Stars
It was late evening, well past the administered curfew. The clouds drifted, spread eagle across the sky; wandering ashen-gray souls searching for a body. The immense dome itself was an amorously pink-streaked orange that lazily evaporated into purples and dark blue hues. It was his favorite sky. He, who was now tucked underneath my arm, nose nuzzling the side of my being, inspiring my very breath to slow for fear of disquieting his meditated slumber.
His mild breathing, accompanied by all sorts of grunts and snorts, lightly stirred my kohl black robes. My dark eyes betrayed my weariness, glancing over once again to absorb everything that was him, how beautiful the sight was, even while asleep. His eyebrows, furrowed in the thoughts that one can only have while in dream, lips, scarred but immaculate to me, parted to allow breath the pleasure of leaving and returning. I could not comment on his aureate eyes, for they were shut—still, this did not deter me from imagining the smile in them as he would awake soon; the languid grin conveyed through only two irises. For a man who rarely beamed at the world, he was always peculiarly talented at showing his sentiments by way of his gaze.
One of his arms was warm around my torso, the other slumped indolently around my shoulder, resting calloused fingers on the nape of my neck, and the tiny hairs that rested there. It was a protective grip, of that I was sure; I had gingerly attempted to pry one of his hands off of my side, with nothing but unsuccessful results. It wasn't that I minded him, not at all. The stone floor was beginning to press its cold into my back, and I could never sleep while cold. For him, it had been rather easy, but he was much busier—and therefore, much more tired—than I had ever been. The contemplation did not stop me from admiring (and envying just slightly) his ability to fall asleep in a matter of seconds.
I shut my eyes, unwilling to try my luck with his hand again. Briefly, I thanked Allah for the pillows and sheets I had remembered to set out before he had arrived earlier—unfortunately, we were not on top of them. They lay only a few feet away, paisley, bright, and welcoming. I sighed quietly, but it held no frustration, did not hold any malice, and God forbid if it had held contempt for the man next to me, draped around me, holding me. The sheets and pillows could indulge me a bit, and wait patiently for our return, I thought. Besides, even if it wasn't quite as true as I wanted it to be, I was still thoroughly satisfied with the harsh floor containing my lover, more than what I would have been with the paisley makeshift bed and his lack of presence. I had been subjected to the latter before, and it was never pleasant, always cold, no matter how many blankets I wrapped myself in.
"Malik..."
He whispered, startling me out of the near-dream my thoughts had led me into while my mind was wandering. I replied, "Altaïr, awake so soon?" Almost as if I had written the scene myself, his eyes smiled dazedly up at me. Altaïr was rarely ever so predictable, I considered myself lucky, blessed, even. Then, his lips followed, quirking into some semblance of a grin.
"Soon, Malik? It has been hours since we've last spoken, and nightfall is upon us now. Why did you not wake me?" The words were not meant to be accusatory, and they did not come off as such. Altaïr's voice held concern. "I know you cannot fall asleep on the floor."
It was rather odd, I thought, that at times I believed that Altaïr could read my thoughts while he was sleeping. As if he entered my mind while his was resting.
"It wasn't any trouble," I paused as he shifted even closer to me, "and I was soon to wake you, anyway. A few minutes more would not have made much difference to me." My voice was suddenly soft. I dismissed it as respect for the post-slumber sensitivity that Altaïr seemed often to display. "You are well rested, are you not?" Altaïr chuckled.
Instead of answering me, he raised his lips to mine. I could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed me, and it was contagious; I grinned as well. At that moment, I felt that we were two young men, as we had been once, still mischievous in their youth.
"You are to wake me if I sleep too long, Malik. A Master cannot sleep his days away in the arms of his beloved." I raised an eyebrow.
"He cannot? Then, I will just assume you will have to relinquish your title as Master," I quipped back, quite amused with the conversation. "Or I will have to find another to hold." Altaïr did not become as livid as I thought he would have.
"Oh? Who will your replacement be?" A roguish look, the one he wore most often, crossed his face. I blushed, caught red handed in a question I could not fathom an answer to reply. "Perhaps, one of the city's guards?"
I laughed mirthfully, shaking both of our bodies. Imagining myself in the arms of one of the city guards was more than I could bear. When my fit was over, I shifted to rest my head on his chest. Immediately, I felt a hand reach up to caress my hair. I shut my eyes again, in content.
"It is your turn to sleep, beloved. Would you like me to bring the pillows and sheets over?" I gave an affirmative nod that he felt against his heart, and he left me for a moment, slipping gently from underneath me. I was cold for what seemed like an eternity, lost without his warmth—and suddenly he returned. Placing the pillows behind my head, entwining our bodies in the genteel fabric with the designs that I did not notice any longer, tucking me against his chest this time…
The stars were numerous as I fell asleep, and they continued to multiply, even as I drifted away into an easy sleep. And as I wandered into Morpheus, as I strayed, I could hear Altaïr numbering them off one-by-one, starting with his beloved as the first, and ending with his beloved as the last.
"Goodnight, Malik."