Altair's fingers threaded through Malik's coarse black hair, tugging slightly, causing the latter to wince slightly as the novice forcefully intruded his personal face space. This was the second time in one week that the man had been so brash as to interrupt his work to play bedmate, and Malik was not at all thrilled. His eyes opened to reveal a very feverish Altair peeling off his outer robe while pinning his hand. Malik, however, pulled away before Altair could manage this, and kneed his friend in the gut, earning him a growl and grunt. Leaning against the cold stone wall, a faint sigh escaped Malik's bruising lips, his eyes going to the novice leaning his back against the desk.

"Have you no restraint?" Malik's voice was a bit more harsh than intended. "You run off to play with locals all day, and then, without two seconds of thought come barging in. You're interrupting my work, expecting me to pay you all the attention in the world?" Altair's lips pursed together hard, his teeth gritting, and he refused to speak a moment. Malik took the chance to continue before the man changed his mind, "Do you not realize how busy I am; how much time I have to pour into these maps and in educating novices such as you? Are you a child or a man; or simply a dog?"

The hooded assassin's head raised, his fists clenched, and Malik could feel something freezing cold carve a trench where his spine used to be. He had done it; he had set his lover off. This was going to be the end of him. His blood would coat his maps, his eyes would glaze over, and he would join his brother. Altair, however, does not raise a hand, simply speaking through clenched teeth.

"How dare you. I was giving you release, a time away from work. You will work yourself into the grave, Rafiq." The frustration in the assassin's eyes seemed to pierce Malik as he took in the words. "I only wanted to help."

"If you want to help, go do your work!" Malik huffed angrily, frustrated himself. To his amazement, the assassin leapt over the desk, knocking over the incense pot and made his way out of the bureau. Malik had readied himself for a fight. He was in the moment, ready to argue Altair down to the floor and then forcefully eject him from the small space with a swift kick. Malik was not ready for him to simply leave. Trailing his eyes back to his desk from the exit, Malik retrieved the fallen pot and set it upright, mumbling a soft curse to himself.

Altair's feet carried him across the city in record time. Every archer along the path felt the sting of his throwing knives before falling to their doom. Sitting on the very top of a church in the outer city's cross, the assassin took a moment to reflect on the day. He had completed every ridiculously menial task around the city he could possibly be bothered to find, gathered about fifty pieces of information on his target, had a supper planned for Malik after his little excursion, and was ready to please his bedmate once again for dessert. Nothing was wrong with any of these things, nothing at all. Perhaps the timing on his initial visit to Malik was off, but that had not deserved such a harsh reprimand.

The assassin's eyes scrutinize the details of the sky in the sinking sun as he thinks. The colors stream almost at random. They paint the sky. Soon the more lovely thoughts are banished, however, and more dismal ones return. Why is he so against my affections? No one was set to return for another day. He could have finished later… Perhaps he does not wish to seek me anymore? He is too blunt though, he would simply say he was uninterested. A sigh escaped the young man's lips and his hand rustled through hair under his hood. I would like him to consider us more than just 'bedmates'. I will give him time. As much as it pains me to do so… Altair's hand came to rest on the cross. His feelings would have to wait.

Restlessness wracked Malik's body as he attempt to lay himself down to sleep. With great conviction he shut his eyes as tight as possible and with one cushion clenched in his fist tried his damnedest to sleep. Malik's mind raced with thoughts of his assassin though. With how crude his words had been, with how he had given his friend no room to speak. Albeit, he had deserved a scolding, perhaps not such a harsh one. Raising up from the ground, the one armed man began to search around the bureau for the contraption he had been creating for quite some time. It would be a form of apology and punishment in one.

Wandering the streets, Altair kept a low profile. Passing by some guards in the deep shadows casted by the moons light, making his way along the roofs and under the cover of the extensive darkness. He is simply unreasonable. Altair's hand slipped over the mouth of a lone guard, his hidden blade into the man's lower back, followed quickly by his throat. Moving past said guard, the man continued his ponderings as he continued to repeat this action with several more a few blocks apart. Bodies began falling quickly through the street as the assassin's pace quickened.

He would tell me. Would he not? This is something that is to be discussed, not simply assumed. Is it not? What of women? I have no time to chase such fragile creatures. My pray need be strong, fit, agile. Not some meek rabbit. Altair's sights were set on a small courtyard where a single guard stood blocking the doorway. Quickly he scaled the building before him, feet and hands clinging to windows and protruding rock before he pulled himself up on the roof. Scanning the rooftop, he found the silhouette of the man he had assisted earlier that day. The assassin whom he helped was very grateful and in turn gave him information, his location, and essentially an I.O.U. Altair made his way to the man, quickly relaying his plan before dropping down silently behind the guard down the stone wall. Executing him with a morbid proficiency, Altair dragged the body back where his assistant put on the armor and stood post. Altair sat upon the bench inside, his elbows rested on his knees, hands folded. Slowly the assassin's head nodded and he drifted into a light sleep.

The assassin did not dream. At least, he did not remember dreaming. He hardly remembered falling asleep. He did not hear his assistant move, nor did he hear the sound of the bow string being set, or the stifled laugh. He did not hear the twang of the release, but he did feel the result of it.

"What is the meaning of this?" A great roar of laughter came from the figure holding a small low tension crossbow and the assassin's traitorous friend. Altair was soaked with water, a thin fabric laying on his shoulder where it had fallen from his face. "Who dare-…"

"I dare." Malik said in a hushed tone, interrupted by hiccups of laughter. "Now quit your yelling, you insufferable novice."

"You're the one who is insufferable." Altair's distaste for the water was proving to be a wonderful point of attack for Malik, and he was quite satisfied with the result. The one armed assassin handed off the crossbow and went over to his clearly upset friend, pulling him into a hug three times as strong as any two armed man could muster. "You embrace me? Now?"

"Yes, now." Malik spat back quickly and sighed contently. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to be so impatient with you. Will you grant me forgiveness?"

"Perhaps." Altair considered this a moment. He was not being left. Malik was apologizing, though in a deviously cruel manner. He still had a chance at speaking with him. Wrapping his arms around Malik, he gently pulled him closer, making sure he was getting plenty wet as well. "Alright. You are forgiven." Leaning down, the assassin whispered softly in his ear, "My lover."

A smile edged at Malik's lips and he nuzzled Altair's chest, his hand fisting the back of his robe. "Lover?"

"If you please."

A/N Reviews are loved.