Prompt: leisure, preparation

(See profile link for full version. I'm sticking the non-porny bits here.)


It was far too early when Malik caught Altair slipping through the lattice awning, the moonlight painting shadows of vines and leaves across the white of his robes. Altair had landed lightly on his feet, fingers brushing the ground, before he got up and crossed the distance of the room to press his lips against Malik's closed mouth, quiet and determined.

He did not stop, even when Malik stood unmoving and silent, and Malik knew—because how could he not?—from the way Altair's eyes lingered every time he visited, and the downward turn of his mouth when he eventually looked away. His kisses were soft and patient, but Malik was not ready to wholly give himself to a man whose past still left a bitter taste in the back of his throat, in spite of his assurances that there was nothing to forgive.

Nothing to forgive, and yet he still needed more time to think, to clear his heart and mind. Malik drew back, so sure in his refusal that he repeated himself, gentle and firm.

It surprised him, a little, that Altair did not try to explain himself or apologize, and that he did not try to steal another kiss in between the moments Malik had said no and stop. He had let go of Malik's shoulders, nodding only once; he did not look happy, but neither did he appear heartbroken or very much hurt.

If anything, it was that quiet acceptance that left Malik staring after him as he retreated back to his pallet, breathless and wondering how long he would have to wait until Altair tried again.