Someone else can totally fill this, This was just me playing..im a little nervous because iv never really written or done one of these before. Im just fangirling and wanted to write something pertaining to your idea...I love your idea by the way! I might write more if anyone would like me to. Please excuse my terrible grammar and mis-usage of punctuation. haha --------
It was appalling; the man he loathed and ridiculed, the man who stripped him of more than just his patience was now the only driving force that kept his will to survive a slowly flickering ember. That ember was suffocating, much like he was at that moment, but still fluttering with some hope that it may soon be strengthened with some sort of fuel. Another breath of ash and another creak of that damned iron door. It became a sick routine, another game Abbas played to instill fear and enforce dominance over these men, these brainwashed followers to a man who obsessed over a power he himself could not tame nor understand. Rubble from the aged stone fell from the hinges like powder, settling on the only earth Malik could remember. He once was defiant to these intrusions. He would thrash, and scream and try to intimidate. Though lacking a limb proved to be a disadvantage, something he could blame on the only person his brain would frantically envision in these moments. He had become the punching bag, and as these minions of Abbas imagined Altair as the writhing victim before them, Malik recognized Altair as the only force that told him to draw one more breath. He rolled over to greet this intruder, a new routine that the guards came to admire, much to their amusement. A gash was carved into the right side of Malik’s lips to help these men envision the man before them as their true goal to instill their wrath upon. It was freshened daily, a beginning to the ritual. Malik’s eyes would bulge and cross, his toes would curl and his tongue would practically leave molds of his teeth. The pain was excruciating, even now. Though nothing could compare to the crippling pain of knowing that the man he thought more than just an ally would ever even acknowledge it. What would he think, what if he saw him now? The guard clawed at abused flesh,...his breath was foul. Yet, in the far recesses of Malik’s mind, a defense mechanism would suddenly be given life. He wasn’t sure when these phenomenons began, but he could no longer deny the fact that his eyes would glaze and settle upon something much farther off. It should have been sinful, that in moments like these, he almost found some sort of relief. Scarlet liquid dribbled down his chin and Malik reeled his head back.. Would Altair’s grip be this firm, would he gasp in this sort of rhythmatic pattern…or leave patterns of yellowed and bluish flesh in his wake? Phantom lips ghosted across his cheek and teeth would nip at his collar. He could feel the scar of Altair’s lip brush against his wounds and the pain would seemingly ebb away. He felt alive, for fleeting moments he could recall the feel of those calloused pads of Altair’s hands. He could feel their rough but welcoming stroke against the side of his neck and across his hip. Perhaps he was back at the bureau; the smell of incense would yield to the intoxicating scent of the man who would be before him…the man who shaped his life in more ways than he would ever know. Before he knew it, Malik’s mouth was forming something similar to a grin. He could not recall the last time his lips were ever drawn back into something other than a wince or sneer. It felt unnatural and foreign, yet it remained throughout his hallucination.
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It was appalling; the man he loathed and ridiculed, the man who stripped him of more than just his patience was now the only driving force that kept his will to survive a slowly flickering ember. That ember was suffocating, much like he was at that moment, but still fluttering with some hope that it may soon be strengthened with some sort of fuel.
Another breath of ash and another creak of that damned iron door. It became a sick routine, another game Abbas played to instill fear and enforce dominance over these men, these brainwashed followers to a man who obsessed over a power he himself could not tame nor understand.
Rubble from the aged stone fell from the hinges like powder, settling on the only earth Malik could remember.
He once was defiant to these intrusions. He would thrash, and scream and try to intimidate. Though lacking a limb proved to be a disadvantage, something he could blame on the only person his brain would frantically envision in these moments.
He had become the punching bag, and as these minions of Abbas imagined Altair as the writhing victim before them, Malik recognized Altair as the only force that told him to draw one more breath.
He rolled over to greet this intruder, a new routine that the guards came to admire, much to their amusement.
A gash was carved into the right side of Malik’s lips to help these men envision the man before them as their true goal to instill their wrath upon. It was freshened daily, a beginning to the ritual.
Malik’s eyes would bulge and cross, his toes would curl and his tongue would practically leave molds of his teeth. The pain was excruciating, even now. Though nothing could compare to the crippling pain of knowing that the man he thought more than just an ally would ever even acknowledge it.
What would he think, what if he saw him now?
The guard clawed at abused flesh,...his breath was foul. Yet, in the far recesses of Malik’s mind, a defense mechanism would suddenly be given life.
He wasn’t sure when these phenomenons began, but he could no longer deny the fact that his eyes would glaze and settle upon something much farther off. It should have been sinful, that in moments like these, he almost found some sort of relief. Scarlet liquid dribbled down his chin and Malik reeled his head back.. Would Altair’s grip be this firm, would he gasp in this sort of rhythmatic pattern…or leave patterns of yellowed and bluish flesh in his wake?
Phantom lips ghosted across his cheek and teeth would nip at his collar. He could feel the scar of Altair’s lip brush against his wounds and the pain would seemingly ebb away. He felt alive, for fleeting moments he could recall the feel of those calloused pads of Altair’s hands. He could feel their rough but welcoming stroke against the side of his neck and across his hip. Perhaps he was back at the bureau; the smell of incense would yield to the intoxicating scent of the man who would be before him…the man who shaped his life in more ways than he would ever know. Before he knew it, Malik’s mouth was forming something similar to a grin. He could not recall the last time his lips were ever drawn back into something other than a wince or sneer. It felt unnatural and foreign, yet it remained throughout his hallucination.