ARGH, different anon here. I'm so sorry, OP, but I didn't catch your comment and by then I had already written the fill. This is entirely platonic. :(((
(B-b-but it contains copious amounts of hand-holding, also a social norm-- so maybe it helps? Sorry again!) --
There was a new building being built near the city walls of Jerusalem and Malik had put it upon himself to inspect the new area, already drawing a map in his mind’s eye. He circled around the construction area, noting the new alleys and wooden beams with quiet approval; the building would make for excellent climbing, especially for new trainees. The new rafiq of Jerusalem was still getting his bearings around the city and, remembering his own time as a bureau leader, Malik was more than willing to help the other man out.
Satisfied with his observations, Malik started to make his way back to the Bureau. He would have to cut through the crowded marketplace, but if he was lucky, maybe the fruit vendor Malik was fond of would still have a few oranges left to sell. With that in mind, he tightened his grip around the scrolls he carried and quickened his pace, almost missing the fluttering shadow that passed over his head.
It could have been just a bird, but Malik had long since been trained to scan the rooftops for guards or anything out of the ordinary. His steps did not falter or slow down, but from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a telltale red sash trailing behind a white blur before it disappeared behind a taller building. Malik did the sensible thing and pretended to not see anything at all.
The fruit vendor did indeed have a few oranges left over, hidden beneath a few apples, and he couldn’t help but suspect that the woman was purposefully hiding them from other buyers for his benefit; perhaps because Malik never bothered to haggle—didn’t felt the need to, not with his true occupation—and it pleased him that it somehow worked to his advantage. He happily bought three oranges and put them in his satchel. It was a shame that he could not eat one right away, as peeling was a sad and difficult task nowadays, but they had always been his favorite fruit.
Drifting back into the crowd, Malik passed by a group of silent priests and almost jostled into one of them. He turned his head, feeling a curious pressure against his side where his bag rested against his hip. Looking down, he wasn’t at all surprised to see part of a hand sneaking into it, ring finger cut short.
“There is nothing but oranges in there,” he said, already annoyed at the would-be thief.
“I know,” Altair replied with a grin. He withdrew his hand, fingers splayed out to show that he had taken nothing, but Malik’s attention was drawn to the bristled tip of a feather, half hidden under Altair’s belt and stained dark red.
“Hm,” Malik hummed, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Altair’s, light and brief and strangely familiar, despite all the times Malik had loathed to even look at the other man just months before. Though, more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to murmur “the Grand Master of our Order should not be accepting any more contracts” before stepping back and saying in a louder voice, “—there are others of a more appropriate rank who can manage that.”
Altair shook his head, thumbing the feather deeper within his belt so that it was out of sight.
“The Grand Master’s second-in-command shouldn’t be sent scouting around this city either,” he shot back, falling into step with Malik as they walked with the crowd. He reached over, pulling the scrolls from Malik’s arm. “Maps? Do you not trust Harith’s skill? I had thought he was a decent cartographer.”
“Harith is an excellent cartographer, but he is a little overwhelmed at the moment,” Malik said trying to take back the scrolls, but Altair had tucked them under the crook of his right arm and his free hand went on to grasp Malik’s own, so there was no helping it.
“Overwhelmed?” Altair repeated, sounding a shade incredulous. His grip tightened for a moment, the glove hard and rough against Malik’s bare palm. “He is overwhelmed? Malik, I—whatever he is doing, that is nothing compared to what—“
Maintaining This Distance [1/2]
(B-b-but it contains copious amounts of hand-holding, also a social norm-- so maybe it helps? Sorry again!)
--
There was a new building being built near the city walls of Jerusalem and Malik had put it upon himself to inspect the new area, already drawing a map in his mind’s eye. He circled around the construction area, noting the new alleys and wooden beams with quiet approval; the building would make for excellent climbing, especially for new trainees. The new rafiq of Jerusalem was still getting his bearings around the city and, remembering his own time as a bureau leader, Malik was more than willing to help the other man out.
Satisfied with his observations, Malik started to make his way back to the Bureau. He would have to cut through the crowded marketplace, but if he was lucky, maybe the fruit vendor Malik was fond of would still have a few oranges left to sell. With that in mind, he tightened his grip around the scrolls he carried and quickened his pace, almost missing the fluttering shadow that passed over his head.
It could have been just a bird, but Malik had long since been trained to scan the rooftops for guards or anything out of the ordinary. His steps did not falter or slow down, but from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a telltale red sash trailing behind a white blur before it disappeared behind a taller building. Malik did the sensible thing and pretended to not see anything at all.
The fruit vendor did indeed have a few oranges left over, hidden beneath a few apples, and he couldn’t help but suspect that the woman was purposefully hiding them from other buyers for his benefit; perhaps because Malik never bothered to haggle—didn’t felt the need to, not with his true occupation—and it pleased him that it somehow worked to his advantage. He happily bought three oranges and put them in his satchel. It was a shame that he could not eat one right away, as peeling was a sad and difficult task nowadays, but they had always been his favorite fruit.
Drifting back into the crowd, Malik passed by a group of silent priests and almost jostled into one of them. He turned his head, feeling a curious pressure against his side where his bag rested against his hip. Looking down, he wasn’t at all surprised to see part of a hand sneaking into it, ring finger cut short.
“There is nothing but oranges in there,” he said, already annoyed at the would-be thief.
“I know,” Altair replied with a grin. He withdrew his hand, fingers splayed out to show that he had taken nothing, but Malik’s attention was drawn to the bristled tip of a feather, half hidden under Altair’s belt and stained dark red.
“Hm,” Malik hummed, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Altair’s, light and brief and strangely familiar, despite all the times Malik had loathed to even look at the other man just months before. Though, more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to murmur “the Grand Master of our Order should not be accepting any more contracts” before stepping back and saying in a louder voice, “—there are others of a more appropriate rank who can manage that.”
Altair shook his head, thumbing the feather deeper within his belt so that it was out of sight.
“The Grand Master’s second-in-command shouldn’t be sent scouting around this city either,” he shot back, falling into step with Malik as they walked with the crowd. He reached over, pulling the scrolls from Malik’s arm. “Maps? Do you not trust Harith’s skill? I had thought he was a decent cartographer.”
“Harith is an excellent cartographer, but he is a little overwhelmed at the moment,” Malik said trying to take back the scrolls, but Altair had tucked them under the crook of his right arm and his free hand went on to grasp Malik’s own, so there was no helping it.
“Overwhelmed?” Altair repeated, sounding a shade incredulous. His grip tightened for a moment, the glove hard and rough against Malik’s bare palm. “He is overwhelmed? Malik, I—whatever he is doing, that is nothing compared to what—“