The three huddled around the fire, getting what little warmth they could from it. Spending your night outside in the desert was not high on anyone's list of favourite past times. Spending it with a surly bastard and a brother you cannot help but desire, is about as low as one can get.
The cold was slowly working its way to the bones of his fingers, causing him to place them so near to the fire that one stray spark would burn them. Not that the two others were not in similar positions. Kadar seemed to be suffering the most out of the them. His lips, his beautiful full lips were going blue. Malik could not help but wonder if he could kiss the blue away. If he suckled and bit and ran his tongue over - no. He would not fantasize in such conditions. The entrance to Solomon's Temple (and a large city) lay a mere mile or so away, but apart from that, they were on a flat expanse of sand. If he chose to pleasure himself (which would be nigh impossible considering the freezing night), he would be caught by either his brother, or, far worse, Altair, in an instant. A humiliation the man could not possibly bear to face. He could just imagine the surprised smirk on his face, canines glinting even in darkness. The raised brows, slightly widened grey eyes. A bitter clench of his stomach struck without warning.
If Malik were asked, he would vehemently deny his jealousy of the younger man. Wonder half amusedly how one could possibly be envious of that bootlicking, self centred, humourless fool. But it was there, all the same. He would never be as fast as him, as strong as him, as nimble. Altair coasted through his training, never practicing half as much as Malik. Natural ability seemed to be worth double ability that was gained through repetition. The elder man would constantly challenge the younger to duel in the arena, to prove once and for all who was best. To his mortification, he always lost. Altair's lips would curl into a cruel imitation of an innocent smile as he pointed his sword at the other's pulsing neck. And it would vanish, replaced by a glare, and a warning that the same would happen the next time around.
Altair was ruthless, lazy and about as witty as a fraying carpet. It was to Malik's anger that Kadar worshipped the ground the man stepped on. Such respect he did not deserve, would never deserve. If anything, his younger brother should have adored him. He, who was diligent, intelligent, and WAS worthy. But no, Kadar only ever looked at him with fraternal affection.
Malik did not feel the same. He wanted his younger brother, as a man should want a woman. Wanted to feel, taste, claim him as he should want to for a pretty young thing in a brothel. Of course, he did the same to whores, but there was no real desire behind his ministrations. No want. Only necessity.
Kadar was the first to penetrate the wall of silence that had fallen.
"So …"
Nothing more. Nothing anyone could respond to. The novice just needed to say something. As ever. Altair raised his head from where it had pointedly been focussed on the ground, and glared at him, eyes narrowed. Almost daring him to say something more, daring Kadar to give him adequate reason to hurt him. The recipient of his gaze shrunk in his skin a little, and turned his eyes away. Ashamed that he disturbed his hero, no doubt. Malik hated that, but did not hate the flush that graced his brother's cheeks. Only wished that he had put it there, doing something entirely different.
And of course, he had to play saviour to Kadar.
"I'll take first watch tonight."
"And I second," Altair quickly responded. Quite odd, really, considering the man never seemed eager to do anything other than sit and hang his head like a sullen little boy. But neither Al-Sayf questioned him, merely blinked in surprise.
"I - I guess that leaves me with third," Kadar spoke out, voice now timid. Altair snorted in disdain, before his head lowered itself once more.
Malik's head fell to his chest for what was possibly the hundredth time that night. He should have asked for third watch. But no, he had thought the best option would be to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Smacking his cheek, his eyelids positively ached as he forced them open. Considering the sight they were greeted with, he would have preferred to stay asleep.
Altair was standing over him, full moon casting an ironic halo over his head. His nostrils flared as they inhaled deeply.
"You should have taken another watch."
"You think I don't know that?" Malik snapped in reply, rubbing his hands together. The fire had gone out long ago.
"Malik."
"What?" Al-Sayf hissed, turning his head away from the man.
"I know."
"You know something? Fascinating. What could it be about, I wonder?"
"You lust after Kadar, do you not?"
"W - what? No! Altair, that's disgusting."
"Do not attempt to lie now. I can see it in your eyes."
"I, the liar? That's very rich."
Altair sat down next to him, predatory look on his face.
"Malik, I am not blind. You look at him as if he is a particularly lascivious woman."
"I do not," the elder man replied, weak attempt ruined completely by the way his voice cracked. Altair, unexpectedly, did not look triumphant in victory. Only angered.
"Take my watch."
"What?" Al-Sayf asked, sure he had misheard.
"Take. My. Watch."
"Why?"
"Just do it! I will wake you when this watch ends."
"Alt-"
"LEAVE," Altair commanded, staring daggers at him. There were times, ever so rarely, in which Malik decided not to argue with ibn La Ahad. This was one of them. Standing cautiously, he walked over to where his brother was sleeping and lay down. Despite the possible direness of the situation, he fell asleep.
And was woken what seemed like seconds later with a kick to the chest. Groaning, he cracked an eye open. Altair was looking at him with his usual veil of indifference back in place.
"My watch is over. Yours has begun."
"Did you have to wake me like that?"
"Yes," the man replied, with perfectly toneless voice. Malik cursed, and shakily got to his feet. He expected the other to lie down, but he merely stood, arms folded across his chest.
"Well? Aren't you going to go to sleep, seeing as how you happily disturbed mine?"
"I am not tired."
"Then WHY in the name all that is sacred did you WAKE me?"
"Because it is your watch."
Having no response to such a ridiculous reason, the elder man scowled and walked away from Altair. He practically fell into a sitting position. Unfortunately, Allah had decided to be merciless that night, and Al Mualim's lapdog had followed him.
"Go away, Altair."
"Not a chance."
"What do you want?"
A brief pause. Then,
"I will tell Kadar. The Master, too. Possibly others."
"What? You can't!"
"And what is to stop me from doing so?"
"My blade in your throat."
"You actually believe you can beat me?" Altair scoffed, giving Malik a sidelong gaze.
"Yes!"
The younger did not reply. They sat in uncomfortable, angry silence for what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds. Altair inhaled uncharacteristically deeply. Leant over the elder man.
And kissed him.
There was no essence behind the kiss. There were tongues, lips, teeth, gums, and sides of cheeks, but, it lacked a quintessential emotion that made doing such a thing feel good. It was empty, more like a hollow tradition than an expression of passion.
Or at least, it seemed that way to Malik.
Altair seemed happy enough to do it, eyes closing as their tongues battled for dominance. Malik was the victor (and suspected the other man had intended for it to be so) but he did not claim the other's mouth, he drew back.
"Altair, what are you doing?" He growled, dark eyes narrowed.
"Take me. Like you would take Kadar."
Malik's mouth flopped open of its own accord.
"What?"
"I know that you want your brother. Close your eyes."
Malik kept them open. Altair waited for a moment, before grunting and moving two fingers up to the other's face. Before the elder man could protest, the fingers were on his eyelids, forcefully closing them.
"Now I am him, am I not?"
"Quiet. You sound nothing like him." Malik ordered, for he had acquiesced, realising that this was probably the closest he would ever get to his brother. As lips were again pushed on his, he knew he could pretend this was Kadar. Sure, the waist he slipped his arms around was a little slimmer, and the body that lay on his a fair bit taller, but behind his eyelids, he saw Kadar kissing him, saw Kadar running his hands over the sides of his muscular torso. When his hands fumbled to pull off the heavy Assassin clothing (his and the other's), it was not Altair that panted in anticipation, but Kadar. Even with his eyes open, it was still easy to picture his brother's eyes half lidded, liquid brown instead of stormy grey. His brother's strangled gasps as he moved a hand to pay careful attention to the nipples (as he had practised so well on moaning whores).
As the real Kadar lay asleep, blissfully unaware of the goings on not so far away from him, his doppelganger was shuddering under Malik, eyes rolling into the darkness behind his skull. Fingers were shoved frenziedly into his gaping mouth, and the elder man managed to force out,
"Kadar, suck."
The receiver of the order could not. It was a minor miracle in itself Altair was able to weakly drag his tongue along the fingers, what with his member being squeezed and pumped like some sort udder. Malik was being far too harsh, not that the man realised it. All he heard were Altair's - Kadar's - delightful sounds. Half agonized, half pleasured moans, choked intakes of breath. That, combined with the expression on the younger man's face, made Malik very eager. Withdrawing his fingers from the other's still open mouth, he quickly moved the wetted hand downwards, replacing the digits with his mouth on Altair's briefly, before probing his entrance with two fingers. The younger stiffened and cursed, and Malik whispered in a harsh voice,
"Shut up, Altair."
For the swear had shattered his delicate illusion. This was not Kadar. Claiming his rival was not a loving matter. For because the Master's favourite spoke, neither could delude themselves that this was a loving act. When Malik removed three fingers from the entrance, Altair was a writhing mess below him. The elder man was so disgusted, he flipped the other onto his stomach. Malik could not bear the sight of the younger man's barely open grey eyes, English nose, full lips, for any longer. Without asking for permission of or even warning Altair, he penetrated him. And as he began to move faster and faster, the two's contact causing slapping sounds, he moved closer and closer to physical completion. But he also moved further and further away from something. Indeed the chance of having any sort of friendly relationship with Altair was quickly slipping away as said man splattered his seed on the ground and his abdomen with a cry. The clench this caused on Malik's member triggered the same reaction, but in a way not nearly as fulfilling. There was no cry, he forced his down. He would not show his physical contentment to Altair, for his mental dissatisfaction would not allow it. Malik remained in the other for a moment before pulling out, panting. Despite all physical desire to slump over and fall asleep, he managed to pull on his clothes. Altair groaned, pulled his robes over his naked back, cum still seeping out of his canal. Malik stared at him with disdain in his dark eyes, but, in the depths of his mind, he knew it was he who should be disdained, by both Altair and himself. What he had just done in the name of release was despicable. A part of him wanted to hug the younger assassin, to cradle him in his arms and apologise for what he had just done and for being so rough. But the prideful part of him, the larger and more prominent part of him, sneered, knew that Altair had approached HIM, not the other way around.
"Pull your clothes on. Kadar would not want to be greeted by such a pathetic sight."