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Intimacy
series: Assassin's Creed
pairing: Altair/Malik, Kadar, Maria
rating: PG
summary: It's those small, intimate moments that give him strength.
Malik doesn’t question the presence of his left arm as he probably should. He doesn’t question the way he can use it to help him climb better, doesn’t question the way he’s able to use a hidden blade now that it’s there, and he doesn’t question the way that it wraps around Kadar in a tight hug. He doesn’t question Kadar’s presence either. It doesn’t dawn on him that neither of those things should be there. It doesn’t dawn on him that they have both been gone for years and any hope of having them returned (it doesn’t dawn on him that arms don’t grow back once they’ve been severed, either). For Malik, it’s as though Solomon’s Temple never existed. It’s as though it wasn’t even a dream.
Things that shouldn’t be here are here and he doesn’t even remember that they shouldn’t be here and maybe that’s why he can smile so easily. Maybe that’s why he can allow himself to get so close to Kadar without any hesitation and doubt that this is real. He hugs his little brother, keeping him close and safe and warm in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head just because he can. Just because this is his brother and the person he cares for most in the world. He never wants to let him to and he cherishes the feeling of Kadar grabbing at his robes. He doesn’t know why he does it even in times where things are relatively calm and they have no missions to worry about. It’s simply a habit he’s had since childhood and Malik has grown accustomed to it at this point. He doesn’t really care about the why at this point. He likes when Kadar does it, anyway. It makes him feel like he’s needed; makes him feel like Kadar will always depend on him as much as Malik depends on him.
It’s something intimate, only to be shared between them, and Malik hopes it never ends.
And then suddenly, all he can see is blood; blood everywhere. On his clothes, on the clothes of the men surrounding him, pooling on the floor at his feet, soaking the sleeve of his left arm, and spilling out of the wound on his brother’s chest. Malik has never minded blood. As an Assassin, he couldn’t mind blood. Blood was just another part of the job. But this was too much, this was a sea of blood and most of it belonged to him and his brother. Most of it belonged to his brother.
Malik wakes with a start, clutching at where his left arm should be, but rather than finding his own left arm he finds the right arm of someone else. He’s shaking slightly, sweating despite the relatively cool temperature of the room. He hadn’t had a dream like that in a long time – years, perhaps. It all felt too real; the way it felt to actually have the weight of his arm at his side again, the way it felt to be able to use two swords, and to use a hidden blade. It was all too real, and it left him with a phantom pain that, like the dreams, had long since stopped until this point. But the phantom pain at his side was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. Kadar, too, felt all too real. The way he laughed, the way he bunched his hand in Malik’s robes, and the way his blue eyes sparkled – it was just too real. It made Malik sick.
He brings himself up to sit up straight, knees bent so that he could rest his one remaining arm on them. He glares at the wall for a few moments, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It was pathetic how he could still be brought to this state after so many years now. From his side, he can feel the sheets shift. Altaïr is awake and watching him. He pays the other man no mind. It almost feels wrong to share a bed with Altaïr, wrong and as though he might break down completely if he were to leave now. What would Kadar think if he could see Malik in bed with the man who caused his death? He would likely think it one of the most wonderful things in the world. His brother and Altaïr – the two people he admired most finally getting along. Kadar hated it when they fought.
Malik sighs, bringing his hand up to rub at his temple. He can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on and although he would like nothing more than to fall back asleep, he isn’t sure that will be possible any time soon. Altaïr brings his own hand up to rest on Malik’s shoulder and scoots up a bit closer to comfortably wrap his arm around Malik’s shoulders. He moves his thumb in circles on Malik’s skin, hoping the motion will calm him down at least a little. It’s a relief when he does feel Malik start to relax against him. He shifts a little, leaning over to press a light kiss to the top of Malik’s head. He lets his lips linger there as Malik brings his hand up again to entwine his fingers with Altaïr’s.
Malik is grateful for the strength Altaïr’s presence provides him and he shows it in the way he presses his lips to the tips of Altaïr’s fingers, holds them there as if making sure this hand is real. Despite the warmth and weight of it in his hand, it is entirely possible that this too is a dream. In his dream, Kadar felt the same way. He could feel the warmth of his skin when he held his brother, felt the weight of his hand fisted in his robes. He could feel Kadar, but that did not stop those feelings from only being part of a dream.
Altaïr takes his hand back, moving his arm from around his shoulders to stretch across Malik’s chest and take his hand again so that he could press light kisses to Malik’s fingertips as he did to Altaïr. It’s a small gesture, but a needed one. No words pass between them and that’s fine. After all they’ve been through, no words are needed. They only need each other. Malik sighs and lets his head fall onto Altaïr’s shoulder. He’s tired and although he would rather not have to relive those dreams, he needs his sleep. Altaïr seems to sense this and puts his arm around Malik’s shoulders again to pull him back down and stretches his other arm over to take Malik’s hand again.
On the way down, Malik spares a glance at Maria who appears to still be sleeping on her side of the bed. Malik knows better than to believe that. She, like the two men she shares a bed with, has been trained too well to not notice every move they made. He is glad that she keeps up this façade, though. Save Altaïr, Malik would rather no one see him like this. He would rather no one see him this shaken by a dream, by the years old memories of his dead brother and the loss of his arm. She has seen them both naked, seen them moaning and writhing and begging while in the throes of passion, but all of that felt like nothing compared to the intimacy of this moment. Looking on them during this would be too great of an invasion of privacy. This was far more intimate than sex ever could be. This was something only to be shared between Altaïr and Malik. The only other person that could possibly hope to ever be involved in this was long since dead.
They fall asleep like that. Malik and Altaïr wrapped up in each other with Maria facing away so as not to disturb their private moment. Perhaps their relationship is strange and perhaps people would look down on them if they knew of it, but like this they are content. Like this, they can be happy.
pairing: Altair/Malik, Kadar, Maria
rating: PG
summary: It's those small, intimate moments that give him strength.
Malik doesn’t question the presence of his left arm as he probably should. He doesn’t question the way he can use it to help him climb better, doesn’t question the way he’s able to use a hidden blade now that it’s there, and he doesn’t question the way that it wraps around Kadar in a tight hug. He doesn’t question Kadar’s presence either. It doesn’t dawn on him that neither of those things should be there. It doesn’t dawn on him that they have both been gone for years and any hope of having them returned (it doesn’t dawn on him that arms don’t grow back once they’ve been severed, either). For Malik, it’s as though Solomon’s Temple never existed. It’s as though it wasn’t even a dream.
Things that shouldn’t be here are here and he doesn’t even remember that they shouldn’t be here and maybe that’s why he can smile so easily. Maybe that’s why he can allow himself to get so close to Kadar without any hesitation and doubt that this is real. He hugs his little brother, keeping him close and safe and warm in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head just because he can. Just because this is his brother and the person he cares for most in the world. He never wants to let him to and he cherishes the feeling of Kadar grabbing at his robes. He doesn’t know why he does it even in times where things are relatively calm and they have no missions to worry about. It’s simply a habit he’s had since childhood and Malik has grown accustomed to it at this point. He doesn’t really care about the why at this point. He likes when Kadar does it, anyway. It makes him feel like he’s needed; makes him feel like Kadar will always depend on him as much as Malik depends on him.
It’s something intimate, only to be shared between them, and Malik hopes it never ends.
And then suddenly, all he can see is blood; blood everywhere. On his clothes, on the clothes of the men surrounding him, pooling on the floor at his feet, soaking the sleeve of his left arm, and spilling out of the wound on his brother’s chest. Malik has never minded blood. As an Assassin, he couldn’t mind blood. Blood was just another part of the job. But this was too much, this was a sea of blood and most of it belonged to him and his brother. Most of it belonged to his brother.
Malik wakes with a start, clutching at where his left arm should be, but rather than finding his own left arm he finds the right arm of someone else. He’s shaking slightly, sweating despite the relatively cool temperature of the room. He hadn’t had a dream like that in a long time – years, perhaps. It all felt too real; the way it felt to actually have the weight of his arm at his side again, the way it felt to be able to use two swords, and to use a hidden blade. It was all too real, and it left him with a phantom pain that, like the dreams, had long since stopped until this point. But the phantom pain at his side was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. Kadar, too, felt all too real. The way he laughed, the way he bunched his hand in Malik’s robes, and the way his blue eyes sparkled – it was just too real. It made Malik sick.
He brings himself up to sit up straight, knees bent so that he could rest his one remaining arm on them. He glares at the wall for a few moments, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It was pathetic how he could still be brought to this state after so many years now. From his side, he can feel the sheets shift. Altaïr is awake and watching him. He pays the other man no mind. It almost feels wrong to share a bed with Altaïr, wrong and as though he might break down completely if he were to leave now. What would Kadar think if he could see Malik in bed with the man who caused his death? He would likely think it one of the most wonderful things in the world. His brother and Altaïr – the two people he admired most finally getting along. Kadar hated it when they fought.
Malik sighs, bringing his hand up to rub at his temple. He can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on and although he would like nothing more than to fall back asleep, he isn’t sure that will be possible any time soon. Altaïr brings his own hand up to rest on Malik’s shoulder and scoots up a bit closer to comfortably wrap his arm around Malik’s shoulders. He moves his thumb in circles on Malik’s skin, hoping the motion will calm him down at least a little. It’s a relief when he does feel Malik start to relax against him. He shifts a little, leaning over to press a light kiss to the top of Malik’s head. He lets his lips linger there as Malik brings his hand up again to entwine his fingers with Altaïr’s.
Malik is grateful for the strength Altaïr’s presence provides him and he shows it in the way he presses his lips to the tips of Altaïr’s fingers, holds them there as if making sure this hand is real. Despite the warmth and weight of it in his hand, it is entirely possible that this too is a dream. In his dream, Kadar felt the same way. He could feel the warmth of his skin when he held his brother, felt the weight of his hand fisted in his robes. He could feel Kadar, but that did not stop those feelings from only being part of a dream.
Altaïr takes his hand back, moving his arm from around his shoulders to stretch across Malik’s chest and take his hand again so that he could press light kisses to Malik’s fingertips as he did to Altaïr. It’s a small gesture, but a needed one. No words pass between them and that’s fine. After all they’ve been through, no words are needed. They only need each other. Malik sighs and lets his head fall onto Altaïr’s shoulder. He’s tired and although he would rather not have to relive those dreams, he needs his sleep. Altaïr seems to sense this and puts his arm around Malik’s shoulders again to pull him back down and stretches his other arm over to take Malik’s hand again.
On the way down, Malik spares a glance at Maria who appears to still be sleeping on her side of the bed. Malik knows better than to believe that. She, like the two men she shares a bed with, has been trained too well to not notice every move they made. He is glad that she keeps up this façade, though. Save Altaïr, Malik would rather no one see him like this. He would rather no one see him this shaken by a dream, by the years old memories of his dead brother and the loss of his arm. She has seen them both naked, seen them moaning and writhing and begging while in the throes of passion, but all of that felt like nothing compared to the intimacy of this moment. Looking on them during this would be too great of an invasion of privacy. This was far more intimate than sex ever could be. This was something only to be shared between Altaïr and Malik. The only other person that could possibly hope to ever be involved in this was long since dead.
They fall asleep like that. Malik and Altaïr wrapped up in each other with Maria facing away so as not to disturb their private moment. Perhaps their relationship is strange and perhaps people would look down on them if they knew of it, but like this they are content. Like this, they can be happy.