Black and White
Black and White
“Relax...” breathed Altair, his words ghosting by the sensitive shell of Malik’s ear. The brunette parted his moistened lips just barely and nearly whimpered with the grazed contact. Scarred lips pressed to the back of his neck, hands brushing aside his loose curls of hair to kiss the fragile nape. “Just relax... you’re safe with me, Malik-li. I won’t do anything to hurt you. You know me. I would never hurt you.”
“Says the serial killer,” said Malik wryly. His eyelashes grazed the dark material of the blindfold obscuring his vision. His hand nervously wrung the folds of the bed sheets, sinking his teeth into his soft bottom lip. With one sense dulled, the others were as sharp as knives. He felt Altair’s familiar broad hands sweep up the curve of his spine, clasping him close, but the supposedly loving embrace was abruptly brought back to earth as the elder assassin’s mischievous side of him got the better of the situation and Malik shuddered, half with surprise pleasure and half with indignation as Altair playfully tweaked his dusky nipples. “I swear to Christ, Altair, if you do that again...” Malik slapped a hand vaguely in his direction.
Altair sighed and the exhalation brushed Malik’s jawline. “So tense,” the assassin said in mock-woe, hooking his unshaven chin over Malik’s skinny shoulder and wickedly touched the tip of his tongue to his cheek for an instant, before kissing the exact same spot hard. “You’re normally a lot more at ease than this.”
“I’m not usually blind,” Malik snapped, wriggling in his grip, “I cannot believe I agreed to this. I’m always at your mercy. Always always always. I”m one arm short and now I can’t see you.”
Altair exaggerated a sensual shudder. “I know,” he half-groaned theatrically, grazing his teeth along Malik’s shoulder blades. “Don’t remind me. I’m getting hard from the power rush already.”
“Dear Jesus...” the brunette muttered. “Don’t get started without me, Altair. Believe me, from what I’m feeling right now, your words hold a grain of truth.” Altair shifted his grip on him, chuckling into his hair, occasionally taking deep breaths of the shreds of jasmine and dust intertwined in Malik’s dark curls. The brunette impatiently groped behind him to latch onto Altair’s hip clumsily. “Stop keeping me waiting. Wait... wait, what is this...?” The one armed assassin said suspiciously, feeling material. “Altair, are you dressed?”
A silence.
“So what if I am?” Altair said uncomfortably.
“And I’m sitting here stark naked?!”
“Mhm,” said Altair slyly. “I’m enjoying the view.”
“Why are you in uniform?!” Malik demanded.
The wood of the bed frame creaked as Altair shifted his weight. “Oh, alright.” He said grumpily. “You really want to know? I suppose you have a right to know. ...Uh. When we were.... when we were in Jerusalem and you were the bureau leader... um... I may have had... uh... certain thoughts. Mainly about you. Mainly... you know, of the sinful kind that is bound to send me straight to hell when I die.” Malik swore out loud, clearly offended. “It’s not my fault! Don’t give me that look. Have you any idea how much you flirted with me, albeit unwittingly, while I was doing those missions for the Master? Every time I went into that bureau, I waded through swamps of sexual tension. You have absolutely no clue how much I wanted to grab you and kiss you and just bend you over that godforsaken desk every time you got angry with me. You get all flustered when you’re mad and look the same then as when you’ve climaxed. You get the idea.”
“...so. I’m just fulfilling a sexual fantasy of yours right now, hm?” said Malik objectively.
“More or less. Every time I’m in uniform, I get the urge to pound you into the nearest wall until you’re crying.”
“I refuse to cry. The other thing, I’m fine with.”
Altair wiped away an imaginary tear. “You’re such an incredible friend.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” Malik warned, turning around and feeling his way carefully for Altair’s shoulder. Gripping him tight, he carefully levered himself onto his hips, straddling his legs. Altair shamelessly ogled his friend’s lean tanned naked body tense above him, in all his natural glory and seductive beauty. Malik frowned as he felt cold metal press into his warm inner thighs. “Altair, these better not be your knives. I’ve had my fair share of strange bedfellows, but if those are knives, I’m gone.”
He splayed his hand out on the source of the freezing touch and smiled crookedly as he traced the familiar shape with his index finger. The Assassin’s symbol. “Altair, you wore your belts to bed. I have never been so turned on and disturbed at the same time before.”
“I need the full uniform to achieve the desired effect,” said Altair wisely somewhere under him.
“Full uniform?” Malik repeated confusedly, moving his hand up Altair’s chest, feeling the leather straps and heavy cotton and white canvas outer tunic. His fingers caught on an extra surge of material. Malik felt the tiny strip of warm flesh that Altair showed, fingertips resting on his Adam’s apple and then up, to trace under his jawline. Eventually, moving to cradle Altair’s head in his only hand, his shaved hair coarse on the soft skin of his palms, Malik was obstructed by something. “Oh, Altair... that is not your hood.”
“That’s my hood, dear.”
“Wearing anything else I should be made aware of?” Malik asked wearily.
Altair drew his own knees up and gave him a friendly nudge in the buttocks with the undersoles of his tough leather boots. Malik groaned out loud in exasperation when he felt the cold silver spurs dig into his hot skin.
“Giddy up,” said Altair, smirking.
“No,” said the blindfolded brunette firmly.
“You’re worse than my horse,” grumbled Altair, but he put his legs down anyway. “Right, let’s go, we’ve only got this room until first light and I don’t want another novice walking in on us like last time, unless you get your kicks out of voyeurism. Do you know what I had to say to that idiot who caught us red handed last time with you halfway down my throat? A scorpion stung him there and I was sucking out the poison.”
Malik spluttered with scandalised laughter and almost choked with the effort of keeping quiet. “Oh, Altair...” He said again, but there wasn’t a note of exasperation in his voice, only fondness. “You’re awful,” He murmured, leaning down to kiss him fully on the lips. “You’re truly awful.”
“Mhm,” agreed Altair, surging upwards to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue between those obliging lips and tasting the sweetness that was Malik Al-Sayr’s true self, not the bitter sarcastic facade he threw up to fool others. He cradled the other’s face in his gloved hands - Malik thanking whatever god was up there that Altair wasn’t as stupid as to equip his hidden blade whilst in bed - teeth clacking and breath hot and heavy in their fervour. Altair was manic and wild when he kissed Malik. He couldn’t help it; it was some base, animal instinct rearing up, some terrifying cannibalistic urge to devour him and consume and take take take. It petrified him and thrilled him at the same time. Not like Malik was any different: and he wasn’t called the Wildcat for nothing. He had a penchant for scratching bloody furrows into Altair’s mercury skin, growling into the longest, wettest and most violent kisses, setting Altair’s whole being aflame with bestial lust.
“Into me,” the brunette was panting heavily, grammar thrown out of the window, “In me now.”
Altair was normally terrible at following orders. Mysteriously, this was one he was quick to obey.
“Relax...” breathed Altair, his words ghosting by the sensitive shell of Malik’s ear. The brunette parted his moistened lips just barely and nearly whimpered with the grazed contact. Scarred lips pressed to the back of his neck, hands brushing aside his loose curls of hair to kiss the fragile nape. “Just relax... you’re safe with me, Malik-li. I won’t do anything to hurt you. You know me. I would never hurt you.”
“Says the serial killer,” said Malik wryly. His eyelashes grazed the dark material of the blindfold obscuring his vision. His hand nervously wrung the folds of the bed sheets, sinking his teeth into his soft bottom lip. With one sense dulled, the others were as sharp as knives. He felt Altair’s familiar broad hands sweep up the curve of his spine, clasping him close, but the supposedly loving embrace was abruptly brought back to earth as the elder assassin’s mischievous side of him got the better of the situation and Malik shuddered, half with surprise pleasure and half with indignation as Altair playfully tweaked his dusky nipples. “I swear to Christ, Altair, if you do that again...” Malik slapped a hand vaguely in his direction.
Altair sighed and the exhalation brushed Malik’s jawline. “So tense,” the assassin said in mock-woe, hooking his unshaven chin over Malik’s skinny shoulder and wickedly touched the tip of his tongue to his cheek for an instant, before kissing the exact same spot hard. “You’re normally a lot more at ease than this.”
“I’m not usually blind,” Malik snapped, wriggling in his grip, “I cannot believe I agreed to this. I’m always at your mercy. Always always always. I”m one arm short and now I can’t see you.”
Altair exaggerated a sensual shudder. “I know,” he half-groaned theatrically, grazing his teeth along Malik’s shoulder blades. “Don’t remind me. I’m getting hard from the power rush already.”
“Dear Jesus...” the brunette muttered. “Don’t get started without me, Altair. Believe me, from what I’m feeling right now, your words hold a grain of truth.” Altair shifted his grip on him, chuckling into his hair, occasionally taking deep breaths of the shreds of jasmine and dust intertwined in Malik’s dark curls. The brunette impatiently groped behind him to latch onto Altair’s hip clumsily. “Stop keeping me waiting. Wait... wait, what is this...?” The one armed assassin said suspiciously, feeling material. “Altair, are you dressed?”
A silence.
“So what if I am?” Altair said uncomfortably.
“And I’m sitting here stark naked?!”
“Mhm,” said Altair slyly. “I’m enjoying the view.”
“Why are you in uniform?!” Malik demanded.
The wood of the bed frame creaked as Altair shifted his weight. “Oh, alright.” He said grumpily. “You really want to know? I suppose you have a right to know. ...Uh. When we were.... when we were in Jerusalem and you were the bureau leader... um... I may have had... uh... certain thoughts. Mainly about you. Mainly... you know, of the sinful kind that is bound to send me straight to hell when I die.” Malik swore out loud, clearly offended. “It’s not my fault! Don’t give me that look. Have you any idea how much you flirted with me, albeit unwittingly, while I was doing those missions for the Master? Every time I went into that bureau, I waded through swamps of sexual tension. You have absolutely no clue how much I wanted to grab you and kiss you and just bend you over that godforsaken desk every time you got angry with me. You get all flustered when you’re mad and look the same then as when you’ve climaxed. You get the idea.”
“...so. I’m just fulfilling a sexual fantasy of yours right now, hm?” said Malik objectively.
“More or less. Every time I’m in uniform, I get the urge to pound you into the nearest wall until you’re crying.”
“I refuse to cry. The other thing, I’m fine with.”
Altair wiped away an imaginary tear. “You’re such an incredible friend.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” Malik warned, turning around and feeling his way carefully for Altair’s shoulder. Gripping him tight, he carefully levered himself onto his hips, straddling his legs. Altair shamelessly ogled his friend’s lean tanned naked body tense above him, in all his natural glory and seductive beauty. Malik frowned as he felt cold metal press into his warm inner thighs. “Altair, these better not be your knives. I’ve had my fair share of strange bedfellows, but if those are knives, I’m gone.”
He splayed his hand out on the source of the freezing touch and smiled crookedly as he traced the familiar shape with his index finger. The Assassin’s symbol. “Altair, you wore your belts to bed. I have never been so turned on and disturbed at the same time before.”
“I need the full uniform to achieve the desired effect,” said Altair wisely somewhere under him.
“Full uniform?” Malik repeated confusedly, moving his hand up Altair’s chest, feeling the leather straps and heavy cotton and white canvas outer tunic. His fingers caught on an extra surge of material. Malik felt the tiny strip of warm flesh that Altair showed, fingertips resting on his Adam’s apple and then up, to trace under his jawline. Eventually, moving to cradle Altair’s head in his only hand, his shaved hair coarse on the soft skin of his palms, Malik was obstructed by something. “Oh, Altair... that is not your hood.”
“That’s my hood, dear.”
“Wearing anything else I should be made aware of?” Malik asked wearily.
Altair drew his own knees up and gave him a friendly nudge in the buttocks with the undersoles of his tough leather boots. Malik groaned out loud in exasperation when he felt the cold silver spurs dig into his hot skin.
“Giddy up,” said Altair, smirking.
“No,” said the blindfolded brunette firmly.
“You’re worse than my horse,” grumbled Altair, but he put his legs down anyway. “Right, let’s go, we’ve only got this room until first light and I don’t want another novice walking in on us like last time, unless you get your kicks out of voyeurism. Do you know what I had to say to that idiot who caught us red handed last time with you halfway down my throat? A scorpion stung him there and I was sucking out the poison.”
Malik spluttered with scandalised laughter and almost choked with the effort of keeping quiet. “Oh, Altair...” He said again, but there wasn’t a note of exasperation in his voice, only fondness. “You’re awful,” He murmured, leaning down to kiss him fully on the lips. “You’re truly awful.”
“Mhm,” agreed Altair, surging upwards to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue between those obliging lips and tasting the sweetness that was Malik Al-Sayr’s true self, not the bitter sarcastic facade he threw up to fool others. He cradled the other’s face in his gloved hands - Malik thanking whatever god was up there that Altair wasn’t as stupid as to equip his hidden blade whilst in bed - teeth clacking and breath hot and heavy in their fervour. Altair was manic and wild when he kissed Malik. He couldn’t help it; it was some base, animal instinct rearing up, some terrifying cannibalistic urge to devour him and consume and take take take. It petrified him and thrilled him at the same time. Not like Malik was any different: and he wasn’t called the Wildcat for nothing. He had a penchant for scratching bloody furrows into Altair’s mercury skin, growling into the longest, wettest and most violent kisses, setting Altair’s whole being aflame with bestial lust.
“Into me,” the brunette was panting heavily, grammar thrown out of the window, “In me now.”
Altair was normally terrible at following orders. Mysteriously, this was one he was quick to obey.