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Here I post all my fanfics.:) The blog itself might get backed up with asks or other stuff so I have made separate pages for each fic. (listed below for convenience)
Enjoy reading and feel free to request. (Please note: making a request does not guarantee you a fill.)
Title: Cool Stone
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed
Specific Warnings: None
Summary of the Premise: Altaïr has arrived in Jerusalem on his mission to kill Robert de Sablé a full day early and an Animus glitch causes Desmond to desync if the approaches the Assassin’s Bureau. Dr. Vidic concludes that nothing of note took place between that day and the next and Desmond is told to skip ahead to where the sequence picks up again, during Altaïr’s investigations the following day. Desmond notes to himself that there had been a similar desync error last time his ancestor had gone to Jerusalem and wonders if there might be a recurring glitch related to the Jerusalem Bureau but he says nothing to Dr. Vidic
Here is what happened.
It was blasted hot. Forge bellows wind and unrelenting sun had bleached the color out of the world and made all that scurried or flew or crawled or hopped to flee for the shadowed crannies of the ancient buildings; to the darkness of the underground.
Like one of these protected havens, the day’s heat could not fully penetrate the thick stone walls of the Bureau. Further in, away from the shaft of gritty sunlight that spilled in from the roof entrance, the air stayed cool, the light low. Without windows, constantly burning oil lamps provided all illumination within the inner rooms.
Using a fulcrum and a long pole to slide the roof lattice closed, Malik was about to trigger the coil driven locking mechanism, smearing a bead of sweat that slid down his nose with the sleeve of his robe. Then the scuffling of boots overhead brought him up short and he froze, breathless and listening. He had heard no bells and was expecting no Informants or Assassins until the following day when the last communication from Masyaf had indicated Altaïr would arrive. If in fact it was Altaïr, then he had made excellent time.
Malik quickly sprinted away from the roof pole and flattened himself against the wall, squinting up through the dark grate and directly into the eyes of a face that was suddenly peering down at him, dusky inside it’s hood and silhouetted against blinding squares of sky.
Altaïr said nothing, his heavily shaded face expressionless save for a placid blink. He was waiting. Malik scowled, making a great show of pushing himself off the wall and walking back to the pole, hauling the lattice open a scant few inches. Altair shoved it back a foot or two and dropped through, landing lightly by the fountain. The Dai watched warily as Altaïr slunk towards him, coming daringly close, then leaning in closer still. Malik fought the urge to take a step back but Altaïr simply wrapped his hands around the pole and pulled the lattice closed, flipping the intricate spring-lock switch with the tip before taking it from the fulcrum; laying it aside.
“Closing early, Dai?” The Assassin’s voice held a musical lilt that irked the one armed Rafiq and his thick brows which had arched in surprise at Altaïr’s proximity slammed down once more and he huffed in annoyance.
“It is you who are early…” He snapped, frowning when his words sounded petty even to his own ears; earliness was hardly a transgression. The Bureau was the closest thing to a home that any traveling Assassin had. Could he really fault the man for hurrying home? At the moment he didn’t wish to examine Altaïr’s intentions any closer than that.
Malik looked up sharply but Altaïr was already moving towards the the inner chamber, apparently unaffected by his harsh manner, although the quick eyed Rafiq did catch the upward quirk of the other man’s mouth just as he turned his head.
“The wind was at my back, Brother. I could not convince my horse to slow…” Altaïr’s voice drifted back through the dim doorway, low and sultry as the thick, early evening warmth in the fountain room. Malik suddenly felt the undefinable urge to bolt after him.
In the end he decided to wait, pretending to tidy up near the fountain. He pushed some dust and sand around with a broom until he had a tiny pile which was so meager that he glared around at the pristine floor in irritation, finally abandoning the maintenance and looking to the dim doorway.
In the shadows, Altaïr leaned against the door frame, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his amber eyes glittering deep within the shadowed depths of his hood; watching.
Watching Malik move…
Suddenly self-conscious, the Dai cleared his throat, flushing hotly across his cheeks and down his neck. He shivered when the Assassin did not look away; did not move from the door; did not hide the smirk which played at the scarred corner of his wind chapped lips.
“Join me…” Altaïr flicked a glance back over his shoulder to indicate the room behind him and pushed off the wall with a fluid grace that made Malik’s knees tremble a little and although it rankled his pride, he found himself moving obediently across the warm stonework toward the door which, in the bright light of the fountain room was little more than an inky rectangle on the wall.
He could no longer see Altaïr when he stepped through into the relative darkness of his home; into the atmosphere of incense and ink and parchment, of old timbers and cool stone.
“Altaïr?” Malik wanted to slap himself for the quaver in his voice. It wasn’t fear. Malik had no fear of Altaïr. They had more or less come to terms over the last ten months. The arrogant fool was still an arrogant fool but he again upheld the Creed and accomplished his missions. He had learned and learned well his intended lessons and Malik could find little further fault with him as a man or as an Assassin; as a friend… and then of course there were meetings like this… The thrill up Malik’s spine was one of anticipation, not fear.
To his credit this would only be the second time so it wasn’t as if Malik could even consider Altaïr’s behavior to be a pattern… yet. However, after their first such encounter, which Malik could not yet bring to mind without having the color rise on his cheeks and a stab of desire sear down to the very root of him; the image so fresh and visceral that he would shudder, gripping the edge of his desk with knuckles whitening and his manhood thickening against his leg…
Still Malik thought maybe he should have expected Altaïr to be early.
The Rafiq’s eyes adjusted quickly and he peered into the resting room, frowning when he found the cushions vacant and untouched. Then he spied Altaïr emerging from what was ostensibly the Bureau Leader’s private bedroom, an area Malik used more for storage than anything else.
“Altaïr, what are you…?” He began but then paused, his question forgotten. Malik just stared.
The Assassin was without his brace and scabbard, his forearms also unburdened of their armored gauntlets and hidden blade, his robes and tunics clung to his body where the sweat from his long desert ride had saturated the cloth, his bright sash blood-dark as he unwound it. Malik could scent him from across the room, although not unpleasantly so. Altaïr smelled of dust and hot metal, of leather and horses. His sweat was more a musk than an odor, adding an undertone of wildness that as an Assassin himself, Malik could almost lose himself in, remembering a time not so long ago when he had run and ridden and surged up the sheer faces of buildings like a strong wind. He inhaled slowly, letting his nostrils flare and his eyes slip closed for a flicker of a moment.
“It is much cooler back here, away from the entrance Malik. Join me?” Altaïr repeated, quirking his head to the side and tugging his hood down. His face was dust streaked and almost smiling and suddenly Malik could not help but to give up his pretense, stepping around the end of the desk and unbuckling the sheathed sword he kept hidden beneath his robe, tucking it onto a shelf as he moved through the hidden passage.
Even as the door swung shut Altaïr was upon him, lips at his pulse and body still heated from the scorching wind and blazing sun; humid with exertion, pressing him against the carved wood and causing Malik give out a startled gasp even as he had anticipated the impact. The door creaked dangerously and Altaïr rolled him off it and instead pressed the Dai up against the stone wall. The incongruous chill of the stone seeped through his clothing and conflicted headily with the heat of Altaïr, pressed bodily against him with hands divesting him of his black robe; moving swiftly behind him to unbuckle his brace and tug it away.
“You have been thinking about this…” Malik found he liked the drawl in his own voice as he straddled one of Altaïr’s muscular thighs. The Assassin made a low noise in the back of his throat and his hips twitched, grinding up into him and nigh instantly Malik was iron hard and aching in his loose breeches. Wincing, he reached down between their bodies to align himself with the hollow of Altaïr’s hip, content for a moment to simply rut against the hard press of muscle and bone he mounted.
“As have you…” There was a tearing sound as one of the laces which held his breeches closed gave out.
Malik could not deny that he had been, so out of habit he scoffed.
“Indeed Altaïr, after your last visit there is hardly a corner of my Bureau which does not serve to constantly remind me of your… enthusiasm and stamina…” He scowled but there was no real venom in it, and Altaïr only nodded in agreement anyway.
“Yes, this room was the only one we did not use last time.” The smugness in the Assassin’s voice turned Malik’s head and he narrowed his eyes at the other, their faces inches apart. But Altaïr was unperturbed, his smirk firmly in place. He moved in to nuzzle beneath the Dai’s chin, working a hand down between their pressed bodies. Malik twisted against him, breath coming quick and shallow, drawing in sharply as Altaïr traced out the shape of him through coarse cloth and Malik could feel the smooth end of his truncated finger.
“You mean to r-ruin me…” His voice pitched and his eyes fell closed, head lolling back to thud against the stone wall at his back as Altaïr palmed him through his dampening breeches.
“Not quite yet.” Malik couldn’t open his eyes to view Altaïr’s expression but he didn’t need to, He already knew what he would see there.
“Nnghh.. bastard…” Malik grated out between teeth clenched at the onslaught of sensation, feeling Altaïr’s hum of argument… or acquiescence as a thrumming vibration against his skin.
He tried not to think about why he was alright with this; being touched like this by Altaïr; being made to gasp and shudder and writhe quite outside his own volition… He thought that maybe he should not allow this… this intimacy. It made him feel weak. But he knew that Altaïr did not pity him; did not think him weak. It was alright because it was Altaïr and deep down Malik knew that the man before him, pressed against him, breathing with heavy want into his neck would probably always use actions over words.
Snarl turning into a soft exhalation of pleasure as the Assassin gripped him snugly through his breeches, Malik groaned as Altaïr turned his head and purred against his shoulder, tracing what he could reach of his collarbone with lips and tongue, his other hand sliding down the front of Malik’s tunic to pull his sash away and slip beneath the hem. Altair pushed his hand up inside, scraping blunt nails gently over the jut of Malik’s hip, pressing fingertips into the soft flesh to the inside and making him squirm; tracing the hollow just beneath his ribs and receiving a breathless ticklish cry; carding through the coarse hair on his chest and relishing Malik’s hot shiver as the Dai writhed between him and the wall, head thrown back.
After a moment of fevered groping exploration, each reacquainting himself with the feel-scent-sound of the other, Malik huffed in impatience and struggled in Altaïr’s grip, trying to wriggle out of his tunic. Altaïr used the hand he had already inside it, caressing Malik’s abdomen and chest as he lifted the garment over his head, dropping it on top of his fallen robe, then making quick work of his own tunics and hood in the same manner.
Malik observed how Altaïr’s eyes lit briefly on the still bandaged stump of his left arm, but did not linger there this time, roaming instead up to his eyes and then to his lips, leaning forward and nudging his scarred mouth against them. They paused like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing in slowly while twining arms about shoulders and across lower backs, drawing each other close. Malik’s lone hand slid from Altaïr’s hip, fingertips tracing up his spine to cup the back of his head, sifting again and again through the short-cropped hair. They held each other like that for a few moments, eyes heavy lidded but open and staring with an intensity that neither could describe in words like want or fear or reverence, gratitude or passion and Malik was glad. He was glad that Altaïr could take his hood down and look him in the eyes; that he could bid him Safety and Peace and kiss him like an apology he might never actually voice but that Malik knew he meant anyway; that he could again live proudly by the Creed.
Malik was glad to have witnessed this change come about.
At the same moment they both moved in, opening their mouths to each other and letting their eyes flutter closed, exploring with lips and tongue; each tasting and drinking the other in like their thirst would burn them alive. Their hands roamed, gripping shoulders and flanks and hips, sliding over the dips and swells of muscle and bone beneath the skin and scars. The grind of friction between them was sweet as the sting of clean water on fresh wounds.
Malik craned down, mouth still locked with Altaïr’s, to tug his breeches free of the tops of his boots and shove them down until they fell and pooled about his ankles. Stepping out of one leg he kicked them away, going for Altaïr’s next and the man jerked in surprise when Malik’s hand found him, sliding in through the open front of his breeches to rub along the hot, hard length of him and Malik could feel the Assassin’s pulse rocket up; could see his pupils dilate in the dim lamp light as he pulled back slowly from their kiss, licking his lips and finding them tender and swollen.
“There is salve…” He murmured. “On the shelf to your right…” Malik stroked Altaïr, trailing his fingertips through the bead of slick moisture that welled up from him. His action caused the Assassin to jerk again, hips rolling, an undignified noise wrenching itself from his throat and Malik glanced down to where their bodies met as Altaïr’s gaze tore away to the basket of medical supplies on the shelf he had indicated.
“How would you have me, Altaïr?” Malik continued to stare down at the two of them, pressed tight between their bellies, glistening and slick. He curled his fingers around the both of them together, constricting beneath the their swollen, purpled crowns; bit his lip as he stroked them as one in his single hand, his own body mirroring the shudder he felt go through Altaïr’s.
“Just as you are…” the Assassin breathed near his hot-flushed ear in the next moment. He had the pot of salve in one hand and his other drifted up to raise Malik’s chin, kissing him imprecisely, their noses and foreheads bumping as Malik gave them both a squeeze. Altaïr’s eyes crinkled at the corners as a brief grin touched his lips and he scrubbed the three days growth of stubble on his chin across Malik’s cheek and licked beneath his ear lobe, proceeding down his neck and collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat and he could feel the vibration of Altaïr echoing his pleased hum. The Assassin continued to slide sinuously down his body and Malik’s hand fell away from them, coming to rest on the stone wall behind him, nails scraping against the unyielding surface.
Altaïr’s mouth bypassed his manhood at first, making the Dai whine embarrassingly as the Assassin sucked a great purple welt on the tender skin just inside of his hip, tonguing the bruise he had left before having mercy on the one armed Rafiq, mouthing down his length with just the lightest scrape of teeth then easing his lips over the head and sliding his tongue out to press hard against the underside. Altaïr smirked around Malik’s girth as the Dai grunted, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched as if he were in pain, but the breathless gasps and the goose-flesh visibly raising over his thighs and belly were not a reaction to injury. Altaïr pulled back after a few moments of light teasing, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, amber irises nearly invisible about his huge pupils as he raised his eyes in question.
“Will you allow me…?” He began and Malik rolled his eyes, making sure to nod exaggeratedly. In secret though, he was pleased that Altaïr had asked, although still unwilling to actually give voice to his desires. He was not submissive in nature, but for Altaïr… even though he thought he maybe shouldn’t… His feelings regarding Altaïr were so complicated that Malik had decided it was better not to examine them too closely…. especially just then.
The salve was cool like the stone at his back when it touched his heated flesh, almost forcing the air from his lungs as he exhaled in a rush of oaths and mild insults, Altaïr muttered an apology as the ointment warmed quickly against his hot skin, the shock fading; replaced by a different sort of thrill when he was breached and Malik unleashed a few more choice epithets, curling his fingers roughly into Altaïr’s hair; the reaction to which was only a deep lustful growl and redoubled enthusiasm, Altaïr’s mouth returning to his hard and aching flesh to ease the stretching with the distraction of pleasure.
But just as before, Malik found could not tolerate Altaïr’s thick calloused fingers inside him for too long. He was unused to such contact in the first place and although it seemed slightly backwards to his conscious mind, he still found the act to be uncomfortably intimate, more so even than when Altaïr used his mouth or his manhood. There was too much motion when Altaïr’s too nimble fingers were buried in him to the last knuckle, shifting and sliding against each other and against his insides. There was too much intensity when the Assassin curled those lethal fingers just right and made it suddenly so very urgent. There was simply too much control on Altaïr’s part and Malik’s pride bristled at the notion that Altaïr should be able to force so many completely humiliating and undignified noises from him; that those damned hands should have the skill to not only climb and wield a sword and kill with such grace, but to still have talent left over to reduce Malik to a quivering, whimpering, wanting, begging, wreck of a man.
It galled him.
But it did not stop him from almost just allowing Altaïr to finish him with them.
“Stop… Ahh- damn it.. Enough!” He was panting, his voice breaking as Altaïr obeyed, withdrawing his hand and letting Malik fall from his lips as he stood, putting salve over himself almost as an afterthought. He only questioned the Dai with his eyes this time, taking the flush on Malik’s dark skin and the way the man could not meet his gaze as the permission that it was.
Malik was confused when Altaïr nudged his still booted feet further apart with his own, finally pushing the breeches he still partially wore off his hips just enough to be out of the way and slid between the Rafiq’s thighs. Malik had expected Altaïr would eventually turn him to face the wall but instead the Assassin was lifting his right leg with a gentle hand behind his knee and Malik moved to help hold it aloft. Suddenly there was blunt pressure against him, pushing in and up and he couldn’t go anywhere but up onto his toes to escape the intrusion that he knew would become pleasurable but for the moment was still akin to being split with a heated rod of steel wrapped in oiled silk and although it didn’t really even hurt this time, Altaïr was staring him straight in the eyes as he pushed in slowly, watching the play of expressions that Malik could not control as they flashed across his unguarded face. Malik wanted to turn away but Altaïr’s amber eyes held him rapt and he watched Altaïr as well; watched his eyes narrow and his lower lip whiten over his teeth as it was bitten. He watched Altaïr’s jaw fall slack and his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks. Malik watched Altaïr watch him as he was taken against the cool stones of the Bureau wall.
It was a moment before Malik could relax his body once Altaïr was hilted within him, at some point his other knee had risen of it’s own accord and Altaïr now supported his weight, pressing him against the stones with the Dai’s ankles locked around the small of his back. As Malik’s muscles relaxed the position forced Altaïr deeper and both of them groaned as his arm latched around the Assassin’s broad shoulders and Altair bore him up as he might dead lift an urn of water.
If he had been at all aware, Malik would have been vindicated to know that it was Altaïr who first lost control and canted his hips up, rubbing soundly against a very pleasing spot within him, but as it was they both may as well have broken in the same moment because, in a sudden frenzy of movement they were rutting like animals. Malik’s fingernails bit into Altaïr’s shoulder and with a hiss of pain and desire the hands that had simply been gripping him to support his weight slid around, under and beneath to spread him, roughly squeezing his buttocks and slamming his body back against the stones. The growl in Malik’s ear sounded feral and dangerous and it thrilled him to know that, at least for this moment, the Flying One was grounded to him.
The stones of the wall were blessedly smooth so Malik was spared abrasions but his shoulder blades bruised against the unforgiving rock. However, it was difficult to care about or even notice such minor discomfort when the sweet, brutal ache of Altaïr plunging into him was wrenching at the sanity he already held in question by even finding himself in this position. His penis twitched each time Altaïr rocked up into him and he desperately wished to touch it, but his only hand was occupied with raking bloody furrows into Altaïr’s shoulder. The pressure inside him burned deliciously, like biting a lemon would make his cheeks ache deep in the muscle. The stimulation to areas within his body coupled with the way Altaïr’s firm belly would nudge him each time he thrust in was almost enough to make him spill but, although Altaïr was energetic and extremely long lasting if he wished to be, neither of them were terribly experienced.
“Nh.. p-put me down…” Malik groaned, and Altaïr slowed his pace, nodding. He lowered himself to one knee then two, while still supporting the Dai, pausing when settled to let Malik get his feet on the floor, Now he could lean back on his heels and Malik could still brace against the wall.
When they resumed, Malik found that he no longer needed to tend to himself as Altaïr took him in hand and deftly stroked him in time with the fluid ellipses he was making with his hips and with that change Malik was gone in minutes, first tensing and then releasing with an unrecognizable amalgam of curses and a wave of tremors that seemed to wrack his entire body from toes to scalp. He arched with it, striking his head against the stone wall behind him, but too lost in sensation to care. He pulsed out over Altaïr’s incomplete hand, slowly crumpling forward to rest his head against the Assassin’s shoulder as the pleasure ebbed away in little jolts and shivers.
Altaïr froze as Malik’s body gripped him, baring his teeth with an effort Malik could feel even in his haze. He refused to release inside Malik, instead waiting patiently until the Dai had relaxed sufficiently for him to gently pull out. He pushed himself downward, roughly stroking until he found completion on the stone tiles with his face buried in the side of Malik’s neck, inhaling his scent; parchment and ink and lamp smoke and incense.
Altaïr always smelled of the outdoors; of sand and steel and blood and narrow escapes; of war.
Malik smelled of the indoors; of water and oil and timber and stone; of safety and peace.
“Rest Malik, I will clean up.” Malik felt Altaïr’s words rather than hearing them as the Assassin’s face was still pressed to his neck and he nodded, slowly extricating himself from Altaïr’s lap, standing unsteadily and making for the pallet with its pile of soft cushions so he rarely used.
And for once, dreamless sleep came over him swiftly and completely.
At some point later on he had awoken to find Altaïr asleep beside him on the cushions, his face relaxed in the glow of the lamp but by the time he awoke once more the Assassin and all his gear were gone from the room, his scent lingering enticingly on the cushions and on Malik himself. The Dai sat up and sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was actually feeling quite refreshed although a little sore in a few key places. He rose and crossed the room. As promised, Altaïr had tidied up, cleaning the floor and returning the salve to the medical kit. Malik found his clothing folded on a chair and his boots standing beside it. He dressed quickly, noticing that his robes smelled even more strongly of Altaïr than his bed had. He then padded bare-foot out through the hidden door to inspect his Bureau for the Assassin, but he had gone. Feeling a little lost, but still somehow content, Malik shuffled out into the sun-lit fountain room, stooping to bring water up to his mouth, drinking then splashing his face and rubbing his damp hand through his hair.
He would take time to bathe properly later. Altaïr would preform his investigations and then return for his feather, but the Dai knew all that would take some time and if there was no hurry then he intended to make some tea and light a measure of incense and have a fig or two. But even that could wait.
Right now he would sit in the morning sunlight, wearing clothing which smelled of flight.