asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2010-09-13 08:44 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2010-09-13 08:44 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.2
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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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Discussion
courtesy call (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 04:00 am (UTC)(link)"I must say, however, that Jerusalem is a much brighter place than I last left it! I am almost jealous! Well, I mean, other than the fact that you had to deal with the terrible state of affairs at first by yourself - I mean other than that, I am very jealous!"
Altair is also visiting, looking from one rafiq to the other. The Damascus rafiq is reclining in the back, one elbow on the chessboard, fiddling with the white Queen as if it were one of his pots on the wheel, and Malik is behind the counter, bent towards the map in front of him. He is trying very hard to concentrate, but Altair has been watching, and in the past half an hour, Malik has only managed to draw one line (straight, but a little shaky near the end).
“And to be given the honor of a visit from the Grandmaster so frequently! Yes, I am envious! I should stop by more often – you two must talk about many interesting things! He doesn't come to Damascus nearly as much! Why, the last time, it was just to inquire after that order of imported inks he asked for!”
Altair's back stiffens, and Malik glances down at one of the cubbyholes near his knees, where a brand new order of Far Eastern inks had just been delivered to him last week.
The rafiq of Damascus is a good man, loyal and open, but trying on the patience sometimes. Malik sets down his writing feather and sighs. “The Grandmaster only comes here to waste time,” Malik says, even if said man is sitting on the counter right beside him, regardless (or in spite) of the admonishment Malik gave him for that. “You would be doing a favor if you just told him to visit you instead of exhausting my time here.”
“Oh, no,” says the rafiq, looking up as if startled. “I could not do that! Why, just the other day, the rafiq of Acre – a very wise man – wrote me, and he was telling me of what he noticed. He said, you see, that the Grandmaster probably enjoys enjoys Jerusalem so much because of-”
Altair slides to his feet, accompanied by the sound of sliding cloth and clinking metal. He takes only one step, and the rafiq stops in mid-sentence, mid-gesture, hand free hand still waving in the air. A second passes, and outside, an eagle caws overhead.
“The weather!” he finishes, with a grandiose arch of his hand, because the rafiq of Damascus is also a very intelligent man, more intelligent than a great many people give him credit for, behind that easygoing exterior and nonchalance. “Yes, yes, the weather here is very nice! It is much too dry in Damascus, and the air is filled with a cold dampness in Acre. When I visit him, my own lungs can hardly take it! I always come back with a cough! But Jerusalem, you see, Jerusalem is just-” He pinches his forefinger and thumb together, squints one eye, and smiles at Malik's deep-set frown from between the pads of his two fingers. “Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Malik repeats dryly, glancing at the back of Altair's head.
“It is late,” Altair says pointedly, voice edged with steel, and though Malik can't see his expression, the Damascus rafiq takes one look at it and gets to his feet, his mouth shrinking into a visual, Oh.
“Late! Oh, yes, you are right!” The rafiq gathers up his things with an articulately-planned sense of haste, dropping the chess piece back onto the table almost carelessly. His aim is off – it lands on the table, but on the opposite side of the playing area, dropping in right amidst the formation of black pawns and knights, like an Assassin dropping in for the kill, and knocks over the enemy king. He does not spare a second look towards it or an apology, however, as he heaves his satchel across his shoulder and takes up another cloth-wrapped parcel underneath the opposite arm. “Thank you for the maps, Malik!” he calls, already walking towards the exit. “Perhaps I can return the favor to you some day.”
(2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 04:01 am (UTC)(link)“It's nice,” says Altair, looking toward the lattice in the courtyard, visible through the other door.
“Is it the heat that you like, then? The rise in temperature in the afternoon? Or perhaps the desert chill at night? Maybe you like how fickle the weather is here. Or maybe the sparse rains – you never did like water.” With every word, Malik takes a step closer, but there are more words than there are steps between the two of them, and by the time he finishes, Altair is cornered - trapped between his own unflinching pride and Malik's hand, slipping into his hood and around the back of his head. He forces Altair to look at him by fisting his hand in the younger man's hair. “Is that why you came?”
“Come back to Masyaf with me, Malik,” Altair says, quietly, lifting his eyes.
Malik smiles, loosening his hold. “For what reason, Altair?”
Altair returns the smile, though his rendition is more subdued, dim but bright like candlelight at dusk, like the torch fires of Masyaf from a distance, like the stars from the garden terrace behind its castle. Altair reaches up, pulling the other man's hand down, and Malik lets him, fingers sliding through the strands. “You have been away for too long, brother – have you forgotten? The weather there is even nicer,” Altair says, turning his palm up and cupping his hand for Malik's to fall into it, and fall it does, fingers seeping through the cracks of the Grandmaster's like sand through a sieve.
“And what of Jerusalem?” Malik asks, because it is a beautiful city, has been ever since it stopped being a banishment, and in a sense, it is his, as much as Masyaf will ever be.
Altair gives this a moment of thought.
“I will appoint another rafiq.” Then, he lowers his eyes to their hands, grins a little. When he contracts his fingers, Malik squeezes back. “Or we can make the one in Damascus look after it, if he likes it so much.”
{ooc; SORRY OP the Acre rafiq couldn't make it; the ride is tough on his old man back, so in lieu of that, no tea parties were to be had, but at least I fit the goading and a mention of his pots in there?}
Re: (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 04:06 am (UTC)(link)"trapped between his own unflinching pride and Malik's hand" = gorgeously written.
OP
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 05:07 am (UTC)(link)This is such a lovely thing to read before I tuck into bed. I promise you, writeranon, I will be grinning in my sleep. Thank you so much! ;3;
Re: (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 05:49 am (UTC)(link)the cuteness of this is almost unbearable
Re: (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-04 12:23 pm (UTC)(link)I always found the rafiq of Damascus to be quite hilarious, it always seemed to me as if he was constantly insultig Altair without actually being insulting - it was lovely XD (at least that's what the dub in my language was like, don't know about the original dub). I think you captured this perfectly in the story - And I just love the part with the inks. It's incredibly adorable XD
Re: (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-05 03:58 am (UTC)(link)Re: (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-07 03:30 am (UTC)(link)