Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik

A/N #1 – Art in retrospect! Those two teen novices were so funny. And after posting the chapter I found a picture!

http:/ echelon-x .deviantart .com/art/NOVICES-xD-158204873

A/N #2 – Pun intended when you find it! Oh... and as the title of the chapter says... YAOI WARNING!


After about eighty push-ups, Altaïr tried to shift to one hand to prove he could... and to give one hand a rest. That failed swiftly and he had to keep at it with both. When the exhaustion shifted to aching then to pain, so did his focus. He wavered a moment then shoved it all aside and kept going.

There was something so completely and totally satisfying to know he could beat Altaïr at something. Altaïr had always been cocky and arrogant, flaunting how he was the best and could do anything. Malik grinned to himself seeing how Altaïr could not do one-handed push-ups. It required a whole different set of balancing. Malik had been practicing and trying to stay fit, just in case Templars came to the Bureau. He wanted to make sure he could still fight them off and escape.

He wasn't sure he could do the escaping part, but he sure would give them a hell of a fight. He side glanced Altaïr noting the assassin slowing. Malik frowned a little at the changed and determined expression on Altaïr's face. It was the one he showed when he was in pain and ignoring it. Malik sighed internally. He'd have to fake giving in to Altaïr because Altaïr was being a stupid novice and pushing too hard.

Malik lowered himself and then rolled onto his back puffing as though exhausted. He turned his head to see Altaïr do the same after a couple more. Altaïr's breathing was too shallow. Malik sat up and lightly touched over the fading bruises on Altaïr's ribs. The responding wince answered his concern. As much as Altaïr was grumpy because he was feeling much better and being treated like an invalid, Malik and Altaïr fought less over the last couple days. Malik was already sensing that it would soon be time for Altaïr to leave... just... not yet, not quite yet.

Altaïr spent most of the time now writing or training. Like this evening, Malik was pushing him to be back in form. It was his job. He tried to puzzle out some of journal sometimes too, but that would need some private quiet. There were things in there that Malik could understand why Altaïr called it insanity. They never said anything about Tibah, nor brought up each other sexual habits or lack thereof. There were just so many subjects that were off limits in an unspoken way.

Malik prepared a bath for himself, set out salves to help Altaïr's aching muscles and ever set out a basin and towels for Altaïr to wash. He was slowly heating and filling the bath with kettle water when Altaïr came up behind him and took the kettle from him. This was happening more and more. Altaïr was just stepping in and... doing things, helping in a quiet way. Altaïr was still so quiet. Malik still had not really seen him smile. He thought about his cruel little torture... but wanted to only use it as a suitable revenge for... something. Maybe later. Altaïr was bound to do something so incredibly annoying to deserve being tickled to death.

Malik allowed Altaïr to finish heating and filling the bath. Normally Malik would protest that he was perfectly capable of handling this. But he was starting to appreciate the help. And, watching Altaïr fill a bath was puzzling. Altaïr hated the bath, hated most standing bodies of water that were deeper than a couple inches. Maybe it was because Malik was not expecting Altaïr to bathe in the tub?

He tried not to watch Altaïr finish stripping. The scars were still new and stood out on Altaïr's skin. When Malik's eyes drifted into taboo regions, he snapped his head away and focused on his own affairs of stripping and sinking into the bath. Why seeking a naked Altaïr was distracting him, he could not fathom. He'd seen Altaïr naked on and off for nearly twenty days. Thank Allah there were no more rutting in the bed incidents from Altaïr. Malik wasn't sure he could handle that without either killing Altaïr or unthinkably joining him. Malik sunk down under the water to drown the thoughts from his mind.

He was hauled out sputtering by Altaïr whose eyes were wide with near terror. "Altaïr! I am fine! Dammit!"

"But you went under." There was this shake in Altaïr's voice that Malik had rarely heard.

Malik tried to reassure him, "I am fine, really. I was just sinking under to rinse my hair."

Altaïr backed off embarrassed. "I knew that," he muttered retreating.

Malik wondered why Altaïr was so afraid of water. He knew asking would never get him any answers. It never did, not about this. Stepping out, he shook his hair. Altaïr was already sitting on the bed mats mostly dry, back to Malik to prevent another embarrassing incident. Malik tugged on pants loosely and plopped down behind Altaïr with the jar of warming salve. Altaïr peered over his shoulder at Malik. Those golden eyes held his for a few moments before Altaïr turned away again and sat still for Malik to rub the salve in. Malik was grateful in a way for the modesty that his pants provided. His body had chosen now to be beyond rude. He did his best to ignore it, hard as that was.

He stood and came to sit in front of Altaïr to rub the salve in there, knowing the right muscles that would be sore from today's workout. Altaïr had a towel discreetly around his waist, but Malik still noticed the erection. He tried to ignore that too. This was foolish. This was wrong. Several religions condemned people for even thinking this, stoned them to death after a severe beating. At least that was the common punishment here in Jerusalem. If they lived in Greece or some other similar place, things would be different.

Malik could not speak, he dared not even try, even though he desperately wanted something to distract his thoughts than the long overdue urges burning in his loins. He turned away awkwardly, back to Altaïr this time while he fumbled to close the jar. The jar vanished from his hand. He almost turned to see why when he felt Altaïr's hands on his back rubbing in salve to warm his muscles in turn.

Malik tensed with the forbidden touch but soon relaxed under Altaïr's large and surprisingly skilled hands. Altaïr actually always had skilled hands. Malik had only forgotten because it had been so long ago, six maybe seven years. Altaïr even rubbed the stump then down Malik's arm to the hand. Malik swallowed again to try to keep his breath steady. An evil part of him wanted this so badly, even if they hated each other. He had not had anything in so long.

Altaïr's fingers entwined in Malik's and his breath caught at Altaïr's action. It caught again as he felt Altaïr breathe on the back of his neck. He wanted to tell Altaïr to stop. Altaïr's lips pressed against the back of Malik's shoulder. The word 'stop' got sucked back down Malik's throat when he gasped. His finger tightened in Altaïr's. Traitorous fingers! Altaïr's other hand slid slick with salve around Malik's middle. He clenched his abdominal muscles instinctively. Another hot kiss on the back of his shoulder caused Malik to arch slightly, his cheeks flushed with the blood racing through him. Altaïr leaned back against the wall, pulling Malik against his chest, pressing into the small of Malik's back, the towel between them.

Malik wished his pants had been properly tied as they hitched at his hips. Altaïr was as good now with his lips and fingers as he was when they were finishing their training together. It sent tingles and shivers all through Malik. He tried to fight back and sit up, but Altaïr's salve slick hand slid down the front of Malik's pants. Malik gasped, head thrown back. He had tried so hard to ignore these urges for years and now Altaïr was destroying his resolve. Correction, Altaïr destroyed his resolve in one smooth greased grip. Malik forgot everything there was to focus on and abandoned himself to desire. Altaïr knew exactly how to please him, exactly how to hold him, exactly how to run his thumb across the top, exactly how to tighten his grip and when. Malik rode this to oblivion, oblivious paradise.

Only once he was thoroughly sated, thoroughly spent and curled on the bed mat in that muzzy, fuzzy dazed aftershock did the thought and reality creep in. Malik stared as Altaïr cleaned up. The realization... Altaïr did not take his own pleasure in this. Altaïr even avoided Malik's gaze. Malik gritted his teeth in his own shame. "Altaïr... get out. Sleep in the souk."


A/N #2 – it had to come... cum... come... *wink* here's a pic!

http:/ bfmvlover4life .deviantart .com/art/AltairxMalik2-157417256