The Codex

He's a young professor, and Altaïr does not like him. He can't be more than three years older than Altaïr, and he is always scathing toward his students (most of them deserve it, Altair concedes). He always seems so sure of himself, so mocking of others.

And he's missing an arm: irrelevant, but noticeable.

Dr A-Sayf has collected research papers at the beginning of class-- the last class, to be specific. Each student sat quietly in their seat as the doctor read through a few of the papers (the worse ones, judging by his quiet giggles and gleeful ticks of his red pen on the paper. Toward the second hour, students are getting restless. They talk quietly to one another, frequently glancing at the clock and the ornery doctor in the front of the room.

Suddenly, Dr A-Sayf stands and waves around the term papers.

"Garbage, as usual." He says clearly in his Arabic accented voice. "Amusing to read, so you should at least get ten percent from that," He trails off. "Collect your papers," he throws them on the floor by the exit where they fan out. "And I hope I never see any of you in my class again."

After kicking papers around absently and stepping on a few fingers, Altaïr realizes his paper is not among the many on the floor. Looking at A-Sayf, he realizes the doctor is intently reading one of the term papers. He recognizes it as his own; a longer paper, written on Syrian culture, and obviously to Dr A-Sayf's liking.

"Professor." Altaïr says once the remaining students stumble out irritably. "My paper?"

"It's doctor," He replied sourly. "I didn't work for this title for nothing." He is silent.

"My term paper, doctor?" Altaïr asks again, gnashing his teeth. A-Sayf gestures to the desk in front of his own.

"Seat yourself. I am not finished." Sulking, Altaïr obeys.

A-Sayf only addressed him when he has a question about his paper. 'This date, I thought...' or 'You spelled this incorrectly.' and sometimes even 'Amateur.' Altaïr didn't think the essay that good, but apparently the doctor enjoyed it. In his own way. After finishing the fifteenth and final page, A-Sayf casually flipped the pages, allowing the cover to top once again.

"It... is... incredibly... well... researched," he grit out, as if each word gave him intense pain.

Altaïr shrugged. "Most of it is lore my grandfather told me. It is our history, passed down for many generations. My research consisted of original codex from that time period."

A-Sayf lit up like the sun at this. "I would be incredibly interested in reading these codex first hand."

A mysterious glint appeared in Altaïr's eyes, and he appraised A-Sayf's face. "How interested?" He said slyly.

Malik meets Ibn-La'Ahad's eye suddenly. "W-well... it would mean a great deal to me. My focus of study is the ancient middle-east,"

"I know."

"Then it should be obvious why I wish to see this codex!"

"It is a family heirloom," Altaïr says stubbornly, still eyeing Malik. He remained silent, and Altair continued. "What will I receive from showing you the Codex?"

Malik's eyes widen imperceptibly as he catches on and he resists the urge to splutter indignantly. Altaïr smirks, leaning casually against the desk and picking up his term paper. He thumbs the pages absently and Malik feels a sense of dread wash over him. Altaïr flicks his eyes toward Malik's, amber meeting brown under lowered lashes. The young doctor felt a swell of arousal flush through his body and bones, beginning in his groin and burning his cheeks.

Altaïr moved slowly, but it appeared as an immediate death-toll in Malik's mind. He stood tall over Malik's chair and leaned forward, his hands gripping the arm rests and effectively trapping the doctor in his chair. "Or rather, doctor, what would do do for the Codex?"

"I..." Malik began thickly, leaning back in his chair as far as he could. Altaïr pushed forward toward the professor before sealing his lips over the frightened doctor's. Malik panicked-- he struggled, pushing fruitlessly against his student's (dear God,) chest only to have his single hand caught in a stronger, callused one. Altaïr held the slender hand to his chest and nipped his captive's lips.

"I think I know what you would do, doctor." Altaïr whispered against Malik's panting mouth. "You would do whatever I asked, wouldn't you?" Malik groaned, pressing his hips into the leg between his thighs. "So eager already," Their lips met again roughly and Malik wrapped his arm around Altaïr, bringing him closer. Tongues mashed together, teeth scraped as both sought dominance in the kiss. Malik's chair creaked dangerously as the two rocked pelvises.

"Shit!" The chair toppled over, effectively trapping Malik against the wall beneath the whiteboard and underneath Altaïr (now straddling his chest, the zip of his jeans so tantalizingly close to his face).

Altaïr grinned evilly and Malik swallowed thickly, trying to push away from the student. "Altaïr, I-" The professor grew silent as Altair unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, his erection bouncing deliciously close to Malik's face.

"Suck," He ordered, and the doctor shivered, his eyes rolling in pleasure.

Altaïr's cock twitched as his professor eyed his dripping erection, flicking up to Altaïr's face under hooded lashes. The amber-eyed man undulates his hips, pressing the crown of his cock directly against the young doctor's lips. Malik opened his mouth and licked the head slowly.

Altaïr groaned, thrusting his hips shallowly once more. "Jesus, Malik," The other responded by running his tongue down a pulsing vein in Altaïr's member. "Jesus," he repeated. "I wanted to do this to you all semester, did you know that?"

Malik used his arm to pull his student (and his dick) closer, inhaling the coarse hair at the base of the wide dick pressing his cheek and touching his ear. "Really?" He breathed.

The next groan vibrated through Altaïr's body and A-Sayf's mouth. "Yessssss," He hissed, grabbing the older man by his hair and pressing his groin against the swollen lips; "Fuck, Malik, all I could think about each morning was how gorgeous you would look with my dick down your throat." He pushed forward harshly, effectively gagging Malik, who strained to relax his throat.

Altaïr was relentless in his thrusting; Malik could do naught but keep his throat open. Altaïr's hand fisted on the professor's hair and gripped his shoulder brusingly. Malik retaliated by pulling the back of his companion's trousers, forcing Altaïr's shaft out of the delicious heat of Malik's mouth.

With a wicked curve to his lips, Malik flicked his tongue from between his lips to lap at the precome leaking from Altaïr's shaft.

"You would do anything to see that codex," Altaïr gasped, and Malik swirled his hot tongue over the head of Altaïr's member. Altaïr pulled Malik up roughly, nearly slamming the amputee against the wall and off the fallen chair. Without waiting for a response other than a grunt, Altaïr fisted both hands in Malik's hair and thrust foward into his captive's mouth. "What I want to do," He grunted in between thrusts, panting, unable to conjure more words; Malik is having a hard time looking the part of dignified young doctor now, falling apart as his student is.

Saliva slicks Malik's cheeks and he forces his throat to relax, relax, damn you and for his eyes to stay open.

Altaïr is even more relentless now, and Doctor A-Sayf is having a harder time staying relaxed. Malik strains against his trousers and tries to press into the knee that's oh so close to his groin.

Altaïr is chanting, "Malik, Malik, Malik" and it isn't long before the final snap arrives and he is coming thickly directly down Malik's throat. After forever, he pulls out, flushed and breathing harshly. He doesn't bother righting his own trousers. Malik slumps against the wall, wiping his face with his right arm.

After both regain their breath, Malik opens his mouth to speak but Altaïr begins to talk before he is given a chance; "I'll let you see the Codex."

Malik's jaw drops, almost embarrassed because he had forgotten about the damnable book of Altaïr's. His eyes flicker to his own erection and then back to Altaïr's face. "That's... lovely, thank you." A pause. "Don't you have something to be doing?"

Altaïr zips up his jeans, licking his lips as his eyes meet the chocolate of Malik's. "...No. Nothing pressing. I'll be at your office tomorrow at three to give you the Codex." He stands and leaves Malik and his erection behind, jilted.

Malik regrets nothing more than allowing Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad to pass his course.

A/N: Kinkmeme request. You don't realize how many synonyms there are for "penis" until you're stuck with the ones you don't like. I kept writing Altaïr as Desmond though, which was annoying. I think Altaïr is self-absorbed and cocky (no pun plz) enough to leave his partner hanging after he's done. Because he's a jackass like that, let's face it.

I feel like Malik is the professor to grade according to where papers land at the bottom of the stairs, hence the beginning. Pretend that Altaïr's, being the longest, caught his attention.

Funfact! Masyaf is in Syria. And there is a trippy castle there, too.