Malik hissed in mild agitation from a paper cut caused by the map he had been working on. Altair, who had only just returned from gathering information about his latest target, hadn't missed the injury and saw an opportunity to aid his once close friend.
"W-what are you doing, novice?" Malik asked in slight shock as Altair grabbed the injured hand and brought it to his lips.
"I once heard that saliva helps wounds heal faster." The younger assassin answered in a calm, almost monotone voice.
He took the bleeding index finger into his mouth and ran his tongue over it, sucking slightly. The blood rose to Malik's cheeks, ashamed at himself. He couldn't help but feel aroused be such a seemingly intimate act. He felt a small loss when Altair stopped.
"Malik," he said in a surprisingly heavy voice, "I want to try something…"
Before the Dai could protest, Altair had closed the distance between them by jumping the desk that separated them and placing both his hands on either of Malik's shoulders. The older man froze, not sure what to do in this situation. Altair leaned forward. Malik flinched and shut his eyes. Slowly, he opened them, realizing the scared lips he thought would meet his had landed elsewhere.
"A-Altair…" he stammered as he watched the assassin press his lips to Malik's chest. Several moments passed before Altair lifted his head to look at Malik.
"Why…why did you do that…?" the older man asked shyly.
"Does it still hurt?" Altair asked in reply.
"What?"
"Your heart…does it still…ache?"
Malik felt a lump build in his throat. Without thinking he embraced Altair and whispered softly, "No, Altair. It doesn't hurt anymore."