For one brief moment, the afternoon is blissfully silent. No one enters his little office all morning and he’s using the time productively, getting ahead on his current project. Of course, that means that Altaïr feels the need to interrupt, and he does so spectacularly.
“What… is that?”
Malik shoots a glare over his shoulder before pointedly turning back to the open books spread out on his table. His boyfriend isn’t about to let it go, though. Scarred and calloused fingers creep over his shoulders to tug lightly at the object in question. “Why are you wearing a scarf in the middle of summer?”
“It was chilly this morning,” he replies, a touch stiffly.
Altaïr’s fingers inch under the loose-woven cotton wrapped around his throat. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with why you were angry with me earlier?"
“I think you’re lying,” the other man whispers against Malik’s cheek.
He doesn’t give Altaïr anything other than a faintly annoyed hum, already focusing back on his research and the maps he’s trying to decipher. Not that he doesn’t notice when the scarf drops into his lap and Altaïr’s hot breath washes over his neck. Malik’s voice is steady when he questions the continued disturbance. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Making it up to you,” is the murmured reply, directly against his skin. “You still haven’t told me what I did to anger you.”
“Novice,” Malik hisses through his teeth, resolutely staring at his work. His fingers clench hard around his pen and his voice is decidedly less calm. “I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you every time.”
Altaïr’s only response is an open-mouthed kiss, teeth scraping lightly against one of the bruises already purpling Malik’s throat. “You’re really going to do this here?” he manages to grit out, head tilting traitorously to the side, research entirely forgotten.
There’s a satisfied hum against his neck and Altaïr shifts, one hand moving down to slip beneath the hem of Malik’s shirt and rest hot against his hip. He immediately abandons the pen to stop those questing fingers but Altaïr’s got two hands to his one and Malik is increasingly disinclined to object.
“The door-” he blurts, a last attempt at sanity, but Altaïr merely chuckles.
“Already locked. You don't give me enough credit, baby. Got you right where I want you.”
One of Altaïr's hands is deftly working at the buttons of Malik's shirt, while the other hand ghosts over his burgeoning erection. Malik is just about ready to give in, three seconds from grinding up against his boyfriend's palm, when he feels lips close over his pulse point, sucking a fresh bruise. His fingers grip the scarf in his lap and he takes a long, steadying breath.
Abruptly he stands, shoving his chair back in the same motion, putting Altaïr just off-balance enough that Malik can spin him around and press him against the wall, Malik's one hand snagging both of Altaïr's and pinning them against his own back.
“You think you've got me? Oh, two can play at that game, pet.” Malik breathes in Altaïr's ear, voice a low rumble.
He slides his tongue over the curve of Altaïr's ear, earning a low groan. A moment later he's somehow managed to snag Altaïr's wrists with the scarf, looping them in a loose knot that he knows Altaïr could break without really even trying. To make his point, he tugs the knot slightly tighter and presses slightly, a “stay” gesture, and then spins Altaïr around to face him.
Altaïr is grinning, wide and cocky, but his eyes are dark with lust and he doesn't try to free his hands. “So that's what the scarf is for, huh? I like it.”
Malik growls and crashes their mouths together, kissing his boyfriend with more than a little teeth, biting his lower lip and grinding their hips together. Altaïr groans, panting ‘fuck yes’ and ‘touch me’ and ‘Malik’ between percussive kisses.
“Touch you, hmm?” Malik murmurs, smile sharp and wicked.
He sinks to his knees, dragging Altaïr's jeans and underwear down with him, fishing the completely unsurprising condom and bottle of lube from Altaïr's pocket and setting them on the floor for later. Altaïr's cock already looks painfully hard, flushed red and dripping. Malik leans closer, breathing hotly over his boyfriend's twitching erection, but he brings his mouth to Altaïr's inner thigh instead. He kisses it wetly, digging his teeth in, sucking blood to the surface, and firmly ignoring the groans and whimpers of the man above him. Once he's satisfied with the mark, he glances up at Altaïr's face, smirks, and moves to the other thigh.
Three or four dark hickeys later, Altaïr is squirming against the wall, his gasped aw yeses and fucks having deteriorated into outright begging.
“Please, Mal, please, just-- anything, please touch my cock, please,” he groans, hands twisting behind his back.
Malik chuckles darkly, but finally abandons his marking to slide his lips up the underside of his boyfriend's cock. Altaïr's gasp of pleasure sends a shiver down Malik's spine, as does the bloom of salty pre-come on his tongue as he sucks the head into his mouth. The snap of the lube's cap is masked by Altaïr's groaning, and he jolts when one of Malik's fingers, cool and slick, starts circling his hole.
Altaïr's head thumps against the wall as Malik swirls his tongue over Altaïr's cock, sliding it deeper into his mouth. He swallows around the head as his finger slips into Altaïr's hole, curling with practiced ease against Altaïr's prostate. Altaïr jerks and keens, cock twitching against Malik's tongue.
“Oh-- oh fuck, babe, I'm--” Altaïr is babbling now, hips jerking minutely forwards as Malik slips a second finger in, stroking in and out steadily.
Malik hollows his cheeks and sucks hard just as he presses both fingers firmly against the bundle of nerves. Altaïr doubles over, coming like it was punched out of him, gasping and panting for breath. Malik sucks him through it, swallowing him down and only pulling off when Altaïr starts to whine with oversensitivity. He quickly stands and grabs Altaïr by the shoulder, jerking him around again until he's pressed up against the wall face-first.
“My turn, baby,” Malik hisses in his boyfriend's ear.
He undoes his pants and rolls the condom onto his own cock with a practiced hand, and then slips two fingers back into Altaïr's twitching hole, pressing in a third one soon after.
“Oh fuck yes,” Altaïr groans, pressing his hips back, trying to get more of Malik's fingers inside. “God, just, I'm ready, fuck me, come on.”
“Tsk,” Malik chides. “Impatient. Just for that, you'll take four.”
He doesn't add the fourth yet, though, just slowly presses the three already inside deeper, deliberately avoiding Altaïr's prostate this time, slowly stretching him wider. He withdraws his hand completely, ignoring Altaïr's whining at the loss, and pours more lube over his fingers. “That's it,” he murmurs, slipping four fingers into his gasping boyfriend. “Let's get you nice and wet for me.”
A minute or two more of slow stretching and Altaïr is nearly sobbing, his cock already rock-hard again and throbbing against the wall. Finally, finally, Malik pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, slipping in easily and sliding home in one smooth glide. Malik's own moaning nearly drowns out Altaïr's, his world narrowing to the tight heat sheathing his dick.
“Yeah,” groans Altaïr, grinding back and clenching around Malik's cock. “Do it, pound me into the wall, I want it.”
Malik's smirk makes a reappearance, and he very slowly pulls out... and just as slowly pushes back in. And repeats.
“You-- you bastard, come on,” whines Altaïr, when it becomes clear that Malik's not planning on speeding up any time soon.
Malik laughs darkly and starts fucking in nearly as slowly, but harder, hard enough to make every other thrust graze deliciously over Altaïr's sweet spot. It's enough to make him start babbling again, begging for Malik's hand on his cock. Malik hammers in relentlessly, hand not moving from where it's clamped on Altaïr's hip. Just as Altaïr starts to twist at the scarf in earnest, trying to free his hands to bring himself off, Malik's hips stutter and he comes, groaning low in his throat. He pulls out and pulls off the condom, tossing it into the nearby trash and, to Altaïr's growing horror, casually does up his pants. He glances up at his boyfriend, who has turned around and is gaping at him.
“Hold that thought, pet. I'm afraid we're out of time.” Malik smiles, a bit wickedly, and tugs his scarf loose, freeing Altaïr's hands.
“What?! You can't just-- you-- I--” Altaïr looks from Malik down to himself and back. He whimpers. “Baby, please?”
Malik shakes his head and tugs Altaïr's boxers up his legs. "Out.”
He ignores Altaïr’s pout (and it is a pout, no matter what his boyfriend thinks) as he winds the scarf back around his neck, covering up the fresh marks. He straightens the rest of his clothing and sets his research back in some semblance of order before ushering Altaïr - thankfully presentable again - towards the door. “I have a presentation to get to in twenty minutes. Someone needs to teach the new crop of idiot students how to not mess up my stacks, and frankly I don’t trust anyone else to get it right.”
He locks his office and turns, catching Altaïr just as he’s starting down the hallway. Malik hooks his elbow and pulls him back, shifting his grip to the back of the other man’s neck as soon as they’re close enough. “See you at home,” he murmurs against Altaïr’s lips, sealing the promise with a bruising kiss.
It’s probably a bit petty but Malik grins to himself as he stalks off to his lecture, satisfied that he’s left Altaïr panting against the wall. Payback was most certainly sweet.