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).
Malik pointedly refused to look at the man who was poking around sheepishly with the incense pot on his table.
He absolutely refused to look at him.
He could believe the idiot, with all his stealth and so-called finesse, had just upset his entire and only crate of inkpots and caused the black inky mess that was previously known as his bureau floor.
Fuming madly, the rafiq wondered why he even put up with such a prime example of idiocy. Shooting a warning glance at the Master Assassin, who had attempted to speak, Malik snatched up a rag to make an attempt to clean the floor.
Muttering dark oaths about idiot assassins and water beneath his breath, Malik bent over and glared at the infuriated face that stared back.
He was very angry indeed.
"Malik, I still don-"
Feeling the vein in his head throb, Malik reached for the closest object, which happened to be an empty inkpot (that had amazingly survived the crash unscathed), and hurled it at the Master Assassin's head as an expression of his ire, "Novice!"
Bristling in annoyance at the title, Altair countered, "Those were just inkpots. There's nothing to be upset about."
Seething, Malik threw down the blackened cloth and stormed up to the unmoving man.
"These inkpots, which your feeble mind appears to be unable to comprehend, were the last of the ones I had in stock and-"
Pausing for a moment, Malik barely avoided admitting that he had found the task of carrying a crate of inkpots with one hand much more of a challenge than he care to admitted. Settling for scowling instead, Malik turned around sharply and resumed wiping the ground with the previously discarded cloth.
Moments of wiping and finally admitting that it had all been an accident, Malik allowed his tense shoulders to relax slightly. While his mood hadn't improved, his temper had cooled.
Noting the subtle change in the rafiq's posture and demeanor, Altair remarked offhandedly, "You'd make a good cleaner."
Bending down and taking the cloth from Malik's hand, Altair sought to do what the man had been doing. When the deed was done, Altair roughly pulled Malik into an embrace and pressed a kiss at the back of his neck.
Rolling his eyes at the feeble attempt of an apology and knowing that would be the most he'd get for now, Malik snorted; his voice lacking is previous bite.
"Novice."
Indifferently, Altair continued to mold his lips to the other's nape in a manner that coerced a great tick to pulse under the other's eye, his brow knitting when the irked rafiq pulled away and combated his lingering touches.
"Your hands."
A frown.
"What about them?"
"They're on my ass."
"Isn't that where they're supposed to belong?"
Momentarily stepping away from Altair, Malik cursed darkly under his breath and he glared at the window before him sourly. He couldn't bring himself to truly retaliate, however, given that the touch wasn't entirely unwelcome.
Glancing up at that goddamned smirk on that impertinent excuse of a Master Assassin, a perfectly diabolical plan came to mind.
Two could play at this game.
Lips curling into a malicious grin, Malik turned back to Altair, smiling coyly. "Hmm... you're right."
Pulling himself up flush to Altair, he allowed himself a mental dance of victory at the stunned expression and indisguisable shudder that ran through the normally stoic man. Allowing Altair's hands, which had started running down his back, to roam freely for now, Malik leaned forward and rested his weight upon Altair.
"Novice," Malik whispered breathily in Altair's ear, "you make my blood boil."
Slipping his tongue out, he gave a slow and sensual lick up the shell of the assassin's ear and breathed hotly in it, "it makes me want to do things to you... and with you."
Altair let out a breath out shakily as his hands found their place on Malik's rear. Teeth were now nibbling gently on a vulnerable lobe.
"And."
A kiss on the lips.
"It."
Hands slipped down a defined chest.
"Makes."
Lips and tongue found an exposed section on the neck.
"Me."
Malik's hand had found his prize.
"Want."
A gentle stroke and a bite on the neck.
"To."
Tongue was laving the quickly reddening mark.
Altair let out a growl as he motioned to throw Malik onto the ground and have his way with him.
Seeing an opening as Altair moved, Malik quickly spun around his body, kicked Altair to the ground and sat triumphantly on Altair.
"Sit on you."
Altair rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration at the smug expression on the rafiq's face.
That very night, Altair childishly refused to come out from the latter room, crouching low on his haunches as he grabbed a little stick and began to draw unintelligible drawings in the sand.
"I'll get him back," he resolutely ground out, relentless in drawing a giant lizard breathing fire on his failed attempt at sketching the smug rafiq, "just you watch."
Malik frowned as he walked past the room that Altair had been sulking in for the past five hours. Glancing in, he noticed him crouching over the ground, scratching something unintelligible on the ground.
Leaning on the doorframe, Malik smirked in amusement at the Master Assassin's back. Apparently, he was still sore and oversized ego bruised by having been tricked and upped by him.
Entertaining as it was to watch the Master Assassin, a grown man widely feared by people around, act as if he was a child who had his favourite toy snatched from him; Malik felt that the man had sulked long enough. Beginning to feel slightly responsible for causing Altair to be in such a sulky state, he let out a sigh of annoyance moved over to place his hand on said person's shoulder.
"Altair?"
A great sense of foreboding filled him when Altair stiffened and ceased his stick-scratching.
"...Yes?"
Something wasn't right...
"It's past the time for final prayer; you should wash up and get to bed."
Altair's eyes flashed momentarily. "Hm ... the bed ..."
Something REALLY wasn't right.
Malik eyed Altair suspiciously at his tone.
"Yes... the bed. To sleep."
"..."
The silence was thick in the air as Malik and Altair stood and crouched in their positions respectively.
"...I'll go pack some items due for Mysyaf..."
Not taking his eyes off Altair, Malik walked back into enclosed area of the bureau.
Altair sure was acting strange...
It was working.
Clearing his throat roughly, Altair masked his mischievous grin and continued his solemn litany, watching the praying man through easy subterfuge as the plays of light and shadows blended in with the inflections of their voices.
This was so simple, he could taste victory skimming the top of his tongue, the intimate devotion finally done, surveying the way the suspicious rafiq slowly backed out of the central room to pack whatever necessities he had been tasked to.
So.
Very.
Simple.
Now, where did he leave that box...
Malik cursed under his breath as he dropped the stack of scrolls onto the ground again. Damn that novice for constantly filling his thoughts even when out of the bed.
Bending down, Malik painstakingly began to pack the fallen scrolls into the crate on his table.
Easily falling into the monotonous task, Malik's thoughts wandered to hours back when he had succeeded in coming out top, figuratively and literally. Smirking at the victory, his thoughts wandered further to when he had been close proximity.
He remembered that musky scent. That scent which reminded him of the scorching sun and the sands of deserts. Of nights filled with grunts and moans and tiny gasps. And the salty taste of his skin as he had teased that ear. And the bunching and coiling of hard muscles gained from years of missions and hard training.
He remembered how Altair had tried to suppress his moan and how it had caught in his throat. And he remembered the thrill of how readily Altair, rumoured to be untouchable, had shuddered and responded to his touch. That throbbing length covered only by rough fabric.
Feeling the temperature of the room steadily climb, Malik tugged at his collar and gulped. It was probably just the lack of ventilation. Yes, that had to be it.
His throat was suddenly awfully dry. Attempting to banish further thoughts of Altair, and failing miserably, Malik resolved to focus on the task at hand - packing away items.
It was only minutes later that Malik threw up his hand in frustration.
He just couldn't get that damned assassin out of his mind. Growling in frustration, he suddenly heard a loud moan. All the thoughts that had been previously plaguing him suddenly vanished as Malik rushed to where Altair was, worried that the fool had somehow injured himself.
"Altair, what in All-"
And he froze.
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