Assassin's Creed Oneshots

Ache

Altaïr's side screamed at him while he tried making his way through a small crowd, the cut on his side seeping blood into his clean white robes. The voices surrounding him lingered as a good distraction from the shouting guards from afar, thankfully they lost sight of the assassin just after slicing his side and leaving soon to be scars on his face. The hot Jerusalem sun beat it's rays over the crowd, Altaïr's white hood standing out as a scholar simply walking the streets. The blood didn't make a good example of a lone scholar, unfortunately. He was exhausted, his mind shoved through thoughts of his social stealth, the blood, and the guards as he made his way back to the bureau with haste.

With the pain of his fresh wound, it proved difficult to climb the stony building and reach the Dai that would not be happy to see his blood stain the carpets again. Altaïr groaned as he fell down the rocky wall into the courtyard of the bureau, clutching his side to prevent further bleeding as he pushed himself onto his knees on the stone cold floor.

He called out to Malik with urgency in his voice, "Malik! I am injured, could you help me up?" His voice strained, mouth curling into a gritted teeth snarl, Altaïr tried his best not to seem like he was begging for help while he bled out on the bureau floor. Malik poked himself out of the doorway that went into his office. His cold eyes curved and his eyebrows slanted at the sight of the bleeding assassin, "Damn you novice, get in here." Altaïr huffed, angered from the lack of help and limped his way behind Malik into the office.

He watched as the black robed man jerked the table cloth at a desk off in one pull, trinkets and books pouring onto the floor with crashes and bangs. He lifted and set the cloth back down and looked to the assassin, "Well? Are you going to just stand there and bleed out in my bureau or what?" Altaïr slid himself onto the stretcher-like table, complying with his irritated request. Malik rustled through some boxes and retrieved a set of tools, grabbing the knife and slicing away Altaïr's now bloodied robes. He'd have to fashion him new ones again. Malik threw them astray and grabbed the cloth waiting in a bowl with crystal clear water and pressed it to the wound, soaking up all the blood it could. Altaïr whispered a swear underneath his breath at the stinging and clenched his fists, "Don't be so dramatic, you've been through worse Altaïr." The assassin sighed, the cold words hitting a wall as he focused more on not seeming weak rather than petty insults. Altaïr winced at the feeling of more water being poured over the wound. Malik sighed and placed the bowl on the ground, "I need to stitch it. Can you handle that, novice?" Altaïr nodded and braced himself for the stabbing pain. He had received them before, the stinging from each poke and stab into his skin wasn't unfamiliar.

Once Malik was done, Altaïr's side felt no better. With his impatience, sitting up was obviously a mistake. Malik reached for his arms, trying to force him back down, "Don't put strain on it, I just fixed you." The assassin groaned as he faced the Rafiq, watching as he started to wrap a thin gauze around his abdomen. Each time Altaïr had come to be repaired or simply just bother the man and his books, it was never short of fun. For Altaïr at least.

Malik finished wrapping Altaïr's wound quickly, his work stopping abruptly was no excuse and he nearly went back to his endless mapping before spotting another bleeding cut on Altaïr's face. He shook his head and grasped the cloth once more, "You should stop being so reckless, I am constantly doing this for you Altaïr." The assassin smiled and stared at the Dai, "You care for me so well, who else would I go to?" Malik rolled his eyes as he held the cloth to the cut, cupping his hand over Altaïr's face lightly. Those golden eyes locked onto Malik's movements as they carefully watched the technique of his mending skills. Malik's hands had been all over him, feeling hot to the touch for Altaïr as he lost all thought of the stabbing pain in his side. Malik's eyes glossed over the seemingly hawk-like ones, locking for a moment, Altaïr could melt from that gaze. He breathed slowly as he raised a hand to Malik's face, so carefully and precise to not scare him away like prey being startled away from a clean kill.

Malik pushed himself closer to Altaïr, drifting the cloth's attention away from Altaïr's cuts and sores. Altaïr swallowed, their lips held a space between them so small, Malik could feel Altaïr's stifled breaths on his scarred lips. The Dai was the one to fill that space, gliding his hand into the Assassin's small amount of hair, trailing down his neck as their kiss deepened. Altaïr reveled in Malik's body heat as he wrapped his arms around the Rafiq, laying them on his shoulders and squeezing him tightly. Malik loved the sensation of the assassin's scar pressing onto his lips, its raised texture finally causing Malik's smile. The two felt no need to pull away, not even for air. This felt right. So perfect, as if it were some fate that had befallen them by God.

The bureau had become their safe space for these 'visits'. It was too convenient for Altaïr to jump down from the grated roof and visit. He only wished to visit more, to open up to him. As an assassin, how dare you abandon your job to pursue love? Altaïr never pondered too hard about it.

Malik softly opened his eyes and pushed the assassin back, feeling a wave of realization wash over himself. He was doing it again. "Leave." Altaïr shook his head, violently confused by this sudden change of pace. "What? Malik please-" Altaïr hopped off the table to reach for Maliks shoulder, "No! Do not plead for me to stay, we cannot repeat this. You come here to bother your way into my bureau, have your fun with me and leave! You can't." The assassin didn't feel words come from his mouth, he couldn't. They stood in the silence of the room, only the faint sounds of wind chimes from the courtyard echoing off the stone walls.

Altaïr felt hurt, but also regretful. He shuffled, "I have no urge to leave you, Malik. Unless, that is what you desire." He felt his words run off of their track. Worry scraped at his mind, terrified of a slight of speech that could offend Malik, so he stayed silent until the other answered.

Malik turned his head to look the man in the eyes, "Go rest your wound and speak to me when you are finished."

Altaïr desperately wanted to hold him there, to kiss him and speak soft words to him. To hold on tighter than ever as if he was to be taken away if he didn't. He hadn't noticed his faults, now realizing his often coming and going. This burden of the brotherhood, to do as Al Mualim intended, chained him. Although, this did not excuse his absence.

Even when he was ordered to rest, he could barely close his eyes. The pain of his wound and this abrupt rift broken between Malik and himself gnawed away at his heart. The embrace of sleep would find him in a tough fight and thrash over the pillows.

Altaïr rustled between the colorful cushions in the courtyard, the cool feeling of water on his face bothering him awake, "Do not struggle. One of your cuts opened while you were sleeping." Altaïr held still and opened his eyes to Malik hovering over him with a clean cloth, soaking up the blood from the cut on his face. Once he noticed the eagle's sharp stare, Malik hesitated, locking his eyes with Altaïr's again and feeling vulnerable, "Stop looking at me like that." The assassin smiled, "Would closing my eyes please you?" The Rafiq furrowed his eyebrows, continuing to tend to his cut, "Yes that would be much helpful, your gaze deprives me of focus." Altaïr smiled at the words again, harsh yet flattering words from the ever so rude man. He couldn't help but speak while being taken care of, "Malik? I want to apologize. Correctly. I've been distant to you. You do not deserve to be subject to my neglect." Malik stayed silent, Altaïr felt more comfortable not having to look at Malik while he fumbled out an apology. Altaïr continued, "I will mend my bond with you. I hate to further anger you, so I will leave it at this. I love you."

His face no longer felt cold, heat rising in his cheeks and the cloth leaving his face only made him writhe with worry. He dared not open his eyes, worried of Malik's blank stare he knew would be there if he did. He waited patiently for something, anything. The soft feeling finally pressed against his lips, the warmth of Malik's made his whole face feel hot. Altaïr, relieved, reached up now, pulling Malik's face in deeper as he rose from the cushions. All thoughts were forgotten as they held each other so fondly. The dark hair clutched between Altaïr's fingers was as familiar as ever, both of them drawing out the kiss as long as they could. Malik broke it to gasp for air, "Altaïr," He mumbled as the assassin held onto him gently. Altaïr was so soft with Malik, so gentle when they touched, unlike his rough words and the adrenaline filled battles with only his hidden blade. Altaïr could admit it himself, Malik weakened him. This warmth he felt as they sat holding each other, exchanging kisses and words was his favorite. Malik brushed his fingers along Altaïr's face, "Do you promise to stay? No late night chases." The assassin smiled and pressed his lips against Maliks cheek, Maliks stubble tickling the scar on his lip, "I promise." And that was all Malik needed to let Altaïr weaken him.

Malik snickered, "Novice."