!”

Her muffled, indignant shout was enough to force his legs into moving, taking him swiftly towards the public and open part of the fortress. Quite honestly the woman could grate on his nerves at times, though he supposed it was only right to pay her back for giving up her rooms for him.

Before he breached the entrance to the main hall Malik had a moment to compose himself, running his right hand through his hair and then his left – just because he could – pressing down the front of his tunic and correcting his posture into something much more regal. Something that commanded respect. His sleeveless tunic displayed his left arm proudly. He stepped into the well lit, familiar, and missed open hall.

No one noticed him. At least not until he descended two flights of stairs and stood facing the entrance of the hall, gaining the attention of various middle to old aged learned men and fresh-faced guards.

A spear clattered to the ground. Two mumbling scholars at the end of a bookcase fell silent. Malik rose his head high, chin defensively pointed, and strode with uncanny and nostalgic ease to the wide, open doors. There would be dates for sale in the market on the other side of Masyaf.

Malik was back within the fort walls in twenty minutes, a small pouch of dates in hand and exhilaration threatening to burst his chest wide open. The breath that hissed through his nose held a tremor as he fought to keep his smile a wry twist of his lips rather than a dazzling and uninhibited grin. He had not necessarily been accepted, but he had been believed. The only thing he worried for now was the possibility of the Apple becoming renowned as a healing artefact, and for Masyaf to be flooded with the sick and elderly, vying for its powers and calling him greedy and filthy when he denied them. The Piece of Eden must not become common knowledge. It should not even be here. It should be destroyed. It should be far away. It should be gone and never come back.

Despite his fears on what could happen now that he had revealed his 'magically restored' arm, Malik still held a spring in his step when he knocked twice on Maria's door and entered.

Laying upon her bed Maria seemed the same as he had left her, however the rage in her eyes had softened, a small smile pushing to her cheeks to a rosy colour, something he had not seen before on her skin and refreshing. It gave her life where before her skin had appeared dead next to her black hair. In that moment she was almost beautiful, and certainly striking. Malik's eyes fell to what, or rather whom, she was smiling at. By her bed sat Altaïr, Yusef sitting in his lap and slapping his belt with the palm of his hand as a makeshift drum, and then grasping at the different layers with his stubby fingers, skin surprisingly pale when he was surrounded by swathes of dark fabric and the deep brown of leather. Turning his head towards Malik, Altaïr's smile transformed for the modest, fatherly twist of his lips into something slightly and yet at the same time magnificently different. The love changed.

With a brief smile – ever so brief, because Maria was just there and despite their strange agreement Malik never truly felt at ease with Altaïr when Maria was there with them, and sometimes worried himself in thinking of the woman, and whether she harboured for him any cold feelings – Malik tore his eyes from those of an odd, amber colouring and turned to the woman on the bed, stepping forwards and passing to her the bag of dates she had requested. She accepted it with a small murmur of thanks, eyes hardly fluttering away from her child, and the child's father, who sat patiently be her side. Yusef, trying to worm his way under the plated belt, gave a whine of frustration bordering on tears, and, with a breathy voice that betrayed a small amount of fear, Maria said something swiftly in French, so fast that it flew right over Malik's head. Obviously understanding, Altaïr took his son's hand away from the belt gently, until the boy rocked in place, face reddening with a forced sob. Crocodile tears began to fall, invisible and non-existent. With a whine Yusef fell into a tantrum.

More swift French, and Malik surmised that it must be their primary language of discussion, and that he had never been close enough to hear them speak when they were speaking as a family before.

“Malik, could we perhaps talk alone?” The change in language was enough to startle Malik out of his musings. Altaïr was looking at him expectantly as Maria indulged herself with a date. Before Malik could work out a 'yes' Altaïr was handing Yusef to Maria, who screamed loudly, and then quietened to a upset and stuffy murmur when he was given a rag to play with. A look was once again thrown in his direction, first by Maria who held within her eyes nothing of warmth, but a curiosity and something else he could not quite put his finger on, and then by Altaïr, whose look was obviously hungry.

“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.

“Altaïr, wait-” He began as the other's fingers creeped onto his inner thigh and slowed down to a tortuous pace in their journey to the ties of his braies.

“I want you in my mouth.” Altaïr said, as if expecting Malik's fantasies to be different. “I've dreamt about it.” Malik swallowed thickly and bit at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. “Woken up aching; needing the taste of you on my tongue.” Altaïr's voice was husky and tight as if holding back less intelligible noises. A fresh flood of arousal ran south, precome beading at the head of Malik's member and dampening the cloth covering him. The thought of Altaïr pleasuring himself was in no way new, and in fact the image had been well explored y the both of them many times, but it still coaxed him to tilt his hips forwards until he brushed gently against Altaïr's jaw.

Knowing his lover's consent when he saw it – the pure, unadulterated lust leaking from his every pore, and the hardness in front of him, no audible or visible rejection – Altaïr focused on nimbly untying the dai's braies and drawing out his heavy cock. At the sure touch on his arousal Malik groaned softly, his hips stuttering forwards until the wet tip of his member bumped against Altaïr's scarred lips. On his knees, Altaïr swiped his tongue over the smear of fluid left there, earning another, louder moan. The slight taste he had permitted himself, masculine and salty and Malik, had him anticipating more, and with a quick look at Malik's face he took the tip of Malik's cock into his mouth, drawing the dai into a wet heat that left him gasping.

Malik's right hand flew to Altaïr's head, grounding him as a pleasure that had been far too long denied to him threatened to take him away all too quickly. The head of his cock was attacked by a skilful, velvet tongue as he slowly sunk himself into Altaïr's mouth. The Grandmaster breathed deeply and evenly through his nose and shut his eyes. His hands pulled at Malik's braies until they fell and caught at his knees. The downy hair of his thighs curled beneath Altaïr's palms as the man hollowed out him cheeks and sucked, drawing out a long, pining moan. Malik thrusted softly and shallowly, his jaw hinging open and his hand now fisting in Altaïr's finely cropped hair.

Altaïr's tongue stroked along the underside of Malik's cock and he greedily sucked until precome and saliva leaked from the corners of his stretched lips and dripped viscously from his chin. The debauched sight paired with the sucking, licking and heat had raw tendrils of lust quickly beginning to overwhelm Malik, pulling from him soft keens that grew in volume and shortened in length with each motion of his hips. Unwilling to cut the rest of the day and night short he pulled away completely, his erection bobbing slightly in mid-air and puling at the skin of his midriff.

Opening his eyes Altaïr visibly swallowed and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. With a growl Malik used his grip in Altaïr's hair to pull the man up as far as he could his whilst on his knees and forced his head back until it was almost at a ninety degree angle with his shoulder blades in a swift, singular movement, stooping and plundering his mouth. Into their messy kiss Altaïr moaned brokenly and loudly. They broke apart even shorter for breath. Altaïr's hand had slipped between Malik's legs and was doing things to make him moan breathlessly.

“I'm going to fuck you, Altaïr.” Malik whispered, his free, new hand coming to cup Altaïr's cheek and then press its thumb past his lips until it slipped into the wet heat his cock and tongue had only recently left.

“Show me what your arm can do.” Altaïr replied around the thick digit, his voice equally quiet. Suddenly he tensed and held his breath. He thought he had crossed a boundary. Malik was quick to cotton on.

“Hand me the robe and I'll show you.” He promised, wishing to ignore the comment and lose himself. Altaïr nodded, Malik's thumb bumping his teeth. Sliding the soaked appendage out and over Altaïr's bottom lip Malik then wiped it on his braies as he pushed them to the floor and stepped out of them, Altaïr twisting on the hard mattress to grab the robe. He kicked off his boots and braies before handing the bundle to Malik, who kneeled to take it.

“Thank you.”

Altaïr leant forwards and nipped at Malik's bottom lip before drawing him into a short kiss, his hand going to tease his so far ignored erection. He remained silent as Malik untied the twine and let it fall to their side and then shook the robe out.

It was the regulation dark material just bordering on the very edge of black. The silvery white embroidery was usual, the clasps common, It was ordinary. It was good. It had two sleeves, both free and loose. Both usable. Malik shrugged it on and let Altaïr straighten it on his shoulders and fiddle with how it fell. His left arm was alight with sensation as the fabric whispered over it and tugged at the hairs on his arm.

“You're...You needed a replacement.” Altaïr mumbled, and then placed his hand in the centre of Malik's chest and toyed with the hair he found there. “Now...” He said, quickly changing the tone of his voice and the subject at hand, and began to sink back against the mattress. Malik smirked, his erection perking at the promise of attention. He followed easily.

“Lie back.”

Malik was pulled into a deep kiss by a hand on the back of his neck, their tongues tangling and sliding between them. Malik's replaced hand swept with feather-light and teasing touches over Altaïr's side. He ran a smooth, soft thumb over the creased, sensitive skin of the join where his inner thigh met his pelvis. Altaïr jumped and then pressed onto the appendage, groaning as Malik began to kiss down his neck. He rubbed his thumb back and forth whilst scraping blunted teeth over Altaïr's collarbone. The hand on his neck flew to grasp the shoulder of Malik's new robe tightly. Hips twisted and shifted in an attempt to move Malik's grip to Altaïr's straining arousal. With a bruising suck to the base of Altaïr's neck that would no doubt leave a mark Malik sat back onto his haunches, his own cock resting on Altaïr's thigh.

Under Malik's stare Altaïr unabashedly opened his legs until they fell akimbo. His erection leaked onto his stomach. Cruelly, Malik ignored it and swept his hands up Altaïr's sides until they reached his nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Impatiently the Grandmaster's hips shifted, and then rolled up and forwards until they teasingly brushed against Malik's sac, and then fell down again. Challenge and boredom swam in his eyes, mixing with the impatience and lust.

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

FILL [4.b/?]

FILL [4.c/?]

FILL [4.d/?]

FILL [4.e/?]

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Re: FILL [4.e/?]

FILL [5/?]

Re: FILL [5/?]

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Re: FILL [5/?]

FILL [6.a/6]

FILL [6.b/6]

FILL [6.c/6]

FILL [6.d/6]

FILL [6.e/6]

FILL [6.f/6]

FILL [6.g/6]

FILL [6.h/6] (End)

Re: FILL [6.h/6] (End)

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OP

Re: OP