The spots were clearing; color coming back to the world, but shapes were shaky. The world still fuzzy.
“He would say…” Malik took in a sharp breath, everything was swimming around him. “…say that you are a sick bastard.”
Altair paused, face blank for a moment, before a smile broke out across his scarred lips. It was cruel and dark. He laughed.
“You know,” He said, acting as if Malik had never spoken. “When I took Kadar, he begged for it.” There came the sound of rustling clothes. “Begged. Like a common whore.” Malik caught sigh of red right before he felt his arms come together over his head, begin tied together with Altair’s red sash. It was tightened to the point that blood flow was cut off and every part of his wrists were uncomfortable as they rubbed against the rough fabric. Malik again began to struggle; to resist, but it was no use and only lead to him slipping further and further into an exhausted unconsciousness.
“But you know what?” Altair asked as he released Malik’s hands, satisfied he wouldn’t get out anytime soon. “I don’t want you to beg.” Sword-calloused hands gripped his waist, pulling and shifting both of their bodies until Malik was on his stomach, arms twisted in the new position. He was panting; forehead pressed into the blankets of the bed. Those hands came back, forcing his hips to rise and Malik’s legs to come under him, pushing his ass into the air. “No, I want you to scream for me, Malik.” More rustling of clothes and Malik squeezed his eyes closed, trying hard to not think of what was next to come.
Altair’s weight pressed down on his back, a firm grip in his hair again, pulling his head back; gasping in pain. A snicker in his ear; a hot tongue. The assassin’s cock pressed against his ass. “Scream.”
He did.
On the first thrust, only half of Altair’s dick made it into Malik’s body before his natural reflex kicked in, his inner walls clamping down tight on the intrusion. He cried out as another thrust pushed the cock in a little farther; tearing him apart; ripping him open.
From behind him, Altair moaned. “Holy fuck. You’re so tight.” Another thrust and pain shot up Malik’s spin, making him arch away from the assault, but it was no use.
After another few sharp thrusts, Altair was buried to the hilt inside Malik, moaning at the heat and tightness that consumed him. Blood pooled from Malik’s filled hole, leaving red trails down his legs; staining the blanket below.
“So much better then that slut of a brother…” There was a smile in those words. An unseen hand came down hard on his ass, forcing a sharp gasp from Malik’s lips. Altair did it again, loving the sounds spilling from Malik’s mouth along with the body spasms that were squeezing those walls tighter around him.
Free Will [2/3]
“He would say…” Malik took in a sharp breath, everything was swimming around him. “…say that you are a sick bastard.”
Altair paused, face blank for a moment, before a smile broke out across his scarred lips. It was cruel and dark. He laughed.
“You know,” He said, acting as if Malik had never spoken. “When I took Kadar, he begged for it.” There came the sound of rustling clothes. “Begged. Like a common whore.” Malik caught sigh of red right before he felt his arms come together over his head, begin tied together with Altair’s red sash. It was tightened to the point that blood flow was cut off and every part of his wrists were uncomfortable as they rubbed against the rough fabric. Malik again began to struggle; to resist, but it was no use and only lead to him slipping further and further into an exhausted unconsciousness.
“But you know what?” Altair asked as he released Malik’s hands, satisfied he wouldn’t get out anytime soon. “I don’t want you to beg.” Sword-calloused hands gripped his waist, pulling and shifting both of their bodies until Malik was on his stomach, arms twisted in the new position. He was panting; forehead pressed into the blankets of the bed. Those hands came back, forcing his hips to rise and Malik’s legs to come under him, pushing his ass into the air. “No, I want you to scream for me, Malik.” More rustling of clothes and Malik squeezed his eyes closed, trying hard to not think of what was next to come.
Altair’s weight pressed down on his back, a firm grip in his hair again, pulling his head back; gasping in pain. A snicker in his ear; a hot tongue. The assassin’s cock pressed against his ass. “Scream.”
He did.
On the first thrust, only half of Altair’s dick made it into Malik’s body before his natural reflex kicked in, his inner walls clamping down tight on the intrusion. He cried out as another thrust pushed the cock in a little farther; tearing him apart; ripping him open.
From behind him, Altair moaned. “Holy fuck. You’re so tight.” Another thrust and pain shot up Malik’s spin, making him arch away from the assault, but it was no use.
After another few sharp thrusts, Altair was buried to the hilt inside Malik, moaning at the heat and tightness that consumed him. Blood pooled from Malik’s filled hole, leaving red trails down his legs; staining the blanket below.
“So much better then that slut of a brother…” There was a smile in those words. An unseen hand came down hard on his ass, forcing a sharp gasp from Malik’s lips. Altair did it again, loving the sounds spilling from Malik’s mouth along with the body spasms that were squeezing those walls tighter around him.