Altaïr laughed, dark and long, before sinking his teeth hard into Malik's neck. It was time for his fun. He dipped his hand in the pot again, letting it drip across Malik's chest slowly before shoving it inside his mouth, nearly choking him on the taste.
Malik growled, biting hard on Altaïr's fingers before sucking with equal ferocity, letting the smooth slick taste fade to the dirt and callus of swordsman. He arched into the other man, purring at the hot brand pushing into his stomach. Altaïr growled into his neck, biting him hard against and shoving his fingers deeper.
Altaïr lapped at the blood he had drawn from Malik, hotter and sweeter, contrasting against the fast-drying flakes clinging to his shoulder. He laughed again, deeper, withdrawing his hand from Malik's mouth to kiss him harshly, biting and tasting. Malik responded in kind, swallowing blood and saliva from both of them with vigor.
It was only as Altaïr drew back, eyes still black with lust, that Malik realized what the eagle wanted. He laughed, as dark as the blood covering them both, and drew Altaïr back into another bruising kiss. Reaching over him, he pushed them both back enough that he could dip his hand in the blood, smearing it down Altaïr's back and into his pants, earning a shudder and a long moan.
Malik slipped his hand down, closer, pressing against Altaïr's entrance for a mere moment before pushing inside roughly. Altaïr growled, pushing back against it, biting down on his shoulder again. Malik wondered, as he thrusted another finger in, how much of the blood on his hand was the Templar's and how much was Altaïr's. He laughed again, knowing that it didn't matter. The fact that it was there was the one making him hard again, the one making Altaïr bite a chunk off of his still-good shoulder. They were monsters of their own creation and design, swimming in death they caused.
But it barely mattered as Altaïr broke away from his shoulder to arch back, gasp melting to a moan. Malik grinned, feral and hungry, biting hard at Altaïr's neck as he ripped his hand out of him to dip it back into the slowly cooling blood. He slicked himself, hot and heavy again, watching the black syrup engulf him before ripping at Altaïr's pants.
Altaïr didn't wait for Malik to finish, pinning him back to the floor and impaling himself on him, throwing his head back and howling. He slid his hands back up Malik's chest, growling at the lack of blood. He reached back, slathering both his hands with it and running them back up Malik's body, laughing again.
Perhaps, Malik thought, they had both been insane for a very long time.
Re: Cleansing [3/?]
Malik growled, biting hard on Altaïr's fingers before sucking with equal ferocity, letting the smooth slick taste fade to the dirt and callus of swordsman. He arched into the other man, purring at the hot brand pushing into his stomach. Altaïr growled into his neck, biting him hard against and shoving his fingers deeper.
Altaïr lapped at the blood he had drawn from Malik, hotter and sweeter, contrasting against the fast-drying flakes clinging to his shoulder. He laughed again, deeper, withdrawing his hand from Malik's mouth to kiss him harshly, biting and tasting. Malik responded in kind, swallowing blood and saliva from both of them with vigor.
It was only as Altaïr drew back, eyes still black with lust, that Malik realized what the eagle wanted. He laughed, as dark as the blood covering them both, and drew Altaïr back into another bruising kiss. Reaching over him, he pushed them both back enough that he could dip his hand in the blood, smearing it down Altaïr's back and into his pants, earning a shudder and a long moan.
Malik slipped his hand down, closer, pressing against Altaïr's entrance for a mere moment before pushing inside roughly. Altaïr growled, pushing back against it, biting down on his shoulder again. Malik wondered, as he thrusted another finger in, how much of the blood on his hand was the Templar's and how much was Altaïr's. He laughed again, knowing that it didn't matter. The fact that it was there was the one making him hard again, the one making Altaïr bite a chunk off of his still-good shoulder. They were monsters of their own creation and design, swimming in death they caused.
But it barely mattered as Altaïr broke away from his shoulder to arch back, gasp melting to a moan. Malik grinned, feral and hungry, biting hard at Altaïr's neck as he ripped his hand out of him to dip it back into the slowly cooling blood. He slicked himself, hot and heavy again, watching the black syrup engulf him before ripping at Altaïr's pants.
Altaïr didn't wait for Malik to finish, pinning him back to the floor and impaling himself on him, throwing his head back and howling. He slid his hands back up Malik's chest, growling at the lack of blood. He reached back, slathering both his hands with it and running them back up Malik's body, laughing again.
Perhaps, Malik thought, they had both been insane for a very long time.