all the gardens i have ever gazed at [3]
anonymous
May 15 2010, 05:53:11 UTC
A thousand apologies for the delay, OP; I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, such as it is. ----
Altaïr's hands stole inside his robe, fumbling with his belt and the knots on his sash, and then Malik couldn't be bothered with higher mathematics. He pulled an unresisting Altaïr to the pile of carpets and cushions in the corner, where he slept when he remembered to do so, rather than succumbing to exhaustion over his desk. They lowered themselves ungracefully, removing belts and armor and weapons and robes, until they were both naked amidst the wreckage of their clothing.
Seven years of travel had not been kind to Altaïr; he was thin, practically haggard, pared down to bone and muscle and scarred skin. Malik was acutely aware, suddenly, of the fact that he had done little more dangerous for the last few years than thrashing novices in the training circle and occasionally attempting to trim his beard without a mirror. Altaïr did not seem to care, though, as his hands and mouth roamed with unabashed eagerness.
Malik touched the new scars with his lips, tracing the hollows of Altaïr's ribs with the palm of his hand. He found the wound on Altaïr's leg, the scar a livid pucker of knotted flesh. He kissed it, and Altaïr's breath hissed out between his teeth; he slid his mouth upwards, rubbing the stubble of his beard along the line of Altaïr's inner thigh, and heard his breath stutter to a halt.
He wrapped his hand around the base of Altaïr's stiffening prick and kept his gaze on Altaïr's face as he bent to take the head into his mouth, laving at the underside of it with his tongue. Altaïr clutched at his shoulders with greedy hands, tugged at his hair, traced the lines of his face with careful fingertips, even as his hips rocked up into the tight heat of Malik's hand and mouth.
It had been a long time, but he had not forgotten this, the way the slick slide of hot flesh between his lips and Altaïr's near-silent noises of pleasure made his body ache with answering need. He had missed this, missed the taste and feel of Altaïr in his mouth, bitter on the back of his tongue. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked and worked the base of Altaïr's cock with his hand, curling his tongue along the vein running up the underside.
He was almost disappointed when Altaïr pulled him upwards, but then they were kissing again, with more urgency than before. Malik ground their hips together and moaned into the kiss, the heat and friction between their bodies sending a frisson of fire down his spine. He trailed a line of biting kisses along Altaïr's jaw and neck, finding the flutter of Altaïr's pulse with his tongue and setting his teeth against it.
all the gardens i have ever gazed at [4]
anonymous
May 15 2010, 06:02:19 UTC
"I have been thinking about this since we left," Altaïr said, voice thick in Malik's ear. He reached between them to wrap a hand around both of their cocks. "You have no idea-"
"Don't," Malik growled, feeling the sudden dangerous urge to bite through flesh and sinew and tear. He shuddered and thrust into Altaïr's hand, and pushed himself up on his right arm to better glare down at the man beneath him. "Do not think to tell me what I can and cannot have imagined, when you left me behind seven years ago, and stopped sending messages two years after that."
Altaïr touched his face, leaning close to press an apology in the form of a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry-"
It was the wrong thing to say, but Altaïr had always been particularly skilled at finding the wrong things to say to him. Malik silenced him with a snarl. "I do not accept your apology." He swatted away the hands. "Five years with no word, not even a body to bury and mourn, and all you say is sorry? I thought you were dead, I thought I'd lost all of you--"
"What would you rather hear?" Altaïr asked, his voice rough. He grabbed Malik's wrist and pulled him him close. "Tell me, and I'll say it-"
"Nothing. Say nothing." He wrenched himself from Altaïr's grasp and reached for the bottle of oil on the shelf above them, knocking over a jar of ink and a case of reed pens in the process. Oil spilled over his hand as he opened the bottle; he was making a mess of both of them, but he didn't care. "I do not want to hear words from you right now."
Altaïr held his gaze for a single tense moment-- and then he smirked, but the expression evaporated into slack jawed pleasure when Malik wrapped his now slick hand around Altaïr's cock. His head tipped back against the cushions, and Malik attacked the exposed line of his throat with teeth again until he was rewarded with a quiet, desperate moan. Altaïr gripped his left shoulder, giving him something to brace against while his fingers traced a slippery path behind Altaïr's balls, pressing lower, sliding in.
Every twist of his fingers drew another soft moan from Altaïr's throat and for a single overwhelming moment he could not believe that this was real, that this wasn't just another dream. But then Altaïr hooked a leg around Malik's hips to draw him closer, and the hand bracing his shoulder slipped, and the resulting awkward, slippery tangle of limbs- that narrowly missed ending in chipped teeth and a concussion- was not the sort of thing that happened in dreams.
Altaïr snickered, and Malik bit his ear to keep from laughing as well; the brief moment of absurdity had chipped away most of his anger. He took a moment to realign their bodies, and then another moment, and then a few more, because Altaïr's mouth was right there, and it was distracting-- but so were the impatient noises Altaïr made as he thrust up and ground their hips together. It was the work of another moment to shove an extra pillow beneath Altaïr's hips and steady himself, lining up his cock. Altaïr grunted in annoyance at having to bend almost double to pull Malik down for another kiss.
"This might be easier if-"
"I didn't say you could speak," he growled. Then, softer, "I want to see your face." And then he thrust in with no further preamble, and whatever retort Altaïr might have had was lost in a gasp and a moan. He hadn't forgotten this, either, and neither had Altaïr. They fell into a rhythm, with he rose up to meet Malik's thrusts, urging him deeper and harder. Whether fighting or fucking, the way they moved together had always come as easily as breathing; tilting his hips at just the right angle to make Altaïr groan and claw at his shoulders was practically second nature.
all the gardens i have ever gazed at [5]
anonymous
May 15 2010, 06:15:14 UTC
The sight of Altaïr reaching between them to fist his own cock, roughly, in time with his thrusts undid him, finally; Malik came with a gutteral cry, sinking his teeth into Altaïr's shoulder, and Altaïr followed him moments later, breathing voiceless words into his skin: I'm here, forgive me, I love you, Malik, Malik, Malik.
Malik pulled away and reached for the the sleeve of one of their discarded robes to clean them off; he was exhausted, in more ways than one- but it felt like he could finally breathe easy again, as though the weight that had settled in his chest seven years ago had, at last, been lifted.
"Am I permitted to speak now?" Altaïr fit himself against Malik's left side, as he'd done countless times in the past, as if he'd never left.
"No," Malik snapped; he might finally be feeling some measure of inner peace, but that didn't mean he wasn't still deeply annoyed with Altaïr, on general principle. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to brush back the matted tangle of Altaïr's hair, gently.
Altaïr ignored him, burying his face in the juncture of Malik's neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply. "The third law," he said quietly. "We couldn't risk the Brotherhood by sending messengers. The Khan's reach was long, and we were too deep in enemy territory."
Malik sighed, still stroking Altaïr's hair. "I thought as much. But you could have sent word ahead when you were returning."
"Malik."
"What? You keep saying my name-"
"Because I haven't said it in seven years, and I've missed the feel of it on my tongue. Malik." Altaïr pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw. "I did send word ahead. Several times. And we passed all of our messengers on the road in our haste to return. You'll probably see the first of them in a week."
He covered his face with his hand, torn between tears and laughter. In the end, laughter won.
"Is my apology acceptable now?" Altaïr asked, a little petulantly. "I'm not going to start denying you the right to be angry, after all these years, but I had hoped my homecoming would have been met with more kindness, and less biting."
"After thirty five years, you decide this is the appropriate time to complain about being bitten?" Malik squinted incredulously at the top of Altaïr's head and entertained the thought of smothering him with a pillow. Unfortunately, in close quarters his missing arm put him at a severe disadvantage; he would have to strike when Altaïr was asleep. That was fine. He could wait. "I have had five years to accustom myself to the idea that you were dead. Give me more than a day to accept that you are still alive."
"As you wish." Altaïr smiled against his shoulder. "Take all the time you need; I won't be going anywhere."
"Good." Malik closed his eyes and laced their fingers together. "See that you don't."
----
Altaïr's hands stole inside his robe, fumbling with his belt and the knots on his sash, and then Malik couldn't be bothered with higher mathematics. He pulled an unresisting Altaïr to the pile of carpets and cushions in the corner, where he slept when he remembered to do so, rather than succumbing to exhaustion over his desk. They lowered themselves ungracefully, removing belts and armor and weapons and robes, until they were both naked amidst the wreckage of their clothing.
Seven years of travel had not been kind to Altaïr; he was thin, practically haggard, pared down to bone and muscle and scarred skin. Malik was acutely aware, suddenly, of the fact that he had done little more dangerous for the last few years than thrashing novices in the training circle and occasionally attempting to trim his beard without a mirror. Altaïr did not seem to care, though, as his hands and mouth roamed with unabashed eagerness.
Malik touched the new scars with his lips, tracing the hollows of Altaïr's ribs with the palm of his hand. He found the wound on Altaïr's leg, the scar a livid pucker of knotted flesh. He kissed it, and Altaïr's breath hissed out between his teeth; he slid his mouth upwards, rubbing the stubble of his beard along the line of Altaïr's inner thigh, and heard his breath stutter to a halt.
He wrapped his hand around the base of Altaïr's stiffening prick and kept his gaze on Altaïr's face as he bent to take the head into his mouth, laving at the underside of it with his tongue. Altaïr clutched at his shoulders with greedy hands, tugged at his hair, traced the lines of his face with careful fingertips, even as his hips rocked up into the tight heat of Malik's hand and mouth.
It had been a long time, but he had not forgotten this, the way the slick slide of hot flesh between his lips and Altaïr's near-silent noises of pleasure made his body ache with answering need. He had missed this, missed the taste and feel of Altaïr in his mouth, bitter on the back of his tongue. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked and worked the base of Altaïr's cock with his hand, curling his tongue along the vein running up the underside.
He was almost disappointed when Altaïr pulled him upwards, but then they were kissing again, with more urgency than before. Malik ground their hips together and moaned into the kiss, the heat and friction between their bodies sending a frisson of fire down his spine. He trailed a line of biting kisses along Altaïr's jaw and neck, finding the flutter of Altaïr's pulse with his tongue and setting his teeth against it.
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"Don't," Malik growled, feeling the sudden dangerous urge to bite through flesh and sinew and tear. He shuddered and thrust into Altaïr's hand, and pushed himself up on his right arm to better glare down at the man beneath him. "Do not think to tell me what I can and cannot have imagined, when you left me behind seven years ago, and stopped sending messages two years after that."
Altaïr touched his face, leaning close to press an apology in the form of a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry-"
It was the wrong thing to say, but Altaïr had always been particularly skilled at finding the wrong things to say to him. Malik silenced him with a snarl. "I do not accept your apology." He swatted away the hands. "Five years with no word, not even a body to bury and mourn, and all you say is sorry? I thought you were dead, I thought I'd lost all of you--"
"What would you rather hear?" Altaïr asked, his voice rough. He grabbed Malik's wrist and pulled him him close. "Tell me, and I'll say it-"
"Nothing. Say nothing." He wrenched himself from Altaïr's grasp and reached for the bottle of oil on the shelf above them, knocking over a jar of ink and a case of reed pens in the process. Oil spilled over his hand as he opened the bottle; he was making a mess of both of them, but he didn't care. "I do not want to hear words from you right now."
Altaïr held his gaze for a single tense moment-- and then he smirked, but the expression evaporated into slack jawed pleasure when Malik wrapped his now slick hand around Altaïr's cock. His head tipped back against the cushions, and Malik attacked the exposed line of his throat with teeth again until he was rewarded with a quiet, desperate moan. Altaïr gripped his left shoulder, giving him something to brace against while his fingers traced a slippery path behind Altaïr's balls, pressing lower, sliding in.
Every twist of his fingers drew another soft moan from Altaïr's throat and for a single overwhelming moment he could not believe that this was real, that this wasn't just another dream. But then Altaïr hooked a leg around Malik's hips to draw him closer, and the hand bracing his shoulder slipped, and the resulting awkward, slippery tangle of limbs- that narrowly missed ending in chipped teeth and a concussion- was not the sort of thing that happened in dreams.
Altaïr snickered, and Malik bit his ear to keep from laughing as well; the brief moment of absurdity had chipped away most of his anger. He took a moment to realign their bodies, and then another moment, and then a few more, because Altaïr's mouth was right there, and it was distracting-- but so were the impatient noises Altaïr made as he thrust up and ground their hips together. It was the work of another moment to shove an extra pillow beneath Altaïr's hips and steady himself, lining up his cock. Altaïr grunted in annoyance at having to bend almost double to pull Malik down for another kiss.
"This might be easier if-"
"I didn't say you could speak," he growled. Then, softer, "I want to see your face." And then he thrust in with no further preamble, and whatever retort Altaïr might have had was lost in a gasp and a moan. He hadn't forgotten this, either, and neither had Altaïr. They fell into a rhythm, with he rose up to meet Malik's thrusts, urging him deeper and harder. Whether fighting or fucking, the way they moved together had always come as easily as breathing; tilting his hips at just the right angle to make Altaïr groan and claw at his shoulders was practically second nature.
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Malik pulled away and reached for the the sleeve of one of their discarded robes to clean them off; he was exhausted, in more ways than one- but it felt like he could finally breathe easy again, as though the weight that had settled in his chest seven years ago had, at last, been lifted.
"Am I permitted to speak now?" Altaïr fit himself against Malik's left side, as he'd done countless times in the past, as if he'd never left.
"No," Malik snapped; he might finally be feeling some measure of inner peace, but that didn't mean he wasn't still deeply annoyed with Altaïr, on general principle. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to brush back the matted tangle of Altaïr's hair, gently.
Altaïr ignored him, burying his face in the juncture of Malik's neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply. "The third law," he said quietly. "We couldn't risk the Brotherhood by sending messengers. The Khan's reach was long, and we were too deep in enemy territory."
Malik sighed, still stroking Altaïr's hair. "I thought as much. But you could have sent word ahead when you were returning."
"Malik."
"What? You keep saying my name-"
"Because I haven't said it in seven years, and I've missed the feel of it on my tongue. Malik." Altaïr pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw. "I did send word ahead. Several times. And we passed all of our messengers on the road in our haste to return. You'll probably see the first of them in a week."
He covered his face with his hand, torn between tears and laughter. In the end, laughter won.
"Is my apology acceptable now?" Altaïr asked, a little petulantly. "I'm not going to start denying you the right to be angry, after all these years, but I had hoped my homecoming would have been met with more kindness, and less biting."
"After thirty five years, you decide this is the appropriate time to complain about being bitten?" Malik squinted incredulously at the top of Altaïr's head and entertained the thought of smothering him with a pillow. Unfortunately, in close quarters his missing arm put him at a severe disadvantage; he would have to strike when Altaïr was asleep. That was fine. He could wait. "I have had five years to accustom myself to the idea that you were dead. Give me more than a day to accept that you are still alive."
"As you wish." Altaïr smiled against his shoulder. "Take all the time you need; I won't be going anywhere."
"Good." Malik closed his eyes and laced their fingers together. "See that you don't."
----
The title comes from the poem "You Who Never Arrived" by Rainer Maria Rilke (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/you-who-never-arrived/) because I am an overly sentimental sap. orz
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Oh anon. Let's get married.
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