djsoliloquy: (Default)
DJ ([personal profile] djsoliloquy) wrote2012-08-14 01:17 am

[AC fic] wholesome

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed
Rating: NC17
Characters: Altair/Malik
Summary: Gloryhole kink oneshot, from that still-unfinished modern hooker!AU.


Malik stares at Altair. Then he stares some more and keeps on staring.

The entire point of bringing the clients to him is maintaining control over the situation. He can set boundaries, make sure everything stays safe, that nothing ever gets out of hand. So to speak. Going out in public with a client—with Altair—is so far outside of Malik’s comfort zone it makes his hair stand on end.

And his cock. Fuck.

“I’d probably have to charge more,” Malik says, grasping at excuses. “If you’re fine with a change in rates.”

Altair just smiles. “Name it.”

Fuck.

He recalls anonymous sex was on Altair’s litany of preferences, so the fact that he wants to start this foray into public meetings with glory holes isn’t so surprising. What’s surprising is he wants Malik to be the one to stick his dick through the hole.

Malik weighs it out in his head as they travel there together on the train. Is it really so surprising? He expected another fantasy of being used anonymously, but it’s turned somehow to the other side of the coin—perhaps, just like Malik, Altair likes to be in charge. Malik decides that makes more sense. It fits Altair, for some reason, even though it probably doesn’t fit the pattern.

Generally the more power clients have in their day-to-day lives, the more they want to give up when they’re with Malik. The stereotypical CEO getting the metaphorical paddle and begging for it as soon as he clocks out for the night. Malik never pries into clients’ personal lives, but he likes to guess Altair does something that, well, fits him.

The train rocks their shoulders together. Altair still insists on sitting beside him. It makes it difficult to observe him without being noticed. Malik barely turns his head—Altair with his clothes on is becoming less of a novelty by degrees. His shoulders are relaxed, on the composed and ready side of calm. His eyes take the world in as though from a distance, possibly high above it on a pedestal. Malik imagines him working somewhere he can throw his weight around and put that inflated sense of self to use.

He backs away quickly from that thought because it’s offhand, familiar, and it worries him more than the idea of being out in public does.

Altair also mentioned spanking on his list of likes. Did he mean on the giving or receiving end? If he followed the pattern and did have a lot of power in his life, Malik would guess he’d prefer to receive. But he also would’ve guessed he’d be the one sucking Altair off today.

And he wouldn’t have minded. He’s good at giving head. This is just… unexpected. Somehow.

Although the one who’s giving isn’t always the one in control. And deciding which is which can be more perspective than anything, as Malik is finding out. Or else his sensitivity to working outside his comfort zone has altered his idea of who exactly is receiving in this instance.

He’ll just have to hope Altair requests spanking someday so he can find out.

Altair looks back at him. “Almost there,” he says, leaving Malik with the sense that he’s been aware of Malik’s assessment the entire time.

Malik shakes his head and follows him off the train.

He made a point to come by the other day to check out the location in advance, get a handle on the situation; he expected a dingy bar but it’s actually a marginally less dingy department store at some mall. “Keep at a distance,” Altair says as they close in on the target. The plan is for Altair to move in first, browse, and then head for the restrooms. Malik will watch to see where he goes and join him after a minute or so.

It’s pretty empty, though not so empty that they’re the only ones in the store. Malik walks aimlessly through clothes racks, keeping an eye on Altair’s position. Just as Altair makes his move, a voice says in Malik’s ear, “Can I help you, sir?”

He doesn’t jump, but only just. The female employee at his side gives him a look he recognizes, the one halfway between pity and suspicion. Malik follows her gaze. Somehow he stopped right in front of the world’s largest tie display case.

Of course. It had to be ties. He smiles grimly and chooses one at random. “Can you check for me if this one comes in red?”

The only occupied bathroom stall is the second from the end, so Malik guesses and chooses the one next to the wall. “Get lost?” says Altair softly, managing to pack in all his usual Punch Me In The Face Please level of charm.

The next helpful employee to suggest clip-ons to me is getting a shoehorn between the ribs lacks a certain sexy flair as far as dirty talk goes, so Malik says, “Getting impatient?” Being on edge isn’t doing his temper any favors. He closes his eyes and tries to center, focus.

“Yes, I was.” A finger crooks through the hole, making a come hither gesture just as Malik pulls himself out of his trousers. He imagines Altair’s smug expression, the hunger in his face as he kneels beside the hole and waits, licking over the scar on his lips in anticipation. It…well, it takes an embarrassingly short time to get hard.

Altair makes a resentful sound. “I wanted to do that,” he says, peeking through at him.

“You did,” Malik answers to shut him up.

It works surprisingly well. The silence is almost thoughtful. Then, “You’re not putting on a condom, are you?”

“It’s mostly for your benefit!”

A short sigh. “Come here, Malik.”

Malik lines up and pushes through, mindful of the edges of the hole. He swallows and feels his nervous deep breathes puff back against him as he exhales beside the stall. His eyes go unfocused. He turns his head to the side, resting against it as he reaches up and grasps the top of the divider to hold himself in place. And then he closes his eyes and he waits.

And Altair makes him wait. Malik can’t imagine what he’s doing, and not just because his brain is short-circuiting. He feels the flow of air over his cock, buffered somewhat by the condom but enough to gauge that Altair is close enough to breathe over him yet still isn't giving Malik what he suddenly really, really wants.

That’s when Malik decides it’s definitely a power thing. No fucking way is this a fantasy of lost control on Altair’s part.

“I know you’re clean,” Altair says finally—unbelievable, Malik mouths silently to himself, rolling his eyes—“and you know I’m clean, and I don’t want to fellate latex. So where does that leave us?”

All true, though it doesn’t matter. Malik shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. At the very least who knows what’s been incubating around the restroom itself, but Malik releases the stall and prepares to step back. “This once only. Give me a moment.”

“Hold on.”

Malik stops. His client’s shoes scuff forward. “Can you push back in? Yeah. Like that.” The condom gives a tug, and then Altair himself rolls it down,  painstakingly unwrapping Malik and managing to only touch condom all the way down. Malik's practically quivering by the end.

Despite being in public, despite slackening his nonnegotiable rule, he’s panting well before the first real touch, which makes him gasp—an almost sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. The first sexual contact outside hand jobs and masturbating Malik has had without a condom in longer than he’d care to say. The thought alone makes his balls draw up a little and he can imagine the self-satisfied smirk on Altair’s face, no doubt calmly appraising how Malik has, if anything, become harder after waiting.

Malik bites his lip and redoubles his hold on the stall, fist clenched until the knuckles must be white. Altair hums approvingly and shifts on his toes to get in a more comfortable position. “Very nice,” he murmurs, unheard by anyone but Malik over the sound of the industrial-seized ventilation fan in the restroom. It offers decent cover, which is good for Malik because when Altair takes him in his mouth without warning he moans, loudly, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering an “Oh my god,” before he can worry about being overheard.

Unbelievable.

Altair takes his sweet time and Malik’s rather glad for the stall, as it would be all he could do otherwise to keep himself from seizing the back of Altair’s head and holding him down. Every sensation is distinct and clear without the condom in the way, and that is actually Altair’s tongue on him, tasting him. Malik presses forward, rubbing his chest against the stall and raking fingernail marks into the divider as Altair’s tongue sweeps over him in wet swathes, alternating between forceful and lingering, kiss-like suction and licks, over the head and then the sensitive spot just under the slit, down the entire length of the shaft.

It feels like his body wants to try squeezing through the hole to chase after that heat when Altair's mouth disappears, and Malik nearly misses the sound of spitting before both of Altair’s hands wrap around him. And the things Altair does with his thumbs, fuck, it’s just unfair, maybe even unnatural. Certainly mean, and doesn’t that spiteful bastard have any idea what he’s doing to Malik right now, how good that feels?

“Wish you could see this,” Altair says, out of breath but whispering, still massaging the underside of Malik’s prick with his thumbs. Malik manages to note that he sounds like he’s enjoying himself. “You’re so fucking hard right now, and the sounds you make when you’re trying to hold back…” Then he dips his head forward and Malik doesn’t really care about the rest of it. Altair changes between swallowing him and milking him with his hands, sliding fingers along the vein and then a little of both at once, tongue flicking out while a hand or two jerks Malik off.

Malik can’t thrust forward, can’t be vocal, can’t do anything but hold on and silently beg as best he can when all Altair can see is his cock, shoes, and fingertips.

His best clearly isn't good enough, because Altair draws back once again. “How's that?” he asks, obviously pleased with himself.

Malik swears. He’s been close for a while, coasting under some higher peak than usual. The stress of being in public, maybe. His thighs shake with the effort of not pulling his hips back if only for a second’s reprieve or to finish it himself, because when all’s said and done this is for Altair. He’s never wanted to tell a client to shut the hell up and get back to work before. Or wanted to strangle one so much. 

Pleased
with himself!

He must have made a sound because Altair chuckles and firmly grips the base of Malik's cock, holding him steady as he applies his mouth to the head, fingers petting everywhere else. The inside of Malik’s head rings with astonished and appreciative profanities just before his eyes open. “No, wait,” he manages to warn when his body tightens, no going back. Instead of backing off and using his hands, Altair goes down on him as deep as he can. Malik feels himself bump the back of Altair’s throat. “God. Altair—” Malik says, keens, and though this is may be partly about the anonymity, he comes listening to himself groaning Altair’s name as it echoes on the tiled walls.

A firm brief constriction as Altair swallows around him, and Malik whimpers. He blushes, face redder from embarrassment than the flush of arousal if that's possibleand he thinks stop you don’t have to, but Altair doesn’t stop, just keeps swallowing and afterwards coughs a couple timesMalik could die of embarrassment listening to him clear his throatand then the foolish man continues after that, returning to lick Malik clean, gently, mindful of over-sensitization.

It gives Malik a chance to ease out of the post-orgasm daze. He must release the stall to put himself back in his pants and he’s still not sure if that’s a safe idea yet when he at last draws away from the hole. “Meet me back at the train station,” Altair whispers and Malik hears him zip up his own pants before exiting the bathroom.

Malik falls back on the toilet seat and covers his mouth with his hand. Waiting to leave so as to not appear suspicious. Catching his breath.

What are you doing, he chastises himself. What are you doing.