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Curiosity	By : anyasy Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 7251 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassins Creed, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
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[A/N:
Little bit of clarity: �Negative� memory blocks start from before the
game. Also, on replaying the game, I realized how little attention I
actually paid the Desmond segments. So yes, like the game, I am
pretending that all the characters have been �modernised� in speech. I
can, however, read Chaucer. XD; If very slowly.]

March
09 Beyond your reach

The
lattice of Heaven

memory block -10395

The
earliest memory he had of his childhood was that of drowning, of the growing
sluggish weightlessness of his arms and the choking wet in his throat, his eyes
fixed up toward Heaven, and it was beautiful, a lattice of gold light that
shimmered and blinded; dark hands shattered it into froth and closed under his
shoulders, hurt, dragged him up, up towards life. Alta�r no longer
remembered why, or how, only who. Al Mualim walked
straighter in those days.

memory block -3294

He
was not surprised when she told him she was leaving, leaving Masyaf,
leaving the Creed, leaving him. Their son was a year close to
initiation, and he will be initiated, being the son of Alta�r, and she
was frightened: she showed it in the shortness of her temper, and he could
almost scent the rankness of her fear. He did not tell her that, of
course; he but nodded and gave her a string of names, the few men he knew
outside the Order, gave her what money he had and what blessing she would
accept. The man in him she had loved, even with his arrogance and moods
and selfishness, but she could never bring herself even to accept the assassin,
and with that he had once thought himself lucky.

memory block.-23

Waking
up in the sandalwood room no longer confused Alta�r, even when he had no
recollection of actually going there in the first place. Old habits meant
that waking up naked, however, always shot him too quickly to awareness; waking
up with company made the assassin sit up sharply. His first breath
rattled into abused lungs, and he coughed, wet and hacking, and the displaced,
warm weight beside him muttered a French curse into the pillows and
yawned.

French.
Sandalwood. Alta�r cross-referenced Acre, mission, King Richard�s
spymaster Maximilian, naked in bed, and the lack of any scent of sin, and drew
a blank. He groaned, coughing, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and
beside him, Maximilian burrowed a little further against the pillow, murmured
something again in a husky voice, and curled up against his hip, draping an arm
over Alta�r�s thighs, dusted in the same reddish auburn as his short disheveled
hair.

�Maximilian.�

�Aye.�

�Why
am I here?�

The
spymaster�s compact body shook briefly in silent laughter. Irritably,
Alta�r pushed at the offending arm, but it stayed firmly put. �Maximilian.�

�I
suppose you are wondering why we have not fu-�

�I
was not,� Alta�r cut into Maximilian�s sleep-slur sharply, twisting
around, caught the faint ghost of a smirk against the small of his back as he
was baited. The brief crescent: that he remembered, someplace, above him,
indistinct under� the water� oh. Alta�r looked away, as he recalled,
and felt Maximilian shake against him again, even as the bristle of an unshaven
chin and the faint roughness of chapped lips began to mark a slow, wet path up
his spine. Teeth closed over the pressure point just under and left of
the nape of his neck, and even as Alta�r growled he arched up into the sting,
but caught the spymaster�s wrist swiftly before it slipped under the
sheets.

He
felt the pout against his skin. �Even after I went through all that
trouble to fish you out of the dock?�

Alta�r
was silent, still mortified. The accident had been a moment of remarkable
(and, he would stress, rare) idiocy: pushing through a crowd to approach
a mark at the docks, his eyes fixed on the tempting pouch on the mark�s hip, he
hadn�t seen the drunk man, blindsided, shoved, and had lost his balance and
fallen into the sea.

Still,
seeking out that one drunken man to end his sorry wine-sodden life simply for
the blow to his pride was far too much a travesty of the Creed even for one as
Alta�r himself, who only took it as a guideline. He had to return to the
mission, find the smuggler, discern his crimes, and discover a way to end his
life. Right. So decided, Alta�r firmly pinned the spymaster�s
questing hands to the sheets and tried to ignore the way Maximilian was
unhurriedly marking his back with bites. �Where did you put my clothes?�

�You
fell into Acre harbor,� Maximilian reminded him dryly. �I shudder to
remember what you smelled like when rescued. Your clothes are still being
washed.� There was a slyness to his tone which hinted at who had washed Alta�r
himself, and he found his cheeks turning hot in a way that had little to do
with the warmth of the room. �I was surprised to learn that the infamous
Alta�r of Masyaf could not swim.�

Alta�r
ignored the jibe. �If you would lend me a tunic and breeches, return my
weapons, I would-�

�If,�
Maximilian pointed out, and this playfully. Alta�r was quickly reminded,
suppressing his body�s imprinted memory of previous pleasantries spent in the
sandalwood room and its immediate resultant shiver, as the bearded chin rested
against his shoulder, of Maximilian�s coiled strength; a panther draped across
his back� a panther who called the lion master, Alta�r told himself
sharply. Their accident of meeting and the inadvisable curiosity of their
affairs made him no less an enemy.

Not
that he had ever been able to convince himself of that particular
narrative. Alta�r hated being careless, disliked the absolute illogic of allowing
this man to bed him, however infrequently, and most of all, disliked not
knowing why that seemed to be the spymaster�s sole interest in the
assassins of Masyaf. It was almost insulting. It was-

�There,�
Maximilian observed, �Is no need to sulk.� Under Alta�r�s glare, he amended,
with that impish grin that never reached his cold eyes, �And you have no
sense of humor. Also,� he hastened to add, when Alta�r�s lips
thinned, �Are you sure you have quite recovered from imbibing such a large
quantity of the harbor water?�

�I
feel fine,� Alta�r growled, jerking away as Maximilian nuzzled his neck,
nibbling. �Clothes.�

�Your
singularity of focus continues to shame me,� Maximilian grinned.

�You
are wasting my time.�

�Come
now, beloved,� and under those calculating, dispassionate eyes the endearment
was purely ironic, �Your �white feather�, William du Clermont, is unlikely to
leave Acre for at least a week, for his ship has been detained under
administrative error. I do so enjoy all the protests he makes at the
harbor offices.�

Alta�r
had not known that. He had, however, had been in the middle of an
investigation, and he held some pride at least that he would have come to this
tidbit in a more dignified manner. �How did you-�

�Sometimes
�tis difficult, but I do always try to keep an eye on you and Masyaf.� This in
a low purr, and hands, despite his best efforts, crept inexorably closer to his
thighs. �If you did wish to be fully inconspicuous you would not
wear your weapons so openly, or the red sash over your rump.� Alta�r inhaled
sharply as Maximilian shifted behind him to rub thickening flesh against his
cleft, shivered as he felt himself stir.

�After
the mission,� Alta�r tried a compromise.

�Why?�
Maximilian�s tone was husky, inviting, and Alta�r had to grit his teeth.

�Because
it hinders-�

�Too
rough?� And this said so slyly.

Alta�r
refused to answer, turning to snarl at the spymaster, who twisted away, grinning,
having evidently waited for this moment, jerking his wrists free and pushing
the slighter man down against the pillows, dodging the jerk of his knee and
straddling Alta�r�s hips as the assassin bucked, furious. And stopped
instantly once he realized this seemed to add only to Maximilian�s pleasure and
amusement, the thickened prick now heavy against his. Maximilian smirked,
once he dragged his eyes away, rolling hips shallowly to rub their flesh
together, and Alta�r had to look away, upwards, fighting to keep his breathing
even. Bastard.

And
he could not deny that he wanted, as inadvisable as this was, but Alta�r
knew he did not want the dubious pleasure of limping for the rest of his
stay in Acre. At the very least, it would be somewhat difficult to
explain were the informants or the bureau chief to ask. �After�
after the mission.� Alta�r bit down on a moan, as Maximilian�s rough hand
closed over them both, squeezed. �You can have me however you
want.�

�Within
reason,� he added hastily, when the spymaster stopped, cocking his head.

�However
I want.�

�Within
reason. And,� Alta�r continued, deciding to at least get something
out of this encounter, �In exchange for any useful information you have on
William du Clermont.�

�I
have you naked beneath me on my bed and still you bargain,� Maximilian
observed, though his grin was wolfish, now, and for a moment Alta�r thought the
spymaster would simply ignore the offer and press his advantage, as those cold
eyes slid downwards, unhurried and lascivious and thoughtful, then back up
again; then Maximilian relaxed, rocking back on his haunches. Alta�r let
out the breath he held. �Very well.�

memory block.16

What
Alta�r loved was this, the pure athletic freedom a honed body allowed
over the rooftops, as he leapt from planking to the grille of a closed balcony,
felt the wood bite into his fingers as he absorbed his weight and dug his feet
over the rail, hauled himself effortlessly up onto sandstone to run and leap
again, into space, his robes outstretched behind him.

It
was, if he looked deep within himself, likely the main reason why he had
refused to take Al Mualim�s position as leader of Masyaf. Outside, he had
this solitary freedom; this make-seem of flight, which being caged in the
library behind an ornate desk would deny him. He did not wish to turn into
Al Mualim, an old man crippled with age who had to walk with the slow grace of
the elderly, the only part of him still active his mind.

A
soft-footed run, pacing himself, past a roof garden and over a dome, pushing
away from the shaped stone into a jump to take him neatly onto an arch, another
leap to the safety of a roof, up a strut, to a set of wavering planks, and
another leap, out over a crowded street, to a grilled window of the fortified
barracks. Alta�r reached up for the mosaic tile, dug his fingers onto the
tiny ledge it provided, hauled himself up for the cornice. He pulled
himself up familiar tiles and window slits, the wind dragging at his hood and
the blade at his hip, as he climbed up the watchtower to the vantage point
above.

There
was an unlucky guard at the top, leaning with his back facing him, smoking
tobacco, and Alta�r pulled himself noiselessly over the battlements, locked his
wrist to draw the hidden blade, and pounced. At the last moment, the
guard whirled, grabbed his wrist, set a palm on his shoulder and shoved,
sent him sprawling. Alta�r rolled to his feet, his dagger drawn; teeth
bared in a silent snarl, and hesitated.

�You!�

Maximilian
took a final puff of his pipe before knocking out the ashes, blowing a smoke
ring in his direction and grinning. �Alta�r.�

�What
are you doing in Jerusalem?�

Maximilian
shrugged. �I have business.�

�Spying?�

�Information
gathering,� Maximilian corrected, though he sketched an ironic
bow. The spymaster was dressed like a merchant, on closer inspection, if
heavily cowled, and seemingly unarmed. Gloves served also to hide the
shade of his skin.

�Are
you following me?�

�I
am observing the guard changes,� Maximilian said, with a jerk of his head at
the roof far below them.

�Surely
you could have sent another.� Jerusalem was occupied still by Saladin�s
men. Were Maximilian caught, the color of his skin and his hair would
have been enough reason for execution.

�So
I could,� Maximilian echoed, in that annoying way of his, as though he were humoring
Alta�r and yet revealing nothing whatsoever of his schemes.

�And
your King has forsworn the invasion of Jerusalem.�

�So
he has.� That damned irritating smirk. �Thanks to you, I hear.�

As
with so many conversations attempting to extract information from Maximilian,
this was going nowhere and indeed getting personal. Alta�r took a breath
for inner calm, and decided to ignore the spymaster, setting his hands on the
sun-warmed stone and surveying the city, committing its detail to memory.
An informant, to his left, sixty-four paces; someone spouting rhetoric before a
growing crowd, before him, a hundred and twenty paces� and he stiffened, as a
hand splayed on his lower back and began to creep downwards. He slapped
it away, with a warning glare.

Maximilian
grinned, unperturbed, crowding him against the battlements, palms set to either
side of his waist. Alta�r�s eyes narrowed, and he drew his hidden blade
in a slither of steel, set the edge to the spymaster�s throat. �Your play
becomes unwelcome.�

�So
cold, beloved,� Maximilian said, in a tone of mock reproach, but did not
move. �I never did take my due.� At Alta�r�s arched eyebrow, he smiled
lazily. �Acre. The docks. Your ill-fated impromptu swimming
lesson.�

Oh.
Alta�r colored a little, under his hood. The white feather William du
Clermont had said a curious string of words when he had died, gargled out as
his throat filled with blood, about buried treasures being uncovered by
Templars, by Robert de Sabl�, and Alta�r had hastened back to the
bureau, whose chief had told him to away quickly to Masyaf. In all the
excitement he had forgotten about words spoken hastily in attempts to
escape. �I had thought you would have forgotten. You have said
nothing of it since.�

�We
have met now and then in times past, that much is true,� Maximilian
agreed. �But there was neither time nor place in those encounters,
delightful as they were.�

�And
you think there time and place now?� Alta�r asked incredulously.
They were on a tower of a military barracks, in a city hostile to men of
the color of Maximilian�s skin. �Within reason, I had said.�

�The
guards change every two hours below, but none should come up the tower save at
dusk and at dawn.�

A
terrible suspicion struck. �Maximilian, do not tell me that you were
observing the guard change to-�

�Hardly,
though opportunity does beckon.� Maximilian grinned, leaning forward, brushing
a kiss on Alta�r�s lips, chuckling as the assassin bit, reaching between
them to cup his groin, purred when Alta�r choked down a moan; the blade he held
against the spymaster�s throat faltered. He opened his mouth to voice
protest and found the words smothered by a deeper, more insistent kiss, a
tongue seeking his, and he pressed helplessly into the intimacy, wanting-

The
creak of the trapdoor behind them was sharp even over the whistle of the
breeze. A guard pulled himself out, stared at them in pure shock as
Maximilian drew back, his mouth open to shout a warning � then slumped back
against the stone, a dagger in his throat. Alta�r watched unblinking as
Maximilian�s hand fell to his side, a cold prickle of sweat forming between his
shoulder blades, the heightened sense of an assassin naming the man before him
as a predator, a killer, birds of a feather. No. Worse:
Maximilian�s expression had not changed, nor had Alta�r seen any telltale
flickers in his cold eyes, had not seen him draw and throw the dagger.

�It
seems that this indeed is neither the time nor place,� Maximilian said
urbanely, stalking over the jerk his blade from the twitching body and wipe it
clean on the guard�s sleeve. �But someday you�ll not have the fortune to
escape my reach.� His lopsided smile was not fully in jest.

memory block.17

�You
are in poor spirits,� Malik said, when Alta�r returned to Masyaf and handed him
the bloodied feather. Leadership appeared to have focused the one-armed
assassin, channeled his passion into his talent for cautious detail and fed his
strong innate intuition, made him mellower. It was Malik who had guessed,
and all from a handful of incoherent clues, of Al Mualim�s betrayal, Malik who
had reorganized the disorganized and disillusioned assassins, who sought to
hide the Piece of Eden, who had now taken over all the severed strands of
authority and reforged them back into their weave. The fact of freedom
aside, Alta�r could not have done that; had not the mentality nor discipline
nor patience to organize on such a level � and besides, many of the brotherhood
still resented him.

�Ennui
chafes, Master.� Alta�r lied smoothly, kept his expression carefully blank as
Malik winced at the honorific.

He
had looked for Maximilian briefly after his mission, had been somewhat annoyed
with himself for even doing so, and had been even more annoyed when he had been
unable to find so much as a strand of russet hair or discern what the
spymaster�s business in Jerusalem had been.

�Ah,
but there are no missions of date for your caliber,� Malik sounded slightly
apologetic. �There is another piece of Eden in the Holy Land � that much
we know � but the rest are beyond our reach, over the seas, and I am not quite
certain we should pry further into such affairs.�

�That
does not concern me,� Alta�r said, more brusquely than he intended, certainly
enough for Malik to pick up on his tension.

�You
tarried two days in Jerusalem after your mission.� At Alta�r�s frown, Malik
smiled wryly. �One of the informants whose life you saved returned to
Masyaf before you extolling your �kindness� and �skill�.�

�There
were some rumors I wished to follow. They were groundless.�

�Assassin
you may be but you have never managed the art of dissemblance, Alta�r,� Malik
said, turning to take a leather-bound book from the shelves, opening it on the
table, turning its yellow, crackling pages. �You are aware, mayhap, of a
man known as Maximilian de M�rcer?�

Malik
was watching him too carefully. Alta�r felt a chill settle, a cold sweat
prickling at his neck, and his hesitation was too long. Masyaf�s Master
bowed his head. �Al Mualim knew. And he has� kept records of all of
us, in his books.�

�He
never mentioned-�

�Likely
because he thought it useful to let matters continue. As do I. I
tell you this now only because I do not wish there to be further secrets
harbored only by Masyaf�s Master.� Malik said firmly, closing the book.
�Though it is an odd friendship.�

Alta�r
let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. �The man is
obsessed with bladework. Occasionally he wishes to test himself against a
better opponent. Also,� and here, his irritation was unfeigned, �He and
his Master seem to think me amusing.�

�Why
did you never mention this to Al Mualim?�

Alta�r
thought the question over carefully, had to edge around the answer. �I
have few friends outside the order. I did not see it any of his
business. Certainly the one known as Maximilian seems to have little
interest in Masyaf.�

�And
Al Mualim would never have known were it not for the day he saved you from
drowning.� Malik said, with a shrug. �Strange man, to risk himself so.
Surely it would have seen untoward even to his people.�

Exposure
and ruin. Alta�r had not thought it so of the gesture; had thought it a
mere whim. But then � and this he knew � Maximilian did not e�er act on mere
whim. He managed a faint, thin smile, even as confusion settled
inexorably in his mind and threatened to give him a headache. �The man is
strange. That much is true. I encountered him in Jerusalem, as you
have no doubt heard. He would tell me nothing of his business, and I
could not find him afterwards.�

Malik
placed the book back in the shelves. �Then perhaps your ennui is better
assuaged in Acre, Alta�r.� And there, a fleeting smirk, which told him
that this Master�s intuition was far clearer than the last�s.

memory block.18

Maximilian
was not in the sandalwood room, nor had his closemouthed staff (who lurked on
the first floor) seen him for days. Disappointed and somewhat unnerved by
experiencing said latter emotion, Alta�r pestered Rafik, the long-suffering
Acre Bureau Chief, for a day, was sent on a few menial local missions, and
eventually left the city, much to Rafik�s relief.

memory block.25

Alta�r
allowed his steed to slow to a trot, out of sight of the arrow towers, the
gravel of the ravine crunching in a steady rhythm under steel-shod
hooves. It was a hot day, even for the Holy Land, and he was not so cruel
as to run his horse headlong from Masyaf to Jerusalem. Richard seemed
headed for Ashkelon, and the war seemed indeterminable, the vultures flocking
to its wake numerous despite their blades. It did, however, mean that the
soldiers left to guard were thinning, as Richard�s ambition grew.

And
he had seen neither hide nor hair of Maximilian, not since Jerusalem, and it
was beginning to worry him (which annoyed him), and as such, to take his mind
off matters, he was engaged in his favorite pastime: hunting Templars.
There were reports of a few knights scattered on the road to Ashkelon, mayhap
on the way to Richard�s aid, easy pickings for assassins.

The
gleam of white against the edge of a haystack and the silver of a mail boot in
the shadow of a hut caused the assassin to dismount noiselessly, padding slowly
towards the building. The soldier�s charger was grazing a distance away,
against the edge of the cliff face, incurious, and Alta�r began to bare his
teeth subconsciously into a snarl, silent as he circled, then he caught a
glance of the �Templar�s� face, and swore, straightening.

�Such
language,� Maximilian murmured, though he smirked, comfortable and sprawled on
the hay. The spymaster looked somewhat the worse for wear; there was a
fresh, pink scar against his cheek, and his right arm was in a cast slung
against his chest. What Alta�r had mistaken for a Templar�s surcoat had
been a scholar�s robes, though Maximilian wore a haphazard assortment of armor:
mail gloves, boots and greaves only.

�How?�
Alta�r frowned at the injury. He knew better now than to ask Maximilian
about the �coincidence� of their encounters. Little that involved the
spymaster was coincidence.

�Stupidity.
Mostly mine.� Maximilian�s tone brooked no further investigation.

�Further
idiocy, to wander about alone in your condition.� Alta�r�s own tone brooked no
argument, but Maximilian merely grinned, half-lidding his cold eyes. �Are
you joining your King at Ashkelon?�

�I
have news to bear him, �tis all.� Maximilian said, not bothering to engage in
his usual banter, as though the man was weary. Alta�r could tell
that the pain from his injury was tightly under control, but it still hardened
his eyes, and the spymaster seemed a little paler than normal. He circled
over and sat down on the hay, sinking onto the bristles, hesitated, then leant
over the other man to press his lips awkwardly against a parting mouth, careful
not to touch the cast. When he pulled away, somewhat embarrassed,
Maximilian drawled, �Missed me?�

Alta�r
glared at him, glanced away pointedly, felt the spymaster shake against his
thigh in his silent laugh. �Why did you save me from drowning?�

�Why
not?� Amusement.

�You
could have sent another.�

�You
were sinking fairly quickly.�

�The
Master� that is to say, Al Mualim discovered��

�I
knew he would.� Maximilian yawned. �Do not glare so. Would you
rather I let you die for the sake of my personal convenience?�

�I
do not understand you,� Alta�r said finally, as the silence stretched.
Maximilian did not answer, settling deeper into the hay, closing his
eyes. �Maximilian.�

�I
could teach you how to swim,� the spymaster crossed his legs languidly.

Alta�r
recalled drowning, the hands, and had to suppress a shudder. �It
is not necessary.� Another long pause, broken only by the whickers of their
horses, grazing, the shriek of a bird, high above. �Thank you.�

�Mm.�
Maximilian made a noncommittal sound that instantly annoyed him.
Scowling, Alta�r moved to straddle his waist, unbuckling the scabbard at his
hip, knew the spymaster would be watching him with that damned irritating smirk
on his lips. Buckles, leather, cowls, boots and jerkins: he�d stripped to
his undershirt and breeches by the time Maximilian reacted, rolling his
hips, and Alta�r pushed back, his eyes angry, frustrated, still damned confused
about this sensation of inevitability. He plucked briefly at Maximilian�s
shirt, pulled back his fingers at the nearly imperceptible wince of pain,
settled for another kiss, instead, this one more confident, biting the
spymaster hard on his lower lip when he chuckled.

�Damnation
on you,� Alta�r whispered, when he pulled back, wondered if Maximilian knew why,
knew what, but the man was smirking again, the pink of his tongue
pressed against the reddened mark Alta�r�s teeth had left on his lip.
Belt, breeches: he pulled the spymaster�s breeches to his knees with impatient
jerks, then removed his fingerless gloves and his bracers, the clink of the
hidden knife loud on the hilt of his sword, and the first hand he used to
stroke firming flesh was his left; the spymaster�s eyes grew cloudy with lust
at the rasp of the long-healed scar of the stump of his finger. Still he
said nothing.

Alta�r
took the small jar of wounds salve he kept with himself always in his sash,
swiped his fingers through it, tried his best not to look at Maximilian as he
stroked it over the waiting prick, shrugged away fingers on his elbow and
smirked when the spymaster moaned, bucking into the pressure, kept his stroking
slow, almost teasing. He had never been this forward himself, preferring
to let Maximilian lead, preferred the excuse of persistence that that gave
him. When Alta�r finally stripped himself of confining breeches,
Maximilian levered himself up onto his uninjured elbow.

�Turn
around, I-�

�It
is not necessary,� Alta�r said, surprised how husky his own tone was, lustful,
wondered when matters had come to such a pass, that he was enjoying how another
man�s expression was changing from disbelief to amusement to lust, as he
slicked his fingers further, arched back with a hand over Maximilian�s knee, grit
his teeth as he pushed the first callused digits into himself. A breath,
another, another inch (God, it had not felt like so long), and
Maximilian had his hand on his thigh, stroking up to close over his flagging
prick, stroking it skillfully back to attention as the spymaster lay back,
licking his lips.

�When
I am recov�� the rest of Maximilian�s promise ceded to a hiss, as Alta�r
gingerly lowered himself, grit his teeth against the pain as thick flesh pushed
past the circle of muscle, pushed himself down, slowly, inch by inch,
breathing hard, now, focused on the bruising grip of Maximilian�s hand on his
hip, over the slow growing burn of familiar agony, the sun too hot over his
shoulders and under his short-cropped hair, the scents of the scorched hay and
the grass and the warm animal flesh of horses. He tried, but
Maximilian�s gaze arrested him, his cold eyes startlingly molten, now, his want
palpable, as Alta�r arched back, filled, his own prick ignored on the
spymaster�s belly, waiting.

He
moved once he began to relax, impatient, ignoring the bared grin from the man
beneath him, rocking his hips, taking him, controlling their rhythm, the
assassin�s hands fisted tight in the hay beside Maximilian�s ribs, his
breathing short and stuttered. Alta�r�s moan was forced from behind
clenched teeth only when the spymaster shifted, angled, pushed upwards,
stroked there within him, and Alta�r snapped his hips down, harder,
sweating in his undershirt, unable now to recognize the almost animal panting noises
from his throat as he took his pleasure (and God, this was good),
almost whined as fingers brushed his belly and slipped down to stroke
him in sharp jerks, slicking the evidence of his own want over his skin, each
squeeze sweet torture. And Maximilian was cursing again, in his low
diatribe of broken French that told Alta�r that the spymaster was already
close: the jibe choked in his throat around the next moan, and Alta�r cried out
instead as Maximilian thrust hard, up against him, emptying himself with a
snarl. A callused thumb flicked up against his own weeping slit, and
Alta�r shattered, shaking, ecstasy stealing the strength from his arms and the
words from his throat.

Alta�r
took the waterskin and cloth from Maximilian�s mount, afterwards, and cleaned
them both as much as he was able, ignoring the sated smirk the other man wore
as he helped him dress. He knew the spymaster was waiting for him to
leave, or to say something brusque about being expected, and hid his grin when
Maximilian blinked as Alta�r settled on the hay beside him instead, pillowing
his head on a shoulder with a yawn, felt the tension in the panther leach
slowly into a deep purr, fingers splaying absently down his back. It
would be a long road for Maximilian to Ashkelon; above, the eagle turned its
own way, upwards against the lattice of Heaven.

-fin-
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Curiosity