Just something short I wrote when I was in a fluffy mood. Sorry if there are mistakes, I'm not English.
"Are you alright? Does it hurt?" Malik asks, his voice full of concern. He scoots a little closer to the other boy and places a warm hand on top of his hunched over figure, while bringing the other one to the clear stream in front of them.
"Shut up. I'm fine." Altair's voice is soft and raspy as he replies. He hides his eyes underneath his cowl, but the lower part of his face is visible… and covered in blood. Malik's hand brings the cool water to his mouth, washes it gently. The soiled water falls down his pale chin and neck, partially colors red his already stained novice robes. Altair inhales sharply as Malik's fingers brush against the gash which crosses his lips vertically, but Malik says nothing.
The gash continues to bleed and Malik continues to carefully wash the blood away. Altair sniffs quietly, and doesn't look up once. When the bleeding stops, Malik stops, as well, but he doesn't take his hand off Altair's face. He lets his fingers glide gently over his injured lips and cups his cheek, asks him silently to turn his head. Altair does so. He turns his head, but his face is still half-covered by the hood, so Malik hunches over, too, to take a peep at his face.
"Are you alright now, brother?" he asks quietly and catches a glimpse of Altair's amber eyes. They are filled with tears. Altair backs off immediately and Malik lets him.
"I said I'm fine." he growls. He grabs Malik's wrists and pries them off himself. Malik doesn't resist. They sit together in silence for a while. Altair is angry, mostly with himself, for showing weakness. Malik knows. Malik just wants to make him understand that he doesn't need to be afraid to show weakness in front of him. He scoots another tad closer, leans in. Altair glares at him, his eyes are no longer filled with tears, only with coldness. His mouth is slightly purple, swollen. The gash is red, but looks like it will scar just fine. Malik closes his eyes, hears Altair's breath hitch and then presses his lips feather-lightly against his. And just as quick as it started, it's over. He pulls back.
"The scar will make you look tougher." he says. Altair is staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly ajar, his cheeks pink. And it's the cutest look Malik has ever seen on his face.
Malik likes to draw. He, sometimes, when he has no theory or practical lessons, sits somewhere in Masyaf, where he has an interesting view, and draws. Today, he sits in the shadow of a small flat-roofed house, leaning against one of its bleached walls, and studies the scenario in front of him while trying to represent it in his small booklet of parchment. His fingers are already black with charcoal, but he hardly cares as he struggles to make the buildings and trees on the yellowish paper look as real as possible.
When Altair sneaks up on him, by jumping down from the rooftop and landing right next to him. Malik's heart skips a beat, but he barely flinches. Trying to calm down his uneven breathing, he tears his eyes off the young Eagle of Masyaf and continues shading the figures in his booklet with a scowl on his face.
"What are you doing?" Altair asks, but it sounds more like a demand than anything else.
"What does it look like, idiot?" Malik answers angrily, his eyes never leaving the parchment. "I'm obviously drawing."
"Drawing surely won't make you a better assassin." is the muttered reply to that and the drawing boy just rolls his eyes in annoyance. He stiffens a little when Altair sits down beside him, shoulder to shoulder and leans slightly into him to take a look at the picture Malik is working on with, by now, shaky hands.
"This tree looks crooked." Altair remarks, sticking his finger in the drawing and slightly smudging the delicate charcoal brushes. Malik slaps his hand away and glares at the hooded recruit.
"Can you do it better, Altair?! If you have come to be nothing but a bother, you may as well leave again!"
Altair's mouth corners twitch and turn lightly downwards in a frown, which draws Malik's attention to his lips. The gash on them has healed along time ago and is now merely a pink, shiny line. For an instant, they stare at each other – an uncomfortable silence falling over them. Then Altair averts his gaze, fixing it on his boots instead. They were obviously thinking about the same thing.
"Why did you…" he begins, but doesn't continue. Malik gives him a look, raises an eyebrow.
"You - you know, why did you… do that? Back then? You don't do that. With your - your brothers." Altair finally stutters and it's so out of character that Malik can't help but smirk.
"Have you been thinking about it?" he asks, setting his drawing material aside and turning slightly to face Altair better. The other recruit lowers his head, uses the cowl to hide his flushed face.
"No, I haven't." he replies, a little more defensive than necessary.
"It was just a kiss, Altair. Not even a real one, at that." Malik mocks him, his lips twisted into a small, teasing smile. The hooded boy huffs.
"Not even a real one." he mimics under his breath. "Because you would now what a real kiss is like."
"Yes, I would!" Malik lies, shifting into a kneeling position and bracing himself against the dusty ground.
Altair's lips stretch into a thin line. He raises his head and reveals his serious face to Malik. Their eyes bore into each others' challengingly.
"Then show me, brother." Altair hisses lowly. The other boy's glare falters and his cheeks turn slightly pink. He doesn't look so sure about himself anymore and when he leans in, to comply, he stops a few times, hesitantly.
When their lips brush against each other, Altair takes a hold of Malik's shoulders and slams him up against the wall of the house. The little grunt Malik emits is one of surprise, but he goes quiet quickly when Altair's mouth pushes roughly against his, a warm, soft tongue suddenly grazing his own. Malik writhes, tries to free himself from Altair's grip. Their frantically rising and sinking chests are unified in a concert of drumming hearts and the moment the hooded boy's lips don't hurt against his anymore, Malik gives in and just sighs. Warmth spreads from the bottom of his belly, crawls up and down through his limbs to the tip of his fingers and toes. And Altair's sweaty hands are cupping his burning cheeks and keeping his face from moving, while Malik's arms hang limply at his sides.
Way too soon, in the cornered boy's opinion, Altair pulls back.
"What the hell was that" Malik whispers after a few seconds of uncontrolled panting.
"A real kiss, you novice." Altair replies with a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifts a little, gives Malik more room, but keeps the closeness all the same.
"You're the novice!"
"No, you."
"No, you!"
"No-"
This time it's Malik, who shows how to kiss.