Title: Null and Void

Fandom: Assassin's Creed

Pairing: One-sided Malik/Altaїr

Genre: General, Humor

Rating: T because of an overall lack of sex that's replaced for an abundance of teenage insecurities

Summary: Altaїr's not a boy; he's a man. And a man would certainly not blush when his foster brother whom he has not seen in a year presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Even in public. Unrequited Malik/Altaїr. Oneshot. Pregame. Furtive savoring of a chaste kiss.

Disclaimer: Malik and Kadar and Altaїr? Psh. Yeah, I own them. And that lucky bitch in charge of Ubisoft? Tch. Yeah, that's me. *Narcissistic smirk* Lol, jk, jk, kthnxsbai.

Foreword : This came out of no-effing-where during the half-empty phase of the coffee pot and the delayed realization that I already have my first test on Friday – damn AP classes. Plus, I just needed a brief break form "Volume and Despair", to just write something quick and easy and requiring a little less effort and planning since I'm back in school. I also wanted to devote a little something to the fandom with the theme of teenage insecurity incorporated ever so subtly. So... Yeah. I was listening to *NSYNC while I wrote this, so there really is no song inspiration, unless you'd consider anything on *NSYNC's first album particularly...inspirational...for this kind of thing. *Puts on "Tearin' Up My Heart"*

Malik is a firm-but-fair parental figure. He always gives thanks and praise where it is due and executes punishment where its necessity lies; he keeps his eyes – and sometimes his hands – on his younger brother when they travel to the market together to buy food and clothing and other things that suggest a lack of leisure time, gives a subtle smile of appraisal if Kadar keeps his hands to himself and does not attempt to slip anything particularly tempting into his pocket, and wraps his fingers tightly around the man's upper arm while whispering harshly into his ear if he catches him submitting to greed and voracity. Altaїr knows. He knows because he remembers a time Malik did that to him, remembers the sensation of warm breath tickling his ear, dispersing over the back of his neck, and feeling excruciatingly hot as Malik led him through a crowd of curious people.

So when Malik first steps foot into Masyaf's courtyard with Kadar trailing closely behind him and gaping at the sight of the castle, Altaїr is either surprised or not surprised to see him, inwardly expecting some sort of physical punishment for his misbehavior and obvious disregard for the older man's rules when their eyes meet. And Altaїr most definitely does not find himself swallowing hard and nearly struggling to keep his indifferent facade as Malik approaches him where he stands partially naked and leaning coolly against the fence around the training rink; in fact, when Malik stops in front of him, the assassin in Altaїr looks up at him with calculating eyes and braces himself for a barrage of why-did-you-leave's and it's-been-a-whole-year's and you're-coming-back-home's while the boy in him does not even think about initiating a conversation with why-are-you-here's and I've-missed-you's and take-me-back-home's.

So, because of his silence, Malik beats him to the introduction. Or, in more favorable terms, Malik does not beat him to the introduction, because if there is something that Altaїr has learned as an apprentice assassin, it is that he should be quick and agile and forthright and assertive in all situations and all times, and he surely would not lay to waste a year's worth of rigorous training and active conditioning by allowing Malik to walk in upon him watching two combatants in the training rink just to –

...Kiss...him.

Yeesss... Altaїr thinks the same way Al Mualim sounds when he is dismissing his attempts for attention for a debrief with another assassin, a tone that is slightly annoyed and irritated and in reference to "weak emotions" – which is bad because assassins are not supposed to feel feelings, are not supposed to think about anything but the mission and all things relating to the difficulty in pursuing the target and the immediate extrication once a target is successfully assassinated.

But Altaїr certainly does not feel any of those "weak emotions" as his eyes instinctively close in furtive pleasure when Malik presses his lips to his in a chaste kiss that is between four and thirty-seven seconds too long and one year or one lifetime too late, a wayward hand appearing on his shoulder before the older man – though Altaїr would hesitate to call anyone that is not another assassin a man – pulls back when the greeting is over.

It takes a while for Altaїr to open his eyes again, and when he does, his cheeks feel a little hot, and it has absolutely nothing to do with those aforementioned emotions of little meaning and dignity. Nor is it in direct relation to the laughter that erupts somewhere to his left where he was previously speaking to a group of other men slightly above his age about how essential it is to be in control of every situation that arises – because they have no reason to be looking at him while he receives a friendly kiss from his foster brother that he is definitely not blushing from. Grown men like him do not blush. Only boys and girls and women do that. So there really is only one logical explanation for this.

"...I'm getting sick," is all Altaїr says when Malik looks like he is about to say something that is stupid and emotional like, "You look like you've grown taller," or "Kadar and I have decided to join the Brotherhood," or "I'm happy to see you," or something else Altaїr does not care or want to hear as he turns and strides coolly toward his quarters in the castle, the two brothers exchanging brief glances with each other.

And on his bed, in his solitude, in a time and a place where he can be true to himself and does not need to worry about what others think of him, Altaїr bows his head and blushes furiously as he meekly flicks his tongue over his lips – if only for the sake of wetting them because they are dry or chapped or something – and tastes something different and undeniably piquant and reminiscent of home.

And it is in the farthest depths of Altaїr's mind where that little boy with bright blue eyes still lives and still thinks about his days growing up with his foster brothers that he decides that he would definitely like to feel Malik's soft lips against his again.

Finis.

Afterword: So that's it. Just a cute little one-shot – or at least I intended it to be cute – for the fandom. ;) Hopefully the next time I post something, it won't be so short or delayed. I honestly kinda messed around these past few weeks since I've created an account in that I've been switching back and forth and back and forth between several little ideas for new material; there were many times where I would abruptly focus on adding new content to one fic after devoting sometimes days at a time for a different one. X) Anyway, I wanna thank those of you who took the time to read (or skim) my little piece here, and say that I'd...really appreciate it if anyone took the time to tell me what he/she thinks. :) Even if it's criticism for my writing style – 'cause I know it's a little weird and awkward sometimes how I abuse conjunctions – I would very much like to know where I may be lacking so that I can refine my skills and become a better writer. :D

-Jessica