Altair appreciates light. He enjoys watching shadows move, as the sun slowly wheels above. He likes the colours light paints on buildings as he climbs them, the hues that float through coloured glass. He watches with placid reticence as afternoon light is caught in the lazy swirls of dust, disturbed by only the motion of his own breathing.
He watches the dips and shadows, the hills and shines, as Malik sleeps, unaware of the window's light. Grated with a delicate net of carved wood, the window is small and set high in the wall, just large enough to send an indefinite array of spotlights and shadows drifting over his unconscious brother. They curve and stretch, follow the lines of his spine, the ridges of his muscles, his arms…
Altair reaches out a hand, drawn in by the delicate, simple beauty. Fingers pause, still inches from skin, and retract, wary of disrupting the light. Instead, he lets his eyes travel over the sleeping assassin's body.
His arms folded beneath his forehead, Malik lies on his front, his face turned away from Altair. His shoulders, lifted slightly by the position of his arms, rise and fall with each slow breath. His back is curved, spine arcing gracefully up to his hips, hidden beneath a thin, tousled blanket. The blanket, Altair can do without. He lifts it and tosses it aside. Malik stirs, and the patterns shift.
No longer afraid of disturbing the shadows, Altair's hand reaches out again, fingers tracing the blurred lines with a feather's touch. Though he is almost certainly awake, Malik shifts blearily, murmuring something unintelligible and pushing back into Altair's hand. The assassin smiles, laying his palm flat on the small of Malik's back, observing for a moment the vague contrast between the shadow of the man's skin and the light of his own, then strokes upward, over his shoulders. He pauses at his neck, fingers flicking for a moment into the fringe of hair at the base of his skull, then drifts away, over his arms. For another brief moment, he brushes his knuckles over what he can see of the man's face, then draws away, tracing edges of muscles back up to his shoulder.
Propping himself up on his left arm to allow himself more reach, Altair trails a short fingernail down Malik's spine. With a sharp intake of breath, the assassin's back arches, skin prickling. Altair smirks quietly to himself and leans over, pressing his lips to the line his finger has just left. Malik sighs as he moves lower, tongue drawing small circles and lips pushing and suckling by turns. At the rise of his hips, he stops, nips teasingly, and moves back up, shifting his weight to all fours, crouched like a cat above his prey.
Prey that seems all too willing to meet his mouth when he descends, using one hand to turn Malik's chin and catching the faint moan he makes as he lowers his hips, pressing rapidly hardening interest into his lower back. Malik's eyes are still closed when he pulls away, his lips parted, a long breath hanging between them before Altair rolls him over.
Dark eyes open to stare almost coyly up at him, a lazy smirk quirking lips that he quickly captures again. His touch still light, he slips his tongue gently against Malik's, gliding along the inner edge of his lip. One arm bracing him on either side of the older assassin's head, Altair's hips press down, drawing soft groans from them both as they grind together, the dry friction along each of their lengths not quite enough. Malik lifts a hand to his mouth to slick them and Altair lets him, watches the fingers slide from his tongue, and then catches the hand, pushing it sideways and into the sheets. Malik quirks a brow and he ignores it, instead lowering his head once more.
He'll slick them when he wants to.
He kisses him briefly, almost chastely, then shifts to his neck. Here, his tongue darts out, leaving behind a short, moist line beneath his jaw before he finds the sensitive point just below his ear and he catches the skin with his teeth, sucking hard. Malik writhes below him, head falling sideways to allow him better access, and Altair turns teasingly away, forehead now where his mouth was, and he looks down at his lover's body.
Partially occluded by his own form, still poised above him, hips rolling leisurely against his, the skin of Malik's chest shines in the latticed light with a fine sheen of sweat. The patterns dance as the muscles of his abdomen shift, pushing back into Altair, and quiver as the assassin's hand flits across the skin, enjoying the tremors and gasps. Deliberately, his hand stops, rises to his mouth, and then slides down between them, and now the friction is not quite enough in a whole new way.
Malik's breath is hot against Altair's cheek as he moans, hands reaching up to clutch at the assassin's shoulders. "Altair—" he chokes, and Altair takes pity on him.
He lets Malik rolls them over, allows them to grapple for dominance for a moment, a war of grinding hips and pinning hands and nipping teeth, and then he sits them up, Malik's legs on either side of his own, and with a harsh, shuddering sigh, he is inside him.
His head against Malik's chest, his mouth open, listening to the other man's breath on his ear and feeling his heartbeat through his forehead. He opens his eyes and looks down. The play of the light is still there, though the angles between the gridlines have changed, whether from their shift in position or from the movement of the sun he doesn't know. He doesn't care.
He places his hands on Malik's stomach, the muscles still taut though his back is curled. They slide slowly up, over his chest, and as he begins to roll his hips, his thumbs flick over his nipples. Malik groans, a shudder rippling over him, and Altair grins vaguely, leaning forward to kiss one of those nipples, catching it between his lips and sucking, grazing his teeth over it until he feels another moan vibrate through them, and pulls away, grinning instead up at Malik. The assassin's eyes are closed, his head thrown back, his hands fisted in the sheets as he rocks against Altair, who watches for a moment, appreciating the way the small droplets of sweat on his neck catch the light, before sliding his hands down to the small of his back, guiding his movement, while he stretches up to kiss at his collarbone. Malik's head comes back down with a ragged breath and he nips at Altair's ear, and suddenly everything has a new dimension.
Altair pulls them back into the pillows, flips them over, and sheathes himself in one fluid motion. Beneath him, legs splayed, cheeks flushed, expression somewhere near desperate, Malik gasps his name, fingers catching in his hair as Altair takes him in hand.
The rhythm from there is hard, fast, no time for admiring the beauty of the light, or the shift of muscle, or the glimmer of sweat. Altair buries his face in Malik's neck, inhaling his scent, laving his tongue over reddening marks. His legs slide in the sheets, feet grappling for purchase as he thrusts, his hand jerking out a quick pace. Malik shudders and arches, his name on his lips, and Altair feels the familiar claw in the small of his back. He drives forward, one last time, feeling wet heat across his belly, and moans, despite the teeth he has sunk into Malik's shoulder.
They collapse together, sweat-soaked and spent, Altair's head on Malik's outstretched arm, their legs tangled together. The light from the window is nearly gone, and Altair watches it through lazily closing eyes. It wavers, gliding with a sort of dying patience, and, as the wedge becomes a sliver and the sliver becomes a faint, blurred line, it shifts just enough to span the distance between his chest, and Malik's.
He smiles, and lets his eyes close. The light will be back tomorrow, but for now, there is all the night ahead of them, and for that, he intends to be well-rested.