Written for the original kinkmeme prompt:

(Time for a fic where people actually have seconds thoughts about homosexual relationships, because of the time and it's morals they are living in and with.)

Malik knows for some time now that he is in love with Altair, and thinks the other assassin might feel the same. But when he confronts Altair with it (Maybe surprise kissing? I like something like that.), Altair is shocked and confused and pushes him away.
Happy end is optional, but either way I want a heartbreaking fic, where Malik is angry at Altair for avoiding him, but at the same time he loves him just so incredible much.

Bonus points if Altair does have feelings for Malik, though, but struggles with accepting them.

Terms:

Insha'Allah = God Willing
Masha'Allah = Glory Be
Alhamdulilah = Praise to God
Janna = Heaven / Paradise
Ya Allah = O God
Wudu = Ablutions (washing) necessary before prayer.
Salat = Praying
Iftar = Evening meal (when Muslims inhale everything within a 5 mile radius to break a day of fasting during Ramadhan)
Suhoor = Morning meal (when Muslims devour everything within a 5 mile radius to prepare for a day of fasting during Ramadhan)
Bismillah (ir-rahman ir-rahim)= In the name of God (most Gracious, most Compassionate)
Salaam Aleikum = Peace be With You

If you haven't already guessed, this fic is set against a heavily Islamic backdrop, since religion has a huge influence on societal norms, morals, and the like.

Fish Out of Water

"O People, we created you all from a male and female
And made you into different communities and different tribes
So that you should come to know one another
Acknowledging that the most noble among you
Is the one most aware of God."
-Qur'an 49:13

The Frankish soldiers are stunned when they see him and Altair holding hands in the street. They gawked, they stared… Their pale eyes followed them behind condescending metal masks. Wordless or otherwise incomprehensible, the Europeans never made much sense. Altair and Malik never even realized anything was wrong until a fellow Saracen informer explained that in the land of the Franks, in Europe, men never held hands for sin of sodomy.

"Holding hands isn't sodomy," Altair laughed then, and looked to Malik who nodded his agreement. "It's just so we don't get lost. Look at the two Sufis there, holding hands," he pointed to two wizened wanderers now crossing the street, hand in hand and perfectly at peace.

"The Franks are strange people indeed," the informer added in Arabic, before uttering farewell Salaams and kissing both men on the cheeks twice.

"Is that sodomy to the infidel Crusaders too?" asked Malik, to which the informer replied in a confused manner,

"No, apparently it is perfectly permissible to kiss a man on the cheek in greeting and farewell."

"I ask that lovers no longer be shy or concerned
With right and wrong, with reputation
Or recognition."
–Rumi

A fish met a frog for the first time. The frog entered the pond to converse with the fish, and they became fast friends. Eventually they became so close that they could barely stand to leave each other as the frog returned to his grassy knoll to feed on insects. The fish was always happy until then, having never known the allure of the world above the water's edge. Now the fish was miserable all the time waiting for the frog to come back!

Malik clicked his tongue and worried his lips with fingers whose tips were stained with ink- on purpose, because he wanted to look distinguished. But instead of leaving artistic streaks on his face, Malik made ugly blotches on his upper and lower lip; soon he looked like someone punched him in the mouth.

Altair peeked over his shoulder and sniggered cruelly, "that's a horrible story."

Malik twisted around and flung his arm around Altair's head and neck, dragging him down and sending him sprawling into his parchments-"Shut your mouth! As if you could do better!"

They tumbled around like that for a while, the precious ink spilt and smeared on the parchment where the words blended into each other. At first, it was playful. But in the span of a few breaths, adrenaline and testosterone took over, and Altair was caught now under Malik, squirming to free himself while the other pulled on his hair and called him bastard, bastard, bastard. The older boy straightened himself to gloat, and lost his balance immediately as Altair flipped him onto his side and abruptly rolled himself up to straddle Malik's hips and rained blows on his face, chanting as if it were a mantra: no one calls me bastard!

Their instructor Nasir found them fighting like that, and had to pull them apart as he so often did. He clicked his tongue and chastised both boys, yelling with a booming voice over Malik and Altair's mixed accusations: "this is not acceptable! You will be punished for this!"

He dragged them out by their weary arms and nearly threw them into the fortress' stone courtyard, where novices and wandering assassins stopped in their tracks to watch what was happening. Faheem and Umar's sons, fighting again. What was going to happen to them this time?

Altair kept turning hateful stares at Malik, who returned the gesture with equal fervour. Malik couldn't understand why Altair kept trying to gloat and pick fights with him. Altair couldn't understand why Malik had to turn every game and joke between them into a competition. They awaited their punishment to come, thinking of all the possibilities: cleaning the latrines for a week, detention in the dungeons, kitchen duty perhaps?

"Alhumdulilah, Praise Allah, I don't know what to do with these two," Nasir complained to Al Mualim, who only stroked his beard. "They won't respect each other and they always fight! Where will you put them this time, Master?"

Knowing it was time to use a different approach, Al Mualim ordered for Altair and Malik to seat themselves on the ground, and told them to hold hands for four hours until evening prayer. The crowd jeered and laughed at them, especially when they saw how red the two of them were getting in the face. To hollers of encouragement, Malik and Altair gingerly touched their hands together and twined their fingers. Malik's hand was warm and clammy, while Altair's hand was cold but pleasantly dry.

They were so embarrassed that they had to cover their faces with their free hands. Eventually the crowd got bored of watching them sit awkwardly next to each other with joined hands, and wandered off to continue whatever they were doing before. Eventually even Al Mualim and Nasir took their leave, discussing a potential deal with the Sultan of Egypt in the war against the Christian Crusaders. It felt as though within the hour, everyone already forgot these two novices holding hands in the middle of the courtyard.

If they wanted, they could let go of each other now and just run away. But Altair was too honourable and wouldn't even think of shirking his punishment, and kept gripping Malik's hand almost scornfully. Malik didn't want to appear like less of a man (though he not even yet a man), so he too held onto Altair's hand. Both of them looked the other direction and thought about pretty girls and holding their hands instead… But then things got a little tight down there and that was awkward.

Altair cleared his throat, "so… in your story, what happens to the fish?"

"That story is for Kadar," Malik growled dangerously, though the effect was negated by the fact that they were holding hands. "Not for you."

"I want to hear about the fish."

"Why not the frog?"

"Okay, what happens to the frog?"

"The frog gets eaten by a snake and he never comes back. The fish becomes suicidal and he jumps onto land in an attempt to find the frog and he suffocates."

"…that story isn't for Kadar."

"No, that one was for you."

"I think the fish fell in love with the frog."

The darker haired youth dipped his finger in a tiny puddle and started to make patterns on the dry stone. "You don't know anything about love, Altair. You have no one to love." Your mother and father are dead. As soon as the words left his mouth, Malik regretted it. But he couldn't possibly apologize for it, so he just sniffed and turned his gaze so he wouldn't see the way Altair's face crumbled.

Something burst in the other boy, white and hot. He opened his mouth to retort, gaped a little, then closed his mouth and looked away. He was the first to let go when they heard the call to evening prayer, their punishment complete.

"A man who claims that he can gaze at a handsome beardless youth without feeling lust is lying."
–Unnamed Islamic Scholar, 12th Century

They were fifteen when they were first introduced, informally and secretly, to the concubines decorating Masyaf's garden. Al Mualim had no hand in it- Nasir took his students to the garden after one of their routine classes, and showed them the concubines sitting under their pavilions in the garden. With a wide sweep of his arm, Nasir opened the door to a false paradise: 'see these women?' he said to the young men, whose eyes were bulging wide with lust, 'they are yours for your pleasure.'

Like how in war, soldiers were allowed the company of prostitutes in exchange for the company of their wives, assassins were also allowed these women to satisfy their lust.

Nasir paused to let the young men take in the sight- these women who were forbidden to them before were suddenly all theirs! As if they knew they were being watched, the prostitutes pulled their bright veils closer to their faces and turned towards each other, a desperate show of modesty despite their work. Nasir turned on his heel and pushed the gawking boys back. "It is permitted by the Prophet Mohammed, Peace be Upon Him, and now let us move on to the next lesson."

Within two weeks, most of the young men had made… acquaintances with the concubines. Over their food, they shared lewd stories of their sexual explorations, boasting against each other who was the manlier man and who was able to please their woman better. The older and more experienced assassins took their food elsewhere so they wouldn't have to hear about such nonsense. After all, their days of gloating were over. Altair, too, started to separate himself from the novices and even took to eating alone some days, dipping his bread in hummus and taking his food very quietly and contemplatively.

"What's wrong with Altair?" Abbas faked concern, and then broke into sniggers. "Maybe he can't get it up!" He pushed Malik playfully on the arm, but the other novice didn't laugh. "What, Malik? …Ay!" Abbas grabbed at Malik's sleeve, but couldn't stop him from getting up off his cushion and making his way to Altair.

Said novice, now already proving himself beyond his peers, made space for Malik to sit beside him under the shade of the lime tree. The two of them were always either in a state of amiable peace undercut with a tenuous current of mutual jealousy, or they were full-blown enemies. However, even after their fights, they always seemed to forgive each other for the vicious circle to begin all over again.

Malik was going to say something about the weather (but what was there to say? Every day was hot, hot, hot) but then Altair gushed very abruptly, "I can get it up, you know."

"I-" how was someone supposed to respond to that? Malik flushed and sputtered, "y-yes I know you can."

"You know?" Altair's eyes darted from left to right in a panic, looking everywhere but at Malik.

Catching on to how he'd been misinterpreted, Malik practically dropped his food trying to back away- "N-no! No I don't know, I mean- I guess I'd like to know, but-" wait, what was he saying?

"You'd like to know? Ya Allah what is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know!"

"Fine!"

Abbas was laughing that ugly laugh, like the sound a camel makes when it throws up.

Altair was always very direct in his own way- blunt. Malik was often the one to break eye contact out of shame or humiliation (sometimes frustration), so this time he made a point of keeping the other one's gaze until they were mutually embarrassed and had to go about doing their own things. With a swish of robes, Altair was up and walking away to the field kitchen. There wasn't enough time for a second helping, so Malik knew Altair wouldn't be back.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, unfulfilled breath. The concubines were fine, but there weren't much to them. Malik would much prefer to spend time with Altair instead, if only they could somehow stop fighting and misunderstanding each other. Malik mainly lusted after women, but Altair had been the predominant exception.

Here he had to stop his thoughts, close a door in his brain, and look around to see that no one could somehow hear him in his head. What a curious thought. Yes, there were times when Malik found himself entranced by the way a certain courtesan's hips swayed as she walked (Fatimah was his favourite by far), but then he'd get breathless just watching Altair read! His 'little Malik' came out to play when he smelled Fatimah's subtle perfume on her neck, but 'little Malik' also rudely made himself known during heated debates with Altair! He couldn't make sense of it.

To make matters worse, Altair was not a sexual creature- Malik was willing to wager that none of the concubines even knew who he was. Here was one more rift that separated them, another wide gaping chasm between them that Malik couldn't hope to cross.

He came again and again to what was said by the Qur'an to the people of Lot: "You approach men with lust instead of women. Nay, you are a people who exceeds all bounds." He pondered day and night, and wondered if the key word here was not 'men' but 'lust'. What if he said he trulyloved a man? Would Allah say to his people then: "You approach men with love instead of women. Nay, you are a people who exceeds all bounds."? No… It all sounded wrong to Malik. Allah, in his Great Mercy and Benevolence, surely would not condemn love!

How else, then, could he explain his urges? If Allah did not will it, why was Malik being tortured like this? It didn't bother him that he was attracted to member of the same sex; such a thing was natural when there were no women around… But why did he still desire Altair despite the beautiful women in the gardens? He strongly desired to act on his lusts, and that action was haram, forbidden.

They were sparring one day with swords- Malik against Abbas for their examination, when the former suddenly came to the realization that he loved Altair.

The young man was shouting names at him from the sidelines- petty insults- teasing, mostly. Irritated, Malik turned his back on Abbas and came after Altair, his left hand raising with an open palm… but at the last second, it became a fist and knocked Altair upside the head. While Altair stumbled back against the pulsing crowd and shouted his displeasure, Malik stared at his traitorous left hand. He had full intention to slap Altair, but he punched him instead. Fists were not for enemies. Fists were for equals.

Altair was escorted away to the infirmary (fighting the entire time), and Malik noted a sour taste coming to his mouth. He shouted a stunted apology, but the one it was meant for never heard it. I love him, he realized with horror, how can this be? Yes, it was love- but not like how a man loved his wife (a man who hit his wife was no man at all), but like the love between two mystics, between two Kings. The epiphany made him falter, and he failed to deflect the swing Abbas issued from the back- toppling sideways and landing on his knees, Malik surrendered.

"What?" Cried their instructor, stunned. Malik never surrendered.

Malik failed the exam and had to be re-tested against Nasir himself. The instructor pushing hard against him and finishing confused- "why didn't you fight like that before, Malik?"

The thought was a living thing, and it ate away at Malik's mind. He stopped eating properly, couldn't sleep at night… couldn't even find pleasure between Fatimah's legs. He couldn't focus, was slow to join in on a conversation, forgot simple things like how to strap his dagger… it wasn't long before Altair noticed and started to pick on him.

"You are in love, Malik," he teased with a twinkle in his eye, and only God knew how right Altair was. The other man could only stare back at Altair, a thousand words left unsaid dying upon his lips, a hundred daggers tearing at his heart.

Kadar, Allah bless that child, spoke words of gold: "Allah does not condemn love!" he spread his arms wide to emphasize his point. And then just as Malik was about to launch into a life-changing tirade on what love is and how Kadar is too idealistic and didn't know anything, the boy got distracted and ran off to play.

Malik, then, had to reconcile these conflicting ideals in his own finite mind… A sodomite applied to the perpetrator of an act of sodomy- someone who was tempted to commit sodomy but refrained out of moral or religious considerations was hence not a sodomite. Was he destined, then, to yearn from a distance…?

"I kissed a downy-cheeked youth with sweet dark-red lips and looked at that primeval beauty.
And asked for a lover's rendezvous with him, so he answered: The time for my compassion or coquetry is past.
The water of beauty has dried up from my cheeks, and prettiness has disappeared from the branch of my upright physique.
I said: The description of a garden [the rosy cheeks] only becomes attractive if it is surrounded by sprouting vegetation."
-Aṭāllah al-Ṣādiqī, Allepine Judge, 12th century

An informer was staring at him. His face was covered by a white kuffiyah but for the strip of skin around his eyes, and what eyes they were. Malik kept that gaze and his body turned towards him. The informer took the hint and slowly strode forward, keeping their eyes dead set on each other.

Are you like me? They asked each other in silence. People came and went in their periphery, but they only saw each other. They didn't bother to ask for names, didn't bother to even utter salaam. They merely looked at each other and they knew-

Malik extended his hand as an invitation at the exact same time the informer did. Oh. They looked down and up again, and waited for the other to put down their hand. Neither of them moved. Finally the anonymous informer reclaimed his hand and forcefully pulled down the front of his kuffiyah, showing Malik his impressive beard- "I don't bottom," he mouthed, and the cloth went up again.

Malik barely had a beard, so he couldn't compare with that. He also hadn`t thought the informer was so aged. Originally he pinned the other to be around his age. He liked men, yes. He'd had time to come to terms with that. But he wasn't… he wasn't a woman. And he certainly wasn't about to be fucked by a man ten years his senior.

"That's too bad, then," he said.

"Too bad," echoed the informer sadly, eyeing Malik hungrily all the while. "You would have enjoyed it."

Pushing the image from his mind, Malik cleared his throat and asked if there was anyone else…

"I can't tell you any names, are you stupid?"

Right.

He apologized, and the informer turned around and went about his duties. Watching him leave, knowing that he might never see him or speak to him again, Malik wondered if he could declare jihad on himself.

"Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me."
-Rumi

In the siege towers, Malik carefully separated and counted a bundle of arrows into one-and-half scores. Altair then arrived with some cord and bound the arrows into bundles. Afterwards, they loaded the bundles into crates made of lath and wire while the system repeated.

"I'm confused, Altair."

"You always are, Malik."

"…idiot."

"Dumb goat!"

"Stop!"

"You started it!"

"Don't talk to me like I'm ten, Altair. I'm ten and seven years added to that."

"You could be ten years times five, and I'd still say the same thing."

Two months later, with the crescent moon hanging above them, Altair and Malik found themselves in Acre and without any food to eat. It was too late to head back to Masyaf and it was too dark to find the Bureau (they'd only been there once or twice thus far), so they found an abandoned house. They made do with a lice-infested bedroll, holding their growling stomachs and staring at each other. A single candle lit the room.

"We're missing iftar…"

"Why can't we just go to some random house and beg for food?"

"…are you serious, Malik? No, don't even answer that. Let's get up early tomorrow and find the Bureau…"

"But we'd miss suhoor then, too!"

"Then I guess we die!" Altair hissed venomously, pulling up the scratchy quilt and going to sleep. After a slight pause, "Insha'Allah we don't kill each other before that."

While the jab would have been funny a few years ago, now it just served to rip the gasping hole in Malik's chest even bigger. "I wouldn't hurt you," he slurred, his head filled with cotton because of how hungry he was, "in fact, I actually love you."

Altair just chuckled. On a bad day, he might have made a witty remark or just ignored the confession (which was obviously not serious). But today he was compelled to say the following in response, almost thoughtlessly: "I love you too, Malik. Good night."

And it was the most devastating thing that Malik ever heard.

"What is agony of the spirit?
To advance toward death without seizing
hold of the Water of Life."
-Rumi

Kadar was promised three pieces of candy if he could ask Altair how he felt about men kissing and lying together.

Malik caught his brother before the boy ran off. "And make sure he knows that it's your question, Kadar! You asked me but I was too busy to answer so…"

A light flutter in the courtyard, the sound of Altair's robes billowing in the wind was louder than his landing! "Too busy to answer what?"

"Ah!" the older Al-Sayf yelped and threw his hands up, "I am so late!" Without even looking at Altair (because if he did he wouldn't have any sense of direction afterwards), Malik rushed off into the fortress and disappeared from sight. The truth was that Malik was not late for anything- he simply jumped out another window of the fortress to land on the roof of a pavilion just above the garden, where he could hear everything being exchanged in the courtyard.

There- Kadar was already asking the question in his innocent and adorably gullible way. Malik couldn't see Altair's face from this angle, but interpreted that the man went very still.

"Why do you ask this, Kadar?"

"I… I dunno..."

"Do you like Azim?"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooo…"

"You play with him all the time…"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooo!"

"Then why..?"

"I dunno!"

"…was your brother talking to you about this?"

If Malik could just rip his heart out of his chest and fling it all the way to Jerusalem! Surely Altair was hearing his hammering heartbeat and sniffed out he was there! He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and curled into a ball, though he knew Altair would not be able to see him.

"Um… he said I could have candy if I asked you instead."

Kadar was never getting candy. Never! Malik's mind went off on great tangents, cursing and half praying that Altair was not going to laugh. His hands went about ripping tears into the ends of his robes where the stitching was frayed. Damn it.

"Oh," Altair made a soft sound. "Do you like candy, Kadar?"

"Yeah…!"

"So what if I gave you ten pieces of candy?"

"I'd like that…!"

What was he playing at…? Malik rose up to his knees and gripped looked over and down onto the courtyard below, where Altair was opening a pouch strapped to his waist and counting out exactly ten honey-glazed dates. Those were Malik's favourite! They passed from Altair's hands to Kadar's eager ones, and in they went into that greedy mouth. "Hurry, before Malik sees!"

The boy had absolutely no objection to that. "Mmmmmmm!"

Altair just stood there and watched Kadar eat all of the treats- three or four days' worth of sweets- and didn't say anything, which confounded Malik to no end. He expected Altair to bribe Kadar to do something with the candy, not just let him eat it!

Kadar ate the first few dates with fervour, and then his pace slowed and slowed until he stuffed the last ones into his mouth with substantial difficulty. He no longer looked like he was enjoying himself. Rather, the dates were now a burden to be done away with.

"Here," Altair reached into his pouch again and counted out five of the same treats. Kadar backed away this time when the candy was handed to him, and whimpered. "What is it," asked the assassin, "didn't you say you liked candy?"

"I did," moaned Kadar, rubbing his sore jaw. "But I don't want it right now."

"So what do you want?"

"Ummmm… water!" Predictably, Kadar's mouth was dry now.

Altair nodded, the movement barely noticeable had the onlooker been any other but Malik. "So do you understand now, Kadar, why men feel the need to kiss and hold one another in sleep? They are oversatiated with women, so why not reach beside you and take a drink of what's been with you all along?"

"Oh." Kadar listened half-heartedly, and then just shrugged. "So it's not wrong." The question meant nothing to him, and it showed.

"…It's wrong if you steal water from someone else," the assassin remarked very carefully. He didn't want Kadar to get the wrong idea. "Not if they share it with you."

The boy frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it. Finally he decided to simply thank Altair for the treats, and then ran off to drink some water.

Altair only needed to wait a few seconds before Malik tumbled from the pavilion above and landed awkwardly beside him. Without preamble, Malik challenged him directly, "do you mean what you just said?"

"I mean everything I ever say," Altair countered too severely. Then he noticed that the foot of Malik's robes were almost in tatters, as though he ran through a thorn bush. "God almighty, what have you been doing?"

The answer came without thinking- "Looking for water, Altair."

In his mind, Malik imagined he'd back Altair against a wall and crush their lips together. He'd squeeze that nimble body against his own and worship every line of Altair's body. He wasn't thinking. Somehow, in his mind, he rationalized Altair's creative explanation as an admission of his own desires. It was God's answer to Malik that he wasn't alone, and it seemed like a good idea at the time… It was a leap of faith from an obscenely high tower. It was suicide. And as soon as he got close enough, as soon as he registered the alarm in Altair's eyes, he knew he couldn't do it-

Malik was a boy trying to catch a bird, having forgotten that the bird had wings. One moment he was here, the next he was gone and out of reach. Again. He didn't even spare Malik a look back.

A thousand men, a Crusader army, were stomping over his chest, thrumming his bones. He couldn't breathe, just crumpled to the ground without grace or care if he would be seen. In fact, he wanted Altair to see him, to know what he did to him. Kadar returned some time later, humbled and confused by the wet streaks on his brother's face, and passed Malik some juice.

It was good to drink, but it wasn't water.

"When the ocean comes to you as a lover,
marry at once, quickly,
for God's sake!
Don't postpone it!
Existence has no better gift.
No amount of searching
will find this.
A perfect falcon, for no reason
has landed on your shoulder,
and become yours."
-Rumi

When Malik lost his arm, two things came to mind: First, that his career as an assassin was over. Second, how was he going to pray? More so than assassination, praying was something he held strictly to five times a day if it could be done, as the Prophet prescribed. In another life, if he yet had two arms and his brother at his side, Malik would have loved to retire to a life of scholarship and worship. He longed to worship at a proper mosque, to rise to the call to prayer in the city where the Prophet himself, Peace be upon Him, travelled to in his night journey on the back of a Buraq. They said that ink, not blood, was the mark of manliness. In a way Malik thought he should be pleased, despite the burning anger in his head, making a sound like a kettle at boil.

Never again would he feel the cool embrace of air, jumping from a viewpoint or tower. Before he got his arm cut off, he could hold everything in his hands and he'd still want more. Daggers, swords, shields, throwing knives, spears… he could wield any weapon he wanted. Riding, climbing, running, hell- even fucking, he could do anything he wanted. Now Malik was ashamed to do any of these things. Not in public, because then people would laugh at him. Not in private, because he wouldn't forgive himself. Jerusalem was not kind to cripples.

After the mourning for Kadar, after his time of adjustment to life as a "scholar", even after the time it required for his stump to stop oozing pus... still Altair did not come. The newly appointed Dai thought at one point that he could completely cut himself off from Altair. He despised him now. He must! To feel otherwise for Altair would be despicable- what man doesn't hate the one responsible for his brother's death, for ruining his life?

Yet each time an assassin landed in the bureau, or an informer came to his desk, Malik's shoulders tensed in anticipation-

only to be sorely disappointed again and again. He didn't even know what he was expecting, and that was the worst of it. He wished Altair would come by, even though he wasn't sure what would come of that encounter.

Because Malik could not properly prostrate himself in prayer or perform wudu as a cripple, and did not know how to seek help, he abstained from performing salat and instead took to worshipping by the written word. Each day, five times a day, he worshipped by praising God by writing, which he was getting better at by the day. This was something children did to learn how to write, but as long as Malik did it in privacy, he felt no shame.

He tipped his reed pen just so and made the first mark, mouthing the sound: Ah.
A is for Allah, nothing but Allah.

A, he realized, was also for Altair. Malik made a grunt of disapproval and disgust at himself. What was supposed to be a holy recitation became an erotic experience just by the mention of Altair's name. Now Malik was surely a man transgressing all bounds, that not only he desired another man, but that same man that committed such crimes against his family and honour!

"A is for Allah", he firmly repeated loudly, "nothing but Allah. Ba…" meticulously, he scribed the next character. "Ba is the beginning of Bismillah…" he went on like this, lapsing into a blessed trance which took him away from his worldly concerns… he would not be disturbed as long as the rest of Jerusalem were praying with him, too.

Until of course Altair, the bastard, landed himself in his bureau. He was in the adjacent room, where the cushions and fountains were, but even without seeing him Malik knew it was him. Only Altair's presence could make all the hairs on Malik's neck stand up. The Dai put down his pen and, strangely calm, smoothed his robes and tried to be as presentable as he could… just to have all his caged frustrations come flooding out as soon as Altair came through the doorway.

"How dare you show yourself here," he snarled, by reflex making a fist with his remaining hand and completely crumpling the parchment he was writing on. "Get out of here!" By nature, Malik always seemed to say the opposite of what he actually meant.

"Safety and peace, Malik," Altair replied softly, strangely submissive. His head was lowered and his feet were close together, belying a deceptively humble posture that Malik would never have thought Altair capable of assuming. He must be ashamed, Malik thought with some level of satisfaction. Good. Let him know how it feels to be ashamed, to despise what he is.

Malik flicked his hand and motioned again to the door from where his blessed visitor came from. "Your presence here deprives me of both. Now begone." No, stay, cried a voice in his head, please don't leave. I am merely testing you.

But when Altair still did not move, just stared in his strangely detached way at the wall behind Malik, the Dai threw the scrunched paper at him (childishly, almost) and again yelled at him to make his leave. Slowly, gingerly, Altair picked up the parchment and unfolded it. Malik's fingers tapped impatiently –anxiously- at the wood of his desk.

The corner of Altair's lip twitched into an aborted smile. "You are at Sa, Dai. What is Sa for?"

"I-" he was caught. There was no one at fault here but himself- Malik should have seen this coming. "Novice, you have no right."

The other assassin tucked the perfumed paper into a space on his belt, keeping his eyes low and respectful all the while. "Sa is for Salaam Alaikum, peace be with you."

Altair always had a way of leaving Malik frustrated, in every possible way.

The next few days and weeks were pure torture. Malik felt trapped in his bureau, trapped on the ground of Jerusalem, while Altair was surely flittering about on the roofs and nimbly climbing the cracks in the walls, watching his every move. And if he was not there, he was in Acre or Damascus, taking the Master's missions and eliminating his targets on the road to redemption. While Altair worked towards his purpose, Malik could only wait for Altair to come back at his fancy, and he cursed every breath he took.

When Altair visited him for his missions, they often argued. Well, usually it was a one-sided argument in which Altair quietly took in all the provocation Malik could dish out. Eventually there grew a sort of respect once more between them... Altair had changed. And Malik's love for him only grew stronger in his awe.

And then finally, before departing to kill Robert, the assassin finally apologized… In one breath he untied every knot between them- Kadar, Malik's arm, his own treacherous pride.

"No, no," the Dai busied himself with setting out scrolls on the tables in a nonsensical manner, trying to take deep breaths but not so deep. The noose around his neck was cut at last. "Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I... would not have been so careless myself. I'm just as much to blame."

"Don't say such things," said Altair, lowering his gaze to the wooden surface of the table. "I have caused you more pain than a man can take." When Altair's eyes flickered up again to meet Malik's, they were shining and reddened at the edges. The sight made a treacherous tremor run up the Dai's spine, and he licked his dry lips to wet them. The movement seemed to attract Altair's gaze, and for a moment his own eyes clouded over.

Tentatively, Altair took a few small steps forward until he was flush up against the bureau's work desk, his face so close to Malik's that they smelled each other's spice clearly behind the mist of frankincense from the burner.

From here, Altair could see the bright rings of gold around Malik's pupils, almost completely swallowed by dark. Altair's throat was constricting, his leg muscles were itching in the anticipation to run, but he forced himself to remain still. To stand so close to Malik was comparable to standing at the edge of a stream or estuary with a donkey, a beast that could kick you into the moving current whenever it wished. In a graceless swooping motion, Altair swallowed his breath and Malik's by pressing his lips to the other's in a soft caress. Carefully, as though seeking encouragement, Altair massaged Malik's lips apart and his hand traveled across the expanse of wood to grip Malik's left hand, squeezing it.

Merely a second later, before Malik could even react to the shock of a dream coming true in the most sordid way, Altair was pulling back and murmuring profuse apologies.

"Wait!" Malik's hand shot out and grabbed one end of Altair's red sash and pulled before the assassin could run away. "Altair, what are you-"

"I thought it was what you wanted!" So much turmoil in those eyes- confusion, hurt, humiliation. He was flushed from embarrassment, all the way to the tips of his ears. "Forget it… let me go, Malik."

Understanding fully now what was being said, Malik's jaw dropped. "You would give yourself to me for your conscience?" Astonishment transformed to anger, "because you think it might make me more of a man?"

It was obvious that Altair had thought long and hard about this- he did not even react at Malik's outburst, just slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. "Do you deny it?"

"It wouldn't make me more of a man," Malik let go of Altair's sash and smoothed his palm over his cheek, where his beard was growing. Yes, he wanted Altair, wanted him in every way, every time, every where. But not if Altair offered his affections as payment of debt! "It would just make you less of one."

"Yes-"

Malik drew back his fist and struck Altair in the face. The other man didn't even make a move to dodge it, though he certainly had enough time to see it coming. Now Malik was truly becoming frustrated. "What has happened to you, in the name of God? Get up, you ass! God damn you," Malik strode around the desk to pull Altair back up by his collar, shaking him back and forth with surprising strength- "say something!"

"I'm sorry-"

"Say something else!"

"Wasn't that what you wanted?!"

Malik flung Altair away from him, half disgusted and half horrified. "You have no clue what I want, Altair." He lowered himself onto his knees in front of Altair, who was sprawled on the floor, too afraid to move a muscle. A dribble of blood leaked from one corner of his mouth, where the lip was split from the strike. Malik clenched and unclenched his fist, washed in the shame of having hit the man he loved- that Altair let himself be struck. It was all because he couldn't come to terms with what he'd done and why he wasn't yet dead, but Malik wasn't about to let him destroy himself. He was all that was left now. "Listen to me," he breathed on Altair's parted lips, holding a hand to his cheek and feeling the other man slowly lean into his touch… "the Sun has never said to the Earth, 'you owe me'. And that love is what lights up the sky!" Unrepentant, Malik pressed their lips together brazenly, murmuring against Altair's slack mouth, "you apologize to no one but Allah, you understand?"

Against every grain of his being, he stood up, straightened his robe, and turned his back on Altair. Nothing good was going to come of this, and he could not allow himself to take advantage of Altair. "If you only wanted to seek forgiveness, then it is not up to me to grant it." He took up his reed pen and rubbed it against a piece of coarse stone, sanding it down and sharpening its edge. Really, it didn't need to be sharpened again, but Malik had to find a way to occupy himself.

The assassin wrenched the pen away and out of his hand, flinging it across the room. "Malik, just listen to me..!"

"No, Altair. I tried to catch you when you lunged at Robert. It was I who knocked you off your balance. You know that."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he twisted his body to follow the source of his touch, and he saw that Altair was by his side. The affection glowing in his eyes made Malik's heartbeat race with the knowledge that this man might actually love him too.

An informer tumbled into the bureau.

That (perhaps?) love turned to fear in a clap. Altair barged out of the workroom, nearly knocking over the informer as he entered. He didn't even return the man's salaam.

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about."
–Rumi

"Altair? Is that you in there?"

"…yes."

"How did you get in here?"

"I'm an assassin, Malik. Do you really think so lowly of me?" Altair laughed, and then returned to his task of scrutinizing every corner of Malik's personal quarters. He pinched the quilts to feel their thickness, smelled the water in the jug next to the cot (that was never used) to see that it was fresh, even scratched at the walls to inspect its cleanness. It was a little absurd to watch. "Hm," he said at last, "you have been taking well care of yourself."

Malik smirked, and then crossed the bridge between the breathless chasms to wrap his one arm around Altair's waist and whisper in his ear, "I am an assassin, Altair. Do you really think so lowly of me?"

Finally alone at last, with night falling over Jerusalem, Altair unravelled. He fell apart in Malik's hands, shedding the day's masks and covers for modesty. Malik unhooked the buckle over Altair's right breast that held his weapons on his back, the hefty thing dropping to the ground while Altair removed his belt and began to unwind the red sash wrapped around his waist. It wasn't the first time Malik had seen Altair undress, or even helped him in the process. But this time he knew that the night was going to end very differently.

The robes were shrugged off and discarded unceremoniously, followed by Altair's leggings. Boots, wrist guards, hidden blades, and all other gadgets were thrown across the room where they landed wherever they liked. Malik, too, disrobed himself, thankful that a Dai's robes were fairly uncomplicated. When the last piece of fabric came off, he allowed Altair to take in the sight of his stump, wrapped in bandage and gauze. It was hard to tell what the other man was thinking- did Altair pity him? Was he again being washed in guilt? Was he maybe angry? Disappointed?

"Altair," Malik leaned forward and breathed against the other man's flushed ear, "you understand that if we do this, you will never make it to janna?" He watched that adam's apple bob as Altair swallowed nervously, clearing his throat before drawing Malik closer to himself and falling back onto the Dai's cushions. Do you really love me so much to want me as I am, Altair? You love me so much that you'd sacrifice salvation? To love someone too much is forbidden.

"I think it's too late for me."

"No, Altair, you don't understand… What we do is jihad, and Allah is on our side. But if you do this, you'll ruin yourself forever." There was no penalty for a man fucking another man, as long as he was the dominant and manly partner. However, the partner who was penetrated was throwing away not only Allah's plans for him, but also his own honour as a man.

The assassin blinked twice and looked up at the thatched ceiling. "I am already ruined, Malik."

"You-" he edged himself forward on his knees and took Altair's chin in his hand, tilting it back down and towards him. In the other man's eyes he saw the sun and moon and all the stars of the sky. "You were forced against your will." No, he could not believe it. Not Altair, not this proud man.

"…Abbas tricked me. I couldn't… run…"

All the breath was forced out of his lungs. "Oh…!" How long had Altair kept such a horrible secret bottled up? Now Malik thought back to all the times Altair dodged out of Abbas' presence, how he shied away from every mention of sex, and the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.

"I stopped praying after that… truly praying, I mean. I'd do the actions of wudu and salat but it never felt the same… because why would Allah allow that to happen to me if He loved me? If He was Great and Merciful? Surely He either hated me or He didn't give a shit." He worried his lip, nervously sneaking glances at Malik to assure himself that the other was not disgusted. "I was too ashamed to tell anyone." Altair glanced down and peered at Malik's straining erection, the thick bulbous head a shock of pink, the color of a tongue. He nudged it with a knee, shaking Malik out of his thoughts.

"Ah-"

"It doesn't hurt me now." Already Altair was trying to push the problem away, as he always did. "I'm at peace with it. Someone took a sip of me when I wasn't looking. Abbas made a wound, he tore a hole in my soul, but that tear is where I want your light to enter."

"In love, aside from sipping the wine of timelessness,
nothing else exists.
There is no reason for living except for giving one's life.
I said, 'First I know you, then I die.'
He said, 'For the one who knows Me, there is no dying.'"
-Rumi

Malik would never own Altair- this he knew. Altair was going to marry someday, and God Willing, he should have children. If Malik could find a woman himself even with his disability, he longed also to have sons. Altair knew this, and they treasured the time they shared together- walking hand in hand in the streets so Malik would not be insulted for being a cripple, sharing food from a single dish, kissing each other once or twice on the cheek (and surreptitiously on the lips) when they greeted each other in company of others. Even when they were not alone, they knew everything about each other. And knowledge they could own completely.

They knew each other's voice, the change in pitch and the way their moans closed off and pinched at the moment of climax. They knew the grain of each other's skin- dry, damp, soaked with sweat. Even hooded, they recognized each other as they entered a room or turned a corner, each time sending a jolt through their chests. Malik knew the lift and pad of Altair's heel, in boots or sandals or bare, as he walked away. Altair knew the way Malik's lips pursed, then parted slightly when he leaned in for a kiss- when the space between them became one and they needed nothing more than each other.

They didn't go to each other like a moth to a flame- that was a bad analogy and it indicated that they were mindless in their want. This was not true; they sought each other out consciously as mystics searching for God, and trying to take as much of the other in as they could.

Their love was a secret that had to be kept tightly lipped. The two of them could be killed or otherwise severely punished if anyone discovered they engaged in sodomy- for a man to lie with another man as a woman would; think of it! Then he would be a woman with all the power of a man! This was unacceptable. Normally as long as the pair took their pleasure privately and did not disturb the public, they should be left well alone. However, there were many even among the Order who would jump at the chance to try them both for sodomy. In the beginning, it was Altair who laid himself down and let Malik climb over him, but after some time Malik too took to being dominated by the other. Then they found curious ways to be on top but on the bottom, to be sideways and frontways and backwards and even upside down. They loved each other and they loved deeply, taking pleasure and humour and cruelty from each other in equal parts. It came to a point when they didn't even know who or what they were-

"I am a fish," sighed Altair, sated. His skin glistened with his sweat, glowing a strange tint of pink and gold from his catharsis. He turned his face towards Malik, who was lying by his side and gasping for breath. "Never mind," Altair corrected himself, smiling at the way the other's mouth opened and closed without reservation of being judged. "You are the fish."

Malik took a long drag of a brass hookah, slowly exhaling tight rings of smoke into the room which smelled thickly of sex. What indulgence,and they couldn't even be bothered to feel sorry for it. "I am the fish… and yet I am not the fish. What am I to you?"

"You are the sun." Altair paused, considering. The sun was feminine to the moon, and so he reconsidered. "You are the moon?"

"I am the sun and the moon?" Masha'Allah, Praised be to God, they were drunk on love.

"You are just light. It doesn't matter if it comes from the sun or from the moon." They'd stopped worrying about the sin of what they did. They could not survive without each other. Interestingly enough, their love brought them both closer to God. Altair slowly began to pray again. Accompanied by Altair, Malik made trips to the mosque at Jerusalem and learned how to worship properly with one arm- because Allah accepted and loved him despite his disability. He was even permitted to take the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca.

Outside the Bureau, the world turned and there were bits and pieces and parts of bits- people, beasts, objects, plants, ideas, unseen things buried in the ground… It was going to be morning soon. Malik and Altair passed the entire night sharing their love, their never-ending stories and revelations, goals and aspirations for the future, and even their full silences. They'd talked all through the night about the day to come, and now as the sun was finally rising over the horizon, they were struggling to keep their eyes open. Altair was Grand Master and Malik didn't know exactly what he was- an advisor, a lover?

Tomorrow… or whenever they woke up and ate… they were going to leave Jerusalem for Masyaf.

"How is Maria?"

The question took Altair by surprise. How was it that they spent the entire night talking, and yet the gargantuan subject of Altair's upcoming marriage was never discussed? "She is well."

"Alhumdulilah, Praise be to Allah! My congratulations, Altair." And he meant it.

"Insha'Allah, God Willing, I'll have a son."

"Will you tell him the story of the fish and the frog?"

"Ya Allah, Malik, I am tired of this story." Altair turned onto his side and closed his eyes, and then yawned, "how does the- ahhhh- the story even end?"

Malik leaned across and planted a chaste kiss on his lover's cheek. "The frog and fish decided to tie a string between them together so they'd always be close to each other. Then one day, an eagle flew by and grabbed the fish straight from the face of the sea."

His eyelids becoming heavier, Altair sank into the cushions and his words began to slur… "But… but the frog…"

"The frog and fish together went into the sky, and the friendship between them was so strong that they hadn't a care that they were dying." Malik's voice dropped to a low hum. He settled himself down behind Altair, pressed his legs against the backs of his naked thighs, and pulled their quilt over the two of them. His heart was filled to bursting- how blessed he was! His lover was already beginning to snore softly, even as the morning light began to spill in from the windows.

Malik pressed his lips to Altair's inattentive ear.

"The eagle flew high and took them both to Paradise."

End.

Disclaimer: I am not Muslim. Any perceived religious blasphemy on my part (though chill out man this is a fanfiction site) is not intentional. As far as I am aware, the Qur'an does not explicitly denounce 'homosexuality', since during the time and in that society where Islam took root, there was a very different idea of it. To have sex with someone of the same gender was sodomy and a sin, categorized in the same file as bestiality, rape, etc. And in a religious society in which men and women are so strongly segregated, I wouldn't be surprised to hear of same sex tendencies between men. As long as it is out of sight and mind, such behaviour would have found some way to occur.

I believe that this whole concept of 'homosexuality' as we see it today in present time (in which it is practically an identity) really did not exist in the time when Altair and Malik lived. Sexuality is a transient thing and it's been interpreted in hugely different ways by different cultures. Best example I can give is the ancient Greeks, who even had different words for love involving different people.

Hopefully Altair and Malik were well represented here- hehe I use and abuse Kadar to no end to further my plots. *SHAMELESS* Speaking of shameless, sorry for suffocating you all with Rumi quotes. I am seriously in love with his work.

Please review and let me know what you think. Any feedback is welcomed & all reviewers get cookies. This was a long one- thanks for reading! C:

-Vyscaria