Dizzy. He was dizzy and everything was spinning. Everything was fuzzy. Focus, unfocus, unfocus. Probably because his head hurt. Probably because Altair had bashed it against the wall one to many times. There was a sticky warmth, and he knew it was blood. His blood.
His head was spinning.
“You know, Kadar didn’t struggle so much.”
‘That’s because Kadar’s a whore.’ He thought and instantly felt sick because of it. It wasn’t Kadar’s fault, this wasn’t Kadar’s fault. His little brother simply had a hero-complex and Altair had taken advantage of that.
Malik felt a hand wrap around his arm, pulling him to his feet where he stumbled, not remembering for a moment how to walk. Altair didn’t mind, as he practically dragged his limp body across the room, throwing him onto the bed.
He was dazed, dizzy. His body felt too heavy against the bed. The wound in the back of his head throbbed painfully, making it hard for him to coordinate his limbs enough to move. The bed dipped as Altair added his own weight to it.
“You should feel honored.” The assassin’s face appeared before Malik’s eyes. He was smirking smugly down at him, though the only thing he could focus on was his eyes. Bright, dangerous, amber eyes. “I simply bent your brother over a desk.” An unseen hand pressed against Malik’s hip. “And he moaned like a bitch in heat.”
Most of his clothing had already been cut or torn off in the previous struggle. The only things left were his pants and boots, but Altair made quick work of those. The boots came off with a few sliced buckles and yanks. As soon as those fingers curled under the band of his pants, Malik’s mind seemed to wake up and he started to struggle again. Altair did not seem to enjoy this as he straddled Malik’s waist, pressing all his weight down to still his feet.
“Now, now, dear Malik—“ He looked up just in time to receive a hard fist right across his jaw. His head snapped back, but it was only a second’s pause as Altair then snarled, fisting his fingers in Malik’s hair, pulling harshly to slam his head against the wall.
A cry escaped Malik’s throat as everything went black for who knows how long. All he could hear was Altair’s angry voice and felt his hands all over his body.
“I try to be nice, I really do, and then you go and hit me?” Altair spat, tearing the pants down Malik’s legs were they caught at the ankles, tangling and tied his feet up. “What would your brother say to that?”
Free Will [1/3]
Dizzy. He was dizzy and everything was spinning. Everything was fuzzy. Focus, unfocus, unfocus. Probably because his head hurt. Probably because Altair had bashed it against the wall one to many times. There was a sticky warmth, and he knew it was blood. His blood.
His head was spinning.
“You know, Kadar didn’t struggle so much.”
‘That’s because Kadar’s a whore.’ He thought and instantly felt sick because of it. It wasn’t Kadar’s fault, this wasn’t Kadar’s fault. His little brother simply had a hero-complex and Altair had taken advantage of that.
Malik felt a hand wrap around his arm, pulling him to his feet where he stumbled, not remembering for a moment how to walk. Altair didn’t mind, as he practically dragged his limp body across the room, throwing him onto the bed.
He was dazed, dizzy. His body felt too heavy against the bed. The wound in the back of his head throbbed painfully, making it hard for him to coordinate his limbs enough to move. The bed dipped as Altair added his own weight to it.
“You should feel honored.” The assassin’s face appeared before Malik’s eyes. He was smirking smugly down at him, though the only thing he could focus on was his eyes. Bright, dangerous, amber eyes. “I simply bent your brother over a desk.” An unseen hand pressed against Malik’s hip. “And he moaned like a bitch in heat.”
Most of his clothing had already been cut or torn off in the previous struggle. The only things left were his pants and boots, but Altair made quick work of those. The boots came off with a few sliced buckles and yanks. As soon as those fingers curled under the band of his pants, Malik’s mind seemed to wake up and he started to struggle again. Altair did not seem to enjoy this as he straddled Malik’s waist, pressing all his weight down to still his feet.
“Now, now, dear Malik—“ He looked up just in time to receive a hard fist right across his jaw. His head snapped back, but it was only a second’s pause as Altair then snarled, fisting his fingers in Malik’s hair, pulling harshly to slam his head against the wall.
A cry escaped Malik’s throat as everything went black for who knows how long. All he could hear was Altair’s angry voice and felt his hands all over his body.
“I try to be nice, I really do, and then you go and hit me?” Altair spat, tearing the pants down Malik’s legs were they caught at the ankles, tangling and tied his feet up. “What would your brother say to that?”