Living Despite It All
A Word: I assure everyone, despite all appearances of fast updating, I am a much slower writer than this. Also, more Malik/OMC here.
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"Seven days?" Altair eventually asks and Malik bites her lip hard to keep from laughing again. She's laughed too much today already. Anymore and she's likely to hurt something permanently.
It's hard though to keep it back. Altair has the same disgusted look she's grown so used to seeing, but it's tempered by reluctant respect. Altair is impressed and he does not like it in the least.
"Seven days," Malik confirms when she's gained control of her lips. The steady pace of the horse helping a little with the way her insides contort.
Altair's lips go thin again and Malik thinks that might be it for this conversation for a long while until the man opens his mouth again. "I didn't think anything could bleed that long and still live."
"Well I do," Malik says with a smirk as she kicks her horse faster. They're in familiar territory now and so close she can almost taste the fruit Kadar will pick for her. "Every month since I became a woman."
Gold eyes cut to her with a hard look that she feels as much as she sees. Again, she thinks that's the end of the conversation, and again is proven wrong when Altair spurs his mount even faster. Going from a trot to a slow canter as he turns to get the last word in. "You've always been stubborn like that."
Malik can't help the bark of laugh even as it makes her wince before she kicks into a gallop and races the idiot all the way back to Masyaf.
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Hamid is a sorry sight to behold.
"It's only been a week," Kadar mutters to her. Exasperated by having to deal with him and his lessons at the same time. "And it's only a broken bone, it could have been worse."
Malik reaches over and pinches the soft skin under his arm until he yelps and tries to strike out at her. Malik blocks the sloppy blows and gives him a stern look, "It is worse, Kadar. Don't trivialize his injury like that."
Kadar has the grace to look chastised, and Malik watches as that shame grows as the days go by. The two of them tending to the grumbling man until he's declared fit enough to hobble around on a crutch. The days turn to weeks and the weeks to months. The bone heals slowly, but it leaves Hamid with a nasty limp.
"I am old," Hamid admits to them one night as they eat in his quarters. His voice weary but a smile still lurking in his eyes. "It was bound to happen sometime. Most Assassins are not as lucky as me. They do not get the option of choosing how to end their life."
Kadar is quiet and doesn't look up from his meal until Hamid bounces a grape off of his lowered head. "I will continue to serve the Brotherhood, it will just be in a different capacity. There is still plenty of life left in my tired body yet. I will not let it simply waste away."
Hamid smiles as he says it, but Malik and Kadar find the sight of him in the dark robes of a Rafiq almost disturbing.
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"My mother thinks we should marry," Aban says when they're far enough out of sight of Masyaf that there is no one to see Malik kick out at him. "My mother Malik! Not me!"
Malik urges her horse closer and kicks him again. "And why would she have that ridiculous idea if you did not do something to encourage it?"
"Dima, I think," Aban says and moves his horse further away from her. He shrugs at her sharp look. "Do not ask me why. My sister has been talking to her about how nice it would be to have you in the family."
Malik grimaces at the thought. Both of being married -to Aban no less- and of Dima subtly trying to influence this marriage. It's something that has been becoming more and more of an issue. With each rank Malik obtains her missions grow longer and more frequent. She spends less time in Masyaf and Dima has not been overly pleased by it. A grievance she has taken to sharing with more and more anger. The last had happened at the family stall, and only the lateness of the day had saved them from being overheard.
A blessing given the words she had felt needed to be spat out at Malik. Words that would have gotten Dima flogged as an adulteress at the very least.
"Your sister is overly attached," Malik mutters, her ears still burning from the accusations Dima had thrown her way. Of Malik looking to lay with every man in the Order. The hypocrisy of Dima accusing her of infidelity would have made Malik laugh if she were not still upset by it. "She expects what she is not willing to give herself."
"I knew it would not end well," Aban shakes his head and runs a hand under his hood and over the beard he's been growing. "If you'd come to me about it before hand I would have told you that as well. Dima has always shared my tastes for both men and women, but she lacks the ability to take her pleasure from her trysts without becoming overly involved."
"And what would you have done if I'd come to you and asked to lay with your sister?" Malik asks out of honest curiosity.
"Wished you luck and made my warning very clear," Aban responds immediately. At Malik's raised eyebrow he laughs. "Malik, you are my friend, my Brother, and as dear to me as any of my blood sisters. You know I would object to very little from you."
Malik sigh and shakes her head, because that also might be a factor in the whole marriage idea.
"Let's just concentrate on the mission," Aban suggests as he rides ahead. "My mother can think and pester all she wants, but I will always say no. I merely wanted to warn you in case she tries to corner you alone when we return."
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"Have you ever slept with a man?" Aban asks, curiosity thick in his voice as the alarms die down. They're stretched out on cushions in the Bureau, the Rafiq long asleep as the night creeps in.
"I have," Malik says because Aban will not let up on it if he's genuinely interested. "It was not enjoyable in the least."
"Not enjoyable because you did not like it, or because he didn't know what to do?"
Aban would ask that. Malik huffs and opens her eyes. Taking in the darkness of the ceiling as she thinks about it, even though she already knows her answer. "I doubt very much he had the slightest idea what he was doing."
"But you do, now at least," Aban sits up and he's grinning. A familiar grin that makes Malik leery. "Do you want to try again? With someone who knows how to touch a woman."
Malik turns her head to fix him with a narrow look.
"Not me!" Aban looks a little horrified at the thought. "No, I only meant that I know someone here who has a brother that would suit you I think. For a night at least. He's very capable and takes his pleasure from what he draws from his lovers."
Malik wants to turn Aban down. The mission is complete, and they have a long journey back ahead of them in the morning. They should both be sleeping, but Aban has that grin he gets when he wanders out at night. Malik knows he'll go regardless, and, to be entirely truthful, Malik is curious now.
The arguments with Dima have grown so often that Malik has been taking her pleasure with her own hands. Quickly because the rooms she shares with Kadar offer little privacy except for when he's away. It has been a while since Malik was last touched by another person, and the idea of possibly gaining that same pleasure Dima brings out in her from a man is intriguing.
"I often talk to him, and have told him about my sister," Aban senses her weakening and presses. "We have been put to work by our father to guard caravans," Aban's fingers tap the sword Malik had laid out next to her. "He seems very receptive to meeting with you already, Malik."
She purses her lips together and thinks hard about what a bad idea this is. "Fine, this had better be worth it though."
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Malik is unimpressed when Aban leads her to a richly appointed home. Taking in through a window into a room where a young man waits. From the way the strangers face lights up before going guarded Malik knows this is one of her friend's many lovers.
"Where is Bashir?" Aban asks before the man can say anything. "I have brought my sister with me and he must meet her. Asra," Aban addresses her with the fake name carelessly as if it were really hers, "this is Diya, he and Bashir are twins."
Diya is a handsome man. Tall and broad, but not soft looking at all like she expects from someone born into this much money. His face is pleading enough even with the suspicion that Malik doesn't think will go away until she's out of the room. "In his rooms, Fateen. You sent no word you were here with your," Diya pauses to show how skeptical he is and Malik smirks because it's clear Aban has his work cut out for him tonight, "sister."
Aban's laugh is a little strained as he plants one hand in Malik's back and pushes her to a door. His eyes don't leave Diya who is making a show of ignoring him. "Forgive me, Asra, but Bashir is to the left. I'm sure you can find him on your own."
Aban is talking even before the door shuts behind her. His tone cajoling as she laughs under her breath. The hall she's in is dark except for two lines of light. One from under the door she's in front of and the other from a room further down and to the left. She passes three dark doors before reaching it, cocking her head to listen. She hears a rustling but so faint she can't identify it.
Malik's knuckles brush the door but she doesn't knock. Aban is always too forward and in this matter she's better off copying him for the moment. The door opens silently and she finds Bashir leaning over a low table his back to her. He is Diya's mirror image with thick fingers tapping thoughtfully against a shatranj piece.
Her stomach tightens in anticipation as she thinks about what those broad hands will feel like if they're even half as skilled as Aban has told her. She's not entirely convinced yet though.
Bashir startles when Malik slides onto the cushions opposite him. His dark eyes fixing on her robes before sweeping up to her face. He's quick to smile over his surprise, "I was beginning to think Fateen was only telling me stories."
"My brother is prone to them," Malik agrees as she takes in the game Bashir has set up. It's a losing game and not in his favor in the slightest. "I hope he hasn't been too fanciful in his tales of me."
"No," Bashir's eyes are cautious as he assesses her as thoroughly as she assessed him before sitting down. Interest sparks in his look and it warms his smile into something that's charming. "Not in the slightest. Do you play Asra?"
Bashir waves a hand over the table at the game, and Malik could say yes. Could join him for a game because she learned how to play from the scholars, Hamid, and the dozen or so Rafiqs In the library between lessons. She doesn't feel up to drawing things out with a game though. "No, I'm afraid not."
"Just as well," Bashir sets down the piece he's been holding and sits up straight. Eyes even more keen now than they were before. "My teacher set up this learning scenario and would be upset if I played another game before solving this one."
It's a losing game. No matter what move he makes Malik can see how it will not stop him from losing. It's drawn out just enough to make one think they have a chance though. Enough rope to hang, Hamid had been fond of saying after Malik caught onto that little trick and learned to start thinking well ahead of the game.
"Then let's not upset him," Malik presses when Bashir remains silent. Seemingly content to smile and look. Malik flicks her hood back and stands in one smooth movement. Bashir's stare grows heavier and she can see him swallow. Malik hides a smirk as she walks further into the room. To where she can make out a bed in the dim light. "I want to see if Fateen has been telling me truth or exaggerations."
Bashir doesn't scramble after her. He's more dignified than that but his smile is no less eager for it as he follows her.
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Aban is right. Experience and confidence make all the difference in the world.
Bashir undresses her himself and his hands linger on her skin. Taking every inch in with hands that aren't as soft as Dima's but still far softer than Malik's. His lips trailing fire over the scars she's starting to gain as he slips out of his simple clothing. Bashir is fascinated by her scars and the hardness of her muscles.
"Most women are so soft I fear to break them," Bashir says when he lifts his head from her breasts. His hands are firm against her, but not painful. "The one who would break here though is me."
Malik smiles and runs her hands down Bashir's broad back. Fingernails catching lightly enough to scratch but not break skin. He's tall and broad but Malik could still throw him, and he knows it. "Then don't give me a reason to want to."
Bashir feels good over her. His body covering hers almost completely as he moves against her. His hard cock dragging up the skin of her inner thigh as Malik wraps her legs around him. His fingers and mouth work her over so completely she's almost on the edge before he even slides a thick finger inside of her.
The difference is immense. She's wet and the intrusion is as smooth as Dima's clever fingers, wringing out a moan from Malik as his thumb rubs the sensitive folds of skin surrounding it. Bringing her higher with each pass of his fingers, with each pass of his lips on her chest. It's a relief when he pulls back and pushes his cock in instead.
The pain is so minimal it barely registers to Malik. Lost in the heated air between them and the soft moan of her fake name as Bashir adjusts her legs. Bringing one up high to the outside of his chest, straining her muscles there but allowing him impossibly closer.
"Move with me," Bashir says in her ear, his dark eyes bright and glittering as he looks down at her. Looks and drinks her in as he moves slowly.
Achingly slow, and Malik rolls up to meet him. The muscles in her stomach and thighs rippling for the movement that she's sure will grow tiresome quickly. She bites back the urge to throw Bashir. Get him on his back and take him faster when he smiles down at her. Obviously proud of himself and verging on the kind of smugness that gets a very specific response from her.
Malik closes her eyes to not see it and lets the sensation roll over her instead. Feels her pleasure unfurls and heat her skin. Faster when Bashir gives into the urging of her heels and thrusts faster. One hand going back to the folds of her skin and drawing out a sharp cry and reaction that leaves them both breathless.
Again and again until Malik's head is rolling back and stars burst across the back of her eyes as she cries out her finish. Bashir pulling out far too soon with a groan and his seed splashing onto her thigh in thick ropes.
Malik feels worn and used in a way that is a pleasure all of its own as Bashir presses lazy kisses to her skin. His hands equally lazy as they trail down her body. She waits for him to slow, his breathing to even, and then she extracts herself. Dresses unhurriedly and lets herself out through the window.
Aban will be along soon enough, or maybe he's already waiting for her. Malik takes off over the roofs and thinks that she's going to have to admit to him that it wasn't such a bad idea after all.
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"I don't like it," Kadar says, and there's more than a hint of a whine to his voice as Hamid reaches out to clip the boy across the head. Lightly, but it still makes him scowl.
"I still do work for the Order," Hamid says sternly. The lines in his face are deep crags that suit the black robes of a Rafiq. "Keep to your lessons and I shall see you in Tyre soon, yes?"
Kadar grumbles but doesn't back away from the hug Hamid draws him into. Malik takes her time tying the large bag of belongings to the horse he will take to his new post. Listening to Hamid murmur to Kadar. Advice and words of wisdom suited for him. Malik has already had her turn and she sternly tells her eyes to stop watering even when Kadar sniffs. Loud and obvious.
Hamid's eyes are suspiciously bright as well when he painfully swings into the saddle. His lame leg moving only with great difficulty. He'll be in pain by mid-day, but the old man is too stubborn to acknowledge it. He'd thoroughly rejected the idea of taking a caravan to the city. Insisting a horse or his own two feet would do him fine. He smiles and the horse dances to the side, allowing him to reach down one last time and run a hand over both their heads. "Safety and peace be with you."
"And you as well, Rafiq," Malik says to the old man before he rides away.
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