title; Volcano
summary; "what I am to you is not what you mean to me
you give me miles and miles of mountains
and I'll ask for the sea…" - damien rice; volcano
Being with Malik Al-Sayr had been like waltzing with Lucifer himself. Wounding himself unconsciously a 360° around your spine, pushing apart spinal chords and steering actions in turn and twist. Playing xylophone solos on ribs and tapping on Right ventricle veins and clutching the heart Altaïr held hidden underneath his sleeve over his wrist.
And sometimes he'd hide behind walls that breathed cold absentmindedness. When Malik snarled like an animal at him in Jerusalem, his knuckles turning ashen white around faded parchment paper and old seals. The trickle of water in the background was soothing like moonlight on skin July around 03:00 o'clock. But to them it didn't matter when Altaïr crouched his back, curled his toes and strode over to Malik who refused to back down.
The concept of multi-colored lights needn't be finished thousands of years later, because they were everywhere in the back of their heads when Altaïr crushed their lips together over the desk, gloved fingers snapping impatiently and fisting in Malik's robes while the lither man tried to turn around. But no sooner when the Son of None before him moved his hands downwards to grab Malik's thighs and drag him up on the table had he been rewarded with submission.
Malik's nails were over his back, cutting edges of his throwing knifes splitting the skin of the back of his hand. The King however, as noble and blue blooded as he is, pretends not to notice. Malik just continued to shove his hands underneath robes and quite possibly skin as well when he clawed over Altaïr's chest and broke the kiss to catch his breath. Altaïr however took no notice as he trailed his tongue down Malik's chin, leaving a sloppy and messy trail of saliva as he traced the artery in his neck, looking bluish and hollow as his breath hitched and the oxygen down in his lungs scattered and ran out like the dust from the desert outside the walls.
"Why are you doing this Altaïr? Because it sure as hell is not for us."
And the breathy laugh made Malik shiver and his bones seemed to rattle as he tried to keep a groan on the tip of his tongue when the taller man bit down on his shoulder.
"Whatever is there to do for, us, Malik?" He wiggled his tongue around the word, touched and nibbled on it before hurrying through vowels that could possibly hurt him. Scold his cheeks and burn his lips, scorch his memory.
And they had no Volcanoes spitting fire and molten lava at them, but there needn't be any. They were burning and hurting each other without the forces of nature. As though they were them on their own.
And outside there was the murmur of a city at its last peek of twilight, and inside there was Malik's unconstrained vocals and Altaïr's whispers of taunts and sharp teeth leaving marks that would brim fading orange days later. The air was a hundred degrees and the taller assassin's eyes were melting mercury in the dim light that fogged their minds over like a haze of acid poison. Malik's kneecaps were sharp against Altaïr's thighs and his ribs were laced with teal veins underneath tan starting to pale skin where Altaïr tried to keep his fingers off.
And they were black and white, mountains and sea, sun and moon, soul mates separated. Whatever term is the most endearing for the most bitter situation.
"You… cannot nngh, let me go, now can you?" Malik's breath was ghosts over his cheeks but Altaïr clenched his teeth together, shut words inside as he ground upwards to stop the shrivels of hot melting ice to come at him.
Because they were warmer than that, they were more sun than that.
He wanted to believe.
--fin.