Hola, peeps! Yes, I'm into Assassin's Creed, if you didn't bother to read my profile or couldn't tell. My girlfriend xXRainbowSkittlesXx got me into it, and of course AltxMal. The two of us are having a bit of a war here. See, I showed her the Dane Cook joke about working at Burger King, so we usually share a laugh whenever pickles are mentioned and continue the joke (if you don't know what it is, look it up on youtube; it's important to understand the rest of this). She had the idea to make a truth or dare-themed AltxMal fic, and when she stepped out of the room I trolled her story by typing a scene involving the joke (which you can find in here). When she got back, she cut my part out and sent it to me, saying it was too ridiculous for what she had planned. One thing led to another and now we've challenged each other to see whose fic is better. So, if you read 'em both (if she ever puts hers up), vote for your fave!

Warnings: Language, minor suggestive themes. Next chapter will have all the naughty bits, and I'll change the rating. ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed! If I did, it would be a miracle if Desmond was born! ;D

With the skies a dark grey and rain pouring down like it was trying to flood the world, it was of course the perfect day to stay inside and play video games. To the extent of travelling outside to get to said video games.

Well, actually, that is a pretty stupid idea. But Altaïr came, nonetheless, to his college buddy's apartment almost halfway across town to do just that. Malik said he had agreed only because he would be terribly bored otherwise, though he wouldn't say that it was because he found his best friend infuriatingly attractive, and although they did more arguing than anything else, it was somewhat endearing, not to mention (ever) that he found him actually kinda really cool.

The taller man showed up with drenched to the bone. He looked like a drowned puppy, except happier.

'Pathetic… yet adorable,' Malik thought to himself. Until he noticed the accumulating puddle at his visitor's feet. "Hey! You're dripping all over my carpet!"

Altaïr pushed past him, leaving a wet handprint on his side. "Can't help it, bro. It's coming down hard out there." He snickered at the euphemism.

Malik frowned, rubbing at the spot with his good arm- really, his only arm. "Whatever. Towels are in the closet, and I guess you can borrow some of my clothes. There's no way in hell I'm letting you track around my place like that."

"Aw, you mean you actually care about me?" Altaïr looked over his shoulder, hands pressed to his cheeks and butt sticking out, then batted his eyes. "Don't worry, Sweet Cheeks, I promise not to get sick."

"Hardly," Malik scoffed. "I'm more worried about my floors than your sorry ass."

Altaïr shrugged, grabbing a few towels from the closet and heading for Malik's room. "Riiight. Well, Mr. Insensitive, try to hold yourself from peeking in on my choice ass while I change."

Had he two hands, Malik would've doubly flipped him off. "You definitely don't need to worry about that," he called to the other's retreating back. He plopped himself down on his old hand-me-down couch and started rifling through his game collection, pulling out their favorites. However, now he couldn't get the image of Altaïr stripping naked out of his mind, and the wet slapping sounds of soaked clothes being removed coming from the next room didn't help at all.

'Jesus, what's wrong with me? Why, of all people to have an insane crush on, does it have to be that guy?' Malik shook his head at the thought. 'It's not like I could tell him, anyway. How does one even begin to confess something like that to their best friend?'

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, deciding it better untouched. After a torturous five minutes, Altaïr came out and flopped onto the couch. Seeing him wearing his clothes- not to mention the slight size difference had them hugging his form in a few places- caused Malik to blush and turn his head. Distractedly he gestured to the array of games he'd laid out.

"Pick your poison."

The bum smirked. "Don't mind if I do." He waved his hand like a magician over the cases before selecting one and going over to pop it into the console. Malik kept his eyes averted lest they wander over that choice ass, which was currently shaking in tune with Altaïr's humming as he set everything up. He sat next to Malik, handed him a controller, and swung his legs over the others to push on the opposite armrest.

"Hey, dickface! Feet down."

"Nah, I like them where they're at," Altaïr chuckled.

Malik scowled as he set his controller in his lap. "That wasn't a request." He grabbed a notebook off the coffee table, rolled it up, and smacked his friend on the top of the head. "Down boy!"

The other attempted to push his arm away, but Malik kept at it. "Bad dog. Feet off my couch."

Altaïr laughed and managed to take the notebook. He leaned forward, smiling mischievously. "Woof."

Malik tried his best not to crack up, instead putting on a serious face and pointing at the ground. "Off."

The taller man rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. "Fine. I'm gonna beat your ass with just a little less comfort."

"Whiny bastard," Malik grumped. He picked his controller up, settling back when the starting screen came on.

Although it was a bit of a challenge, there were a surprising number of games he could play just as easily, if not better, than a person with two. Sometimes it was frustrating playing with other people because they felt sorry for him and played like chumps; it was even worse when they thought he couldn't play video games to being with. That was one of the things he liked about Altaïr- he never went easy on him. It was nice to not be treated like he was helpless.

The bickering from Malik's end and joke-flirting from Altaïr quickly degenerated into the usual playful arguing off that accompanies playing video games. Sometime over the course of the marathon legs traveled back across Malik's lap, but by then he was too absorbed in the screen to do much about it.

About the fifth game in, they were pushing each other in an attempt to distract their foe into losing the final battle. Just as Malik got in front of Altaïr's line of sight and was ready to deliver the finishing blow, the TV went black.

His jaw dropped and the controller slipped from his hand. "What!? Fuck! No!"

Altaïr pushed him out of the way and saw the problem. "Well shit."

"Augh! I was so close! What the hell happened?" Malik rubbed his face in frustration. "Did we overheat the system or something? Shit!"

His friend looked around. "I don't think so," he said, blinking to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness faster. "I think it was a power-outage."

"Fucking storm. Move," Malik commanded as he stood. He shuffled into the kitchen a bit blindly, cursing when he hit his shin on the coffee table, and rummaged around one of the drawers. Altaïr, being the wise bum that he is, moved the table against the wall.

A crack of lightning suddenly lit up the apartment, accompanied by a deafening boom. He immediately sat on the floor, shoulders bunched up, and cursed. Malik returned with some candles and a lighter and snickered.

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little storm?" he mocked as he set the candles on the table.

Altaïr gazed puppy eyes up at Malik. "Yes. Hold me?"

"Ha. Not a chance."

He pouted and crossed his arms like a child. "Hmph. You're no fun."

Malik sat down across from him. "You're the one that came to my house to play," he pointed out. Then he sighed. "Although, it looks like we won't be doing much of that until the power's back on."

Altaïr tapped his chin. "That's not true. We could do something else to pass the time."

"Like what?" Malik asked cautiously. 'It better not be some perverted thing. Knowing him, that's exactly what he'd say.'

"Truth or dare."

Malik blinked. "Oh. Um, okay." 'First time for everything, I suppose.'

"Excellent!" Altaïr clapped his hands together. "Okay, you ask first."

Ignoring how childish it seemed, Malik played along. "Alright. Truth, or dare?"

"Hmmm. Truth."

Malik grinned. "What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?"

The other man made a face. "Really? Like I'd tell you that."

"Hey, you're the one that chose it." He wiggled his fingers at him. "Tell me all your secrets," he toned villainously.

"Okay, okay," Altaïr chuckled. "Ah, let's see. I'd have to say the most embarrassing thing would be… when my stepfather caught me watching porn. That was the most awkward half hour ever."

Malik suppressed a laugh. "Half an hour?"

Altaïr rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I had to argue my side! He thought it was sinful, and made me explain where I got it from. Then he gave me a 'birds and the bees' talk in excruciating detail." He shuddered.

Malik couldn't hold it in anymore. His adopted father (whom Altaïr called his stepdad, since he knew his real father before he died) was a very old, very strict, very religious Muslim man. Imagining him finding porn- particularly Altaïr's, as that must have been especially lewd- had the guy across from him cracking up.

"Ha ha, very funny. Yuk it up, Malik. It's my turn to pick your torture next. So what'll it be? Truth or dare?"

Malik wiped an eye, having laughed too hard. "Oh yeah, I'm so scared." 'Actually, I am. Who knows what the hell he'll make me say or do? He'll probably ask for me to say something dirty or tell him perverted secrets. Dammit, I can't tell him anything like that.'

He bit his lip. 'Hmmm. If I pick dare, then he's almost guaranteed to make me do something pervy. But that's way better than talking dirty to him- or worse, telling him what I actually think of him.'

"Chose something yet? Geez, don't hurt yourself thinking too hard."

Malik scrunched up his nose. "Shut up, ignoramus. I pick dare."

Without missing a beat, Altaïr replied: "I dare you to put sweet sauce all over your chest."

The other blinked. "Wait, what? What the hell kind of dare is that?"

"Are you saying you won't do it?"

"I...!" He sighed, hating his refusal to lose, especially to this bastard. "Fine. I'll do it."

Malik sauntered off to the kitchen and returned with a handful of sauce packets, the kind you'd get at a fast food restaurant. He sat back down on the floor and tossed the packets at his feet before grabbing the hem of his shirt. He fiddled with it for a moment. 'Am I really going to do this? This is so stupid! And weird! But... it is just a game... with a really hot douchebag... Dammit.'

Malik steeled himself and threw off the garment in a practiced motion, exposing his bare skin. He was so wrapped up in his churning thoughts that he failed to notice how intently Altaïr was staring at him, studying him, or how he leaned forward just a bit, his lips turned into a subtle smirk.

Picking up one of the packets, Malik sighed. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbled. He tore it open with his teeth and, leaning back, squeezed the sauce onto his chest. He shivered at the cool, slimy feeling as it slowly slid downwards. "Ugh. There. Happy?"

Altaïr's voice was low, but held even. "No. Use all of them."

"What!? I-"

"Come on. One dinky little thing of sauce is hardly enough to be a dare."

"Fucking a." Malik frowned deeply. 'Okay, there is no way in hell I can do this one at a time.' He scooped up a handful of packets, ripped the tops off, bit his lip, and spread the condiments. He threw the wrappers down and leaned back on his arm in an attempt to stop the sauce from sliding more. It was an incredibly strange feeling, and he shut his eyes tight. He didn't want to see Altaïr's reaction, anyway. He was probably trying not to laugh his ass off.

So he was doubly surprised when a new, equally strange feeling was also on his chest. He cracked an eye open only to stare, wide-eyed, at the top of Altaïr's head. He was licking the sauce off in slow, dragging circles.

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BECOME ONE WITH MOTHER RUSSIA, DA?