djsoliloquy: (Cityscape)
DJ ([personal profile] djsoliloquy) wrote2011-07-13 02:43 pm

Brotherly Love (Assassin's Creed, Federico/Malik)

Sitting down with crack and treating it like an adult is seriously one of my favorite things. The crack gets so flustered, it’s absolutely adorable.

Title: Brotherly Love
Author: [ profile] djsoliloquy 
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairing: Federico/Malik
Summary: AU. Being an older brother is hard.

Notes: inspired by kinkmeme requester who was pretty sure this pairing didn’t exist. RECTIFYING!

“You must be an older brother, too,” Federico said the first time they met.

Well, they had met before. It was like dragging a mule around by the tail getting Altair to open up about his extended family, and it certainly made pulling jobs easier now that they all knew each other. But Malik hadn’t actually had time alone with the man who now joined him on the balcony, moving amiably and without pause into Malik’s pocket of tranquility away from the small post-mission celebration inside the hotel room.

He was one of Altair’s relatives, Malik saw that right away. Not an associate or spouse. All the kin shared a kind of communal self-assured posture in one form or another, though this man was less abrasive than Altair, Malik considered. Federico took the family fearlessness and wore it almost casually. Charmingly.

An Italian thing, no doubt.

Malik blinked. “Is it obvious?”

“Oh, yes.” Federico leaned on the railing beside him, picking idly at a few pistachios in his hand. He glanced over from shelling. “Trust me. As one eldest son to another, you can tell. We learn as children what most of them don’t pick up until they’re adults: being responsible for others. Even when it isn’t recognized or appreciated.” He chuckled, all warmth and bright knowing smile. “Not that you need telling, Mr. Al-Sayf. You’re in maps and security, aren’t you?”

Malik nodded. Talking with the Italians always eventually made him feel as though he were being gently swept along in the conversation whether he wanted to be or not, though he did want, this time. Anything to take his mind off the few close calls from earlier in the evening.

“And there you have it,” said Federico. “Making sure everyone knows where they are, keeping track of them, not letting anyone get lost along the way.” He glanced up from under his eyelashes, more obviously searching than he probably intended, but Malik found he didn’t mind. Did want and didn’t mind. He settled more against the shoulder pressing against his.

“One never stops being an older brother,” he said.

Federico nodded. “That is very well said.”

“And yourself?” After a moment, he took an offered pistachio from Federico’s palm. “What do you do?”

“I have the most important job. Present company excluded,” he said courteously. “I like to think of myself as a kind of exit strategist.”

“Exit strategist?” He heard the man had some banking experience, but something told him Federico wasn’t talking about business finance. “Like a run-away-ist?”

That got a laugh. “Sometimes! But the easiest way out can just as soon be… oh, beating the hell out of the opposition, for instance.” Federico bent his head forward, almost conspiratorially. His tone was more serious. “Anyone can rush into a room and whip out a blade—there are children who can do that. I just make sure we get everyone involved out again safely. I couldn’t consider a mission truly successful if we lost our people in the process.”

Malik nearly couldn’t look away from him. Then he had to, had to watch the cars below them on the street for a while. Federico became politely absorbed in his pistachios. “Yes.” Malik cleared his throat. “I agree. That is important.”

They shared a long moment of silence. Federico brushed the last of the pistachio shells off his hands.

“Would you like to see a demonstration?” Federico said. A firm hand fell on Malik’s back, a companionable pat that smoothed naturally into a slow stroke down his spine. “You look as though you could use a break.”


“They won’t even see us leave, I promise. There’s an empty suite a few floors up, I’d be more than happy to treat you to some complementary beers from the mini-bar, a blowjob, maybe some more pistachios if you’re lucky. Who doesn’t like pistachios? We can unwind a little.” Lips brushed his ear, curved into a smile as they dipped below to his jaw. “Come with me, Malik. Let the kids look after themselves for one night.”

Malik blinked again, frowning to himself as Federico leapt onto the balcony railing. He was trying to figure out which part of the offer had been out of place. His brain knew there had been an incongruity at some point while Federico was speaking, but he couldn’t pick it out. Instead he watched as Federico stood up, jumped a little to grab hold of the balcony above them, and pulled himself up out of sight.

Laughter behind him, his fellow Assassins winding down and enjoying themselves in the room. Malik made a point of not looking back to check on them before following Federico up the side of the hotel. Federico waited a few floors above; he flashed Malik a grin as he broke the lock and slid a balcony door open. Apparently said empty suite was going to be courtesy of the hotel.

The suite was dark. Neither of them made to turn on the lights. Federico ran in first, checking the rooms, opening the suite door briefly to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, before returning and moving in close. His hands rested nonchalantly on Malik’s belt, thumbing the curve of the buckle.

“May I take your coat? Bulk isn’t flattering on anyone,” Federico said and slipped his hands under the material, along Malik’s shoulders as he eased the jacket off. And he didn’t cringe or waver when his hand came down the left arm, which Malik noticed because he’d been waiting for it.

The coat fell to the carpet. Federico was still smiling and looking into his face. Malik finally relaxed. He hadn’t realized that he was waiting for it. Whatever it was.

But he’d finally spotted the incongruity. “There is something you should know,” he said. “About me. I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

Federico’s eyebrows rose. “Oh no. And what is that?”

“I don’t like beer.”

A heavy, theatrical sigh. “Whatever will we do? Their wine is a horrifying waste of grape.” He leaned in at last—Malik liked the way he kissed. Attentive, thorough. Convincing you that he was starving for it. Malik could appreciate that.

“Oh well,” Federico sighed. “I’m sure we can settle on something we both like.”

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