Forgiveness
Dec. 22nd, 2011 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hlineIt was over. Al Mualim had been defeated, and Altair was quietly recovering in an out of the way room. Along with the myriad cuts and slashes that littered his body courtesy of his hypnotised peers, his ribs had been bruised from the grip that the Apple had held him in while his insane master had ranted at him. The doctors had told him that he would make a full recovery with some rest. This had been passed on to the other assassins, and so Altair lay on top of the covers on his bed, covered in bandages and slipping in and out of sleep.
He had been sleeping when the sound of the heavy door opening and closing woke him. Opening his eyes a crack, he saw the dark blue coat of a dai. It was Malik. He locked the door, the click seemingly echoing through the small room and turned around. Altair immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He was hurt, but Malik had taken him before while he was injured before, forcing fingers coated in his own blood past his swollen and bruised lips and down his throat to open the way for his cock. He had stopped his activities with Altair shortly before his last mission, but Altair had still occasionally caught him looking when he was bathing at night.
He heard Malik walk towards the bed and sit down on the small stool left by the doctor by the bed. Altair’s skin prickled, feeling the weight of Malik’s gaze on his prone body. He heard him sigh, the stool creaking slightly as he shifted his weight. His gut was a knot of tension, wondering when Malik would reach out. The stool creaked again as he shifted.
Despite himself, Altair nearly jumped as he felt Malik’s hand cover his. With great effort, he kept himself from moving away as Malik began to rub the back of his hand with his thumb. The air felt heavy and thick, pressing down on him. He didn’t want to talk to Malik right now. He may have been kind outside during the fight, he may have said he had forgiven him before he went after Robert de Sable, but Altair still could not help but feel panicky whenever Malik came close. His body remembered how much Malik had hated him after Solomon’s Temple; not all of his bruises after various missions had come from his targets’ guards.
“I am sorry.”
It was with great difficulty that Altair kept himself still at that pronouncement. Malik continued speaking. “What I did to you in the bureau. After the informant. After your missions. It was wrong.” Malik’s hand lifted away; Altair heard him rubbing his face, the sound of skin and stubble rubbing together loud in the silence. “I twisted what we used to have, and turned it into a torture.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “When it had already ended over a year before Solomon’s Temple.”
He gently laid his hand over Altair’s again. “The informant told me himself why you did it when you went out to buy dinner that night.” At that, Altair tensed. Malik had known? “I should have stopped then, but I was still so angry over Kadar and the mission. I wanted you to suffer. No, that’s no right.” Altair cracked open an eye. Malik was no longer looking at him. Instead, he was staring at a patch on the floor near the foot of the bed.
“I wanted the man who had led us into the temple to suffer. You had already changed by the time you first saw me. I was too blinded by my grief to see that you were already no longer that man. You had become the man I had loved when we were both novices again.” He gave a shaky breath and squeezed Altair’s hand. “And I destroyed any chance of being with this man through my actions.”
Malik sniffed and gave a watery laugh. “Listen to me, I sound like one of those women addicted to romance tales.” He sniffed again before chuckling. “Now if only I could say this when you are awake.” Sighing, he got up to leave.
Impulsively, Altair held on to Malik’s hand and opened his eyes. Malik froze, half-standing and half-sitting. A moment, then two passed in silence.
“It is not entirely your fault, Malik.” he said quietly, breaking the spell. “I did deserve what you did to me. Do the priests and imams not say that pain cleanses the soul?” Malik looked away. “You are delirious. I will go get the doctor.” Altair held onto his hand firmly. “I never took anyone after you,” he said, “not for pleasure.”
Malik turned back and stared at him for a long moment.
“Even when you were rough in the bureau, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being touched by you because it reminded me of what we had and made me feel less alone in the brotherhood.”
“Why did you leave me if you felt so alone?” he asked in a whisper.
“I was stupid. The master told us that we had to cut off our ties to this world, and you counted as a tie.” He let go of the other man’s hand and struggled to sit up. Malik sat back down and helped him up, placing the pillow behind him. When they had settled, Altair’s hand had somehow found its way onto Malik’s forearm.
“And as soon as I did, I was promoted to master assassin, remember?” he said, staring at his bandaged hand lying on top of the blanket. Malik nodded. “Everyone admired me for becoming a master so young. So I believed that that was just the price for mastery, and I kept everyone at arms-length.” He looked up at the other man through his lashes and slid his hand up to Malik’s shoulder. “No matter how lonely I was at night.”
He pulled the other man down until their lips nearly touching. “We both made mistakes brother,” he breathed, “but leaving you at all was the greatest one.” He gently pressed their lips together. Malik’s eyes fluttered closed as he opened his mouth to Altair’s shyly probing tongue.
They gloried in each other’s taste and smell, and the gentleness of it all. It was a long time before they separated at the sound of a knock at the door.
“See me when I am healed, brother.” Altair said softly, sinking back into the bed.
He had been sleeping when the sound of the heavy door opening and closing woke him. Opening his eyes a crack, he saw the dark blue coat of a dai. It was Malik. He locked the door, the click seemingly echoing through the small room and turned around. Altair immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He was hurt, but Malik had taken him before while he was injured before, forcing fingers coated in his own blood past his swollen and bruised lips and down his throat to open the way for his cock. He had stopped his activities with Altair shortly before his last mission, but Altair had still occasionally caught him looking when he was bathing at night.
He heard Malik walk towards the bed and sit down on the small stool left by the doctor by the bed. Altair’s skin prickled, feeling the weight of Malik’s gaze on his prone body. He heard him sigh, the stool creaking slightly as he shifted his weight. His gut was a knot of tension, wondering when Malik would reach out. The stool creaked again as he shifted.
Despite himself, Altair nearly jumped as he felt Malik’s hand cover his. With great effort, he kept himself from moving away as Malik began to rub the back of his hand with his thumb. The air felt heavy and thick, pressing down on him. He didn’t want to talk to Malik right now. He may have been kind outside during the fight, he may have said he had forgiven him before he went after Robert de Sable, but Altair still could not help but feel panicky whenever Malik came close. His body remembered how much Malik had hated him after Solomon’s Temple; not all of his bruises after various missions had come from his targets’ guards.
“I am sorry.”
It was with great difficulty that Altair kept himself still at that pronouncement. Malik continued speaking. “What I did to you in the bureau. After the informant. After your missions. It was wrong.” Malik’s hand lifted away; Altair heard him rubbing his face, the sound of skin and stubble rubbing together loud in the silence. “I twisted what we used to have, and turned it into a torture.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “When it had already ended over a year before Solomon’s Temple.”
He gently laid his hand over Altair’s again. “The informant told me himself why you did it when you went out to buy dinner that night.” At that, Altair tensed. Malik had known? “I should have stopped then, but I was still so angry over Kadar and the mission. I wanted you to suffer. No, that’s no right.” Altair cracked open an eye. Malik was no longer looking at him. Instead, he was staring at a patch on the floor near the foot of the bed.
“I wanted the man who had led us into the temple to suffer. You had already changed by the time you first saw me. I was too blinded by my grief to see that you were already no longer that man. You had become the man I had loved when we were both novices again.” He gave a shaky breath and squeezed Altair’s hand. “And I destroyed any chance of being with this man through my actions.”
Malik sniffed and gave a watery laugh. “Listen to me, I sound like one of those women addicted to romance tales.” He sniffed again before chuckling. “Now if only I could say this when you are awake.” Sighing, he got up to leave.
Impulsively, Altair held on to Malik’s hand and opened his eyes. Malik froze, half-standing and half-sitting. A moment, then two passed in silence.
“It is not entirely your fault, Malik.” he said quietly, breaking the spell. “I did deserve what you did to me. Do the priests and imams not say that pain cleanses the soul?” Malik looked away. “You are delirious. I will go get the doctor.” Altair held onto his hand firmly. “I never took anyone after you,” he said, “not for pleasure.”
Malik turned back and stared at him for a long moment.
“Even when you were rough in the bureau, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being touched by you because it reminded me of what we had and made me feel less alone in the brotherhood.”
“Why did you leave me if you felt so alone?” he asked in a whisper.
“I was stupid. The master told us that we had to cut off our ties to this world, and you counted as a tie.” He let go of the other man’s hand and struggled to sit up. Malik sat back down and helped him up, placing the pillow behind him. When they had settled, Altair’s hand had somehow found its way onto Malik’s forearm.
“And as soon as I did, I was promoted to master assassin, remember?” he said, staring at his bandaged hand lying on top of the blanket. Malik nodded. “Everyone admired me for becoming a master so young. So I believed that that was just the price for mastery, and I kept everyone at arms-length.” He looked up at the other man through his lashes and slid his hand up to Malik’s shoulder. “No matter how lonely I was at night.”
He pulled the other man down until their lips nearly touching. “We both made mistakes brother,” he breathed, “but leaving you at all was the greatest one.” He gently pressed their lips together. Malik’s eyes fluttered closed as he opened his mouth to Altair’s shyly probing tongue.
They gloried in each other’s taste and smell, and the gentleness of it all. It was a long time before they separated at the sound of a knock at the door.
“See me when I am healed, brother.” Altair said softly, sinking back into the bed.