(This writefag DOES NOT want to discourage the one above, but simply needed to add some of its own bebessassin love <3.)
“Have you done it?“
Altair looked up from the whetstone, at Malik first, then at his dagger. There was still a slight dent on the sharp side where it met stone today. He’d forgotten to polish it, too. The other kids washed theirs when they were swimming in the river, but he never went.
“Done what?” Altair asked. With a few quick steps, Malik was next to him and sat, his scrawny legs folded under him. A bit of dried blood clung to his lip. “What’s that from?” Altair said, not waiting for the answer to his first question. He pointed at Malik’s face.
Raising his hand, the other boy frowned. “Oh. Abbas got me with his wooden sword.”
“You must be faster. He has much longer legs than you,” Altair said. Cool wind came in through the window. The brown linen of his shirt was rough as he pulled it against his body. “And you can’t bite it or you’ll open it again.”
“I’m not biting it.”
“You are too. You always do.”
“Shut up. Let me finish,” Malik said. “Have you kissed anyone?”
“Oh, that.” Altair rolled his eyes. Really hard. Ahmet did that when they started squabbling, right before he would force them all to run three laps in the inner courtyard, up and down the stairs. Altair now copied it since he wanted to make sure to show Malik he wasn’t that childish.
He didn’t even know who had started it. Probably brother Imen and sister Raniya since they were always holding hands under the table at meals. They were older, though, Imen ten and Raniya eleven. But suddenly everyone wanted to kiss.
“No.”
“Don’t you want to?”
When Malik moved, the dagger pushed under the leather cord around his hip flashed in the lamplight. The edge was thin and smooth.
“I think it’s silly,” Altair said, lifting his chin. But Malik’s dagger soon recaptured his interest.
“Why doesn’t mine look like that?”
Malik shrugged his bony shoulders. “You’re doing the sharpening wrong.”
“Show me.”
With a gesture, Malik bade Altair to lean his knife back on the whetstone. He put his hand on top of Altair’s, pressing it against the cold steel so it was at a low angle to the hard surface, not quite flush against it.
“Have you kissed anyone?” Altair asked, suddenly, and didn’t really know why. Malik looked up and lifted his hand again.
“Sameer said that Widad wants to kiss me. I think that is gross, though. I do not know her at all.”
“Do you have to know someone to kiss them?”
“I suppose. In the village, aside from family, they just kiss friends and who they’re married to.”
Altair nodded his head, slowly. It made sense.
“I kiss Kadar, but I don’t think that counts. He’s my brother.”
“And he’s a baby,” Altair agreed as Malik’s pressure on his hand increased again. Kadar was three years old and seen from Altair’s ripe old age of seven, that was way too young to be a suitable partner for a real kiss the way the novices did it now. Everyone kissed babies, after all, especially cute ones like Kadar.
There was another cold gust of wind, ruffling Malik’s hair. It was getting too long and Ahmet would surely get on his case to cut it soon. He had little curls when his hair was that length, though, and Altair thought that was nice.
Malik’s thin spider fingers curled around his own. “Don’t pull it back and forth. Always go in one direction.”
Their hands moved together to the hard, raspy sound of steel against stone, their shoulders pressing close. Altair gave him a glance.
“We could kiss,” he decided, adding all information in his head: “We’re not related and we know each other.”
Altair/Malik: Tastes Like Sharp Steel (1/2)
“Have you done it?“
Altair looked up from the whetstone, at Malik first, then at his dagger. There was still a slight dent on the sharp side where it met stone today. He’d forgotten to polish it, too. The other kids washed theirs when they were swimming in the river, but he never went.
“Done what?” Altair asked. With a few quick steps, Malik was next to him and sat, his scrawny legs folded under him. A bit of dried blood clung to his lip. “What’s that from?” Altair said, not waiting for the answer to his first question. He pointed at Malik’s face.
Raising his hand, the other boy frowned. “Oh. Abbas got me with his wooden sword.”
“You must be faster. He has much longer legs than you,” Altair said. Cool wind came in through the window. The brown linen of his shirt was rough as he pulled it against his body. “And you can’t bite it or you’ll open it again.”
“I’m not biting it.”
“You are too. You always do.”
“Shut up. Let me finish,” Malik said. “Have you kissed anyone?”
“Oh, that.” Altair rolled his eyes. Really hard. Ahmet did that when they started squabbling, right before he would force them all to run three laps in the inner courtyard, up and down the stairs. Altair now copied it since he wanted to make sure to show Malik he wasn’t that childish.
He didn’t even know who had started it. Probably brother Imen and sister Raniya since they were always holding hands under the table at meals. They were older, though, Imen ten and Raniya eleven. But suddenly everyone wanted to kiss.
“No.”
“Don’t you want to?”
When Malik moved, the dagger pushed under the leather cord around his hip flashed in the lamplight. The edge was thin and smooth.
“I think it’s silly,” Altair said, lifting his chin. But Malik’s dagger soon recaptured his interest.
“Why doesn’t mine look like that?”
Malik shrugged his bony shoulders. “You’re doing the sharpening wrong.”
“Show me.”
With a gesture, Malik bade Altair to lean his knife back on the whetstone. He put his hand on top of Altair’s, pressing it against the cold steel so it was at a low angle to the hard surface, not quite flush against it.
“Have you kissed anyone?” Altair asked, suddenly, and didn’t really know why. Malik looked up and lifted his hand again.
“Sameer said that Widad wants to kiss me. I think that is gross, though. I do not know her at all.”
“Do you have to know someone to kiss them?”
“I suppose. In the village, aside from family, they just kiss friends and who they’re married to.”
Altair nodded his head, slowly. It made sense.
“I kiss Kadar, but I don’t think that counts. He’s my brother.”
“And he’s a baby,” Altair agreed as Malik’s pressure on his hand increased again. Kadar was three years old and seen from Altair’s ripe old age of seven, that was way too young to be a suitable partner for a real kiss the way the novices did it now. Everyone kissed babies, after all, especially cute ones like Kadar.
There was another cold gust of wind, ruffling Malik’s hair. It was getting too long and Ahmet would surely get on his case to cut it soon. He had little curls when his hair was that length, though, and Altair thought that was nice.
Malik’s thin spider fingers curled around his own. “Don’t pull it back and forth. Always go in one direction.”
Their hands moved together to the hard, raspy sound of steel against stone, their shoulders pressing close. Altair gave him a glance.
“We could kiss,” he decided, adding all information in his head: “We’re not related and we know each other.”