First Kiss. AltMal

“Tell me Ibn La Ahad, what is it?” Malik growled through clenched teeth, eyes dangerously fixated on the man in front of him. He could feel the anger boiling to a point within him where if he were a weaker man he would have lost his composure and assaulted said man without a moment’s hesitation. But for Malik Al-Sayr, his composure was one of the few things he had managed to keep over the years. Inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down, he closed his eyes briefly and flicked open the cover of the black book sitting on the counter; grabbing a quill, scribbling messy notes upon the pages. Altaïr shifted uncomfortably from where he stood in front of the counter, his right hand reaching for his left elbow, adopting a defensive stance. The silence between the two dragged on for what seemed an eternity before Altaïr cleared his throat sheepishly and looked down towards his feet. “It is what it is,” he mumbled, trailing off, becoming strangely infatuated in counting cracks in the floor.

Malik slammed the book shut, letting his quill drop onto the counter, almost upturning an open well of ink as his hand came crashing down next to it. “It is what it is, is it? You waltz your way in here like nothing has happened and expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows?” Malik hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his whole frame began to shake with ferocity. Altaïr took a cautious step forward; he may have been one of the greatest assassins of time, yet something about the smaller former-assassin made him feel uneasy. He never felt he had to prove himself to anyone, not even his superiors, but he had always sought to prove himself to Malik. Of course, he never made it apparent to him that nearly everything he did was in effort to gain the respect and approval of him. With that said, enraging him further or yelling back at him didn't seem the best option.

“I thought we had put this behind us, I don’t expect you to just completely forget it happened, I know it’s not as easy as that. Because of me, my recklessness, you lost your arm. You lost Kadar, all because of me,” He slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes wandering over the counter, over Malik’s robes; lingering at where the left sleeve was pinned near his shoulder before looking into the others chocolate brown eyes. “I’m not the same man as I was when we were sent to Solomon’s Temple, you even said so yourself. Haven’t you seen how deeply I regret my actions?” There was a moment’s hesitation before Malik strode out from behind the counter to situate himself front of Altaïr, glaring up at him. “You have no idea how hard it is, so don’t even begin to pretend you do. Some days, like today, it hurts so much I can’t even breathe. After everything, you’re not sorry for me, you’re still only sorry because you got caught out and lost your rank,” Malik pushed Altaïr back with his remaining arm, stepping forward to close the distance. “You’re still trying to justify those actions, apologizing again and again to make it seem like all you did was make a small error in judgment instead of that colossal…” he paused for a moment, racking his brains for a word that deemed appropriate for the circumstance before grabbing onto Altaïr’s collar bringing them almost nose to nose, “Clusterfuck of a situation!”

Altaïr instinctively grabbed onto the others wrist, pulling it up over the head of the struggling Malik and grabbed a handful of the front of his cloak, pulling him closer. The brunette whimpered in shock at the sudden assertiveness of his cohort and froze in his grasp feeling quite taken aback; he could feel Altaïr’s breath warm on his face and clamped his eyes firmly shut, knowing all too well that Altaïr was much stronger than he so it was useless to continue his struggle. “What’s this, are you afraid to look at me?” Altaïr purred savagely into Malik’s ear, causing an involuntary shudder to course through his body. Altaïr smirked at the reaction he was receiving from the other, whether it was intentional or not, “Come on Al-Sayr, look at me,” he breathed, coaxing Malik to open his eyes. When he decided to look up at his superior, he did so through half lidded eyes; his breath coming short and fast, not sure whether it was because of fear or, heaven forbid, newly found arousal from Altaïr’s almost abusive actions. “There we go, from the look you’re giving me right now, you don’t hate me. Damn, you’d be lucky to reach mild distaste. So what is it, why must you act as such? Is it because you believe you should hate me, or is it because maybe you’re covering up for something else?” Altaïr murmured softly while lowering his arm, in doing so pulling down the others wrist, sliding his hand over an elbow and along his bicep coming to rest upon his shoulder.

“W-what are you doing?” stammered Malik, raising his arm as he felt himself being pulled up against Altaïr, the hilt of aforementioned man’s sword digging into his hip. The blood was pounding in his ears and his legs felt weak, if he wasn’t being supported he would have surely collapsed to the floor by now. Mind swimming with so many different thoughts, he didn’t even register that Altaïr was pushing his backwards until he felt the counter on his lower back. Malik opened his mouth in protest but was abruptly silenced when he felt an unfamiliar set of lips upon his own. He let his arm fall lazily to his side, moving it to grip at the counter before closing his eyes, feeling a strange warmth wash over him. As Altaïr began to pull away, Malik quickly slid his arm around his neck, pulling him back and kissing him with passion like no other. He had always heard of people talking about how in a fight with their lover, at the most inappropriate of times their anger would turn to fierce passion regardless of how much they hated the other at the time. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was similar to that.

Altaïr trailed his hand from where it held the front of the brunette’s robes down his chest, towards his abdomen before sliding under the black over cloak to encircle around his waist in a protective grip. Malik arched his back in response to the sudden embrace, giving a small gasp before Altaïr took the chance to capture his mouth once more, grazing his tongue against the others lips pleading for entrance, which was quickly granted. Their lips moved rhythmically against one anothers as hands roamed across various areas of each other bodies, producing a symphony of moans and whimpers between the two.

Amidst the heat of the moment, Altaïr pulled away unexpectedly looking awfully flushed while straightening his robes. Malik panted softly, catching his breath as he watched the other with a raised eyebrow. “What the hell was that?” he asked breathlessly, running his hand through his hair. Altaïr stared back with his hands on his hips, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, “That, that was me proving you don’t hate me,” he replied contentedly, the other gawked at him as he leisurely walked across to the door frame, turning and leaning against it arms folded feeling quite full of himself. Malik struggled to coherently form a sentence, mouth opening and closing much in imitation of a fish out of water, which was akin to how he felt in this situation. “… I hate you Altaïr,” came the reply from the flustered brunette, who was looking very much embarrassed, arm folded across his chest and eyebrows furrowed. Altaïr could do nothing but chuckle as he bumped off the frame, turning to leave, “Yeah, if all of that can be classified as hate, I hate you too Mal.”