Altair's Yoghurt Night

Cocoa, Coffee Beans and Leaves

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

Written and typed as a submission for a Thanksgiving competition. The requirements for the submission is to having a Malik and Desmond pairing. But since I don't feel like portraying them as a couple, I hope portraying them as (possibly) close friends and housemates in some distant alternate universe counts. 

Malik gave a triumphant cry as the final scrape of his rake created a neat pile of dry leaves in his lawn. Gripping the rake under his left arm, Malik wiped the sweat off his brow and scratched his chin with his free hand as he looked at the brown leafy pile with pride.

It had taken all afternoon but it was well worth it. His precious lawn was neat once more, just the way he liked it. And he'd proven to Desmond, who had repeatedly insisted on helping him rake leaves in spite of repeated rejections, that he could do the job perfectly fine himself. And a damn fine job it was. Wiping at his brow again, Malik grimaced at the way his t-shirt was clinging to his body from the sweaty mess he was. Apparently, the raking had taken more effort than he realized.

Looking at his watch, he decided he'd just figure out how to sweep all the leaves into a garbage bag later. It was only thirty past five after all. Or he could just swallow his pride and get Desmond to do it when he got back. Right now, a long, relaxing hot shower sounded great.

Grabbing his rake and tossing it into the bin, Malik stepped off the lawn and into his house, eager to get his shower.

Now, all he had to hope for was that someone wouldn't decide to roll around in it. Or that someone's dog wouldn't suddenly decided to nose around in it and mark it.

Desmond whistled cheerily as he turned around the bend. His shift was finally over and he was eager to get home. It wasn't that he hated his job. It just got grating on his nerves when drunken people constantly blubbered their problems to him in intoxicated stupor.

Desmond was startled out of his thoughts by a sharp cry from above. Looking up, Desmond found his eyes widening in shock. What was an EAGLE doing in a city? He didn't have much time to ponder on it as the eagle flew out of sight. Then, he recalled his insistence at helping Malik rake up the leaves in their lawn. Grinning at the thought of having a pile of leaves to jump into and roll around in, Desmond decided that leaf piles were more important than random eagles and hastened his pace.

Minutes later, Desmond was dismayed to find himself standing in front of a VERY clean lawn. His disappointment was short-lived, however, as brown eyes zoomed in onto a large pile before him. Grinning in delight, Desmond ignored the odd looks he received from his neighbours as he gave a shout of joy and flopped into the leaves.

Malik, clad in only a white towel around his waist, stepped out of the steaming shower. That hour in there had done wonders for him. Distantly remembering some obscure news channel mentioning a clear night sky for that night, Malik decided he'd go brew a pot of coffee and go stargazing later. Stepping into the kitchen, he filled the pot, placed it on the stove and lit it when he heard a rather familiar shout which was followed by laughter.

Chuckling to himself, Malik shifted over to the window. A smile tugged at his lips. Desmond was such a-

The sight before him wiped any traces of mirth off his face.

-child.

Jaws dropped in horror as he saw his precious work being destroyed by the white hoodie-clad novice rolling around in it and laughing.

Desmond was destroying all his hard work.

Work which took him five. freakin'. hours. to. finish was being destroyed in a matter of seconds.

Promising murder in his eyes, Malik rushed out the front door.

Desmond rolled in the leaves, laughing merrily, before he got up. Looking at the destroyed pile, he felt a twinge of guilt. Malik had probably taken hours to rake up such a neat pile. He was so going to kill him for this when he found out. The guilt was washed away by a genuine fear for his life. Malik's aim with all forms of objects and sharp projectiles was deadly when angered.

Before he could locate a suitable hiding place, the front door slammed open. There, at the doorway, Malik stood in all his fluffy white toweled glory.

Desmond barely dodged the rake that flew overhead and thudded loudly on the fence behind him.

Malik swore loudly in Arabic as he surveyed the damage. Growling in irritation, Malik briefly considered picking up the bin and tossing it at Desmond, who was running for shelter behind a tree, as well. Just then, he heard girlish giggling to his left. Sharply turning his head to the source of giggling, he spotted four teenage girls huddled together, ogling and pointing at him. A dark blush crept across his cheeks as an awareness of how very naked he was came to Malik. In his anger towards Desmond, he had run out in only his towel.

Desmond peeked out timidly from behind the tree as he heard the door slam shut. The coast was clear. Sheepishly picking up the rake that was lying forlornly on the ground, Desmond began raking up the leaves. Knowing Malik, he was probably sulking off the rest of his bad mood.

Malik looked out the window at the night sky. Hours had passed since he had discovered the destruction of his neat pile of leaves. Giving a silent huff, Malik decided that he'd be damned if was going to let the incident stop him from viewing what would probably be one of the last few clear night skies for a while. Grabbing his pot of reheated coffee and a mug, Malik glanced out the window. Rolling his eyes at the shivering man outside, Malik felt a bit of guilt creep in at his earlier outburst. The poor man was probably hanging out in the cold, afraid to face his wrath.

Balancing another mug in his right hand and tucking a blanket under his left arm, Malik somehow managed the task of getting out the front door and getting behind Desmond.

Desmond jumped at the low, accented voice that growled in his ear, "Enjoying yourself?"

Teeth chattering and shivering at the cold, his hoodie having lost its ability to keep him warm, Desmond looked up at the man with uncertainty. He didn't seem angry anymore...

Rolling his eyes, Malik gently placed the items on the ground before settling down beside Desmond. "Novice," Malik growled as he lightly cuffed the back of his partner's head.

Wrapping the blanket around Desmond and himself, Malik surveyed the surrounding lawn. "You've cleared the leaves," he stated.

Desmond only nodded uncertainly, unsure of what to do in such an odd situation.

"Thank you."

Desmond merely coughed nervously and hummed in response. Edging closer to the man beside him for warmth in spite of himself, his arm accidentally brushed Malik's stump. Desmond tensed momentarily. Malik didn't seem to notice or if he did, he didn't make any mention of it. Said man was merely looking up at the clear sky, watching the stars.

Both men lapsed into a comfortable silence, with Desmond occasionally shifting closer to Malik for warmth and Malik offering him a cup of coffee. Minutes stretched on with only the chirping of crickets, an occasional rustle of sparse grass and the quiet slurping of black fluid.

Just then, a streak of light caught Desmond's attention. Swiftly turning his head in the direction of the light, Desmond broke out into a boyish grin and shook Malik's shoulder, "Mal! Look! A shooting star!"

Said man didn't reply. Puzzled, Desmond turned to see Malik staring at a sky with an unreadable expression. Grin fading slightly, Desmond prodded Malik lightly in the side, "Mal?"

Silence.

Perplexed, Desmond looked up to where Malik's eyes were seemed to be fixated on. There, a cluster of stars shone brightly. Desmond let out a whistle. Those were some bright stars.

Silence stretched on further before an accented voice spoke up, "That is the constellation, Aquila."

Desmond jumped slightly. "Aquila?"

"It is one of the brightest constellations at this time of the year."

Desmond mulled over the word and tested it on his tongue, "Aquila…"

Turning back over, he found that Malik's expression had turned pensive. "Mal… something bothering you?"

"Just reminiscing…"

Desmond merely nodded before both men lapsed into further silence. Whatever comfortable atmosphere that had built had now vanished along with the prior silence. Desmond felt curiosity creeping in on Malik's vague reply and felt like prodding him for answers… but it seemed like any talking would be counter-productive.

Desmond hummed nervously to himself before starting as Malik shifted closer. Damn, that man was making him awfully jumpy today.

"I had a… friend back home who was named after a star within that constellation."

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the man's words. He had never revealed things of his past before, at least not without incessant prodding, and Desmond had never really bothered to ask him about it. Eyebrows rising as a thought occurred to him, Desmond spoke before he could stop himself, "Had?"

Malik only hummed in response. Desmond picked his following words carefully, "Did… something happen to him?"

A mirthless chuckle was let out as Malik shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe yes… maybe, no. He and I, we were close childhood friends. We grew up together with my younger brother in a small village. Then, we enlisted into the army and served there."

Malik's voice had cracked slightly at mentioning his younger brother. Desmond's curiosity was piqued but he didn't press the man. He had the distinct impression that Malik just needed someone to listen right now.

"That fool, he was arrogant but I guess it was rightly so. No one could ever quite handle combat like he could. One might say he was a prodigy. I remember how he'd insist on defending Kadar and me when we were still children… even though I was perfectly capable of taking care of my younger brother and me."

Malik let out a wry smile at that memory. It didn't last long, however. Sometime during Malik's monologue, the mugs had been placed onto the ground, forgotten.

"Then, one day, we were sent out on a mission," onyx eyes darkened, "it was supposed to be easy. Just retrieve something from the enemy and return to camp."

Malik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Desmond apprehensively placed his arm around Malik and let it rest lightly on his shoulder. Malik didn't reject it and leaned in.

"Maybe it was Altair's arrogance and idiocy. Maybe it was simply because I was inadequate. But the mission went terribly wrong… and I lost my arm. Kadar lost his life."

Desmond protectively tightened his arm around Malik. A brisk wind blew past and ruffled their hair.

"I wasn't fit for missions anymore and they put me into something you'd consider informatics. They said it was an important position and to consider it a promotion. After all, I could affect the outcome of one's mission in some way or another. But it felt more like an imprisonment, a death sentence to me."

Desmond dared a question, "You must have hated Altair."

A rough chuckle. "I suppose I did, for a while. But I forgave him. Altair had changed. He wasn't the arrogant man that he was before. And we all make mistakes. No one is perfect after all. Then… things happened. Long story short, I was released from the army and allowed to move here."

"And Altair?"

A forlorn sigh. "Maybe we could have been more."

Desmond stiffened at the implication of Malik's words but reprimanded himself silently for his reaction. "Goodness knows what has happened to him. We kept in contact for a time... then he met someone."

Malik smiled lightly, though the smile didn't quite meet his eyes, "The letters continued a while more… though they took much longer and came less often."

"They eventually stopped."

Desmond breathed out heavily through his nose rubbing Malik's arm gently, "That must have really sucked."

Malik chuckled at Desmond's choice of words, "I'd like to think that Altair has someone who loves him for the novice that he is and that he's too busy for silly letters now."

Desmond didn't question Malik further but simply pulled him closer. Malik followed compliantly, wrapping the blanket tighter around them. Silently, both men gazed up at Aquila as it glinted brightly in the star-strewn sky.

Too far for either man to see or hear, a lone eagle soared across the dark sky and let out a cry.

Happy Halloween!

Sicurezza

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

Assassin's Creed II is a step up from Assassin's Creed I in terms of game play and an action-oriented story. However, I felt what was lacking was the subtle intimacy in the development of characters which was present in AC1 (but that might just be me).

Somehow, in the psychological aspect, it doesn't sit well with me nor does it feel logical that someone would be so bent on revenge that they're unable to grieve. Or perhaps revenge IS Ezio's way of grieving. Either way, here's my attempt at something that the game may not have covered on the rather interesting relationship between Ezio and Leonardo.

Also written for smilebot, since she wanted to cuddle-time/fluff between those two. Also dedicated to silenthillkitty and doubleleaf [for one of her pictures].

Bright blue eyes gazed through the window up at the pouring sky as lips curled downwards into a frown. Adjusting the ever-present beret on his head, Leonardo breathed out stiffly through his nose as he folded the clothing haphazardly piled on his bed. Hands moved methodically over cloth but eyes were distant.

He's out on another mission and it's raining.

Packing neatly folded clothing into an empty trunk, the artist glanced at the empty easel before shifting back to the open window. He was in no mood to paint today.

Is he alright? Has that idiota been taking care of himself or has he been so busy that he's forgotten to eat again?

The normally jovial artist stared pensively at a pigeon perched on his windowsill, which had started watching him curiously as well, before throwing his arms up in frustration and turning to the easel. Worrying wouldn't help either of them. He might as well finish up some of the work that was commissioned to him.

A shadow passed over the pigeon, startling it to flight.

Sepia eyes watched beneath a hood, observing the man pack his clothing. Lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile, in spite of beginnings of a slight headache pounding in his head and the various odd aches in his bones.

Such a simple activity.

So mundane.

So… normal.

Normalcy is but a fleeting luxury now…

The rain was beating heavily upon him and (cazzo!) it was cold but he was content to watch the man pace back and forth before stopping in front of the window. Settling down onto the roof's ledge, he relaxed and allowed the smile to come forth. There would be no guards on the roof, at least not in this weather.

Eyes followed the artist as he threw up his hands in the air.

This isn't like you Leonardo, the man chuckled silently, you don't have to wor-

His thoughts were interrupted by a squeaky, nasally (and rather unbecoming) expulsion of air erupting from his nose. Brows furrowing, the man barely wiped his nose before a barrage of sneezes let loose, nearly unbalancing him off the roof.

Deciding it was wise to get to solid ground before he fell off; the man jumped down neatly and promptly startled the pigeon that was perched on the window ledge.

Climbing onto the window ledge unsteadily, with the headache growing worse, and about to jump into the house, he was startled by a sudden roll of thunder and pitched forward.

Leonardo squeaked in fright at the dark silhouette, outlined by distant lightning, tumbling in through his window. A good look, however, had the look of shock and fright being replaced to something akin to barely bridled delight.

"Ezio!"

Rushing over to the disheveled figure, the artist grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him up with surprising strength. The artist was the very definition of glee with the way he was holding (or rather, hugging very tightly) the assassin and tapping his feet on the ground excitedly.

Chuckling, Ezio fought against the urge to wince from his raging headache and patted Leonardo on the back, "Leonardo, il mio caro amico, è bello vederti di nuovo."

"Come, come! You must be tired," Leonardo half-dragged the assassin and pushed him into the couch sitting in the corner, "Sit here!"

Moving to the kitchen, Leonardo continued chattering as he prepared some food for his rather esteemed guest. Meanwhile, Ezio had settled for leaning back and resting his throbbing head on the armrest of the couch.Mierda… when did Leonardo get such a comfortable couch, Ezio wondered lazily amidst quiet snuffling.

He could already feel whatever tension that had built up from his mission slipping away as he relaxed into comfortable atmosphere and the soft leather of the couch. All he could hear was the crackling of fire and comforting familiarity of Leonardo's chatter.

Now if only this headache and fogginess in his mind would go away. Along with the aches in his body that were making themselves prominently known. Must be coming down with something, Ezio thought hazily.

"Ezio," Leonardo called out as he walked from the kitchen, carrying a small tray of food, "I didn't expect anyone to be coming-"

Pausing mid-sentence, Leonardo set the tray down beside said person and raised an eyebrow. "Ezio… you don't look well."

Groaning, the assassin turned to face him, voice coming out slightly slurred, "Si, I think I've been in the rain for far too long…"

Snorting, Leonardo moved towards the prone assassin, "you don't say?"

Placing a cool hand onto his forehead, Leonardo's eyes widened, "Ezio! You're burning up!"

Grunting noncommittally, Ezio merely wrapped his arms around the artist's midriff, pulled him close enough for him to press his face into the belly before him and yawned. Frowning at Ezio's oddly clingy behaviour – not that he was really complaining – Leonardo tried to pry Ezio's arms off him. Said man merely growled in annoyance before tightening his hold.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Leonardo had a flash of inspiration, "Ezio! Get up! C'è una donna bella e attesa al piano di sopra per voi!" (Ezio! Get Up! There is a gorgeous woman waiting upstairs for you!)

Looking up at the artist with wide eyes, Ezio merely replied with a rather childish pout, "Voglio solo che tu…" (I just want you…)

Face blushing at that statement, Leonardo forgot what he intended to say. Understanding finally dawned upon him at Ezio's following words. "…padre…" (…father…)

Gently threading fingers through Ezio's hair, Leonardo stroked his head. Sighing in contentment, Ezio finally closed his eyes and allowed his hands to drop, though his face was still nuzzled comfortably into Leonardo's belly. Seeing his chance to get away from Ezio's grip, Leonardo stepped away.

Almost immediately, as if his life depended on physical contact, Ezio's eyes opened. Fear was evident in sepia pupils. "Si prega di non andare..." (Please don't go...)

It hurt to see such blatant fear in the normally stoic young man and to know he was part of the cause of it. Leonardo was walked up the stairs. "Come now, Ezio, we have to get you to bed."

Rolling off the couch, Ezio scrambled up to Leonardo and trotted obediently behind him.

Moments later, both men reached Leonardo's bedroom. Ushering Ezio, who was leaning on him and breathing heavily, into the bedroom and pushing him down onto the bed, Leonardo turned to get a wet cloth when he felt a steady grip on his wrist.

Turning around, Leonardo was saddened by the lost look with Ezio's eyes. "Si prega di non andare ... non lasciarmi di nuovo sola." (Please don't go... don't leave me alone again.)

So much fear. So much pain. It was honestly heartbreaking.

Settling down beside Ezio, Leonardo gently pulled the covers up over shuddering Ezio's body and stroked his sweaty brow. "Relax, io non vado da nessuna parte." (Relax, I'm not going anywhere.)

The man visibly relaxed beneath those words. Eyelids drooped as he slowly drifted off to the steady rhythm of Leonardo's thumb. Moments later, he was fast asleep.

Leonardo smiled fondly, albeit it was dampened slightly at the knowledge of Ezio's unresolved conflict, and made to finally get that wet towel. He frowned, however, when he found that he couldn't get free from that hand around his wrist.

Sighing, he resolved to lie down beside Ezio. He'd be there should Ezio need anything.

"Fateli passare! Sono innocente!" (Let them go! The'yre innocent!)

Leonardo was abruptly awoken by Ezio's wild thrashing and yelling. Rapidly blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Leonardo hastily grabbed Ezio's wrists and earned himself a bruise in the eye along the way. Cazzo! The man was strong!

Pinning the struggling assassin down with great effort, Leonardo stared into shrunken pupils, "Ezio! It's me!"

His words were, however, unheard as Ezio thrashed blindly in his nightmare. Using his body to pin Ezio down, Leonardo was distantly amazed that he, somehow, hadn't already been flipped over and assassinated.

Moments passed slowly before Ezio seemed to slip away from his nightmare and fall back into slumber. Breathing heavily from exertion, Leonardo fell down beside Ezio. Placing an arm around Ezio protectively, he used his other to gently rub the flat of Ezio's back and shush quiet whimpers.

Over time, the whimpers stopped as Ezio curled closer to Leonardo. Slowly, the artist raised his hand and placed it on Ezio's forehead. The fever had broken. Good. With that, he joined his partner in slumber.

Ezio woke to the morning sun pricking his eyes and to a warm body beside him. Looking around groggily and taking in a distinctively familiar smell of wood, canvas and paint, he felt arms curl around him protectively.

Recognition of his surroundings dawned upon him and he decided it was too early to think about things. Nuzzling back into the inviting warmth, he allowed himself to delve and sink into this safe world. He'd done enough missions and killed enough to templars to earn some time to pretend.

He could pretend for a while that this was a world without Templars or conspiracies.

He could pretend for a while that he was just a normal and carefree young man.

He could pretend for a while that he was home.

Ezio paused at the thought and frowned, then decided.

No.

He was home.

~Fin.

Of Inkpots and Honey: Part 3

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

This initially started off as a conversation with SmileBot, which steered to joking about the Assassin's Creed section being flooded with PWP, which steered to the topic on Altair and Malik pairings, to our RP on some some AltairxMalik romping (private joke between us). All swearing and cussing is courtesy of smilebot.

Anyway, on with the final chapter! I doubt I'll be doing smut of any kind in a long while... x_x

"I could think of so many ways to punish you."

Malik shivered as he stared into Altair's dilated pupils. So much desire... so much want. It was all Malik could do to not drown in it. Lifting his hand, Malik carded his fingers through closely cropped hair, enjoying the soft and downy feel of it. He barely suppressed a shudder as Altair moaned at the contact. For a moment, both were content with just letting Malik stroke his hair.

Then, Malik let out a startled gasp as he was pulled up flush against an increasingly sweaty and warm chest. Tensing up momentarily, Malik's instantly went limp and he moaned at the hot, needy breathing beside his ear.

"Malik," Altair whispered huskily.

Nothing more was said as he laved and nibbled at a vulnerable lobe. Malik merely leaned and arched into Altair, finding himself unable to do anything else. Hands strayed and grappled upon strong backs. Malik shivered and arched his back as a thumb was swiped over his head. He keened and gasped as a calloused finger dug into the sensitive slit. The moan that threatened to make itself known was swallowed up as Altair leaned forward and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue stabbed in and demanded entry and Malik, mind fogged up with desire, complied. Just for now, he told himself.

It was a battle of slick appendages and Malik found it difficult to breathe. He found himself drowning in the man above him, in his scent, in his heat and in that disgustingly sensual stickiness that was fast coating his own body.

His eyes rolled back in pleasure as Altair swiped his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

"Listen well, rafiq," Altair heatedly whispered, scraping his teeth down a flushed nape to the pants of sweet reciprocation. "Deny me a path," a smug grin, "and another will be forged."

And he cupped the back of Malil's head, the pull of desire shown in the way he snaked his tongue inside a hot mouth, his rationality askew, reveling in the deep groan of pleasure as he gyrated to the sweet rhythm that could only be measured by touch - there was so much he could reach, capture, grasp, not without flipping the both of them over to spread the warm stickiness over the once immaculate pillows.

"But give me a rope, and there will be nothing I can't pull."

Malik's eyes fluttered in ecstasy at the sensations of Altair's fleeting and desperate touches, and at the words breathed hungrily into his ear. Gasping in short, heated breaths, Malik could only reach out and grasp for more of the heat. Reaching a hand out, he let fingers run through Altair's hair once more. "So rough and stubborn, just like its owner," Malik smirked at the thought. Letting his hand slip down to the back of his partner's neck and to his back, Malik smirked as Altair let out a ragged moan when he firmly pressed into and massaged tense knots.

Feeling curiosity creep upon him and overpowering the overwhelming sense of arousal, Malik ceased his ministrations and let fingers wander upon a stubbled chin. The intense arousal he had felt previously had now dimmed to a pleasant throb. Finger dancing over eyelids, to a nose and to tracing scarred lips, Malik gasped softly as his digits slipped into Altair's mouth.

It was quite the sensation, Malik noted, to have one's tongue dancing over the fingertips. And very erotic. He decided he liked the sensation. No wonder Altair always insisted on this whenever they had foreplay. Replacing now slick fingers with his tongue, Malik allowed his tongue to explore the moist cavern before him. Altair could only happily agree. Finger's slipped down Altair's neck, down his clavicle and to his chest, laying rest at where his heart beat strongly.

Fascinated by the strong thrum of Altair's heartbeat, Malik broke away from the kiss, albeit unwillingly, and leaned to place his ear there. Altair stared at him with barely hidden curiosity, eyes smouldering with a mixture of impatience and desire. He raised his hand in a motion to pull Malik up for another kiss when he noticed the oddly peaceful expression upon Malik's face. Eye softening, he opted instead to let his hand rest upon Malik's head as a thumb gently rubbed circles behind his ear.

Overcome by a sudden foreign emotion, Malik gently pushed off Malik's chest and placed a kiss. Noticing this suddenly, Malik chuckled silently, "I'm becoming a sentimental old fool..."

Glancing up to see Altair's face, he was pleasantly shocked to see Altair looking upon him patiently, though he was twitching slightly in a bidden desire to continue what they were doing before or find release.

Smirking, Malik thrust his hip forward and both males groaned as the heads of their arousals bumped onto each other. Panting and eyes having an evil glint, Malik suddenly placed his good arm over Altair's chest and arms, effectively pinning him down.

Laving his tongue over a honey-coated nipple, Malik decided that the honey would taste better lower as his head moved southwards.

"Malik," Altair limply turned his head to the side, allowing the other man to snake his agile tongue downwards as he buried his fingers within tight curls, "Malik ... "

Without a hitch in his path, the preoccupied rafiq began to trace nonsensical patterns into the taut chest, a flick there, a dip here, moving about to grind them into further ecstasy - once, twice, nothing but plain ecstasy the impetus for his motions. There's something strange burning the tips of his fingers, as if he could map out every single contour of the assassin's frame, like it was his own, scorching the angles and planes into his memory without a need to comprehend.

"When I look at you," the latter male breathlessly said, "it reduces me to a fool."

Malik felt his face burn as he made the confession. Silently cursing himself, he was sure that statement would come back to bite him in the butt sometime in the near future.

Shaking his head lightly to clear such thoughts from his mind, Malik focused on much more pleasurable things at hand. Eyeing the familiar turgid length before him, Malik gently grasped it. Hips surged forward as the rafik started pumping. Movements were fast becoming slick as his hands squelched softly from the copious amounts of pre-release flowing from the weeping tip. Malik licked dry lips as a heavy, heady scent that was distinctly Altair filled the entire room.

Shifting up to lave at Altair's throat, Malik swiped a thumb over the head and dug it gently into the tip. The unrestrained and guttural groan that Altair released as his body went taut sent fire rushing to Malik's loins. Giving Altair a roguish smirk, Malik sank south once more and let the tip of his arousal slip past dry and slightly cracked lips. Eyes bulged out as Altair let out a silent moan. Working his jaw, Altair gazed hazily at the man before him.

However, much of his delirious haze cleared when Altair began to roughly pump into his mouth, digging his calloused fingers into his hair as his hips surged in and out - relentless in meeting hysterical gratification that was more than he could handle. He clamped his hands down on taut thighs to control the onslaught, but soon failed after the Grand Master pressed into the sensitive spot under the line of his jaw, his sex slipping further inside to meet the back of his throat.

Eyes looking up at Altair, unable to move anywhere else with the his death grip and rough thrusting, Malik was inclined to figure out a way to throttle the man. However, upon seeing the underlying helplessness laced within heavy arousal, Malik decided to let it slide. "Novice," Malik growled mentally and rolled his eyes.

Resolving to just let Altair just ride this through, Malik closed his eyes and relaxed his throat as he best could. A few more thrusts and Malik felt his throat relax to the point where he felt that he could enjoy it again.

And the unintelligible moans and grunts were filtering down to his ears. Fisting his rapidly growing arousal, which had cooled somewhat in the process, Malik moaned.

Feeling the vibrations around him finally drove Altair over the edge. A final thrust and he spent himself. Pulling Malik up till they were beside each other, Altair saw bruised lips and gave him an apologetic kiss. Gently pushing replacing Malik's hand with his own calloused one, he stroked. Leaning his head on the juncture between Altair's clavicle and neck, Malik merely panted and pumped his hips in time with Altair's stroking. Moments of riding out the sensations later, Malik came, biting into Altair's shoulder to muffle his moans.

Laying a sweaty forehead onto Altair's equally sweaty chest and draping his hand into a semblance of some form of cuddling, Malik muttered sleepily as he was rapidly lulled to sleep from exhaustion and Altair's heartbeat, "Go clean up the mess you made. If I find insects everywhere when I wake up..."

And he dozed off.

Altair gently placed Malik onto the soiled pillows as he got up sluggishly. A tired smirk came upon his lips as he examined the messy rafiq.

Clean EVERYTHING up, eh?

Of Inkpots and Honey: Part 2

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

This initially started off as a conversation with SmileBot, which steered to joking about the Assassin's Creed section being flooded with PWP, which steered to the topic on Altair and Malik pairing, to our RP on some some AltairxMalik romping (private joke between us).

I had to stop through this halfway because, as much as I have no isue with gay people, imagining graphic mansecks is not something I enjoy. And it makes me queasy... D:

But since this little mayhem-filled ficlet is something I'm using to try out other genres and categories of writing, I'll post up the third and (probably) final instalment soon.

There, in all of the shameless glory and zeal in the world, lay the cursed man, his lean frame situated among the many pillows of the makeshift bed to the haze of desire and victory - the attributes tainted his austere mockery without a streak of hesitation. A small grin, the start, and it soon spread into diabolical chicanery, a path sans warning as a calloused digit traced down the contours of a muscled chest drizzled and glistening in honey.

Malik stood at the doorway, shell-shocked.

If anyone told him that one's mind couldn't accomplish the logistics of being both blank and running a hundred miles an hour at the same time, he'd smack them up the head and run them through with his blade ten times over. Or maybe he'd just leave them alone and head straight to the man before him. He decided he favoured the latter option.

He felt his breath coming shorter as he drank in the sight.

Altair.

Was.

Naked.

With.

Honey.

The next thought that came to mind cooled his rapidly stirring arousal. Just slightly.

On my pillows.

My expensive pillows.

My expensive pillows which I just washed this morning.

With that, in spite of the arousal plainly flashed across his face, Malik stepped forward promising death in his eyes, "Altair..."

Said man watched with amusement at Malik's frown, twitching left eye and the impressive tentage. Hesensually quirked his lips. "Yes, rafiq?"

Hell: This was going better than he had initially expected.

"Altair... "

Too easy.

"Come, join me," he demanded in a deviant fashion, extending his arm out beckoningly as he settled back even further against the cool linen pillows.

Stretching out languidly and spreading legs slightly further, he allowed his beckoning hand to rest on his thigh, just below his twitching member. "Two can enjoy such play."

"Altair..."

Malik growled as he stepped even closer. Fists clenched and unclenched.

Such impudence!

With dark eyes and flushed face, Malik sat down cross-legged beside Altair and stared expressionlessly at him.

"Altair..."

A warm hand was placed upon Altair's sticky chest.

Honey flowed down with great viscosity from Altair's chest to pool and flow over the hand. Altair licked his lips hungrily as he hawkishly stared at the honey trailing thinly down the hand on his chest. Malik's already twitching left eye twitched further when a drop of the golden syrup landed onto one of his pillows.

Leaning closer and shifting his body to pin Altair down, much to said person's oblivious pleasure, Malik placed his hand onto Altair's shoulder to steady himself. Accidentally rubbing his rear onto Altair's rising member, he ignored the stifled moan he heard and increased heartbeat he felt on his fingertips and settled on bent knees. Altair closed his eyes as the hand shifted from his chest to stroke his neck languidly.

Then all hell broke loose.

Throttling Altair with that one hand, and with surprising strength, Malik roared, "Foolish novice! First, you break every LAST inkpot I had in stock. Then you molest me. And now you drip your damned honey all over my pillows? My freshly washed pillows?"

Baring teeth and nose flaring, Malik released Altair and allowed him to fall back onto the relatively sticky pillows now. Breathing evenly and up close now, he could finally fully take in what was before him.

To finally take in two very important details: Altair's chest and face were greatly flushed with arousal. And pupils with sepia eyes were dark and dialated.

Someone either had an odd kink for asphyxiophilia or he just took some perverse pleasure in pissing him off.

Drawing a shaky breath and leaning backwards in incredulity, he felt something poke him in the rump. Eyes widened as the thought of what it was processed within Malik's mind. "Oh."

Observing the prone assassin before him closely, he took note of the sweat that was beginning to dot Altair's forehead and the chest that was heaving up and down as he steadily drew in the air he had been deprived of moments before.

Eyes glazing over as he felt his body temperature spike once more, Malik leaned forward and placed a hand onto Altair's very sticky body. A sudden curiousity filled Malik at what Altair would taste like. Leaning forward, a tongue dipped out to lap at the syrup that was slowly flowing off Altair's chest. Humming his approval and licking a pectoral further, Malik decided he did like the combination of Altair and honey.

Altair slowly thread fingers through coarsely cropped hair and let out a guttural groan. "M-Malik," another mroan, "ugh, yes... "

Malik harshly bit down into a dusky nipple, "Silence, novice: Your input is not needed in my-"

And his eyes widened.

Oh, whatever god out there have mercy.

He should've known such masochism to override rationality.

All he saw was a devious and impish grin before he was flipped over and pinned down by the much heavier weight of Altair.

"Got you."

Malik shivered as Altair whispered hotly in his ear.

"You strung me up."

He was seperated from his robes swiftly and the material was chucked roughly into a corner.

"Got me all hot and bothered."

A harsh nip on the jaw.

"Then left me alone."

Malik barely bit back a moan and jerked as a bold hand slipped into his breeches.

"I could think of so many ways to punish you."