AN: Okay, I have not written much lately, so I am rusty. This is a one-shot for practice. Prompted by just 5 words, which were: Altair, Ezio, Knifeplay, Malik's Bureau. That pretty much sums this up.
This is sort of...partly AU, since I threw Ezio at Jerusalem, but please, don't bother picking at the inconsistency. I was aiming for pwp and a little crack slipped in.
The intro was written by my lovely lady ;D thank you for that my dear! You know i love to drop right into porn. Also...oh god, lots of people helped me with this because i am so fucking uncreative lately. Olli, thank you for your Rage!Malik input xD Thank you my darling porn assistant for your general advice and thank you Mooch for the knifeplay assistance.
So now, I present my new-ish OTP. Oh and Oz, you can hit me with harsh critique if you will, my body is ready. xD
Canción del Cuchilla
"You know, a blade like that is certainly not just a deadly weapon," he had said in a mocking tone, wearing that wide, but utterly charming grin on his handsome face, "but I bet you don't even know other uses for it than to kill, maestro."
Silently, golden eyes were traveling over his student's lithe, young form, no emotion betraying the Syrian master assassin's face. Altaïr noticed how Ezio's hazel eyes sparkled when he talked like that, mocking him, teasing his master about the only flaw he could find; his completely absent lovelife.
As he continued to watch the Italian grinning and murmuring things to himself and wandering around the bureau, investigating all the things Malik stored here, the Syrian felt a certain sensation crawling up his spine.
The muscles on Ezio's broad back were pretty visible when he began stretching and looking through a cupboard for any information about their target.
The light from the setting sun flooded the room through the ivy-covered grate that made up a part of the roof.
The city of Jerusalem would now be painted in pure gold if one looked at it from above like Altaïr had, many times.
Under this light's influence, the usually dirty and crowded Jerusalem turned into a bright, golden city, true to the name the Templars had given the whole land.
But it was not the city that drew Altaïr's attention.
The light managed to turn something dirty and disgusting into something nice. What it was doing to the already handsome Ezio was a completely different story.
Slowly, the Syrian lifted his left hand and golden eyes wandered over the dangerously glinting metal.
Maybe, he thought, maybe he had just found out what he would like to do with the blade rather than kill.
Maybe his precious Italian pupil needed someone to get him off of that high horse he thought himself to be sitting on.
His touch was featherlight as he drew the blade across sun-tanned skin. The muscles beneath it shivered, tensed, resisting the cold touch of deadly metal. Still, he did not move away, though his instincts screamed for it.
The blade continued to explore his body. If he halted his breathing, he would be able to hear the scrape of it over his trained flesh. But, as it were, he couldn't do anything but feel it, his breath hitching as the weapon neared skin that was precious to him, organs that would not take kindly to the deadly dance of the weapon on his torso.
But he was transfixed into doing absolutely nothing by a fierce, golden gaze. Like a tiny, scared animal in front of a predator, he was absolutely still, unable to raise a single finger to his defense.
A minescule breath of a hiss escaped him as the blade slid into his skin, easily slicing through the layers along the muscles of his chest.
White-hot pain shot through him and his body wanted to jerk away, struggle, resist the injury and fight back. But his mind was controlled, gaze still held by the eagle's unrelenting stare. Slowly, the pain eased away as the blade left its newly claimed territory, now warm and wet with Ezio's blood and continued its travels down to his navel, then lower still.
His breath was caught somewhere in his throat and he seemed to forget to renew his supply of oxygen. Something about this was innately thrilling, to experience the touch of this old blade, one that had claimed many lives and still demanded for more. In the hands of its wielder, it was the ultimate killer.
Yet here it was, caressing him, kissing his flesh, making small, loving incisions like tentative probes of his delicious skin.
He shifted, feeling and hearing the leather binding his arms above his head squeak in protest as if to dare him to try it again. The pressure of the other man's fingers on his neck increased. He was clearly not allowed to move. Ezio managed to give a discontented sigh, letting the masterful killer above him know that he was getting impatient. His body was already criss-crossed with thin, bloody red lines from the blade's kiss, marred with light bruises where teeth had replaced the cold metal.
Another increase of the pressure on his neck had him closing his eyes, almost too obediently for Altaïr's taste. He loosened his grip, let his right hand drift away from the abused neck, let his fingers drift over the slightly shining skin. The Italian assassin was almost ready, almost perfect for his tastes.
A couple of chaste kisses followed, to make Ezio relax himself, open his eyes again, regain that cocky smirk that usually curved his lips. Altaïr did not want a submissive creature, that would bore him. He cherished resistance, a struggle, a fight for dominance. Surely, the usually defiant young man bound beneath him could do better than just laying back and taking whichever treatment Altaïr wanted to give to him.
"Come on. Don't make this so boring, Ezio~"
He hadn't known anyone could purr like that. Ezio found himself once again lifting his arms in a weak protest to being bound, though he didn't voice a complaint. He had never felt this exposed to anyone before. Was it the way his body couldn't resist the touch of the hidden blade? Or was it the feeling of liquid fire coursing through him at every slight slip of skin over skin as the elder assassin moved above him? Maybe it was even the way his ears strained to catch every breath and murmur Altaïr made...
He yearned for more. Not just the kiss of the blade, but for the touches he was denied. He longed for eager fingers to relieve his burning need which stood to eager attention between his thighs. And yet, he was still being played with.
Altaïr made another incision, watching with fascination as the red liquid escaped onto Ezio's well-toned stomach. An almost loving smile crept over his lips as he lowered his head, tongue moving out of his mouth to taste the Italian's blood.
The feeling of a tongue against his newest, sensitive wound made Ezio's breath hitch and his back arch slightly. It was closer now, closer to where he desperately wanted that wicked mouth to be. Altaïr was good at this and honestly, Ezio didn't care where the master assassin had found the time and victim to practice this with.
Pain was throbbing in his mind alongside a deep-seated need to satisfy his unbearable lust. He was so close to having the man he had been following around daily for a year now.
Or rather, the other was so close to having him.
Ezio had never considered himself someone who was easily conquered, nor had he ever felt the need to be someone's conquest. But this man...there was something about those fierce golden eyes, the curve of that devious smirk on his lips, the demanding manner in which his hands touched what he wanted, with or without permission.
Something about this man had drawn him in so easily that he wanted this. He wanted Altaïr to touch him as he pleased, to give him something no one else had before.
Altaïr left Ezio's stomach when another lovely scarlet mark had blossomed on the meditterranean skin beneath his tongue. He licked his lips, feeling anticipation run through his body and betraying his strict control slightly. He couldn't draw this out much longer, for his own blood was already coursing quickly to a certain part of his anatomy that would not be ignored for much longer.
He lifted his left hand again, returning to the bruised neck of the younger assassin beneath him. With his teeth showing slightly behind his wicked smile, he let his hidden blade move out of its cradle on his arm again. Ezio's clouded eyes drifted to the dangerous weapon, he saw his own blood glistening on it still. The blade moved to his lips and the silent command in Altaïr's gaze was unmistakable.
An obscene pleasure coursed through his body, sending tingles up his spine as he watched his willing 'pupil' move his tongue from between his bruised lips to give the blade a hesitant lick. Yes, he liked this. His right hand drifted down to Ezio's bare waist, fingers pressing into the fine red lines he had made, as if he had mapped out some strange landscape across the assassin's body.
A map only he would ever get to see, he had decided when he had laid eyes upon this strangely exotic young man. This would belong to him, this body, these eyes, everything from Ezio's hair to his feet belonged to Altaïr, and he would never accept any question about it.
He was growing more confident now. Ezio could see the elder's control wavering, his great mentor was starting to give in to his desire. The Italian suppressed his urge to smile and closed his eyes half-way, licking over the sharp edges of the deadly blade in front of him with care. He tasted his blood and the metallic tang of the weapon itself. It wasn't a combination he favoured, but somehow, knowing that this was his own blood that had been drawn from him in such a wanton way made that fire in the pit of his stomach enflame further. He wasn't sure how much he could take before he gave up on holding on.
And then there was the sudden warmth around his aching cock. The touch was heaven and hell at the same time. Firm enough to make him give another quiet moan, too light to give him any true satisfaction. It seemed Altaïr was still not through teasing him. The touch stayed, as if to bind him here to this state between torture and pure bliss.
"Maestro...per favore..."
Ah, so he had already reduced himself to begging. Altaïr wanted to laugh at that expression on Ezio's face, the way he knitted his brows together, almost as if he was hoping he hadn't said that out loud in such a pathetic tone of voice, without being able to suppress the hope laced thickly around those three little words.
He liked being called master. He liked it even more when it came from the mouth of the troublesome little ladykiller currently arching against him in desperate need. Where were his Italian charms now? Ezio was completely in his power.
A rush of exhiliration filled Altaïr, let his hardened emotional exterior shudder under the weight of his lust. His left hand was withdrawn from the proximity to Ezio's face as the Syrian assassin moved back entirely from the willing young body laid out on the rafiq's counter like an obscene present.
He considered, just for a split second, to leave Ezio here like this. It would certainly be a lesson in humility for the Auditore spawn. But as he glanced over his 'work', the thin red lines criss-crossing his chest, the several incisions that continued to bleed lightly, the quivering, abandoned arousal of the younger man, the desperate look in his eyes...No. Altaïr couldn't deny himself this delicious little treat.
"I could not understand you, Auditore. Perhaps you want to try begging in a language I understand?"
Ezio felt his face heat up at the mocking tone in the master's voice. He hated being humiliated and he knew how perfectly well Altaïr had understood him.
He almost whined as Altaïr brushed two fingers over the cuts on his chest and abdomen. They were extremely sensitive right now, but not the target of Altaïr's purpose-driven hand. Pinching a rather hard little bud of tender skin between his fingers, Altaïr leaned over Ezio again, this time letting his tongue move out to trace that old scar over the younger's lips.
Ezio could smell, feel and taste him now. The hints of spice, the musky, male smell...
The mere scent of Altaïr made him close his eyes, desiring more, more of this man. Suddenly, begging for pleasure didn't seem so humiliating anymore. Worth it at any rate.
He leaned up as best he could, not to the elder's mouth, but to his ear. This time, he whispered, trying to be as charming as one could when bound, aroused and in pain.
"Please, master, give me more of this."
Altaïr's sandy-brown eyebrows lifted in mock-surprise. As if he hadn't known his little Italian liked this. Ezio found himself silenced as rough lips claimed his own, letting any residual thoughts or doubts he might have slip from his rapidly fading mind. Thinking wasn't an option anymore. He just wanted to feel and taste and see...
His tongue moved hesitantly to Altaïr's mouth only to be punished by the elder assassin's teeth, making it retreat hastily into its domain, though it wasn't alone for long.
Whilst Ezio seemed entirely focused on attempting to suck Altaïr's tongue in a way that might entice the Syrian further, the master had moved himself between shivering thighs that surely must be aching by now. The wooden counter creaked lightly as Altaïr leaned his weight on it.
His hands slid down over the bruised and tormented skin of his 'victim', finding his hips and giving them a harsh tug, making Ezio break away from his lips to give a very heavy grunt. Hazel eyes found Altaïr's gaze and held them in question. Masyaf's eagle found himself severely tempted by that look, he wanted to give in and just fuck this beautiful young man beneath him. But not yet. He was far from finished, though he promised himself silently he would treasure this experience and savour it for all it was worth.
With a sense of urgency overcoming him at Ezio's rolling movements, his right hand travelled straight to the place of interest. Suddenly those squirming hips stilled and those hazel eyes opened properly, a look in them like a startled deer.
Surely, Ezio had let himself be fucked before? No, that look on his face, that shock, that was real. Altaïr felt like laughing again, but this one he really suppressed. It just made it all the more fun for him, he could be the first to see this Italian playboy twist in his grip and moan with pleasure as another man fucked him for the first time. Oh yes, Altaïr liked the thought of taking this...well, first time from the younger assassin.
Ezio bit his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth as Altaïr's fingers explored a place that had never experienced the touch of anyone else before. This felt strange and the Italian wasn't sure he liked it whatsoever. He preferred the touch of the blade to this sensation.
But Altaïr had found a new way to make him uncomfortably hot, it seemed. He felt the few strands of hair that the Syrian had managed to grow scrape against hist throat as Altaïr attached his mouth to his neck, probably to leave yet another mark. Ezio would feel quite ridiculously lucky if he came out of this with a piece of his skin left in tact, without cuts or marks like this one.
Altaïr was growing impatient. Ezio was being too slow, not giving in to what the elder wanted, not allowing himself to feel pleasure in being touched this way. In fact, he was beginning to annoy the elder assassin with his squirming, trying to get away from his hand, trying to worm his body up out of his reach.
His four-fingered left hand found its way to the Italian's hip and he gripped it hard, trying to hold his pupil still. It wasn't for Altaïr's benefit that he was bothering to prepare him after all.
But Ezio seemed to have something else in mind than relaxing into his master's touch. When he was restrained by that hand at his hip, he began to voice his complaints. First, in mumbled Italian, then in louder Arabic which Altaïr couldn't pretend to ignore anymore.
"Stop...master. Stop it. I, I don't want this. I am not like that!"
What a weak excuse. Ezio had been comfortable enough to suck on Altaïr's tongue, to bite his lips and to let him mark his body, not to mention tying him across Malik's counter, naked. But now, he was getting cold feet? Now, he wasn't 'like that'?
"Pathetic..." Altaïr whispered against the trim stomach, eyes turning colder, harder as he focused on what he wanted right now. And he would get it too, despite of this little fit Ezio was determined to throw.
The Syrian raised himself up slightly, moving closer to the pinned body that trembled beneath him until he was resting right up against the younger man's hips. He sucked in air gratefully as he finally felt the friction he had been craving.
But apparently the imminent situation was definitely not to Ezio's liking, because he was practically throwing himself around in his restraints now, snarling at his superior with a fierce scowl marring his handsome features. Altaïr didn't like the way he knitted his brows together and narrowed his hazel eyes. No, this would not do. He didn't want his night to be ruined, so he leaned closer to the face that was snarling and spitting Italian cursewords at him.
His hand, the one that had been so busy preparing Ezio for his next big 'challenge' now gripped the young man's chin, forcing him to look up into hard, golden eyes.
"Shut the fuck up, Ezio."
It was a warning and a threat, Ezio understood that much. But he didn't exactly have much opportunity to oppose it as Altaïr covered his mouth with his lips briefly, ravishing that which he thought to be his, biting his lips, his tongue, but making him hotter all the same. Ezio cursed his body for reacting as easily to this as if he was some willing whore with a pretty payment in sight.
The harsh kiss ended soon enough and before Ezio could open his mouth to complain again, Altaïr had clapped his hand firmly over his lips, one hand holding the Italian steady as he finally eased himself into his pupil. A light grunt was all that crossed Altaïr's lips, but it had sounded quite pleased. He even allowed his eyes to slide closed as he grew accustomed to the heat and pressure surrounding him.
Ezio's body was definitely trembling around him now, the hazel eyes above his hand looked wide and lightly clouded with pain. A pathetic little excuse of a pained moan was breathed against his hand.
Though Altaïr wanted to start pounding into this sweet little ass right now, he restrained himself. He had not spent all that time playing with Ezio to just quickly fuck him and get it over with now. The Italian would enjoy this too, if only he could shut up and learn to enjoy the situation.
Eventually, the trembling beneath him stopped and the look in Ezio's eyes changed from pained to hesitantly curious. If Altaïr had had any doubt about his pupil being inexperienced with this type of sex, well he could rest assured now. First time, definitely.
An almost loving little smile curved the scarred lips of the master assassin. He would make it something special for his favourite student.
And then, he began moving. Rolling his eyes up slightly at the wonderful pressure around his cock, he pushed himself in all the way, then back out, back in. His pace was still slow, his senses still focused on the young Italian beneath him. Ezio shuddered, sighed and had closed his eyes. He wasn't enjoying this, at least, he wasn't letting himself enjoy this. But the stretched sensation that had burned like white-hot flames only minutes ago was starting to wake some other feeling in him, something that was new and uncertain and he couldn't quite decide if it was good or bad.
He opened his eyes to look at his master again. Altaïr was looking at him, but not really seeing him. His eyes were a little glassy, his mouth slightly open and his breath was starting to synchronize with his thrusts. Ezio found himself staring. He wasn't sure about this whole...gay sex thing that was going on, but he found himself wondering how long Altaïr had wanted to do this to him. Or maybe he wasn't anything special. Maybe Altaïr had just felt like taking a new toy tonight and Ezio had been the only one around.
It took Altaïr a minute or two to realize his student was staring at him. Slightly annoyed that Ezio wasn't even moaning yet, he focused on those wondering hazel orbs. What was this idiot thinking of right now? He should be enjoying the fact that Altaïr was burying himself deeply inside of him. He should be thinking of hooking his legs over his mentor's shoulders and he should definitely be making noise about how much liked this.
Altaïr sighed, decidedly irritated and halted. He leaned down and removed his hand, replacing it with his lips and allowing Ezio to actually retaliate this time. There was something a little desperate and lost about the man who leaned into the kiss, somehow it felt as if Ezio sought reassurance. What a weird thought to connect to the usually annoyingly arrogant assassin.
Ezio tugged at his restraints, wanting to wrap an arm around Altaïr's neck or something, but it didn't seem likely that the elder would undo his tethers. His hazel eyes continued to look at Altaïr with that pleading expression, though there didn't seem to be as much apprehension in them now.
"Trust me, Ezio."
It seemed to have been the right thing to say, because Altaïr felt the younger relax around him. At least his student had that much confidence in him.
He offered Ezio a small kiss before smirking and pulling back, ready to really show the Italian who the master of 'amore' was around here. This wasn't Italy after all.
He was going to have an aneurysm, he could almost feel it. He raised his right arm to rub at his temple, closing his eyes in the hope that when he opened them again, this whole disgusting mess would just disappear and he could go about his day.
Malik opened his eyes again. Nope. Still there.
With a temper close to a volcanic eruption, he gingerly walked across the floor of his bureau. It seemed to be the only part that had not been 'assaulted' in whatever situation had taken place here.
His counter seemed to be the worst off. His most recently chartered map...well.
If it hadn't been his bureau, he might have been able to laugh it off sarcastically and pity the rafiq who had to work in the stink of sweat and sex the next day.
But, as it was his very own bureau, the volcanic eruption grew closer and closer. Especially as the perpetrators of this horrific crime were still there, asleep in the mess of their own activities. Blood stained the counter, his carefully traced maps were stained with god knows what and torn. Ink had clearly been spilt as there was now a lovely black puddle where he would stand to lean over his maps...And footprints lead him right to where the perpetrators were sleeping.
The pile of cushions looked as ragged and abused as the rest of his furniture. In their midst, draped over one another as if this was their little palace or something, Altaïr and his most irritating student, Ezio slept contently in hastily pulled on clothing in a clearly post-coital-bliss-fashion.
Yep. Aneurysm.
Ezio woke to the sound of something that reminded him of the ungodly noise that shook the ground during an earthquake, or the roar of a giant wave or some equal natural disaster.
Still hazy from the night spent with Altaïr, he ignored his senses warning him of imminent danger.
Altaïr wasn't any quicker to respond, but at least he recognized the noise as a human voice that was speaking some pretty diabolical arabic. His golden eyes almost drifted closed again before his mind was struck with just one, blinding thought. This was Malik's bureau. The next thought followed. It was morning. There was someone here.
He looked around and away from the amiable 'blue' assassin in his arms to find something of an intense scarlet right here in the bureau with them.
Malik saw the two assassins wake up and something in his head snapped. His foot found the nearest shelf, giving it such a hefty kick the poor piece of furniture came crashing down in front of the cushions, causing Ezio and Altaïr both to leap up like startled rabbits.
The volcano of Malik's temper was erupting, right here, right now.
Ezio couldn't understand half of what the rafiq was saying but he did understand the message. There seemed to be a lot of promises of death in there, alongside some cruel torture.
For just a few minutes, the two white-clad assassins watched Malik rage through his bureau, until they realized what he was searching for. Something sharp to kill them both with. Altaïr had sense enough to seek the nearest escape route, through the open roof. Ezio had never been happier to follow him.
The bellow that followed them was in a language all three of them spoke and it certainly made Ezio grin like a madman, it even tugged a tiny smirk onto the master assassin's lips.
"Elif air ab tizak, Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad!"
Btw, I don't speak any of their languages. woo for internet research. And the title stems from a single song I was listening to whilst writing this Cancion del Mariachi)
(i am not gonna tell you what he said. I will get smacked by someone's mother for Malik's foul language)