asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Altair and Malik get captured by Templars. They threaten to torture Altair, but are willing to leave him be if Malik agrees to let them do one thing - cut off his right arm. To Altair's great shock, Malik agrees.

Of course, Altair manages to save the situation just in time.

Ooooh, the fight those two will have after Altair stops them- the "how could you agree to that, you fucking idiot, I can take torture" fight- I want it so much!

Welp, that settles it, anon will get on this.

The hand that came crashing into his face was covered in a heavy iron gauntlet. Altair felt the skin of his cheek split as the sharp edges ripped through his flesh. Next to him in the dimly lit room, he heard a noise, pain half-swallowed. Malik was too stubborn for his own good, not ready to yield an inch and give them the show of fear and pain that they wanted, which just edged them on. But then, Altair had refused to provide that satisfaction as well, so he was not one to demand reason from Malik here.

Altair looked around the small stone house they had been dragged into, an empty back-alley building in a nook of the Jerusalem poor district. One torch hung lopsided in a damaged sconce on the wall, the flames erratic in the wind whistling through windows and cracks. There were half a dozen Templars crowded around Malik and Altair, who were set a couple of feet apart from each other on the ground of trampled earth. The Templars had caught Altair and Malik by surprise as the bureau leader showed him to an informant for his next assassination, on a late errant himself.

At least they seemed to take them for just any two random assassins, or they would have been dragged without pause before the very man Altair looked to kill, Robert de Sade. On the other hand, this left them to be their playthings and apparently their captors had had a particularly boring evening up to now. They were an average lot, Altair had to admit, some skilled fighters, or they couldn’t have taken them, but other than that... a few seemed to delight in the cruelty and control, two stood mostly silent, just holding the prisoners in place, and one of the men had taken to guard the door and pretend he wasn’t involved, yet not raised a finger to stop the game. Gleeful brutality, dumb obedience and cowardice, a common and dangerous mixture.

When the beating stopped, he risked a glance to his side. Malik was bleeding from two gashes on the forehead and his nose. As he saw the dai’s mouth covered in sticky ruby liquid which still flowed freely, he remembered their awkward, fumbling, amazing kiss just yesterday – their first since many years, since before they had grown so widely apart while rising through the ranks – and a sudden flash of anger had him strain against the rope around his wrists with renewed strength.

Malik didn’t notice his gaze. He was looking after a Templar who busied himself by the torch, and eventually, so did Altair. When the Templar turned, an uproar of cheers went through the others. He’d lit a broken table leg from one of the pieces of destroyed furniture and now stepped close, looking between the two of them.

“Which one shall it be, friends?”

“Take the cripple, he’s used to it,” one said, and kicked Malik’s stump as if the man with the makeshift torch needed a pointer. The dai grit his teeth so hard that Altair could see the jutting line of his jaw even under a swelling purple bruise on his dark skin.

“That is no fun,” a Templar with a thick French accent complained. “The other one is going to give a little more fight.”

“The assassin rats are both not too bad at that, I would say.” The Templar now speaking had a sullen look and swollen lips, as Malik had crashed his fist into the man’s face when he tried to restrain him.

Waving his torch too close to their faces, the Templar holding the fire made a show of weighing his options.

“This one,” he said, at last, stopping before Altair, the flames licking at his chin. “Let us see how well our shadow-creeping vermin like the light. First, we will have his skin sizzle and crack. And then... which eye should I take out? The left or the right?”

But before any templar could comment, there was a rough-voiced shout. The resolute ‘no!’ sounded through the room.

Silence fell and all eyes turned to Malik. The Templars looked at him like a mouse in a trap; but if Malik had let the word slip without meaning to, it didn’t show. He gave the lead torturer an obstinate look.

“What was that?”

“No,” Malik repeated. Altair wanted nothing so bad as to shout at him to be silent, but the dai seemed hell-bent on forcing the torturer’s attention on himself – and succeeded.

With his free hand, their (by virtue of most interesting torture device) leader grasped Malik by his short hair and pulled him up.

“Is that not touching?” He asked the men, thrusting his arm out to present Malik like a fat chicken for slaughter on the market. “The cripple does not want us to hurt his lover. Who will warm his bed at night... or his back?”

Altair bit his tongue. It was just unimaginative taunting, he reminded himself. The best insult a dull mind like that one could come up with.

“What will you give us in exchange for your beloved’s eye? It would be very funny to watch running down his face, so make it something good,” the Templar told Malik.

“I know something.” Again the Templar with the split lip. He gave Malik a dark grin that had Altair’s stomach churn with worry. “Take off that other arm. He will not be making any trouble then, either.”

Altair jerked hard against his constraints and earned a crashing hit to the back of his head. He was dazed for a moment; but when the world started to turn solid again, he expected Malik to spit venomous curses at his captors. Instead, his face was pale and blank.

Then Malik said: “Alright.”

Now it was Altair’s turn to yell in protest. However, he was completely ignored.

“Really!” said the Templar and sat Malik down. “Say it again. What do you want us to do?”

“Take...” There was a slight tremble in his voice, a sound of base fear, but he didn’t break eye contact and he didn’t look at Altair widely shaking his head, either. “Take off my arm.”

“You heard the man. Hinrich!” The head torturer shouted to the man at the door who realized he couldn’t play deaf anymore and turned, slowly.

“What do you want?” He muttered.

“Give us that axe of yours. That should take off the arm nice and clean... or as clean as we want it to be.”

For one stupid moment Altair hoped that Hinrich would finally find whatever shred of honor he might have left, but it was for naught, of course. The spineless worm handed over his weapon and resumed his position, staring out of the window hole. The leader handed the torch over to one of the spectators and lifted the axe.

One Templar knelt behind Malik and wrapped his arms under his shoulders. Another took his arm by the wrist, and one sat down on his legs. It happened fast and they seemed to have forgotten about Altair for now. Malik sat almost petrified with fear and Altair could guess what memories were returning to him. To his credit, that brave, stubborn idiot did not try to struggle. He flinched away at the sight of the axe with the instinctive fear of an animal remembering a cruel master’s hand, but always brought himself to sit still when he regained control of himself.

The Templars cut off his robes, leaving him naked from the waist up and gathered round him to jest about his crippled arm, grabbing at the half-healed scar tissue. “Perhaps we should rather take a leg,” one suggested, to the great merriment of all. “He won’t have a hand to hold open when he begs for coin.”

“He still has something to sell,” one templar suggested, leering at Malik.

“Without arms? He is already an ugly son of a whore with just that one stump.”

The Templar that had up to this point stood behind Altair and held his arms joined his companions in their amusement. It was his one chance, Altair knew at once. He let his hidden blade slide out along his palm. It took a bit of wriggling and pulling to get his hand in position to press the rope against the blade – agonizing seconds in which he saw the axe being set to Malik’s shoulder, the Templars quite satisfied with the reaction of wide-eyed panic that Malik couldn’t keep from his face anymore.

Then, the rope snapped. Altair was on his feet quicker than lightning and the hidden blade in the leading Templar’s throat a split second later. He ripped the sword from the dying man’s scabbard and turned in a wide arc, slashing someone’s chest, hacking into another’s hand that was raised protectively to hide his face.

It was great luck Malik had grown up in the Order. Even shaking with fear, the instinct to fight was as deeply ingrained into him as that to breathe. When his hand was released, his thumb immediately found its way into the eye of the man sitting on his legs, digging deep. He grasped for the dirk at the Templar’s side, and then Altair was too busy to follow him, but when he looked again, Malik had embedded the weapon six inches deep into a man’s chest.

Altair stopped and counted. Five corpses on the ground (one with a simmering torch pressed to his twitching hand) and no more living Templars.

Hinrich was gone.

“One fled,” he gasped at Malik. He needed not to explain further about the reinforcements that would almost surely arrive in a moment’s time. Without another word, the assassins pushed through the door and ran down the street. Altair would have preferred the rooftops, but Malik was just relearning how to climb, he’d shared before, and some things he would obviously never be able to do again. Altair was not going to leave him alone in plain view like bait, so this was his only option.

They reached the bureau without incident, though. Malik was the first to land on the ground after scaling down the wall supporting himself mostly with his feet and broke down on the cushions in the corner. Altair fell down beside him. His head throbbed with pain. His mouth tasted like blood and all his muscles were coiled tight, ready to fight or flee.

For a long moment they just sat there, nothing but their fast breath to fill the silence. Slowly, Altair felt his reason and thought come back; and with it, a desperate sort of fury.

“What in heaven’s name were you doing?!”

Malik looked at him, instantly defiant. His torn robes hung loose from his body and he pulled them closer.

“What do you think?! I could not well let him work on you with his torch, could I?”

“I can survive fire and their blades and beatings, you fool! It wasn’t worth giving up your arm for!”

They had just found back to a shaky level of trust when he returned to Jerusalem a week ago, or at least Altair had hoped so, but now he found he could not talk to the man in calm and Malik was snapping back at him exactly as he used to do during the last months.

“It was the only decision to make. I believe in the Creed. I always have.”

“Not this again! What does this have to do with the Creed?” Altair shot back. This felt like every one of their other thousandth of fights, back to arguing semantics and methods when that was not the point at all.

“Never compromise the Brotherhood,” Malik answered.

“You would have compromised nothing if you had kept your mouth shut for once, Malik! What is this reckless-“

“If they had taken your eye, master assassin, and perhaps the other one, too, what use would you be to Al Mualim?” Malik rose to his feet. His eyes were pools of black in the twilight of the bureau. Then he turned on his heel. Just as he was almost through the door to the adjunct room, he added: “It won’t be difficult for the Order to find another man who can draw a passable map, they are at every street corner. But assassins of your skill are rare. Your life is worth more than mine.”

*

Silence prevailed after that. Malik was rustling about in his bureau, his footsteps silent on the floor. After a while, the smell of incense came through the door. Altair washed the gore and blood off himself in the small fountain and nursed his wounds with the medicine he had on him. He had never been good at applying his own bandages, though, and the one he was just wrapping around his arm wasn’t something to boast about. When Malik finally returned and saw his shoddy work, he just scoffed.

Wordlessly, the dai sat down and undid Altair’s pitiful attempt. He had cleaned himself as well and put on his long, concealing robes, so he looked little worse for the wear, aside from a few cuts and bruises. But Altair remembered that expression of sheer terror when the axe came close to the joint of his shoulder. Something had been shaken awake that moment and he couldn’t imagine Malik would sleep tonight.

“Malik,” he began, eventually, when Malik tugged the bandage tight and he knew he would get up soon and leave if he didn’t speak. “I did not mean to shout at you.”

That was a lie. He had been incredibly furious, but it wasn’t the kind of anger you would feel towards someone senselessly stupid or insolent. Malik’s right arm was... all he had left, really. Altair knew Malik, had for a long time, and the man would not be able to live with himself if he could do nothing at all. To give his remaining arm meant to give his life. It had frightened Altair out of his wits that the other man was willing to present his bare throat and wait for the knife just to save him.

“Let us not speak of it again. It was ill done by both of us,” Malik said, avoiding his gaze. But Altair grabbed his shoulder.

“No, do let us speak of this. Do you mean what you said?”

“That you are of greater use to the Brotherhood than me? Yes. It is evident.” Malik sat back against a pillow. “I would have never admitted it to the man you used to be, but you were always one of the best. You just lacked the proper morals to guide your remarkable skill and without them, even the best fighter is no good.”

“Spare me the lecture for now,” Altair said and couldn’t help but smile, but it died quickly. Nothing he’d seen of Malik would suggest anything but that he was a great bureau leader. He lived the Creed like no other and despite his crippled arm was still quick as a demon with a sword. He had been his friend in childhood and later... much more. “Malik, you are not just a map maker. Tell me you know that.”

After a small pause, Malik snorted. “I suppose at least my service record with our Brotherhood does not include a degradation to novice,” he said.

He smiled, finally, when Altair gave a not-so-gentle bite to his neck.

“Never do something like that again,” he spoke against his skin.

Malik was quiet once more. Then he grasped Altair’s arm coiling around his hips.

“You may appeal to my intellect, friend, and though you’re not changing my opinion in this case, it might usually work. But do not expect to take me to bed and not act foolish when someone puts a torch to your face.”

That was as much admission of his reasons as he would give and Altair’s protests were silenced with a kiss.

Ahhh! This was scary and sweet at the same time. Damnit, you're making me ship AltMal. An excellent story!

Thank you!

Haha, come to the dark side, we have... uh, two guys that never stop bitching at each other? c:

YES YES! little one... it is time you stepped inside the right ship, the ss. altmal..... Ooooooo... Yes join us... We have something better than those other ships....

But do not expect to take me to bed and not act foolish when someone puts a torch to your face.

Oh, Malik, that's a pretty daring avowal there!

Gnn, not OP, but this was exactly what I was hoping for when I saw this prompt, I'm so happy someone filled it!! Wonderful work, nonnie!

Thank you! I'm on an AC rush but I won't get my hands on AC3 until Christmas, so I'm probably going to end up filling a lot of AltMal to make the time spent waiting shorter, haha.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Altair/Malik, templar torture with a twist

Re: Altair/Malik, templar torture with a twist

Re: Altair/Malik, templar torture with a twist

Altair/Malik: Giving (1/2)

Altair/Malik: Giving (2/2)

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