Rules:
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
Do ten of these, then post them.
Pairing: AltairxMalik Assassin's Creed
1st: Best Day of My Life Jesse McCartney
Altair was running late. He had a novice group to teach in five minutes, and he still hadn't strapped his gear on around eating an apple and wrestling the knots out of his robe; which had been abandoned on the floor after a heated roll around his bed with Malik the night before.
He finally managed to get his pants on the right way, his robe on, and all his gear fastened down in the right place. The apple core remained on the floor, discarded as he ran out of the room, turning corners like the gods themselves were on his heels.
But he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Malik standing across the courtyard, polishing a sword laying across his lap.
The sun hit his face in such a way it made Altair stop and thank the heavens for putting him down on earth.
And then he was broken out of his reverie when he noticed Malik was staring back, laughing. He looked down at himself.
He wasn't wearing any shoes.
2nd: Don't Say Sarah Wave
Malik grouched, putting his chin on his hand and staring at his best friend.
A nineteen year old Altair was leaning against the wall, talking to the giggling, blushing, bimbo of a girl from the kitchens.
Malik scowled at the girl. She was such a twit. Her name was Liane. LIANE. She could hardly lift a cooking pot, let alone a sword. So what if she had a tiny waist and a big chest? Those things would only get in the way of a fight. It wasn't impressive.
He scowled as Kadar smirked at him.
"So, Altair's-"
"Don't. Don't say his name." Malik stood, and with one final glare went into the dorms, looking for his sword.
Maybe some fantasizing of the wench's death would help.
3rd: What hurts the Most Rascall Flatts
Altair stood in the doorway of the Bureau, looking at his former friend/lover. Malik was bent over a map, carefully sketching each tiny building on the large paper.
"Peace and Safety, brother." There was a time when Malik would look up eagerly at his voice, eyes winking, a smile just for him.
But no more.
"Your presence robs me of both. Now what do you want?" On the outside, Altair is a stone. He shows nothing. But on the inside, he is flinching. Wincing. Cringing. Recoiling as if the words struck him like a blow. He had made a foolish, foolish mistake. Malik would not forgive him for that. He didn't have a reason too.
But it hurt, having him this close, being forced to interact with the man who once loved him, and now hated his guts.
That's what hurts the most.
Loving him, and him not seeing it.
If he saw it, he didn't show it.
4th: Right where you want me Jesse McCartney
Altair was sweaty, driven by Malik's hardly concealed whimpers. The hooded assassin had the 15 year old, his age, trapped in a corner. He was torturing him with kisses down his neck, sucking every now an then, enjoying the tortured pleas coming from the back of the other boy's throat.
"Altair...Altair..."
"Yes Malik?" he smirked, stilling his actions. A second later their positions were switched, Malik roughly assaulting his neck, lips and earlobe with scorching lips.
Altair hadn't considered letting Malik take control; he had always assumed the quiet novice would like the...dominance. A roll of heat went through his abdomin at the thought.
He was right where Malik wanted him, he realized.
It's always the quiet ones, he thought.
5th: Honky Tonk Badonkadonk Trace Adkins
Malik liked Altair's ass. It was a blunt, irrefutable fact. His lover had a sexy ass. He would deny it, of course, but it seemed to distract him whenever it possibly could. It should have been against the Creed for someone to have an ass that hot.
It would have saved him from some embarrising predicaments. 50 times to many had he been distracted by the assassin's derriere.
It was begging to be smacked, squeezed or pinched. He couldn't act on these in public, though. Altair had never really seemed to know why Malik was so obsessed with giving him a smack or a feel when he walked by in private, or when no one else was watching.
It was captivating. There wasn't much you could say poetically about an ass, but Altair's was as close as you could possibly get.
Malik snapped back to life just as Altair went in for a lunge.
Dammit!
6th: You're my better half Keith Urban
Altair stood in the doorway of the Bureau, observing his recently-found-again lover. Malik was consumed in his maps again, and didn't look up until Altair had cleared his throat for the third time.
But when he did look up, his eyes were sparkling and he had a smile on. He stepped around the counted and Altair stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the one armed man, despite being covered in blood.
He smothered Malik's lips in his own, and Malik moaned for a moment before pulling back.
"Welcome back. All was well?"
"He is dead."
"Fortune favors your blade, love." Altair smirked and instictivley looked around before brushing his nose againt Malik's in what a thousand years later, Desmond would recognize as an Eskimo's kiss.
"And I favor you, my dear." Malik wrinkled his nose at the feminine nickname, but did not complain.
Life was good for this assassin.
7th: Leavin' Jesse McCartney
Malik was sitting on top of a fifteen year old Altair, scowling down at the fellow novice beneath him.
Golden brown eyes stared up at him, half questioning, half accusing. He would have said something, Malik guessed, but he couldn't. He had a wad of cloth stuck in his mouth, and his arms were tied to the bedpost above his head.
Malik observed the tight, firm knots with some pride. He had managed to tie down the boy almost 5 inches taller than him to a bed, and he had been awake at the time.
Granted, Altair was half asleep, but that counted as awake, right?
"You're going to leave that bimbo Liane. Understand? I'm tired of waiting around to see you when she leaves." Malik traced a line from the corner of Altair's lip to his collarbone.
Malik enjoyed the sight; he was shirtless.
Altair writhed as he lightly brushed his fingertips down his ribcage, and Malik could feel the lump against his thigh as Altair nodded ferverently.
8th: Hot Mama Trace Adkins
Malik scowled as he struggled to pin his sleeve up again. The pin had slipped out, and Altair grinned, watching the pink of Malik's tongue stick out as he fiddled with the small sliver of metal.
Malik took a while to get used to sex, again, and even now he flinched and blushed when Altair walked in on him without a shirt, turning away just enough that Altair couldn't see his left side.
But Altair didn't care; Malik was adorable, hot, sexy, alluring, left arm or not.
He didn't realize it, but Altair felt like an adolescent again; every time he saw those muscles ripple he seemed to become aroused.
Malik was hotter than the sun itself, it seemed.
9th: It matters to me Faith Hill
Malik growled. Altair stood there, still as a stone. The other man was so infuriating! Malik was trying to fight with him, but he didn't do anything. He just stood there, staring at him from under his hood. He assumed he was giving him the courtesy of a stare, anyway. He couldn't see his damned face under that fucking thing. He was so angry with the other man; he had knocked over the ink and destroyed a week and a half's work. Again.
now he had to go back and start all over. And Altair didn't even give a damn. He didn't say a thing, and somehow, the hurt was stronger than the anger at this point. With every passing second, the anger was slowly replaced with hurt.
Didn't he see? Didn't he see how hurt he was by the indifference?
He was tired of the constant fighting. Well, fighting on his side.
Altair never really said anything on the subject.
It was just hurt, now.
The anger was all gone.
10th: Body Language Jesse McCartney and T-Pain
Malik let his eyes wander up and down his lover's body.
Altair was sitting against the wall, hood down, robes open, allowing his chest to be seen. His eyes were molten amber.
Translation: 'Come here.'
Malik put his hand on his hip, and cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.
'What is it?'
Altair smirked, and patted the pillow next to him.
'Come here, and I will show you.'
Malik shook his head, smirking as he slowly backed away.
'What if I do not?'
Altair smirked, eyes narrowing.
'Then I will come and get you.'
Bigger steps backward, and Malik's legs tensed in preparation to spring away at a moment's notice.
'If you can.'
Altair sprang from the pillows.
'I can!'
Malik let out a shout as he was slung over the other man's shoulder, the first noise during the entire conversation.
I do not own Assassin's Creed! Or any of the songs.