A/N: This is admittedly short, it's not my usual length, but as with learning new characters, I've given myself the freedom to practice. I'm looking forward to writing these two and maybe, I'll do them justice.
Giving In
Malik can't ignore the hand on his throat, the way the fingers splay over the skin, like they belong there. He can't ignore it, because you're never supposed to give an assassin your throat and here he is, with ones hand on his. There's a thumb tracing down the line of his trachea, smoothing upwards and then down again. He jerks with each movement, eyes locked on the ones hovering above him, his breath hitching.
One too many times has he seen someone felled by a well-placed hit to their throat, a blade to the unprotected skin or the twist that led to a broken neck. He knows the dangers of exposing oneself. It's taking all of his restraint to not twist, to remove his arm out from between the leg pinning it to the side of his body and escape out from under the man holding him down. There's no reason for the fear fluttering in his chest, because this is Altaïr, not some stranger. This is someone that he's come to trust.
He's not the child he once was, of brash decisions and reckless plans. He's not the child that Malik thought he would never forgive, someone who had upended his world without a second thought. There had been a time that Malik had wondered if Altaïr would ever regret the decisions he made that had cost them all so much, or if he would continue on as if it mattered not. That had been a time that had come and gone, because Malik had seen him pay in blood and scars, in lives he hadn't expected to take and the ones he had protected. It had solidified the fact that Altaïr had changed, that he was someone new.
It was what kept him from attempting to escape, because after the time it had taken to get on some kind of even ground with Altaïr, he had found it. It wasn't in where he normally would have sought even footing, because when they had been novices together, he had looked for it in trying to be on the same level as Altaïr. He had wanted to find his way out of Altaïr's shadow, to match him in speed and strength. He had since accepted that that would never be, not with the loss of his arm and not with who Altaïr was.
Malik twitched when Altaïr's other hand traced over the line of his collar bone, so slow and patient. He was waiting, had been and would continue to do so. Another gentle slide of Altaïr's thumb had the breath shuddering out of Malik as he slumped back onto the ground. It was giving in, letting himself relax, letting himself close his eyes and not fight it. He didn't have it in him to do it anymore, to fight and fight and fight.
Another slide of Altaïr's thumb down the line of his throat and he didn't twitch away this time. He knew that Altaïr was smiling, had known him long enough to know the way his face would change from that look of patience, to something new. The look of patience was something that had started to become ever present with Altaïr, a look that shocked Malik as much as it put him at ease.
Altaïr slid his knee to the side, releasing Malik's arm as much as settling his weight across Malik's hips. He didn't move his arm though, only kept it at his side and blinked open his eyes, meeting the ones looking down at him, the ones waiting. Altaïr leaned in; resting his forehead against Malik's as if it was that easy. Malik sighed and wondered if maybe it was.