Okay, just going to warn you that this is a yaoi story. And its my first story involving romance or yaoi at all, so please do not flame.
Reviews without flames, however, are welcomed.
Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and its characters are belonged to Ubisoft Montreal. I own nothing.
Malik groaned as he heard a thud coming from the main chamber of the bureau. Laying down his quill, he pinched the bridge of his nose and briefly closed his eyes. When his sight returned, he saw the once master assassin waltz in. Suppressing a growl, he turned around and pretended to be looking for a notebook from the shelf behind him.
"Safety and peace, Malik," said Altaïr, walking up to the wooden counter. Half annoyed, Malik turned around and fixed an irritated stare at the white robed brother.
"Just what is it do you want, Altaïr?" demanded Malik, temper rising each passing second. Altaïr's eyes briefly flickered towards the ceiling before returning his gaze to the Dia. He opened his mouth to reply, however Malik cut him off; "Talal is dead. Return to Masayf." And with that Malik turned around once more to search for a map of the rich district. Those Templar hiding places weren't going to be found by themselves and his men needed to know where to begin.
Altaïr glared at Malik from underneath his cowl. "The guards have doubled their reinforcements; there is no way I'll be able to make it out of Jerusalem without being sliced to pieces!" he growled.
Malik snorted at such a statement. "And I should care why?" Even with his back facing his ex-friend, Malik could still feel him staring at him with that glare of his. Suppressing a shudder from the sudden cold chill, Malik turned around and confronted the brother. "Need I remind you of the trouble you have caused?" questioned Malik while gesturing towards his amputated arm with his remaining limb. For a second Malik thought he saw a look of regret on Altaïr's face, but he quickly brushed it off as a trick his mind was playing on him. "Having you face a cruel punishment for disrupting the peace of this city would only bring joy to my otherwise dull day."
Altaïr bit back an angry remark as he took the truth. After all that he had done it was only obvious Malik would be upset by it. The fact that he only wanted him out of his "precious" bureau only proved that he couldn't stand to be in the same room with the man who "murdered his brother. Yet, the fact that he still believed he did no wrong that day only brought more sorrow to his heart when remembering that Malik hated him with a passion. However, despite all these contradictions, he had to stay in the bureau. There were just too many guards to face if he went outside. "… I will stay here until they dispatch," he glumly concluded. Malik stared down the "master assassin" before waving him off.
"You are fit enough to take on at least half an army of guards. Return to Masyaf, Altaïr, or do you wish for the old man to demote you further for cowardice." Finally fed up, Altair nodded and stormed off towards the exit, despite his better judgment. You are an idiot! His mind screamed at him, however, the ignorant side of him won over. He leapt upon the fountain, and climbed up the stoned wall of the bureau before finally crawled out through the hole in the roof.
Malik scoffed as he heard the scrapes and bangs of Altaïr's weapons and boots against the wall. Shaking his head, Malik returned his attention to his work. The bells alerting the city had finally stopped and maybe he could now hear his own thinking without having to mutter out loud to overhear them over the sound of the chimes.
Soon after, Malik realized that the plants in the main chamber were long overdue for a watering. Great, just another living thing to die, thought Malik as he picked up one of the water jugs. After placing it carefully in the nook of his right arm, Malik strolled into the entry room of the bureau. As he poured the water into the plants' pots, he couldn't help, but have his attention stolen by a lone sword in its scabbard, forgotten among the beautifully fabricated, throw pillows. Malik laid the jug on the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose once more in annoyance. Forgetting his equipment? Altaïr is such as novice, thought Malik as he picked up the jug and returned it to its place. The rest of the day was peaceful, save for one more unexpected visit from his favorite eagle.
The sudden sound of a thump in the other room, along with a groan, made Malik tense up. Altaïr had to be long gone by now so this couldn't have been him intruding the otherwise forgotten building. Grabbing a sword from under the counter, Malik swiftly jumped over the counter and ran into the main chamber. He froze at the scene he saw.
A white robed brother laid face down on the hard floor, blood leaking out of various cuts on his body. Dropping his blade, Malik rushed towards the injured brother and rolled him onto his back. His brow frowned once he saw Altaïr's face. He blinked and frowned once more before slapping Altaïr across the face. With stunned eyes opening, he gasped in pain. Raising a hand to hold his stinging check, Altaïr half heartedly glared at Malik. "What was that for?" he asked in a hoarse voice. Malik scoffed in return.
"You were unconscious you stupid novice-oh, not again!" Malik groaned as Altaïr nodded off once more into the sea of sub-conscious. Sighing, Malik grabbed a hold of his hood as he dragged him towards the pillows. After making sure that he was comfortable, or at least comfortable in the way he was positioned on the pillows so he wasn't laying on any of his wounds, Malik ran back into the bureau's main room.
After returning to him with a bowl of water, a wet rag, and some gauze, Malik got to work. He carefully slid Altaïr's weapons off his body. He unhooked the strap going over his should and under his arm, and laid it gently beside his resting body. Finally with the strap holding down the left side of his cowl, Malik softly took it off Altaïr's head. His face was dripping with sweat, and whether it was from exhaustion or from a possibly contracted fever, Malik could not tell for sure. He rang the rag dry over the bowl of water, and tenderly dried his face.
He took extra precaution not to disturb a bump on his forehead, most likely from the fall. Malik placed the rag on the floor, and gently rubbed the bump. It was sure to bruise, but it would heal in due time. Sighing, Malik got on to stripping the assassin of his belt and blood red sash. Its cotton felt nice and soft between his fingers, but it also has a coppery smell to it. Malik grimaced; the sash may be red from dye, but that doesn't mean that it could have added another coat of red pigment onto it. Although this time, instead of dye, it'd be blood.
With the sash and the belt gone, Altaïr's robes simply fell to the sides of his body by themselves, revealing his buff torso marked by scars. Malik's attention was caught by such as sight. He turned his head towards his own chest and pouted. I feel so small, he randomly thought, blushing slightly. Shaking his head to rid him of his thoughts, he returned his attention to removing Altaïr of his amour. He unstrapped the right gauntlet and slid it off his wrist. Then, he carefully de the same to the left, although taking extra measure to not accidentally release the hidden blade and stab himself. Or injure Altaïr further, although, Malik probably wouldn't have minded the latter happening.
With all of the road blocks taken out, Malik slid off Altaïr's outer robe and kameez. Once more he was blinded in awe at Altaïr's muscles. He checked his own shoulder muscles and frowned. He was going to get out this bureau and exercise one day damnit.
The coppery smell of blood brought him back to the task at hand. He dipped the rag in the water and rung out some of the liquid it held. Taking a deep breath, he began to clean the blood of Altaïr's muscular body. Being careful not to awaken the assassin, need he get the wrong idea about the cleaning, he did so with the upmost awareness. However, a part of him actually didn't mind washing him. Malik froze; hand fisted around the cloth in the air, and shook his head. Blushing, he rung out the rag and got to work, examing the wounds.
Thankfully, none of them were deep enough to require stitches, which was something Malik could not do with one hand alone. The sudden thought made Malik frown deeper. He couldn't stand being handicapped to such as things; as much as he couldn't stand the one he was caring for this very second, the one who had caused all this sorrow.
Biting back a growl, Malik grabbed the gauze and started dripping strips of it in the water. He carefully bounded the wounds across the chest first, taking extra measure not to bind it too tight that it cuts of circulation. He did likewise to the arms. After feeling satisfied with his work, Malik returned the medical supplies and such to their spots, before sitting down beside his companion.
Malik looked up through the holes in the roof and sighed. The moon shone brightly through the slots and gave light to the room. Silently Malik slid down the wall and lied next to Altaïr. Tired from the day's events, Malik closed his eyes and, despite the intelligent part of his brain telling him that was he was doing was stupid and probably going to get him killed in the morning by an outraged assassin, Malik snuggled up against the now bare-chested "master assassin". He slid his arm and intertwined it with the muscular one that he envied so much. Letting out a deep sigh, Malik decided that'd whatever would happen in the morning would be worth it.
As the light shone through the holes in the bureau in the morning, Malik awoke to a warm touch. He snuggled closer before remembering what he had done last night. His eyes spilt open and before him was an assassin hugging him. An awaked assassin.
"A-Altaïr?" mumbled Malik drowsily. The sudden statement caught Altaïr offhand and he quickly let go of the Dia. He fumbled around, searching for his clothes, and swiftly put them on. Malik leaned against the stoned wall as a support, and stood up. Altaïr had already finished putting on his robes and was now strapping on his equipment. He whipped his head in the direction of the rafiq and smiled shyly when pulling down his cowl's hood. Malik was opened his mouth to say something, however, Altaïr stopped his thought and speech process entirely by putting a single finger upon his lips.
"Thank you," he said before taking away his finger and replacing it with his lips. Malik closed his eyes and leaned into kiss. He could feel the trademark smirk of his companion as they broke away from the kiss.
Altaïr nodded once, and then walked over to the fountain and scaled up the wall. With Altaïr gone, Malik touched his lips. He could still feel the warmth of his lips over his own. The scar across his lips tickled his own when brushed together. Malik allowed himself a small smile as he walked back into the bureau's main room. He chuckled as he walked around the counter and pulled out a map. "He may be a novice at assassinations," Malik said," but he isn't one at kissing."