Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What?” Malik asked. He was sure that despite what the healers had told him, his fever hadn’t broken, and he was hearing things. That seemed the only logical explanation.

“Altaïr has agreed to pay recompense to you,” Al Mualim said.

Malik shook his head. “Not that part… how did you say?”

“Marriage. Altaïr will become your spouse,” Al Mualim said.

Malik stared another few moments. Now he was even more glad that Al Mualim had sent the healers out of the room for this conversation. “And… why would I want him at all? He is the reason my brother is dead!”

“Precisely,” Al Mualim said. “Your family has lost a member, and so Altaïr shall join your family in turn. And, as your wife, you shall have authority over him and his reparations to you.”

“I don’t want him.”

Al Mualim frowned slightly. “Are you certain? Altaïr, despite his flaws, does have much to offer. If you allow him to remain in the order, what is his becomes yours. Money, status, prestige… and even if you do not allow him to stay an assassin… he is still physically able. And… of course… children.”

Malik looked up sharply at the last word. “What?”

Al Mualim leaned back in his chair and nodded solemnly. “Yes. Altaïr did not wish it known, and so I kept it a secret for him… but his bloodline is indeed tainted. He is an omega.”

Malik honestly had no idea what to say to this. He’d had no idea, which made sense as his own bloodline was devoid of such anomalies. Most people’s were. A mere fraction of the population was born with both genitals, and it was only as the babes grew that it became clear what their true nature was. If Altaïr was an omega, that meant that his balls had never truly developed, nor did any breasts, slotting him as the more masculine version of an omega. The ‘male’ variety, if there was said to be one. It was honestly a shock.

If Malik had ever considered Altaïr having tainted blood in his body, he would have assumed the man would be an alpha, if anything. His physical prowess seemed to point that way. But now Al Mualim was saying that, no, Altaïr had a fertile womb and a less than average chance of ever siring children. An omega could attempt to father a child, of course. Some even managed it. But not often. Just like how alphas seldom got pregnant though they were all theoretically capable of it.

“He’s been quite regular with his heats,” Al Mualim said, seemingly not realizing that Malik was still reeling from the revelation. “He’s, of course, never lain with anyone as he wanted to keep his status a secret, so you have no fear of him being an improper wife. Any children from him will have a risk of his condition, admittedly, but will definitely be yours.”

“... and Altaïr agrees with this?” Malik asked after several minutes. He still wasn’t sure he believed that Altaïr could have a presumably virgin cunt between his legs. Still, the idea that Altaïr would be willing to become Malik’s wife was even more preposterous. “And… if I do have children with him… his status will be widely known.”

“Yes,” Al Mualim said. “He is aware of this.”

Malik tried to force his brain to work through all the implications, but it seemed stuck on the idea of Altaïr as an omega. Why would Altaïr be willing to marry Malik, knowing that it was all but guaranteed that his status would be revealed? While there was no shame necessarily in being born an omega, it was not exactly something many would advertise, and Altaïr’s image was very much not that. Some embarrassment was bound to happen. Malik couldn’t think of a reason in which Altaïr would choose a fate like that. Unless… unless the other options he’d been given were somehow even worse? Death?

Malik hated Altaïr. Hated that the man’s arrogance had caused all of this. But he didn’t want Altaïr to be executed over it. There would be little satisfaction in that, and Kadar wouldn’t be brought back to life with Altaïr’s death. And, honestly, death felt too quick and somehow insufficient. On the other hand, no doubt Altaïr’s death -the loss of his skills- would overshadow Kadar’s. So… if the choice for Altaïr’s punishments was execution or becoming beholden to Malik as his wife…. Well, Malik supposed the better choice for them both was the latter.

“Very well,” Malik said.

“Excellent. We will return to this topic once you’ve recovered a bit more," Al Mualim said. Malik nodded in agreement, although he was already contemplating how life with Altaïr would even be. He wasn’t sure he could even imagine it.

Altaïr heard the door to his cell open but didn’t bother to look up. “He’s agreed to take you as his wife,” Al Mualim said. “I wasn’t sure he was going to do so, but after he heard you could give him children, he seemed to come around.”

Altaïr was not terribly surprised about that. Most men valued a spouse that could produce children for them. But, “... will I still be in the brotherhood?”

“He didn’t mention,” Al Mualim said. “I suggest that if you wish it, you do your best to please your husband. You’ll need his permission now.”

That grated as Altaïr had known it would. Al Mualim had known it as well, which was probably why he sounded amused. But, at least this way, there was a chance. The other ‘choice’ had not offered even that much. It hadn’t really been a choice at all. Exiled from the brotherhood entirely and sold to a brothel to work off the ‘debt’ he owed for his upbringing would surely be a slow, tortuous death. One Altaïr refused to have happen. He had been fully prepared to bite his tongue off if Malik rejected him. “Your new husband still needs to recover before he is able to consummate the marriage, so you’ll stay here until then. A month or so, I think, should be enough.”

Altaïr frowned. A month should put him right on the verge of heat, if not in the thick of it. “... If I fall pregnant, I cannot remove the threat to the order,” Altaïr said.

“It will put a delay on things, yes, but think of how much more welcoming you’ll be to your new husband while in season,” Al Mualim said. “I will make a much better wedding night than the alternative.”

Altaïr looked up then. “Will you hold to your side of the bargain?” he asked. “If Robert is killed?”

“Of course,” Al Mualim said. “For all the good it will do you. If you can convince your husband to allow you to hunt down and kill Robert and then actually follow through, you will have earned your inheritance.”

“I will.”

Al Mualim hummed thoughtfully but didn’t contradict. “I will keep you updated on your husband’s status.”

Altaïr watched his Master leave and the door to his cell close behind him. The locks tumbled into place, and he sighed. He prayed, although not with any actual conviction or expectation for it to be answered, that Malik would be easy to convince. Suppose he allowed Altaïr to act quickly. In that case, Robert could be dealt with long before any pregnancy could make things difficult. Because if he didn’t… Altaïr would have to wait until after.

Altaïr leaned his head back, stared at the ceiling of his cell, and wondered if they would move him someplace nicer at some point. Hopefully. He’d never imagined getting married, much less in a situation where he didn’t have much choice. But, Altaïr would much rather lose his virginity on a bed somewhere vaguely like a real room as opposed to a small cell with only a pot in the corner and a pile of straw.

Days passed by slowly. Altaïr had nothing to do but contemplate his own situation, which wasn’t particularly helpful. He was delivered plenty of food and water at least, likely because now he wasn’t possibly being executed, so his health was of slightly more concern. The waiting was going to drive him mad. He wasn’t usually an anxious person, but even he had his limits. Al Mualim only visited a few times to give him the promised updates on Malik’s condition. He was recovering well, apparently, but he still needed some time. Altaïr assumed he would need precisely as much time as it would take for Altaïr’s heat to begin.

On the one hand, Al Mualim was correct that it would be easier to move things along if Altaïr was desperate and driven by biological needs. But on the other hand, Altaïr hated that his natural body rhythm was being used in such a way. He’d already said he’d marry the man. Both he and Malik knew this wasn’t for love. What did it really matter if he wasn’t affectionate? Altaïr doubted Malik would be surprised.

Or was his fertility what Al Mualim was really after? Did he want to embarrass Altaïr as quickly as possible and reveal his omega status when he swelled with a child? That would be somewhat pettier than Altaïr had thought his Master would be, but he supposed it wasn’t impossible. He also figured it would delay Altaïr in going after Robert…. Although, why Al Mualim would want a delay like that, he had no idea. Perhaps it was some misguided attempt to get another way to control Altaïr… by getting him with child as quickly as possible. Whatever manipulation Al Mualim was up to, Altaïr couldn’t do much about it. He was locked in his cell until whenever his marriage was to be consummated.

It ended up taking a little over a month before Altaïr felt the first stirring of fire in his abdomen. His heat was beginning. This was really happening. His time was almost up, and he was going to be married to a man that had every reason to hate him. He closed his eyes and breathed through the sudden panic that rose when he realized the imminence of his fate. Panicking wouldn’t help even though he felt it still starting to climb.

Normally he isolated himself when his time was coming, but that wouldn’t happen this time. Altaïr’s appetite dropped sharply, although his thirst went the opposite way. He didn’t bother attempting to eat and only drank the water the servants delivered. He was anxious and had to keep self-soothing to avoid outright panic.

The discomfort grew more, and Altaïr could feel the fever beginning to climb. He resisted the urge to pull at his clothes, although his skin was damp with sweat, and clothing only made him that much more uncomfortable. Instead, he closed his eyes again and focused on breathing as his fever climbed and the ache in his loins went from mild to very noticeable.

Most of the day drifted by, with Altaïr growing even more agitated. His skin felt like it was too sensitive even for air, but he stubbornly kept his clothes on despite how they felt like rusted metal rubbing across his skin. His hair was damp under his hood, and beads of sweat ran down his neck. He couldn’t even close his legs as the discomfort was too intense. He felt like he would immolate from the inside out.

It was hard to just breathe, but Altaïr focused on just doing that with as much of a regular pattern as he could. Even deliberately trying to take slow inhales and exhales, Altaïr felt closer to panting than he was comfortable with. He couldn’t help it, though, when he felt stifled and smothered in an oven of a room.

The door unlocked and opened. Altaïr didn't look up as he heard footsteps come closer. The door to his cell closed again and locked. Whoever was in his cell stopped just before him, and Altaïr did his best to not inhale too sharply. Even knowing someone was there was enough to make Altaïr's blood flare hotter. He didn't want to risk sending himself into a mania if whoever it was ended up being highly compatible.

"Are you ill?"

Altaïr resisted the urge to groan. Malik. His about to be husband. Of course. "No more than I ever am in heat…." Altaïr said.

"I see." There was a pause. Then, "Put your hood down."

Altaïr wasn't fond of how his hand shook when he lifted it, but Malik didn't comment, thankfully. Altaïr pushed the hood down and looked up at Malik. He hoped he appeared at least marginally more put together than he felt. "Are you still yourself?" Malik asked.

Altaïr scowled. "Contrary to popular rumor… heat doesn't rob an omega of all sense. I am myself."

"And you've agreed to be my wife?"

Altaïr disliked the word but knew omegas rarely were called any different. And he honestly needed Malik's cooperation. Bound to one man was infinitely better than sold to many. "Yes. I've agreed."

Malik's expression didn't change, and Altaïr wasn't sure if that was good or not. "Get up, Altaïr. Let me see you," Malik commanded.

Altaïr was somewhat torn on how cooperative he should be before remembering he needed Malik to accept him. So, he got to his feet. It had been a while since he bothered to stand, and he swayed slightly when he did but caught himself against the wall. Altaïr had always hated how his heat made his muscles tremble and feel exhausted and weak from nothing at all.

Altaïr took a moment to breathe and instantly regretted it. He was aware that alphas were biologically geared to appeal to omegas, but Altaïr was unprepared for how much a regular man like Malik would. His scent wasn't overwhelming like an alpha but spicy and elusive. Like a favorite meal that you had to track down. It made Altaïr's body ache, and he felt wetness begin to dribble on his thigh. He put a hand to his stomach, where the fire was the worst. Altaïr forced himself to stay calm and turned to Malik.

Malik was like a stone. Seemingly entirely unaffected by Altaïr's heat. Because, of course, as a normal man, he likely was. It almost made Altaïr whimper in frustration, but he bit back the urge. Altaïr forced himself to not rip his clothes off but rather act as normally as possible. He was feverish and trembling but was determined to keep as much dignity as he could.

Altaïr folded his robe and put it to the side before pulling off his shirt. He'd only just straightened again after placing it down when Malik put his hand on Altaïr's chest. Altaïr froze as Malik squeezed his breast. He didn't grab hard, but it was still enough to make Altaïr tremble, and his blood boil. "So, this is supposedly going to feed my children, hmm?"

Altaïr would have responded, but Malik squeezed again, and the words evaporated in his throat with a breathy noise. "I guess they'll get bigger," Malik said. He shifted his hand to brush over Altaïr's nipple, which caused a full body tremble. Curious, Malik pinched the hard nub.

Altaïr made a choked whine and had to brace himself on the wall behind him. More hot slick flowed down his thighs, and his cock was swollen to the point of pain. Altaïr had played with his nipples in desperation while masturbating during heats before. But it had never felt so intense as Malik pinching them did. "Sensitive," Malik said.

Malik rubbed his thumb across the hardened bit of flesh and watched Altaïr gasp and lean more against the wall. His face was even more flushed, and Malik saw him tremble. It was surprising that something so little could get such a reaction from Altaïr. The man usually was impossible to get anything out of. It was a surprisingly heady feeling knowing that Altaïr was trembling due to what Malik was doing.

Malik continued to rub and squeeze Altaïr's nipple, enjoying every gasp and little noise of pleasure that escaped Altaïr's panting lips. He liked seeing Altaïr like this. Gasping and so aroused, he could barely stand. Malik could easily see the wetness seeping through Altaïr's pants and the bulge pushing the fabric up.

Even more curious now, Malik leaned forward and licked the nipple he wasn't pinching. Altaïr gasped, and his head flew back, almost bashing against the wall holding him upright. Malik smirked at the reaction and licked again.

Altaïr's fingers scrambled for something to grab onto, but only stone was under his palms. His legs felt like they would collapse as the fire in his abdomen raged out of control. He was so wet and throbbing, more than he ever had been before so early in his heat. His blood was like molten metal running through him, catching every nerve on fire and scalding words from his brain.

His nipples ached and felt swollen as Malik played with them. He licked and sucked, pinched and stroked, and even bit or twisted the tender bits of flesh. Each sensation alone was too much for his brain, but together Altaïr could barely recall his own name. He was helpless against the arousal ripping through him.

Altaïr clung to the wall for support as his every nerve was so alive it almost hurt. He felt slick drip down to his knee, and his insides felt twisted up and achingly empty. Malik sucked and pinched his nipples again without mercy. Altaïr tried to be quiet but simply couldn't. There was too much. He keened and moaned louder and more desperately as he climbed towards climax.

Malik bit down and began to suck harder while pinching Altaïr's other nub. Finally, it was all too much, and Altaïr cried out as he came with enough intensity that his legs turned limp. He slid to the ground, panting for air as his wet pants clung to his groin and legs. "You got off on just your nipples being played with?" Malik asked.

Altaïr was still struggling to regain his bearings where he was sitting slumped against the wall. But he knew that wasn't the end of it. His body would be ready again in only a few moments. "Take your pants off," Malik said. Altaïr looked up at him, not terribly happy at the order. "They're soaked through, anyway," Malik said.

Altaïr was still frowning but undid the ties of his pants. After he got them undone, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband but found himself hesitating. Nobody but the occasional doctor had seen him nude since he was seven. He knew that, as his husband, Malik had the most right to see him bare, but it was still an anxiety-inducing prospect.

Technically, everyone would claim there was nothing to be ashamed of being a 'male omega,' but just because it was said didn't make it true. Altaïr had seen plenty of instances of those like him being sneered at and insulted just for having the ability to carry children. It was worse if the omega was actively pregnant. Altaïr had no reason to think Malik was like that, but he also didn't know him well enough to trust his reaction.

"Having second thoughts?" Malik asked. Altaïr looked up. Malik had a strange look on his face that Altaïr couldn't parse. His own mind was too distracted from the slowly rebuilding heat. "We haven't consummated anything yet. I can still leave."

Altaïr blinked several times. He realized this was likely the last chance to back out that he'd get. But backing out wasn't an option. Not really. Even if he ended up being a horrible husband, Malik was better than a brothel. "No," Altaïr said. "Don't leave."

Pushing aside his trepidation, Altaïr peeled his wet pants off and dropped them to the side. At first, he kept his legs close together, but with Malik's short and rather demeaning command to 'spread,' Altaïr let his legs part. His face was on fire from his building arousal and embarrassment. He'd kept this part of him private for a good reason.

"You really do have a cunt," Malik said, sounding somehow surprised.

Altaïr's face burned hotter, and he looked to the side. "Vulgar."

“As if you haven’t heard worse,” Malik said. “Spread wider and move your cock. I want to see what you’ve been hiding all this time.”

Altaïr thought about arguing but knew it wouldn’t actually get him anywhere. Fighting down the embarrassment again, he spread his thighs wider and held his dick out of the way so that he was on full display. He tried not to pay any attention to Malik but was still very aware he was being stared at.

Malik had to admit he was surprisingly aroused looking at Altaïr spread open for him. Altaïr’s cock was much like what the healers that Malik asked had described. Somewhat smaller than average but not to the point it would be mistaken for a child’s or anything obscene. And what would have been Altaïr’s balls if he’d been an alpha were instead the beginnings of Altaïr’s cunt. There was very little hair, which Malik was surprised about, but it did mean he could easily see the folds of Altaïr’s cunt glistening with moisture. He had a surprisingly appealing pussy tucked away under his cock. Malik was glad about that. He’d been mildly worried he wouldn’t be interested at all. But his own dick was growing quite hard, so he knew that wasn’t a problem. “You’re already so wet,” Malik said as he saw how shiny Altaïr’s thighs already were.

“I’m in heat,” Altaïr said.

“You are.” Malik knelt down in front of Altaïr and reached forward. Altaïr forced himself to not pull away as Malik’s fingers brushed over his sensitive folds. He couldn’t quite help the sharp inhale it caused, though. He closed his eyes and tried to remain passive even as Malik’s fingers rubbed along and parted his folds.

Malik glanced up at Altaïr’s face and was incredibly pleased to see how flushed he was again getting. Even such little stimulation was enough, apparently, when an omega was in heat. Malik stroked Altaïr’s folds again, teasing the underside of his cock where a normal woman’s clitoris would be. The healer Malik consulted said there was a particularly tender bunch of nerves right at the base of an omega’s cock that should function similarly. He was beyond pleased that Altaïr let out an actual whine at the sensation of those nerves being pressed against.

Malik rubbed a little harder, and Altaïr moaned and arched off the wall. “You’re getting even wetter, Altaïr,” Malik said as he spread Altaïr’s folds. He could see where it was coming from. A tight little hole that Malik could almost swear was throbbing. Altaïr’s legs trembled, and Malik pressed into the base of his cock again. Altaïr cried out, and Malik watched more slick come out.

Malik couldn’t resist any longer and carefully pushed his finger inside. Altaïr gasped and jerked, but Malik was more distracted by how hot his body was. Altaïr’s insides were like a furnace, and so tight he wasn’t sure how a man was meant to fit inside. But he reminded himself it was because Altaïr was a virgin, and he would loosen up easily while in heat. So Malik began to thrust his finger inside that fiery channel. Altaïr cried out again, and Malik glanced up to see Altaïr’s eyes were hazy from lust and his face slack but flushed.

Malik watched with fascination as Altaïr’s expression changed with every thrust of his finger. He seemed entirely different and dangerously erotic. Malik knew Altaïr was attractive, but in the throws of heat and pleasure… he was an entirely different being. Malik had half a mind to throw Altaïr to the ground and have him immediately but didn’t. Altaïr was still too tight for that. Although rumor said that an omega would loosen up very quickly for a cock, Malik wasn’t interested in testing the veracity of those claims.

Malik dragged his eyes back down to his hand, which was shiny with Altaïr’s arousal. His finger was making a wet noise with every thrust, and Altaïr’s cock was now also dripping. Altaïr had let go of his dick to tangle his hand in his discarded pants, but Malik didn’t mind. His cock was erect and out of the way, anyway. Malik carefully began to work his second finger inside Altaïr’s hole.

Altaïr whined, and his head thrashed but even more slick coated Malik’s fingers, so he knew it wasn’t anything but a pleasure response. He began to slowly work Altaïr loose, rubbing and pressing in to find the places that made Altaïr’s trembling insides give way. “You’re so tight, Altaïr. But you have to relax,” Malik said as he spread his fingers apart.

Malik curled his fingers and adjusted his angle with every thrust of his arm. Altaïr’s cunt was indeed loosening quickly as Malik fingered him. He was hot and wet and oh-so-ready to be fucked, but Malik held back. “M-malik!”

Malik glanced up at Altaïr’s face again, and his own cock ached from how absolutely wrecked with desperation Altaïr appeared to be. He was practically writhing off the wall, but Malik only spread his fingers and let more slick drip out. He saw Altaïr’s face when he got off from his nipples and wanted to see it again before he gave in to his own pleasure. He wanted to know how Altaïr looked each and every way he could have an orgasm.

Altaïr grabbed at Malik’s empty sleeve but didn’t seem to notice he had nothing substantial as he cried out and arched. He was trembling and began to jerk his hips into Malik’s hand. Malik used Altaïr’s mindless riding of his hand to his advantage and pushed his fingers deeper. Malik hooked his fingers again and grinned as Altaïr very nearly screamed in pleasure. He’d never in his life heard Altaïr so loud. He almost didn’t sound like himself with his voice drenched in pleasure. Malik didn’t even mind that someone could likely hear Altaïr’s noise.

Malik aimed for that same spot again, and Altaïr cried out just as loudly as the first time. His free hand grabbed at Malik’s one remaining arm and held on, but that wasn’t a hindrance. “Is that a good spot for you, Altaïr? You scream so loud when I touch it,” Malik said before thrusting into it again. Again, Altaïr was shaking and clung to Malik as he focused again on that spot.

Malik only had to thrust his hand three or four more times before Altaïr came again with a shriek of pleasure. Malik watched as Altaïr’s face twisted up and then went slack, looking somewhat dazed as his cock spat out a milky spend across his own abdomen. A different release dripped down Malik’s fingers to pool in his palm and also on the floor. Altaïr was left panting and still looking dazed as Malik pulled his hand away.

Altaïr let go of Malik without a fight as Malik stood up. Malik glanced down at Altaïr as he started to undo the laces of his own clothes. Altaïr was loose-limbed, nude, and covered in a faint sheen of sweat. But also, the flush of arousal hadn’t faded. Malik knew it wouldn’t fade for at least a few days. Heat was an arduous event for omegas meant to ensure a child. Luckily they only went through it three times a year if contraceptives were used to keep pregnancy from happening.

Malik would need to pace himself to keep up with his new wife. Malik discarded his clothes to the side and realized Altaïr was looking at him with more presence of mind than before. He must have recovered from the last orgasm. Malik reached down to his own cock and stroked it a few times with his hand damp with Altaïr’s slick. “Have you ever sucked a cock before, Altaïr?”

Altaïr blinked several times and then shook his head. Malik couldn’t say he was surprised. “Mm, well, come here, and let’s see how you do.”

It took a moment before Altaïr could muster the strength to get off the wall. His insides were throbbing still, and his every muscle felt like they’d been beaten flat. Altaïr had always hated the stereotype of ‘quivering, heat-addled, omega,’ but at least now he understood fully where it came from. It wasn’t necessarily excitement that had him trembling but just how purely overwhelmed his every nerve was. There were so many sensations hitting him at once his whole body was overloading.

Altaïr forced his brain to function again as he made his way to where Malik was. He didn’t bother getting up off his knees, despite the fact that it wouldn’t help his image. It just seemed like too much effort.

Altaïr took a moment to see what Malik’s dick looked like. He was longer and thicker than Altaïr, which wasn’t all that surprising, but Altaïr was a little taken aback by the heavy-looking balls at the base of his cock. True, he’d known that men and alphas had them, but he’d never actually seen them before. Of course, he didn’t go into bathhouses with others and had no reason to ever look.

Altaïr reached up and gently took them in his hand. They weren’t as heavy as they looked nor as solid, but they were still odd to hold. Thick hair was around the base of Malik’s cock, very much unlike the thinner patch Altaïr had. And, of course, Malik had no vagina at all. Idly, Altaïr wondered if that made it harder to find pleasure. Malik’s one hand landed on the back of Altaïr’s head. “If you’re done just looking… how about you try actually putting it in your mouth,” Malik said.

That was a vaguely intimidating prospect, but Altaïr allowed Malik to guide him closer. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Even seeing Malik’s dick up close, Altaïr still managed to underestimate its actual size and had to open his mouth wider to allow more than just the tip inside. It was salty and warm and odd but not impossible to adjust to. Altaïr let Malik move his hips and just focused on sucking.

Fluid began to come from Malik’s cock, and Altaïr wasn’t sure what to do about that. It was quickly filling his mouth with the taste. Malik’s hips rocked a bit more, and his grip on Altaïr’s hair kept him from pulling back. “Use your tongue more.” Altaïr wasn’t sure what that meant really but rubbed his tongue along the length of Malik’s cock.

Saliva and emissions from Malik’s dick kept building until Altaïr was forced to do something about it. He let his lips part a bit more, and it dribbled down his chin. Not ideal, but he hadn’t wanted to swallow it either. Malik, at least, didn’t seem to notice and groaned above Altaïr. Malik pulled Altaïr closer, and Altaïr nearly choked on the thick intrusion.

Altaïr could smell Malik much clearer now that he was so close. That same spicy scent but with more Earthy tones. It was hard to describe, but he liked the smell. There was a bit of a musky side to it, but that actually wasn’t very unpleasant when mixed with the sharper scent of Malik’s soap and his own unique fragrance. He actually smelled terrific, and Altaïr could feel his arousal building again.

Altaïr sucked on Malik’s cock and tasted more and more of his fluids on his tongue. Malik suddenly pulled away, and Altaïr was left somewhat confused. “You’re pretty bad at that, but I guess that makes sense… I’ll have to take the time to teach you later. For now, get over here,” Malik said. He gestured to the pathetic pile of straw that was what passed as a bed in the cell. Altaïr frowned, which Malik saw. “If you’d rather have nothing at all, you can just stay there.”

Altaïr still didn’t find the straw all that appealing and quickly grabbed the nearest bit of cloth to at least spread over the pile. It was the robe Malik had been wearing, but he didn’t say anything. Altaïr laid down on the straw. Malik knelt beside Altaïr and ran his hand up the inside of Altaïr’s thigh.

Altaïr shuddered but let Malik guide his legs open. Malik slid his two fingers back inside Altaïr’s body, pleased to find him just as hot and wet as before. Altaïr let out a breathy gasp, and Malik leaned over to lick the nearest nipple. This time Malik got a moan in response. Altaïr grew even wetter with each thrust of Malik’s fingers, and his cock was again beginning to swell. Malik glanced up and saw Altaïr had his head thrown back from pleasure. Malik could probably get Altaïr off like this yet again, but he had held off long enough. He hadn’t even been able to truly enjoy Altaïr’s hot mouth because he’d felt like he’d spill too early if he indulged.

Malik pulled his hand back and moved to spread Altaïr’s legs with his own knee. Altaïr, eyes hazy and breathing hard, let him. Malik took just a moment to appreciate how bizarre the situation felt. He never would have thought he’d ever be in such a situation with Altaïr, of all people. But then he took hold of his cock and rubbed along Altaïr’s wet folds.

Altaïr groaned and tangled his hands in Malik’s robe beneath him. Malik positioned himself and then pushed forward. Altaïr was tight, and it took some effort to get his tip inside. Altaïr gasped, and Malik had to take a moment to keep his composure. Already Altaïr was so tight and hot and wet, and it was hard to not embarrass himself. Malik leaned over Altaïr and began to roll his hips in shallow but insistent motions.

Malik finally managed to get himself fully buried inside Altaïr. He groaned at how impossibly good it felt and let his head rest on Altaïr’s shoulder so that he had a moment to adjust. None of the women that Malik had ever bedded had felt this good. No wonder so many people were eager to sleep with omegas.

Altaïr shifted beneath Malik. It was the first time he’d ever had something so thick inside him. Malik’s cock felt a hundred times better than his fingers had, and Altaïr thought he’d go crazy with those thrusting inside of him. He wanted Malik to move so badly. He was on fire with a need that was somehow even worse than when he endured heats alone. Altaïr was partially satisfied, but just enough to whet his appetite for more. He couldn’t stop now.

Malik finally started moving his hips again, and Altaïr moaned beneath him in pleasure. Malik wasn’t sure how long he would last. He tried to find that spot that had made Altaïr scream before with every thrust. Malik wanted to see if he would get an even better reaction now.

Malik’s cock was perfect inside of Altaïr, and it was hard to not get loud with how good it felt. Altaïr could feel the pleasure building up surprisingly quickly with every move of Malik’s hips. His cock reached so deep and filled him so nicely that it was fanning the flames in Altaïr’s blood even more. Altaïr couldn’t quite stop himself from wrapping his legs around Malik’s hips. He hadn’t meant to, but it made it even better. Malik’s cock was better angled, and Altaïr couldn’t bring himself to regret it when it felt so good.

Malik’s hips snapped harder and faster, and Altaïr found it hard to breathe. His every sense narrowed down to Malik. His feel, his smell, the sight of him above Altaïr, even the taste of him still coating Altaïr’s tongue. Altaïr felt his own cock dribbling and the way his muscles were tensing. Malik felt so good each time his hips moved.

Altaïr was getting louder as he was getting closer, and his body was getting tighter as well. Malik had to fight to not finish right then because it felt so good. However, Malik was still determined to make Altaïr scream. So Malik shifted his hips again, trying to find that perfect angle, and was rewarded when Altaïr gave a sharp and startled noise. “Did I find it again, Altaïr? That spot you like so much?” Malik asked between his own ragged breathing.

Malik did his best to hit that exact angle each time he rocked his hips forward, and soon Altaïr was near screaming again. Altaïr arched up off the ground and met each of Malik’s thrusts with his own movements. Knowing that he was the one making Altaïr react so strongly was an amazing thing. Malik was the one Altaïr was so wet and hot for. Altaïr was his now, and Malik found himself liking that prospect more and more.

Malik could practically feel how close Altaïr was with how tightly he was clinging to Malik. It was as if his body didn’t want to let Malik’s cock pull free. Altaïr was arched up and his head thrown back in pleasure as he cried out. His own cock was dribbling a near-constant flow of emissions all over Altaïr’s well-sculpted abdomen. Malik wished desperately he had his other hand to pull Altaïr’s hips even closer but settled for snapping forward even harder. Altaïr only got louder.

“Malik!” Altaïr screamed as he came.

Malik bit out a curse at how tightly his cock was milked by Altaïr’s desperate muscles. He couldn’t do much besides finally cum. It was probably the most intense orgasm of his life, prolonged by each time Altaïr’s body spasmed tightly around him. Altaïr moaned aloud and continued to tremble even as Malik finished. If Malik were an alpha, he’d likely be able to keep going, but he wasn’t, and so he let his head rest on his forearm beside Altaïr’s head.

They were both panting for air in the brief lull. But Altaïr’s body was still too warm, and Malik knew his new omega spouse would not be finished so easily. “If you move… I’m going to want you again,” Altaïr said softly. “So stay still for now.”

“How many times will you want to be fucked?” Malik asked without lifting his head.

Altaïr was quiet for a moment. “As many times as you can manage. But my heats are usually short… average just two days.”

Malik supposed he was glad for that. It was going to be a struggle for him to keep up with an omega for even that long. He’d never had a chance if Altaïr was one of those that had week-long heats. They laid there another few moments before Malik lifted his head enough to look at Altaïr. He was still flushed, but the haziness in his golden eyes had cleared up. “Why did you choose now to consummate this?” Malik asked curiously. While it was definitely easier to bed Altaïr when he was definitely going to be receptive to sex, Malik still found it odd. He’d had thought Altaïr would go as long as possible before appearing before Malik in heat.

Altaïr looked over sharply. “Who told you I picked the day?”

“Al Mualim said you wanted to get things done quickly,” Malik said. “Did you not?”

“My opinion was not asked one way or the other. Al Mualim picked today. Likely after the servants told him my heat had begun,” Altaïr said. “I’m not sure why he did, but I am sure he has some goal in mind….”

Malik frowned as he thought about that. “Perhaps he thought it would be easier on us both this way.” Altaïr didn’t respond.

Chapter Text

Altaïr moaned and clung to the fabric beneath him. Malik's hips slammed forward hard and fast behind. He couldn't lift his head with Malik's hand pinning him down by the nape of his neck, but that had been oddly thrilling. Altaïr usually hated being manhandled, but his hormone-driven side was much more receptive, and he'd gotten so wet when Malik did it.

Altaïr panted as Malik took him. It felt wonderful. He never would have imagined it. Malik was fucking him for the third time, and Altaïr wanted more. So much more. Malik's scent was embedded in the fabric beneath him, and Altaïr buried his face in it as Malik's thick cock pierced him. The scent of their joining was thick in the stuffy room, and it was so erotic Altaïr didn't know what to do with himself.

Malik felt so good inside his body. Altaïr felt like he was melting with pleasure. The lewd sounds of Malik fucking him were loud, but Altaïr's moans and cries were louder still. Altaïr couldn't help it. The pleasure was so intense he could barely think about anything but Malik, much less withhold his embarrassingly loud noises. "Malik… Malik, please…"

"Please, what?" Malik asked as his hips snapped forward again. "What do you want?"

Altaïr moaned and felt sweat roll down the dip of his spine. Malik's hand tightened, and Altaïr gasped. His muscles squeezed around Malik's wonderfully big cock. Altaïr was a mess, and he craved even more. He wasn't done yet. He couldn't be when Malik's thick manhood was still thrusting deep inside him. He needed more.

"Say it, Altaïr," Malik said as he leaned closer to use every bit of leverage he could to get as deep as possible.

Altaïr shrieked in pleasure and twisted the robe beneath him. It felt so wonderful! "Malik!"

"Altaïr!" Malik's voice was nearly a growl, and it made Altaïr quiver in a mix of excitement and a tiny bit of trepidation.

Altaïr was getting close. Unbearably so. Malik slowed the rocking of his hips. "Tell me what you want, Altaïr. I won't give it to you until you do."

Altaïr whined and bucked his hips but didn't have quite the right angle to impale himself. "Bastard!"

"That's not a nice thing to call your husband," Malik said. His breath was coming in short puffs near Altaïr's ear, and it was driving Altaïr crazy. He knew Malik wanted the same thing Altaïr did, but he was holding back. "You're shaking, Altaïr. Desperate, are you?"

Altaïr snarled at the clear tease. If Malik thought Altaïr was going to be a simpering omega that begged for attention, he had another thing coming. "If you don't want to fuck me, then get off, and I'll finish myself," Altaïr said. He was more than capable of finding his own satisfaction.

Malik, the asshole, just chuckled. His low laugh made curls of desire go through Altaïr's loins, but everything about the man was infuriatingly arousing. "You can't be a normal omega even once, can you?" Altaïr had half a mind to point out how stupid that was, but then Malik jerked his hips forward. Altaïr nearly choked on his own cry of pleasure.

Altaïr could feel how close he was and was glad that Malik seemed to finally pick up the pace. Malik fucked into Altaïr deep and hard, and the intensity of it was enough to make Altaïr's eyes drift back. He might have been screaming, but Altaïr was far more consumed with how good it all was.

Altaïr came again, and Malik groaned. Altaïr was dazed from pleasure, but he could feel how hard and fast Malik was still going. Then he felt Malik's thrusts get erratic just before Malik cursed and came. Altaïr felt a purr of satisfaction bubble up as Malik's cock was gripped tight and his seed flowed.

It was so strange to find the sensation of Malik's semen inside him satisfying. But it was on a primal level. It felt right and fulfilling. Altaïr tightened more as Malik shifted, and Altaïr allowed himself to be pulled to the side. Malik was behind him, still with his penis buried within Altaïr.

Altaïr slowly caught his breath as he lay there. Malik's arm shifted beneath Altaïr to wrap around his waist. Altaïr found himself purring again as Malik kept him close. Altaïr wasn't sure what time it was but figured it had to be late. His heat wasn't over, but for the moment, he was satisfied enough that he might be able to nap.

"You're going to wring me dry," Malik said.

"That's the point," Altaïr muttered without opening his eyes. "We may not be able to get pregnant every month like women, but when an omega is ready, our bodies make sure it counts."

Malik hummed, and Altaïr felt his palm press against Altaïr's abdomen. He was still filthy with sweat and the remains of Altaïr's own releases, but Malik didn't seem to mind. "... how long before you know if it takes?" Malik asked.

Altaïr shivered despite himself. "Likely it already has… but in a few weeks, I should know for certain."

There were several minutes of silence. "I never thought I'd have children with you… and just because you bear my children doesn't mean I forgive you for what you did. This doesn't change the fact that Kadar is dead."

"This is not meant to," Altaïr said. He turned enough to look at Malik behind him. "Make no mistake, Malik… this is meant as a punishment for me… not to compensate you for your pains. Al Mualim had several punishments in mind for me… this is the only one where you featured at all."

"Then why did you pick this?"

"It was the best option. I would rather be in your hands than his," Altaïr said. "And… you are owed. I don't know if my presence will be of any help to you, but you have it either way." Altaïr laid his head back down. "I don't know how much time I have before I'll want you again. I suggest we rest while we have the chance."

Malik frowned but decided he would need the rest he was being offered. He was mildly surprised at how quickly Altaïr fell asleep but then realized it wasn't that strange. Altaïr was outpacing Malik in orgasms nearly three-to-one. Malik glanced up at the nearby window and frowned at how dark it was. He'd lost track of time while trying futility to satisfy Altaïr.

Malik carefully removed himself from Altaïr's body. Altaïr whined and shifted but didn't wake up. Malik was glad about that. He desperately needed some time to recover if he was going to take Altaïr again, which he honestly would be fine with. Altaïr in heat was the best sex Malik could remember. Malik doubted he'd be as enjoyable at other times, but that was a later problem.

Malik heard footsteps outside of the door and the jangle of keys. He moved as quickly as he could to grab Altaïr's robes and pulled them over. Malik managed to cover the majority of the mess on them before the door opened.

Altaïr shifted in his sleep. He rolled over and tucked himself against Malik's chest, which was honestly both surprising and embarrassing. Malik didn't have a chance to do much about it before Al Mualim and a servant came in. The servant was carrying a tray and put it down where Al Mualim gestured before backing out. Al Mualim oddly kept just by the door. "Altaïr claims to find my scent unpleasant while in heat, so it is best for me to stay here, or he will get agitated."

Malik could see some food and water on the tray, which was good as he was starving. "I hope Altaïr has been pleasant to you, however," Al Mualim added.

"More than he usually is," Malik said.

"Good, good."

Malik moved Altaïr's robe to better cover the mess on his thighs. He may not like Altaïr much, but he was now Malik's wife, and Al Mualim shouldn't see him in such a state. "I hope he grants you many strong sons," Al Mualim said. "As such, I've taken the liberty of arranging new quarters for you and Altaïr."

Malik frowned. "That was not necessary." He had his own home, and while it was not very large was perfectly serviceable.

"Consider it my wedding gift for you," Al Mualim said with a dismissive wave. "Besides, it is quite likely that once you've fully recovered, we will have an opening for you running a bureau. Anything more than quarters here in the fortress will be a waste."

"A bureau?"

"In Jerusalem, yes."

Malik was more than a little surprised. While he wouldn't be able to work in the field any longer, Malik had anticipated being put to work here in Maysaf as an instructor or record keeper. A posting in a bureau tended to be difficult to get.

Al Mualim looked down at Altaïr, and Malik didn't think he appreciated that. "I will leave you two to rest while you have the chance," Al Mualim said. "There will be servants nearby if you need anything else."

Malik waited until the old man had left before going to get the tray that had been brought in. Altaïr didn't stir as Malik sated his growling stomach. He put aside some for Altaïr before laying down to get what sleep he could.

Malik woke up with a start after what felt like had only been an hour or so. He was confused and aroused, and Altaïr was straddling him. Altaïr's eyes were fever-bright as he bounced over Malik's crotch. Malik groaned and grabbed Altaïr's hips, wincing when his missing arm burned in phantom agony.

Malik pushed the pain to the side as Altaïr braced himself on Malik's chest to ride even harder. Altaïr was molten around Malik's cock, and he thought he was going to burst. "You couldn't wait to wake me up?" Malik asked as he struggled to not spill far too soon. "You're that desperate?"

Altaïr practically snarled and ground his hips harder. "I can go find someone else if you're too lazy," he said.

It was Malik's turn to show his teeth at that. There was no way his wife was going to sleep with other men. He bucked his hips up and relished the moan that Altaïr let out. "Don't even think about it, Altaïr. You're my wife."

Altaïr leaned forward, and Malik suddenly was reminded that Altaïr could easily kill him. An odd thrill Malik would never have expected went through him at the dangerous glint in Altaïr's eyes. "Then do your duty and satisfy me, husband. Or I'll find someone who can." Malik decided to take that as a blatant challenge and jerked his hips up again.

"No other man will ever satisfy you as I will," Malik promised as he started thrusting upwards. His abs would likely hate him, but Malik didn't care.

Altaïr damn near grinned, but there was a hunger under it that made it twist into something almost alarming. Malik hadn't at all expected such ferocity. "Good," Altaïr said. "Show me."

Altaïr glanced down at his sleeping husband, which was still an odd thing to think about, as he fastened the last few straps of his clothes. After Altaïr's heat finally finished, they both had promptly fallen asleep. That was several hours ago now, and the sun had again risen. Altaïr had already eaten what food had remained from whenever some had been delivered but was still starving. He always was after a heat as he couldn't eat before. Malik was likely hungry too after managing to fuck Altaïr so many times. Altaïr was mildly impressed that his husband, who wasn't even an alpha, had managed ten times over the two days. However, he would likely be very sore from it.

Altaïr kicked Malik's leg and got a grumbling response. "I'd think you'd want a better bed than that, Malik," Altaïr said.

Malik opened his eyes then, "How are you awake already?"

"I'm actually less tired than I usually am. Frustration is more exhausting, I suppose." Altaïr crouched down beside Malik. "But, I have barely eaten for nearly four days. I am starving and desperately need to bathe. Neither of those things can be dealt with here."

Malik huffed and started to push himself up. He groaned and winced but managed to get upright. Malik went through his clothes. Though his outer layer was ruined from being their makeshift marital bed, the rest of his clothes were still acceptable. More or less.

Malik grimaced at a deep crescent in the flesh of his uninjured shoulder as he pulled on his shirt. Altaïr had bitten him several times, but that one was the worst. He'd drawn blood with his teeth. "I should have known you'd not be a normal omega. Being an assassin has made you overly aggressive."

Altaïr snorted. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Malik."

"You bit me," Malik said.

"Of course I did. I'm an omega," Altaïr said. Malik looked uncomprehending about what that meant. Altaïr sighed even as he pulled his hood back up. "You are thinking like an average man and trying to compare me to a woman taught to be submissive by her father. I'm not that. I'm an omega. We will get satisfaction while in heat. The alpha, or in this case you, are meant to please us… not the other way around."

Malik was frowning as he tried to process that, and Altaïr sighed again before walking over to help fix Malik's empty sleeve. "Because we desire sex so strongly during heat, omega are portrayed as weak-willed at best, whores and sluts at worst. But we are not any of those things. We are just as aggressive as any alpha, more so in some cases. The longer our heats go, the more desperate we get and the more aggressive we become. As I’m sure, you noticed. It is purely because our satisfaction takes the form of being entered that normal men have decided we are begging, submissive creatures."

"Besides, if I recall, you came quite hard when I sunk my teeth into you," Altaïr said.

Malik gave Altaïr a bit of a glare. “You imagine things,” he said.

Altaïr didn’t bother responding, but the look on his shadowed face told Malik how little he believed it was imagination. Altaïr gestured to the door. “They’ll not open it for me, so you will have to knock,” he said.

So Malik did. It took a few moments, but then a servant came to let them out. Altaïr didn’t even glance at the servant. His stride was confident, and his head high even though he’d been screaming as Malik ravished him not twelve hours ago. Surely, Altaïr had to know that they’d been heard, but he seemed determined to not let it affect him. Or at least pretend as if it didn’t. “I think bath first,” Altaïr said.

“Al Mualim has apparently moved our residence to new chambers,” Malik said.

Altaïr paused in his stride at that. “Has he?” Altaïr hummed and then continued walking. “That is not surprising.”

“Is it not? I have my own home.”

Altaïr shook his head. “Al Mualim will wish to keep me near to ensure I do not do something he disapproves of,” he said.

“That is now my job,” Malik said.

“As you say,” Altaïr said. Malik got the strange feeling that Altaïr was, for some reason laughing at him. Malik frowned but followed his new wife through the halls and passages of the fortress. Altaïr found a servant in the halls, asked where his new quarters were, and got directions without issue. Malik wasn’t sure why Altaïr wasn’t more annoyed that they had been moved without consent or even being asked.

Altaïr knew the fortress better than Malik did, as he’d lived in it since he was a boy, and Malik had lived with his family in the village about half of the time, so Altaïr led the way. The room they’d been given was in the higher reaches of the fortress and already had all of their things placed in it. Malik scowled when he saw the contents of his home stacked neatly off to one side of the room. The bed was big enough for two, and there were several woven rugs across the floor. A pile of brightly colored pillows was in one corner, and a short round table was placed near the window.

Altaïr wasted no time in going to a small chest and opening it. Inside were the typical garments of the brotherhood. Malik was still unhappy but went to go through his things for something fresh to wear. Altaïr was right that they needed to bathe, after all, and he definitely would like to wear something clean after. However, he insisted that Altaïr not wear the robes of the brotherhood, which earned him quite the sour look. Malik didn’t particularly care, though. He had no intention of letting Altaïr galavant around as an assassin. So, Altaïr was left with just a pair of trousers and a plain grey shirt.

It was strange to see Altaïr outside of his usual white uniform. Most assassins would wear lighter clothing while not actively performing their assigned tasks. But not Altaïr. Malik was honestly a little surprised he had anything other than the Master Robes he now no longer had the rank to wear. No doubt he would have still worn them had Malik not put his foot down. Likely Al Mualim would have let him get away with it too.

The pair of them made their way to the nearest bathing chamber, which was within the fortress itself and thankfully empty at the time. Malik noticed that Altaïr kept his back staunchly turned to him the entire time they were bathing. It was odd, considering Malik had more than seen everything Altaïr had to offer. He didn’t feel like arguing with the man, and it wasn't important anyway, so Malik said nothing.

Once they returned to their new room (which Malik still had the intention of speaking with Al Mualim about), Malik let himself fall across the bed. Every inch of him was sore, and he was exhausted. He did feel more human after the bath but not yet refreshed enough to warrant doing anything but sleeping. Plus, the bed was so much better than the pile of straw that they’d been using before.

“Are you just going to go to sleep?” Altaïr asked.

Malik didn’t open his eyes. “I am.”

Altaïr hummed. “I’ve yet to eat.”

“And?”

“And you should get me something.”

Malik did open his eyes and glared at Altaïr then. “And what possesses you to think that?”

“You are my husband, aren’t you?” Altaïr asked with his arms folded across his chest. “Provide for me.”

Malik pushed himself to sit. “You are the wife… make something.”

Altaïr smiled, but Malik didn’t like the look. There was something calculating about it. Something that Malik inherently didn’t trust in the least. “Very well. I’ll provide for myself. As my husband requests,” he said. Malik suddenly realized that was perhaps not the best idea, but before he could respond, Altaïr was out the door.

Malik glared and suddenly wondered if they weren’t both being punished in this union. Altaïr was as willful as ever, it seemed, and Malik now had to deal with him. Well, Altaïr chose to become Malik’s wife, so he would have to adjust to the new expectations put upon him. Malik was too tired and sore to go after Altaïr and put him in his place right then, which was no doubt part of why Altaïr was acting out already. Still, Malik would rectify the situation as soon as he had some rest.

Chapter Text

Altaïr ignored the looks he was getting as he walked through the market. Though his heat was short, he didn’t bother to pretend that the rumor of it and who’d been satisfying him hadn't gotten out. He was painfully aware he’d gotten loud many times. Plus, his marriage was likely going to be a notable event no matter who he'd married. The fact that he was considered the wife, had obviously been getting fucked, and was now in commoner clothes would all tell more than enough. But Altaïr was not going to let it cow him. An omega could be far more frightening than any alpha, as he would well prove.

Altaïr bought any food that caught his fancy and took a little petty enjoyment out of telling the stall owners to send bills to Malik. If everyone was already going to know who his husband was, he might as well take advantage of the situation. He doubted it would win him many points with Malik, but the man had annoyed him by not even asking a servant to bring them food after their bath. He really had every intention of going right back to sleep. Even after Altaïr had said how long it'd been since he'd had a proper meal.

Altaïr didn't expect Malik to be a caring husband, but he was likely carrying Malik's child now, and that should come with at least a little consideration, he thought. But, if he was to fend for himself, then Altaïr could do that too. Really, he should have assumed he'd have to do that from the start, but he blamed that on the lingering effects of his heat making him want to be cared for. He hated that almost as much as the desperate clawing need for sex. He wasn't as used to ignoring the instinct that made him want to be comforted as Al Mualim had often done it before, but he could endure.

Altaïr gathered his meal and found a shaded spot in a tucked-away courtyard to eat it in peace. Though Altaïr considered himself a master at ignoring other people, he didn't particularly want to be stared at while eating either. He'd get plenty of stares soon enough, he figured.

Halfway through his meal, Altaïr saw a less than pleasant person approach. Abbas was making a face that was probably meant to be a smile but seemed much more like a sneer. "I hear you finally got bred properly," Abbas said with a nasty tone of voice. "Too bad it was to someone like Malik. I could have fucked you much better."

Altaïr dropped the bread he'd been eating back into the bag he'd pulled it from and dusted off his fingers. "You're an omega too, Abbas. I doubt your dick would have made much of an impression," Altaïr said.

Abbas' eyes flashed. "I'm an alpha."

"Of course you are," Altaïr said. Even Al Mualim wouldn't have kept an underaged alpha and omega rooming together. Altaïr had never seen Abbas bare, to be certain, nor smelled him in heat, but he'd never smelled him enter rut either. Altaïr considered the chance of Abbas actually being an alpha rather slim. "What do you want, Abbas?"

"Al Mualim wants to see you," Abbas said. He made a face. "You stink of him."

Altaïr got to his feet. "I assume you mean Malik? He is my husband. It only stands to reason I would carry his scent."

"If you can call that a scent," Abbas said. "Luckily, he's just a normal man... his smell should fade after a day or two. I bet he didn't even bite you."

"What me and my husband do in our bed is none of your concern, Abbas," Altaïr said. He ignored the slight sting from the correct assumption that Altaïr hadn't been bitten once. It was a primitive desire that didn't even mean much. It didn't matter.

"Oh, do you get a bed now?" Abbas asked lightly. A taunt if ever Altaïr heard one. "I guess you did get something out of marrying beneath you after all."

Altaïr lashed out. Abbas squawked and stumbled back but hit the wall behind him. Altaïr stopped his hand just inches in front of Abbas' throat. Had Altaïr been wearing his hidden blade, Abbas would have taken it straight to the jugular. "Don't think that my recent demotion gives you the right to talk nonsense freely, Abbas," Altaïr said. "I'll no more tolerate it now than before."

Abbas glared and slid to the side to spring away from the wall. "I envy Malik's right to break you, Altaïr. If Al Mualim had listened to me, I would have turned you into an obedient wife ages ago."

"An obedient wife?" Altaïr echoed. "Is that what you think will happen?"

"You're arrogant now, but just wait until you piss that cripple off enough to beat you for the first time. You'll change your tune then. And if not... waddling around here with your stomach ripe for all to see will put you in your place instead," Abbas spat.

Altaïr scowled but didn't take Abbas particularly seriously. Abbas was a stupid man who hated his own gender and was jealous of Altaïr's success. Altaïr grabbed what remained of his meal and left the courtyard to go see what his Master wanted. Likely he had a lot to say now that the marriage had been consummated.

It wasn't difficult to locate Al Mualim. He was up by his desk, looking through books on the shelf. "You asked to see me?" Altaïr asked as he stood in the center of the Assassin's symbol in front of Al Mualim's desk.

"I heard you were up and about," Al Mualim said as he pulled one of the books off the shelf and opened it. "Have you been to see a healer?"

"I didn't think there to be a need," Altaïr said.

"Of course, there's a need," Al Mualim said as he turned to face Altaïr fully. "You just lost your virginity. And to a man who was unable to tell if you were distressed or not through your scent. He could have easily been too rough with you. Injured you."

"I was not aware there was any great secret in fucking someone," Altaïr said as he tried to ignore the fact that several others of the order were nearby and clearly listening.

"Of course, you weren't aware. You were a virgin," Al Mualim said. It almost sounded like pity, and it burned.

Altaïr had never shared the fact that he was a virgin because he'd never felt there to be a need. He hadn't been ashamed in the least, but that tone of voice definitely made it feel like he should be. Which was silly because omegas were expected to be virgins until marriage anyway. True, Altaïr had hidden his status, so many probably assumed he'd had sex, but that was not his problem. He just couldn't win in this situation. He was wrong to be a virgin grown man, but he'd be equally wrong to be an experienced omega.

Altaïr decided to ignore the contradiction entirely. "I am not injured. Malik was quite considerate."

"I'm sure you think that," Al Mualim said. "But you will be checked by a healer."

"Shouldn't that be up to my husband and me?" Altaïr asked.

"And where is your husband now?" Al Mualim asked.

Altaïr resisted the urge to shift his weight. "Sleeping. He expended a lot of energy."

"As did you, and yet he doesn't seem interested in caring for you at all," Al Mualim said. That gouged into a tender spot that Altaïr didn't realize he'd react to so strongly, but he tried to ignore it. He knew what he'd been getting into with marrying Malik. The man had no reason to comfort or care for Altaïr as his hormones resettled. They were married but not for any affection for each other. "Haven't I cared for you so far, Altaïr?" Al Mualim asked. "Allow me to continue to do so now after your first successful heat."

Altaïr felt something jerk loose inside him at the tender tone of voice. He wanted to ignore it. Especially as Al Mualim was the one that married him to an uncaring husband, to begin with. Altaïr was somewhat horrified at the way his eyes were burning like he was about to cry. It wasn't that big a deal. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he didn't need a healer. He was sure he didn't. Although... Al Mualim had no reason to want Altaïr anything but healthy. So... so perhaps he could be trusted in this case. It wasn't like Altaïr could ask Malik. Malik was an ordinary man. Al Mualim was an alpha. An old alpha but an alpha nonetheless.

Altaïr nodded. "Very well."

Al Mualim closed his book with a snap. "Good. I'm glad you're being reasonable. Come along," Al Mualim said.

Altaïr wanted to protest that he didn't need an escort and that Al Mualim was no longer fulfilling the guardian role, so shouldn't go along. Al Mualim tugged Altaïr under his arm like he'd done so many times before and Altaïr allowed it. If Al Mualim still wanted to pretend to be a father figure for Altaïr even after what had happened, well... who else did Altaïr have? Malik might have satisfied his body but made it clear that this marriage was solely to provide children. Altaïr's womb was desired but not him. Eventually, Altaïr would have to come to some sort of understanding with Malik, but they'd barely had time to talk between the heat and then Malik going straight to bed.

Al Mualim led Altaïr to the healer that had always tended to Altaïr. An older, motherly, normal woman named Aminah. A far better cry than any of the other healers, all of which were male. "Aminah," Al Mualim greeted.

"Grandmaster," Aminah returned. Her eyes went to Altaïr immediately, and he tried to not look embarrassed. He had no reason to be. Heat was normal, and he was now married, so of course, he'd just had a lot of sex. It was to be expected. "Altaïr." Altaïr murmured his own greeting out of habit more than anything else.

"I suppose you heard, Aminah," Al Mualim said. "Altaïr has married. But his husband is normal, so I worry he might have been... overenthusiastic with an omega in heat. So, I thought it best to have Altaïr checked to be sure of his health."

Altaïr knew he was still being stared at and felt his cheeks heat despite his intention to not be embarrassed. "Of course. Altaïr, you can disrobe behind the screen," Aminah said.

Altaïr was almost relieved to get out of sight. He really didn't want to be examined. He'd never liked it, although he could at least tolerate it from Aminah. Once Altaïr was nude, he tapped on the wooden screen. Aminah came around and began looking him over. Altaïr tried to not be too self-conscious. "No bites," Aminah said. "But then your husband is normal, so that's not surprising. You should ask him to do so next time. It might help the anxiety afterwards."

Altaïr wasn't sure how to respond to that beyond nodding. He didn't want to admit to any anxiety in the first place and wasn't sure how Aminah had noticed he was. And he definitely couldn't imagine himself asking Malik to bite him. Not with how Malik had complained about Altaïr's biting. It was almost as hard as imagining the next heat with Malik.

Aminah gestured for Altaïr to lay down, and he did so. He tried to not pay much attention as Aminah spread his legs and inspected his privates. It had always felt awkward, but more now than before because despite what Altaïr said, he was a bit sore. Not terribly so, but he was sure his deflowering would be somehow noticeable.

Aminah's fingers were different from Malik's, and the difference was something that Altaïr immediately hated. He didn't think he'd care, but he found he did. He'd never been fond of being touched there, but now it was amplified. Altaïr assumed it was some residual need for Malik after spending an entire heat with the man. Altaïr closed his eyes and focused on his breathing and not the invasive feeling of Aminah's fingers.

She pressed against his abdomen and a few other places. Checked his penis and within his vagina. She even looked at his anus. "There's no tearing or other damage. It seems your husband was aware enough to not get rougher than you were prepared for," Aminah said as she removed her hands and allowed Altaïr to sit up. Altaïr had half a mind to say that Malik had touched neither his penis nor his anus but decided that wouldn't be helpful. Of course, Malik had focused most of his attention on Altaïr's pussy. All he wanted was to fill Altaïr's womb.

"And is he pregnant?" Al Mualim asked from the other side of the screen.

Aminah huffed. "You men and alphas. Seem to think some big change happens the second a woman or omega gets pregnant. Well, there's not. It'll be a few weeks to know. But so long as Altaïr and his husband are both healthy, then I see no reason why he wouldn't be."

Altaïr wasn't surprised by that in the least and started getting dressed. But it did remind Altaïr that Al Mualim seemed oddly interested in ensuring Altaïr's wedding night was during heat. Why was Al Mualim so preoccupied with Altaïr bearing a child? Altaïr wasn't sure, but he regretted folding and allowing Al Mualim to accompany him to the healer.

After dressing, Altaïr left the healer with Al Mualim. He wanted to disengage from the situation entirely but was unsure how. "You know I didn't marry you to Malik to be cruel, don't you?" Al Mualim asked.

"Of course not," Altaïr said. He was sure there was some motive, but he rather doubted it was something as simple as cruelty. Did Al Mualim want Malik specifically to get Altaïr with a child, or was he just the most convenient at the time? Altaïr didn't think it was the first, but it was hard to be sure.

"Good. Good. Do you like your new rooms?" Al Mualim asked.

Altaïr resisted the urge to say the first thing that came to his mind. "... Malik is unhappy, but I'm sure you and he can come to an understanding," he said.

"I didn't ask about Malik."

Altaïr stopped. "It is very nice," he said. "Thank you, Master."

"Of course, of course," Al Mualim said.

Altaïr bit his tongue and started walking again. He was curious what Al Mualim would ask for in return for the room, but he knew it wouldn't be brought up immediately. Probably in a week or two. Maybe he was waiting for confirmation of a baby to get a return on the kindness. Altaïr would have to be careful with how he approached things. He would have to find a way to support Malik's desire to return to his own home without it being obvious. Al Mualim would likely see any support of Malik as a betrayal on Altaïr's part. He'd married Altaïr to Malik, but Altaïr wasn't delusional enough to think that meant his Master wanted his loyalties to be shifted.

Finally, they reached the main stairs of the fortress. "I should return to my husband," Altaïr said. He was glad that the marriage gave him an easy excuse to remove himself for once. Al Mualim didn't look entirely pleased but let Altaïr go.

Altaïr went back upstairs and saw that Malik was still asleep on the bed. He fought down his exasperation and crossed the room to sit among the pillows that had been his old bed in his old room. He didn't know if Malik would allow Altaïr into the bed or not, but it felt natural to think while sitting among the pillows he'd accumulated to make sleeping on the floor more comfortable.

Altaïr looked out of the window at the bright blue sky and leaned back into the pillows as he thought. He couldn't quite figure out why his child would be of interest to Al Mualim. And why now, of all times when they were under siege from people like Robert de Sable? Altaïr supposed it could be a way to ensure Altaïr's obedience. Altaïr couldn't very well go kill people with a baby on his hip, so his child's safety would be in Malik and Al Mualim's hands.

Or... Altaïr let his hand drift down to his abdomen. Perhaps it had something to do with his inheritance. Altaïr wasn't entirely sure how that worked, so perhaps if he had a child before he got it... would it pass onto the child? Skipping over Altaïr entirely? Would Altaïr kill Robert only to find his reward no longer his?

Altaïr hadn't thought that was the way it worked, but he had so little knowledge from his mother that perhaps it was. Altaïr had the brief thought that perhaps he should take measures to ensure no child happened or managed to come to term. But he quickly dismissed it. Not only did he not particularly want to kill his child, but he would have Malik to deal with. Considering a child was all Malik married Altaïr for, he would be very unhappy if there was no baby. Plus, it would only delay things. Another heat would come, and Altaïr would be in almost the exact same place. Except Robert would likely be dead. But there was no guarantee that Robert had anything to do with any of this.

A fluffy white cloud drifted into view, and Altaïr tried to think of any other reason Al Mualim wanted to be sure that there was a baby. There was a black market for tainted children that might become omegas, but Altaïr didn't think that a particularly likely reason for Al Mualim to insist on the marriage. There were easier and less messy ways to get his hands on children with tainted blood than to conduct a highly publicized arranged marriage.

Altaïr tried to think about the problem from new angles. Perhaps it was Malik's child that was sought after? But Altaïr couldn't think of anything about Malik that Al Mualim would want. He was a decent assassin but not anything particularly special. Perhaps it was arrogant of him to say such things, but Altaïr truly couldn't think of anything Malik had that couldn't be acquired in easier ways. Altaïr was the one with the tainted bloodline, after all.

"I'm sorry," Altaïr murmured with his hand still resting across his flat stomach. "Don't even know if you exist for sure yet, and already this mess is waiting for you." Altaïr wondered if this was how his mother felt. Except, unlike his mother, Altaïr was at least married. Technically. He had yet to find out what expectations Malik would have. Likely nothing enjoyable.

Altaïr sighed and closed his eyes. Now that his stomach was not growling for food, he was tired and could use a rest. Part of him wondered if he should join Malik on the bed but then thought better of it. Malik might have been willing to have sex with Altaïr to make a child, but that wasn't anywhere near the same as trusting someone to sleep beside you. Altaïr wasn't even sure he trusted Malik that far.

So, Altaïr allowed himself to drift off to sleep in his little nest of pillows with the breeze from the open window brushing over his skin and teasing his hair. He preferred sleeping near windows for the fresh air. The sun shining in meant he didn't even need a blanket to keep warm. Despite the bed having a mattress, Altaïr didn't think it would be more comfortable.

Chapter Text

Malik woke up early in the morning with a growling stomach and a somewhat stiff body. He'd needed the rest for certain, but with as much and as long a workout as it was to fuck his new wife for several days, it was perhaps not wise to sleep for so long. Malik was a bit surprised that he'd managed to do it. He didn't make a habit of sleeping for most of a day and night. He'd just been that tired, he supposed.

Malik rolled to the edge of the bed and stretched a little to help wake up and loosen his muscles. Then he realized that although the bed was easily big enough for two, Altaïr was not in bed either. And while Malik didn't particularly want to share a bed with the man, Altaïr was his wife, so logically should be beside Malik. And it was very early. Malik could see outside of the window to know that the sky was only just beginning to grow lighter on the horizon.

But then Malik spotted Altaïr. He was among the pillows piled beneath the window. Malik got to his feet and made his way as silently as he could to the side of the pile. Altaïr's face was softer when he was asleep with his lips slightly parted, and the slight furrow of displeasure between his eyes smoothed out. Malik's eyes moved down and caught where Altaïr's hand was resting on his flat abdomen. Malik tried to imagine what Altaïr would look like with his belly round. At first, the very idea seemed ridiculous, but the more he thought about it, the more Malik liked the mental image. He liked it to an amount that surprised him. The more he imagined how Altaïr would look with Malik's child growing in him, the more he wanted it. He'd initially thought that he'd have one child off Altaïr and be done, but he was reconsidering that. Wouldn't he be a dutiful husband to provide Altaïr with many babes?

Malik put the mental images away and went to get washed up and dressed. He should probably wake Altaïr up and make him do his wifely duties in preparing breakfast, but Malik realized it was obnoxiously early still. And, though Malik would be content to simply make Altaïr behave, he acknowledged that it was unrealistic to expect that of the man right off the bat. He didn't even know if Altaïr knew how to cook. Plus, they'd barely spoken of anything of real consequence yet.

When Malik returned from bathing, it was still early, and yet Altaïr was not where he had been. Malik frowned, not at all pleased that his wife was again gone. But then Malik noticed something poking up over the ledge of the window. The top of a head it looked to be. Malik found Altaïr sitting on a ledge just outside, leaning back against a pillar that ran by the right side of the window. "Why are you sitting out here?"

"I enjoy the fresh air."

Malik frowned and leaned further over. The narrow ledge was above a dizzyingly high cliff with nothing but hard-packed dirt and stones at the bottom. "Come inside, Altaïr. We need to talk."

For a moment, Malik thought that Altaïr would be difficult, but then he came into the bedroom. He stayed sitting on the window ledge, but he was at least facing Malik. "You're my wife now," Malik said. Altaïr's eyebrow went up, but he otherwise didn't react. "I expect you to behave accordingly. No more running around and getting into fights with guards. My wife will not be an assassin. You obey me, you keep my home, and you birth my children."

Altaïr's face was impressively blank. Malik had somewhat expected more of a reaction than he was getting. Altaïr slid off the window ledge entirely and straightened. "Are those your rules then? Obedience, being your servant, and being your broodmare?"

Malik frowned at the way Altaïr phrased that. Although Malik supposed it made sense that Altaïr would be bitter at the change in his life. That was Al Mualim's fault for indulging Altaïr's need to ignore his nature and would need to be corrected. "You are my wife. You will simply have to get over your disdain for your own gender."

"I do not have a disdain for my gender. Just those that would reduce me to it," Altaïr said. "I will have your children, Malik, because nothing but age will stop my heats, and I rather doubt you failed in your efforts the first time, anyway. And I will clean the house because I prefer it that way. But obedience? Obedience is not something I will grant you just because you have a set of balls."

"If you had been obedient in the first place, neither of us would be in this situation," Malik said. "It is in your own best interest to do so now."

Altaïr tilted his head to the side, and Malik was reminded of a bird watching a mouse scurry down below. He didn't like it in the least. "My best interest? And what do you consider my best interest, Malik? Do you think being relegated to a pregnant housewife is truly the best thing for me? Or has the word omega completely clouded your brain?"

Malik frowned. "You should have been there to begin with."

Altaïr's strange golden eyes were piercing, but Malik refused to show any discomfort or weakness. "It is a waste of my talents and all my training," Altaïr said.

"Perhaps," Malik allowed. "But you're not an assassin anymore. And it is your own fault, Altaïr."

"I was not removed from the brotherhood," Altaïr said.

Malik knew that officially Altaïr had been dropped down to a Novice rather than outright exiled, but he didn't much care. He was not going to allow his wife to be an assassin. Altaïr probably should have been kicked out ages ago. But, unfortunately, Al Mualim had allowed Altaïr's foolishness to go on for far too long. "When you carry my child, that is your first priority. You'll not take even more from me with your recklessness, Altaïr."

"It will be months before I will be hindered," Altaïr said. His expression had darkened considerably.

"I don't care. Let me make it clear, Altaïr, you are my wife. You are beholden to me now and what I say is what you will do."

"And how will you enforce that, husband? Beat me?" Altaïr asked. Malik wasn't sure how to answer. He would be well within his rights, and honestly, Altaïr could probably use a bit of a beating to get that arrogance out of his head. "Since we are making things clear, allow me to do the same for you, Malik, about something very important. You raise a hand to me, and it will be the last thing you do. I don't care if nobody thinks you wrong for it, but I will not tolerate being struck."

"And you think Al Mualim, or anyone, will tolerate you doing something like that?" Malik asked.

"At that point, it will hardly matter what others think," Altaïr said.

Malik frowned, but he didn't think that this was a conversation he was likely to get very far with. Not right now. Altaïr was still just going to fight his fate. "I need my bandages replaced. That is your job now."

Altaïr didn't move immediately, but he finally did once the ointment and fresh bandages were on the bed. He sat beside Malik and helped him remove the shirt so that the tender and gnarled end of Malik's arm was exposed. The wound had closed, but it hadn't fully healed and hurt horribly. Malik glanced at Altaïr out of the side of his eye. Altaïr was removing the top of the ointment jar. He seemed calm and at ease, and that made Malik's temper boil. "Look at it, Altaïr," Malik said, aggravated beyond belief. Malik would make Altaïr face what he did.

Altaïr's eyes went instead to Malik's face. "Look at it," Malik commanded again. "Look at what you did to me." Altaïr blinked slowly but then looked down at the abrupt, ugly end to Malik's arm. Altaïr's lack of reaction only made Malik more bitterly angry. "You killed my brother, took my arm, and ended my future as an assassin. And now you dare threaten me? If I beat you, Altaïr, it's no less than you deserve."

Malik was expecting another haughty reply, but Altaïr didn't do that. Apparently, he'd spoken as much as he was willing to. Malik supposed he shouldn't be surprised or aggravated by that. He'd heard more words from the famously laconic Altaïr that morning than ever before. But Malik was frustrated nonetheless. The least Altaïr could do was give some sort of reaction!

But, no, Altaïr kept his eyes on Malik's arm as he began to apply the numbing ointment. Malik was mildly surprised at how careful Altaïr was being but decided to not comment on it. It wasn't as if Altaïr had never tended to wounds before. Of course, a missing limb was quite a bit more than an assassin would be expected to deal with. Still, if Malik had to suffer every day with the pain from his lack of an arm, he would make sure that Altaïr was very familiar with the injury as well.

Altaïr remained silent as he finished gently rubbing the ointment into the delicate new skin and aching muscles and then started to wrap the injury with clean bandages. "The bite mark you left as well," Malik said. "The last thing I need is you giving me some sort of infection because you can't act like a human being."

Altaïr looked back up at him for a moment with a strange expression. Malik thought he might say something, but in the end, he didn't. Malik was tempted to keep poking until he got a more telling reaction. He often had that impulse where Altaïr was concerned, but now that he knew Altaïr could, in fact, feel things, it was even harder to control the urge. Malik wasn't even sure what reaction he wanted to provoke. Anger? Remorse? Malik supposed that either would do, but Altaïr seemed determined to not give it to him. He just shifted to Malik's other side to apply ointment and bandages to the bite mark. "It best not scar," Malik said.

Altaïr paused for just a few heartbeats. Malik almost wasn't sure that the hesitation had happened, but he'd been paying too close attention to not take note. Malik felt some satisfaction to know he'd caused some sort of reaction, even if he wasn't sure what it had been. It felt like a victory. Satisfied, Malik let Altaïr finish without another comment.

Malik's stomach growled again, and he glanced at Altaïr, who was tying off the excess fabric of Malik's sleeve. Then, remembering his earlier thought, Malik decided he should ask, "Can you cook?"

"Well enough for myself," Altaïr said.

Malik frowned. That didn't sound particularly promising. He could just imagine that meant roasting things over campfires. Any time while not on the road, Altaïr had access to servants that would make any food he needed. "Another thing for you to learn then." Malik noticed then that there weren't any means of cooking in this room. "Once we have left this place..."

"Then you are determined to not stay within the fortress?" Altaïr asked.

"My mind has not changed," Malik said.

Altaïr nodded slowly. "Is your mother still alive, Malik?"

Malik narrowed his eyes. It had been more than a little difficult for Malik to face his mother. As much as Altaïr had led them to disaster, Malik had still failed to protect Kadar. But she had been far too upset to see him weak and missing an arm to listen to a word he had to say about Kadar. Though at one of the few other times she had been able to visit, she'd allowed herself to break down over Kadar's death. Malik had never seen his mother cry like that before. Not even over his father. And it made him hate Altaïr that much more. "She is and is devastated by the loss of Kadar," he said.

Altaïr held up his hand. "I simply meant... even the Master cannot argue with a son choosing to live with and provide for his grieving mother. Though she would not be allowed in the fortress."

"And you think my mother will want the man who killed her son in her home?" Malik asked.

Altaïr looked out of the window at the sky and sighed. "No, of course not. But if you do not want to live here in the fortress, this is the easiest way to disentangle yourself," he said quietly.

"You won't be pampered and spoiled," Malik said.

Altaïr turned back to Malik. "You have made your expectations clear, Malik. I doubt that they change from one residence to another."

"Good. Then after you get us something to eat, we will visit her," Malik said.

Chapter Text

Altaïr was not comfortable. After arranging food to be brought to their room, Altaïr and his new husband shared a very tense and silent meal. There wasn't much that Malik or Altaïr wanted to say to each other, to be fair. After eating, they left the fortress. Altaïr didn't know where Malik's Mother lived, so he had to follow. Otherwise, he would have just met his husband there.

But the house, when they reached it, was actually quite nice. Malik's father had apparently done well for himself and his family while he was still alive. The woman that Altaïr assumed was Malik's Mother was outside the two-story home, sweeping dust and dirt off of the front steps. She was surprisingly tall for a woman, perhaps only a centimeter or two shorter than Altaïr himself. She was made with sharp angles, wiry limbs, and Malik's eyes. "Mother," Malik greeted.

"Malik. You're up. You're looking so much better," she said as she put the broom to the side and took his face between her hands. "It does my heart good to see you up and about."

"I'm much recovered," Malik said before kissing her on the cheek. Altaïr caught a brief flicker of Malik looking in his direction. His Mother did too as she followed his eyes to where Altaïr was standing a few steps away. Her eyes were cold and hard. Like iron, only the wrong color. "Mother, this is-"

"I know who he is, Malik," she said as she lowered her hands and crossed them across her chest. "But why have you brought him here?"

Malik took his Mother's elbow. "Come inside, Mother. We have some things to discuss."

Malik's Mother scowled but nodded. "He stays out here," she declared.

"Stay put," Malik told Altaïr immediately.

Altaïr watched them disappear into the house, and the door closed firmly in his face. Then, without any other recourse, Altaïr leaned against the wall to wait. The sun was already strong in the sky, and there was no shade by Malik's Mother's doorway for him to wait in. But that was fine. Altaïr had waited longer in far worse circumstances. What was far more uncomfortable than the sun was the way everyone stared at him. Likely everyone in the village now knew of Altaïr's fate and status. Especially as he was left to wait outside of Malik's Mother's house.

Altaïr was a private person. He didn't like everyone knowing his business. Not that his desires were important to anyone aside from himself, but it still irked him severely to be the center of gossip and attention. After a few minutes, Altaïr heard shouting from inside the house. It wasn't clear enough for Altaïr to make out any words, and he wasn't straining to listen either. There was no great mystery as to what his mother-in-law would be arguing with Malik about.

The argument kept going, and Altaïr stared at the clouds drifting by. He caught sight of an eagle swooping down before it disappeared behind the nearby buildings. He wondered if the eagle lived over there or if it was hunting. Either was possible, he supposed. Maybe one day, he'd see if he could find a nest nearby.

The moments ticked by slowly, and Altaïr was left outside as they argued over him. Altaïr wasn't sure if Malik's Mother took issue with just the idea of him in her home or if it was all the way back to Malik's decision to marry him. He could see why she wouldn't be happy with either. Although the marriage was already done and consummated. Altaïr couldn't see any point in her arguing about it now after the fact. Unless she wanted him to divorce Altaïr... That thought laid a heavy chunk of ice in Altaïr's gut.

Altaïr didn't think Malik would use him in such a way. To get him pregnant, have him give birth, and then throw him out, used and disgraced. It was legal, of course. There was nothing stopping it from happening aside from the morals of the husband. Malik would get some backlash for it, but Altaïr would likely receive more. Be blamed for not pleasing his husband enough. But surely Malik wasn't so angry with him to do that. Altaïr wished he was more confident in that thought than he truly was. Especially as he heard Malik's Mother shout again. This time he was sure he heard his name. Not that he had any illusions about what they had been fighting about.

The shouting from inside died down after another few minutes, but Altaïr was still left outside. A few women looked at Altaïr as they passed, and he heard them start to whisper as they walked away. He had deliberately faced away from the center of town so Altaïr would see fewer people, but that didn't mean he was unaware of how many people passed by.

Over two hours after Malik went inside with his Mother, the door opened again. Altaïr suspected that they had moved off the topic of him some time prior and promptly forgot about the fact that he was left outside. Of course, he had no proof of that, but he couldn't think of any other reason to leave him in the street for so long. The disregard burned, but he bit his tongue and just followed Malik inside.

The relief from the sun was instantaneous as they stepped inside the foyer. And once they stepped through into the small courtyard, it was even better. The design of the house kept the heat moving up and out through the open section of the house. The East wall of the courtyard seemed to be an outer one judging by the layout of the house. There was a single small tree growing in the corner of the outer wall and the rooms on the Southern side of the house. A citrus of some sort, Altaïr thought, but they didn't go near enough for him to be certain.

Malik led Altaïr to the right, past some stairs up to the second level, and into a small sitting room. Malik's Mother was there with tea prepared and set out on the table. Malik sat down beside his Mother. "Mother's agreed to let us stay with her," Malik said. "But there are rules." Altaïr wasn't remotely surprised about that. "This is my Mother's home. You will respect her and do as she says. Whatever errands or chores she gives you, you do. She'll teach you how to be a proper wife and Mother."

The idea that Altaïr needed to be taught how to be a mother was a bit insulting. He might not have any personal experience with motherhood or even having a mother, but he didn't think he needed to be taught. But, Altaïr supposed there wasn't any point in responding beyond a nod to show he had heard. They likely didn't care what his opinion on what they decreed was. They made no secret that neither of them liked or wanted him.

"We will stay upstairs in the room on the South side," Malik added. "So go up there and start cleaning it out. We'll need to move everything out in order to move in."

Altaïr glanced between the two of them before leaving the sitting room. The stairs creaked and groaned under his feet as he went up them. Altaïr would have to find the spots that made the least amount of noise. Up on the second level, there were what looked to be four rooms. One directly to the left, which seemed to stretch the entire North side of the house. Two facing the street and the West. And a fourth that mirrored the first. Altaïr could look down into the courtyard from the walkway and even out over the garden wall. The house was positioned right by one of the many cliffs of Masyaf, so there wasn't much obstruction in his view. He could see part of the fortress in the distance. It was actually very lovely, and it was no wonder why they didn't extend the garden wall up to the second floor. It likely got an even better view during sunrise.

Altaïr made his way to the south side of the house, glad that the walkway made far less noise than the stairs had. Glancing into the doorways that he passed, Altaïr discovered the Western room closest to the stairs held a desk and what looked to be scrolls and books on shelves. A library? Perhaps an office. Altaïr didn't know what rank Malik's father was before he died. He might have been someone that trained others or worked with the more logistical side of things, and this room was where he did his work.

The second room on the West side of the house was a small sitting area. The Southern room that Altaïr had been directed to was already a bedroom. It had two beds in it and a round table just opposite the door. There were several cabinets in the room and windows facing the inner courtyard and the East. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. Malik had said something about cleaning it out, but he'd given no instructions on where to put everything that came out of the room.

Altaïr wasn't convinced a question would do anything but get Malik upset with him, so he stepped into the room to at least see what he was dealing with. There were a few weapons scattered on the table and on top of a dresser. Along with a few books and scrolls. Altaïr picked up a piece of carved wood from a side table. It was a poorly made cat sculpture.

Already more than half expecting what he would find, Altaïr turned the cat over. On the bottom was a 'Kadar' in crudely carved, jagged lines. This had been Kadar's room. These were his things left out as if he would be back soon. And he wouldn't. "You are a cruel man, Malik," Altaïr said.

"Mother can't bring herself to enter here. So you'll put away his things," Malik said from the doorway.

Altaïr put the carving down on the table he'd picked it up from. There was already a faint ring in the fine layer of dust that indicated where it had been sitting. Altaïr half turned to look at his husband. "I'm surprised she would even let me in here," Altaïr said. "Or you would."

"I promised her that you would answer to me if anything got damaged," Malik said. "You will treat all of my brother's things with the utmost care, Altaïr."

Altaïr frowned slightly. "I honestly have no idea why you seem to think me so callous as to disregard your brother's things."

"How can you even say that when I've seen you slaughter innocents," Malik said. "Truly, you are shameless as well as arrogant."

"That was on a mission. I would be careful not to think you know me based only on such things, Malik," Altaïr said. An assassination mission was not an accurate measure of one's morality in Altaïr's experience. After all, many would accuse Malik of being just as bad as Altaïr because he, too, had murdered men. The difference was that Malik wasn't married to the brothers of any of them.

"I know you plenty well, Altaïr. You are arrogant and spoiled. You think yourself above the rules and refuse to listen. You're cold and unfeeling. I can't do much about your lack of heart, but the rest ends now," Malik said fiercely. "Pack my brother's things away. I expect not a single thread torn or a page wrinkled. Mother will come and get you when it's time to make dinner."

"Pack them how?"

"There are boxes downstairs in the storage room. You can use those. I have to go speak with Al Mualim about our new living arrangements," Malik said before disappearing from the doorway. Altaïr looked after him for a moment before turning back to the task he'd been given. How ironic that Malik would give him a task clearly meant to make him feel guilty after accusing Altaïr of being unfeeling. Altaïr was aware grief didn't always make sense, but he'd never experienced another person dealing with it before.

Altaïr went down to find this storage room that Malik mentioned so he could find some way to start packing away Kadar's things. Altaïr didn't end up making very much progress in packing up the room. Mostly because he was being careful and had never had to pack much beyond what he needed for travel before. Still, he managed to get an entire box filled with Kadar's clothes before Malik's Mother appeared in the doorway. "Come downstairs to the kitchen," she ordered and then left without waiting to see if Altaïr was following.

Altaïr was already getting quite tired of having orders barked at him but tried to brush it off as best he could. Hopefully, his mother-in-law would mellow slightly as time went on. Altaïr entered the kitchen silently. Malik's Mother was already chopping something with her back to Altaïr. "What do you need me to do?" Altaïr asked.

"First. Be silent. Don't speak to me unless absolutely necessary," she said as she turned around. She pointed her knife at Altaïr, although it wasn't perhaps as threatening as she thought it might be. It was hardly the first knife Altaïr had faced. "I don't want to hear a murderer's voice. Second, I don't want to explain myself over and over. I'll give you instructions once, and that is all. Third, keep in mind that my son values my opinion highly. So whatever you think you can weasel out of Malik, you won't get. Put one toe out of line, and you will regret it."

"I want nothing from your son aside from being allowed to continue my work as an assassin," Altaïr said.

Malik's Mother scoffed. "That would be inappropriate. Even if you weren't my son's omega, you are far too immoral to be allowed to do such important and delicate work."

"Immoral."

"Yes. You think I haven't heard about the sorts of things you do?" she asked. "I was married to an assassin for fifteen years. Both of my sons are assassins. My father was one. I know the creed just as well as any assassin. And I know how you broke it," she said. "Now be quiet."

Altaïr watched as she picked up a bundle of leafy herbs. "Dice this parsley finely and evenly. Surely that is something you can do properly."

Altaïr had half a mind to say that yes, he could do that easily but thought better of it. Malik's Mother had been clear about how he should only say what was 'absolutely necessary.' And since Altaïr was sure that she hadn't been exaggerating about how much weight Malik gave her opinion, it was far better to not aggravate her unduly. That was going to be difficult, though, when his very existence seemed to do that.

It took Altaïr several days to fully pack away all of Kadar's things. After that, Malik moved them into his Mother's house. Al Mualim was not happy about it, and to be honest, Altaïr was regretting the suggestion as well, but Malik at least couldn't complain about being in the fortress any longer. Not that he didn't find other things to complain about. Usually, Altaïr was what he complained about.

Altaïr did his best to ignore Malik's words. He knew it was mostly born out of anger and bitterness over Kadar's death. Luckily he had plenty of other things to do to keep his mind off his husband. Altaïr's didn't truly mind cleaning, but he honestly didn't see why he had to do it a certain way. Malik's Mother had made him clean the kitchen floor five times before finally telling Altaïr that she wanted it cleaned in passes up and down the length of the room rather than following the wall in a series of shrinking passes that Altaïr had done. He still didn't see what the difference was at the end of it, but the floor had likely never been cleaner.

Altaïr hadn't ever lived with anyone as an adult. Much less two people that despised him. He hadn't expected it to be enjoyable, and he was right. His favorite task quickly became going to the market -even though it wasn't every day. Though he hated that people were still taking far more note of him than he wanted, at least none of them actively disliked him or even got in his way. He didn't like shopping, but he would put up with however much he needed to just get out of the house.

Chapter Text

"Ah, Master Malik. It's good to see you. How have things been going?" Master Fayiz asked. He was the head of the healers in Masyaf and had been the one who took off Malik's arm. Malik hadn't seen him in over a week, but his injuries needed to be checked by an actual healer. Not just nursed by Altaïr.

Malik shrugged out of his clothes to expose the bandaged stub of his arm. "It still hurts, but you warned me of that."

"Yes, unfortunately, it will be some time yet before that fades. But I heard you married Altaïr. I imagine having a wife to tend you has been some relief," Fayiz said as he unwound the bandages. He began inspecting the way the arm had been healing with a critical eye. He prodded a few places and applied some oils.

"Altaïr is at least familiar enough with wounds to be of some help there. Otherwise, he is hopeless," Malik said. His Mother had been quite unhappy with Altaïr's work around the house. Although Malik was glad that the man was just doing as he was told for now. "He's headstrong and difficult to teach."

Fayiz hummed thoughtfully. "Have you been bedding him regularly?"

"No. Not since his heat ended," Malik said. He'd thought about it but ultimately had let Altaïr seclude himself in a small pile of cushions in the corner of the room. He had assumed it was some quirk of omegas that he'd done so.

"Ah, that won't do!" Fayiz said as he began to wrap Malik's wound again. "Altaïr is an Omega. Male Omegas have narrower hips and birth canals than females. While that makes them quite enjoyable to bed as they are naturally tighter, it does make it harder for them to give birth. Regular sexual activity will reduce the chance of complications. And if you take him under you regularly, Altaïr will learn to recognize your authority over him."

Malik frowned. "How is that?"

"Omegas and Alphas are primitive creatures," Fayiz said matter-of-factly. "They operate by instinct most of the time. If you fuck Altaïr frequently, he will begin associating your scent with his pleasure and instinctively seek to please you and submit to your wants. When I was a student in Damascus, I knew of a particularly wild Omega. Nobody could take him in hand. Not even his father. A complete menace. But then he went into heat, and an Alpha horse merchant caught wind of him. Six months later, he was fat with a child and even wearing a veil. Perfectly demure and agreed to all of his husband's rules. Finally taken in hand. I think they had nine children by the time I left. Quite an impressive number."

Malik couldn't imagine Altaïr ever in a veil, nor did he think he'd want that. But the idea of Altaïr becoming more accommodating was appealing. "I recommend bedding him at least once a day. More if you can manage it. It will assure him of his place and help him birth a healthy child for you."

Malik nodded. "Thank you for the advice."

"Of course, of course. I've been taught all about how Omegas work, so don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions," Fayiz said. "Or if you need me to check your wife over," he added with a smile.

Malik kept that in mind for later and turned the conversation back to his arm. The wounds there were healing well, and there wasn't much physically to be done. The phantom feelings of his arm still there and in agony would only be fixed with time, as were the aches and pains coming from the surgery scars. After the meeting with Fayiz, Malik made his way back home.

It was early in the day, so Altaïr was undoubtedly doing chores under supervision. Malik wandered the market but didn't see anything interesting. His Mother had mentioned wanting some new vegetables for dinner, but nothing looked good enough. When he finally entered the house, he quickly found Altaïr on his hands and knees, scrubbing the hall floor. Malik walked past to find his Mother in the kitchen. "How's everything been this morning?" Malik asked. "There wasn't any good produce I saw, by the way."

"That's alright, and well enough, I suppose," his Mother said. "That omega of yours made a mess in the study. I just told him to dust the surfaces, and he moved everything over the place. Now it all has to be reorganized! I hope you do something about that."

"I will, Mother."

"Good. More trouble than he's worth."

Malik sat down in a nearby chair. "He'll at least give you grandchildren."

Malik's Mother waved her knife dismissively. "Any nice girl in town could do that. And likely would know better how to keep a house. He does everything wrong. Can't even scrub the floor the right way."

"He seemed to be doing fine in the hallway just now," Malik said. Honestly, he wasn't sure what his Mother was complaining about. Altaïr at least didn't argue about doing the chores, which Malik had been somewhat concerned over. Of course, he did them wrong, but at least he did them. He could be causing a lot more trouble.

"Was he? We'll see when I check on him in an hour, then," she said. "What did the Doctor say about your arm?"

"It's healing as well as can be expected. Not much left to do but give it time," Malik said.

After a short talk with his Mother, Malik headed out to see the progress that Altaïr had made. His Mother joined him. "You're still working?" she demanded when she saw Altaïr on his knees scrubbing the tiles.

"Your son tracked dirt in with him," Altaïr said without looking up.

"If you'd done things right the first time, the floor would have been dry long before Malik came home," his Mother said. "This is your own fault. Don't blame Malik for it."

Altaïr did glance up then, and for a moment, Malik thought he'd say something, but then he just went back to scrubbing the floor. Malik noticed his hands were pink and wrinkled, likely from the constant dunks into the hot water. "Come upstairs," Malik said. "I have another task for you."

Altaïr huffed softly but dropped the rag into the bucket beside him. Malik led the way up the stairs to the study. He gestured to the room that, like his Mother said, was no longer as Malik's father had left it. "You moved everything."

"How else was I to get to all the dust? Besides, this organization makes more sense," Altaïr said.

"Put it all back," Malik ordered. "Every book and parchment. I want it exactly how it was before. If you don't, cleaning the floor will be the least of your chores," Malik said before heading downstairs. Altaïr didn't follow Malik down, but Malik listened. After a few minutes, he heard boxes and cabinets being opened and closed and went to go join his Mother in the sitting room.

Malik promptly forgot about Altaïr and the chore he'd been given. He heard enough movement upstairs to assure him that his wife was still working, and that was plenty. Then, almost two hours later, Malik realized he'd perhaps given Altaïr too much credit.

When he went to check on Altaïr, he found that the entire room was put to right but also covered in a layer of ash and soot. "Altaïr!"

"I did as you said," Altaïr said.

Malik whipped around to glare at the other man standing by the railing with his arms folded. "I put everything back how I found it. Although dust takes a while to build, so I substituted it with something... a bit easier to get my hands on," Altaïr said.

"You-"

"You should be more specific with your orders, husband," Altaïr said.

Malik felt an overwhelming urge to strangle Altaïr and even took a step forward. But Altaïr just remained calm and didn't so much as flinch. "Clean it again. Properly! And then the fireplace! And stove! I want not another speck of ash in this house!" Malik stormed away before he gave in to the urge to do something more than scream. If Altaïr thought he could get away with such a stunt, he had another thing coming.

It took Altaïr the rest of the day to clean his mess and then the stove and fireplace. Then he had to help make dinner. Malik's Mother was, again, exasperated with Altaïr's attempts at cooking and only let him cut ingredients or stir things that were already cooking. Malik had no idea what Altaïr was doing to make his Mother so annoyed as he didn't cook himself and stayed out of the way.

Altaïr ate silently and at the far end of the table while Malik and his Mother talked. Malik's Mother had several friends in the village who had both daughters and sons that they would talk about. Most of the sons were assassins, and quite a number of the daughters were looking for husbands. There were more than a few hints that Malik could always marry one of those girls, but Malik wasn't particularly interested in having multiple wives. He already had Altaïr to deal with, after all.

That night, Malik remembered what Fayiz had suggested. He hadn't taken his right as Altaïr's husband. Perhaps that was why the stunt with the ash had happened. Altaïr needed to be taken in hand. And, honestly, now that he'd recovered from the marathon sex of Altaïr's heat, Malik could very much stand to have sex again. And if it improved Altaïr's demeanor? Well, that was even better.

"Altaïr," Malik said. The man paused where he'd been arranging the pillows in the corner how he liked. He never slept in the bed. Malik felt he should probably change that soon. "Come here."

Altaïr dropped the pillow in his hand and approached somewhat warily. Malik waited until Altaïr was there in front of him before gesturing to him. "Strip, wife." At first, Altaïr didn't do anything, but when Malik ordered him to strip a second time in a firmer voice, he began to shed his clothes. Malik watched each shred of skin being revealed until Altaïr stood in front of him entirely nude.

Malik let his eyes roam the exposed skin in front of him. From his wide shoulders and muscles sculpted by hours of climbing and sword fighting to his narrow hips and strong thighs. His cock was small and limp but easily seen with only a thin spattering of pubic hair above it. "Get on your knees," Malik said as he reached for his own pants. "I'm going to teach you how to suck my cock properly."

Altaïr's expression was pinched and unhappy, but after a moment's hesitation, he went to his knees beside the bed. Malik stroked himself a few times but, thankfully, was already half hard. "Come here, open your mouth," Malik said. Altaïr's expression was still not pleasant, but he shuffled forward anyway. It took him a moment, but then Altaïr opened his mouth as he was told.

Malik wished he had two arms, but he held his cock and made do with pulling Altaïr closer with his leg. It worked well enough, although it was somewhat awkward. He guided his cock into Altaïr's mouth and then moved his hand to the back of his head. "There. Now. Keep your teeth back and suck," Malik said, watching Altaïr carefully.

Altaïr did, and Malik let himself enjoy the feeling. It was far from the best blowjob he'd ever had, but Altaïr was his wife and would learn quick enough. Especially with some guidance. Malik pulled Altaïr's head closer. "More. Use your tongue and suck harder. No, you think that feels good? Slower and hard. And loosen your jaw more."

Altaïr still wasn't particularly good, but Malik continued to tell him how to give Malik the head he preferred. Altaïr's hot mouth and clumsy attempts to please Malik eventually paid off. Malik grew harder and more aroused. Malik pulled Altaïr's head closer again to feel more of his hot mouth around him. Altaïr seemed to struggle at that point, even though he'd taken more during his heat. Malik reluctantly let Altaïr pull back until only the head of Malik's penis was between his lips. "Still not very good. You'll have to work harder to get better."

Malik let go of Altaïr's head then and got to his feet. "On the bed, face down," Malik said as he stroked his saliva-damp cock. He was very aroused now, and the idea of having Altaïr's tight and hot body around him was far too appealing. More appealing than an amateurish blowjob.

Altaïr got to his feet. "I'm not in heat."

"You're my wife," Malik countered. "This is part of your duties."

Altaïr frowned but climbed onto the bed and laid down across the covers. Malik crawled on as well and tapped Altaïr's backside. "Hips up," he ordered. There was a moment's hesitation, but then Altaïr lifted his hips by propping up with his knees. That was good enough for Malik, and he took hold of his erection.

He rubbed himself across Altaïr. Back and forth and spreading the bit of fluid that had built from Malik's arousal. Then he leaned over Altaïr's back and pressed in. Altaïr was not even close to as wet as he'd been during his heat. Although he was incredibly tight and hot still. Malik would have liked him to be more aroused, but that could be solved. Malik let his hand drift down around Altaïr's waist to rub against the bundle of nerves near the base of Altaïr's cock. Altaïr twitched at the first touch there.

Malik started to slowly rock his hips and continued to rub that spot. He was vaguely aware of Altaïr's hands clenched tight in the comforter, but the other man remained quiet. The thrusting of Malik's hips gradually became faster as Altaïr's tight body slowly became hotter and slicker with his own arousal. Malik's fingers rubbed harder into that spot beneath Altaïr's hardening cock and grinned at the muffled whine that he got in response. It was nice that Altaïr was receptive. It would keep the sex much more enjoyable.

Malik threw himself into his own enjoyment. His hand moved back to Altaïr's hip as he picked up his pace and force. He remembered what he'd imagined the first morning after Altaïr's heat. The image of Altaïr full of Malik's child. His hips slammed forward harder. Malik hadn't previously been all that interested in pregnancy or remotely aroused by the sight of pregnant women, but something about the idea of Altaïr in such a state made his blood run hot.

Malik's hand moved again from Altaïr's hip to his flat stomach. Soon it would be confirmed. Then he could watch his son grow in his wife's stomach and feel him move. He would see Altaïr's clothes get tighter until he was forced to wear larger sizes. Malik's hand moved up to rub across Altaïr's nipples. That got him a sharp inhale from Altaïr. Malik wondered how big Altaïr's breasts would grow. Malik knew that male omegas didn't tend to develop very large breasts sometimes to the point that some had difficulties feeding their children, but Altaïr's chest would swell at least some. Malik rocked his hips harder as he shifted his mouth to Altaïr's ear. "How big do you think your chest will be?" he asked as he flicked his thumb again. "Enough to feed my son? I bet so."

Altaïr didn't answer, but that was fine. Malik felt himself getting close to his limit. The feel of Altaïr was very enjoyable. He was still tight and hot, and the wetness of his arousal had grown. Malik closed his eyes and took Altaïr again by the hip. His fantasies and the pleasure of fucking a hot, wet hole were enough.

Malik groaned loudly as he thrust deep and hard and satisfied himself. He let himself enjoy a bit of the afterglow before pulling free of Altaïr's body a few moments later. He got up then and went to clean himself up in the nearby wash basin. Malik only realized then he'd never bothered to remove his clothes. Oh well. Altaïr would wash them tomorrow anyway.

He heard a slight creak and glanced back with the mirror on the wall to see Altaïr had shifted. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Malik began to shed his dirty clothes as Altaïr picked up his own from the floor. Malik watched as Altaïr wordlessly wiped between his legs with his dirty clothes and then went back to the pillows he used as a bed. It was odd. Though Altaïr was usually silent, this was a different sort of silence. Deeper. Vaguely uncomfortable. Subdued. That was the word. Well. That had been what Malik was aiming for, and it looked as if Fayiz was right. Malik turned his attention back to getting himself ready for bed and ignored the disquiet that had sparked when Altaïr didn't even look at him.

Chapter Text

Altaïr sat back against the side of the house. The view in front of him was one of his favorites. The valley with the sun rising over it. The fortress of Masyaf was just off to the side, and though it was dark and thrown into deep shadows from the mountains, it was still majestic. The ledge he was on was the top of the courtyard wall, so it wasn't thick enough to stretch his legs out, but that was fine. Altaïr knew that nobody would spot him where he was. He just wanted to enjoy at least a brief period of time alone and not cleaning the house.

His chores were seemingly never-ending. Malik's Mother would always be able to find more for him to do. Altaïr's knees were bruised from how often he was on them scrubbing the floor. That seemed to be her favorite fallback. He memorized every inch of the ground in this house from how often he was face to face with it. Altaïr was very sure that the house was the cleanest in the village with the hours he'd spent repeatedly doing the same tasks.

Things had fallen into a new routine. Altaïr woke up and watched the sunrise as his one guaranteed enjoyable moment of the day. First, he would help in the kitchen, where he would be scolded over everything he did. Then, he would clean the kitchen, do laundry, and do any other chores that Malik's Mother demanded of him. Sometimes he'd go to the market as a brief moment of relief, return to clean more, help with dinner and, endure more scolding, clean the kitchen again. Then he would please his husband before going to sleep. Sometimes he managed to fit some practice with his sword or free climbing into his day, but it was infrequent, and Altaïr missed it terribly. He also fantasized about burning Malik's bed.

It wasn't that Malik hurt Altaïr in bed or anything of the sort. It was just that every time Malik fucked him, it was a reminder of how little Malik cared for him. Malik got Altaïr aroused and even went out of his way to ensure it, but he didn't put out much effort to bring Altaïr to orgasm. Altaïr wasn't sure if this was exclusively for Malik's pleasure during the act or some twisted punishment. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Altaïr was resigned that he wouldn't have another orgasm from Malik until his next heat. Luckily, he had never been that desperate for sexual gratification, but it was frustrating to be deliberately aroused and then not finished. Every day.

No. Malik fucked Altaïr for his own pleasure and possibly to punish Altaïr. It caused Altaïr no small amount of anxiety and displeasure. Because while Altaïr was face down on Malik's pillow, surrounded by his scent, and Malik was fucking him while rubbing the base of his cock... Altaïr wanted Malik. Not nearly as strongly as during his heat, but the elusive scent of him reminded Altaïr of how good the man had felt before. An undeniable part of him wanted that satisfaction again. He wanted the security of Malik's teeth in his shoulder and his body blanketing Altaïr's. A primitive desire to belong with someone which started during his heat and Altaïr couldn't quite shake. Especially when they were in bed together. But Malik never did that. Instead, he found his own pleasure and then got off. And Altaïr was left in a haze of need and longing and disappointment. Words often abandoned him, and he felt cut adrift. Like a thing. He wasn't Malik's wife. He was more akin to an object.

He hated it. He hated Malik for doing it. More than once, he'd considered pinning Malik down and taking his own satisfaction. Finally. He was strong enough to do it and honestly didn't care very much if Malik would be uncomfortable having sex twice in a row with so little break. Altaïr was left uncomfortable and unfulfilled constantly. No, what really stopped him from doing it wasn't that Malik would undoubtedly not enjoy it... but that Altaïr didn't want to admit that he would. He didn't want to admit he was affected by Malik's perfunctory use of his body.

Altaïr watched some birds fly in the slowly brightening sky and traced the curved furrows on his right arm. The night before, Altaïr had given in to his distress. After retreating to his nest of pillows, Altaïr had felt used and discarded and needed comfort that he knew Malik wasn't interested in giving. It had kept building, and he'd felt on the edge of breaking if something didn't relieve the anxiety.

So.

He'd bitten himself.

The pain had been a welcome distraction from the choked whines that kept wanting to escape. But it hadn't been right. It hadn't fully alleviated the distress and anxiety from being taken but not truly accepted by the person that was supposed to be his mate, but it took the edge off. He would have to keep wearing long sleeves to hide the deep mark of his own teeth, but that was a minor inconvenience. He tended to prefer long sleeves, anyway.

But he found shame had grabbed hold the moment he'd dug his teeth into his own arm. The fact that he'd been so affected by Malik. The fact that he'd had to bite himself at all. The fact that it actually helped him to feel less fractured. He was supposed to be better than his instincts. Unaffected by that side of him. But the need had been too overwhelming. Nobody was quite sure why Alphas and Omegas bit the ones they were with. Why the dig of teeth seemed to signify something deeper and more complete than sex without was still a mystery. But it was a well-recorded fact. Biting was just part of an Omega or Alpha's sex life. But Malik didn't do that. And Altaïr still had enough pride to not beg. And yet it still felt shameful to have to bite himself. Altaïr tried to think of it as him being his own mate, but that thought felt hollow and like a lie immediately. He wasn't claiming himself. He was trying for a poor imitation.

Altaïr heard the door to his Mother-in-Law's room open and then close and sighed. She was up earlier than usual. He'd have to go and help with breakfast soon. Altaïr didn't particularly want to. He was honestly tired, and starting another day in this house was the last thing on his list of desires. Altaïr stared at the sunrise for another moment before carefully shuffling along the ledge to climb over the second-floor railing.

He was quiet as he slipped back into the room he shared with Malik. Malik was still asleep, and Altaïr began to prepare the room for when he would wake up in perhaps an hour. Altaïr wanted to go back to bed or somewhere quiet and peaceful where he wouldn't be barked at like he was a piece of scum. But that wouldn't happen.

After quickly pouring out fresh water for Malik to use when he woke up, Altaïr gathered up the clothes from the day before and put them in the basket he would wash later on that day. Only then did he head downstairs to the kitchen. "There you are," his Mother-in-Law said when she saw him. "Get over here, Omega. Stir this, and don't let it burn!"

Altaïr resisted the urge to sigh and took the woman's place by the fire to stir what seemed to be a stew of some sort. It looked just started, and Altaïr assumed it was dinner that he would likely have to sit and tend to all day between his chores. "I do have a name," he said, more to himself than his mother-in-law. They hadn't ever been formally introduced, and Malik only called her Mother. But Altaïr knew that she was more than aware of his name. She had claimed as much when they first arrived and greeted him with a glare.

"You should count yourself lucky I don't call you worse," she said, slamming some dough against the table.

Altaïr decided to not press forward with that topic. It was unlikely to end in anything but unpleasantness. He wondered idly if his miserable time in this household would ever improve. He rather doubted it. Altaïr tried to not think about it lest he let his mood darken even further. Aside from the dough being slammed and thrown around and the fire crackling, the kitchen was silent. An oppressive, uncomfortable silence that even Altaïr, who was used to quiet, couldn't help but note.

He wanted so badly to leave this place. To return to the life, he knew and was comfortable with. But here in the village, there was little beyond domestic, provincial endeavors. It was driving Altaïr utterly mad. It wasn't particularly difficult work; although its endlessness was daunting, it was not terribly engaging either. Altaïr wasn't sure how anyone could do these chores daily and not go entirely mad.

"Omega. Leave that there and cut these," his mother-in-law ordered.

Altaïr put the spoon on the hook for it and went to where the woman had left a variety of herbs and vegetables to cut. She had a long list of requirements for how to properly cut the piles before she went to crush some spices in the mortar. Left to it, Altaïr followed her instructions with mindless motions. It wasn't as if any of these things took effort on his part.

He was still cutting herbs into fine slices when Malik came into the kitchen. Altaïr watched as he greeted his Mother with a kiss on the cheek. Altaïr was, of course, utterly ignored. 'Servant,' he reminded himself. 'You are his servant. Not his wife.' It felt less like blatant rejection when he framed it that way. The bite mark on his arm throbbed. He ignored it.

Altaïr didn't really taste any food he ate or bother complaining when he sat down to wash his husband's clothes. It wasn't as if anyone would listen to him anyway, so why waste his breath? But, no, Altaïr couldn't focus on much at all. He needed something engaging. Something other than this horrid domestic monotony to keep him from breaking utterly. He didn't know if that was their intent, but Altaïr wasn't about to let it happen without a fight.

The day progressed much like how he expected it to. Altaïr spent most of it cleaning the house. He liked a tidy environment, but his mother-in-law had standards that Altaïr simply did not share. So he tended the house and then his husband's attentions and yet again went to bed miserable. Though he was doing his best to maintain some amount of optimism. It didn't come naturally to him, but he was trying.

The day turned into another week, and Altaïr was contemplating if he should just... leave. What was really stopping him? If he wasn't ever going to be allowed to be an assassin again, the only benefit in staying was that he would not be a disgraced pregnant omega. Because he wouldn't be able to earn his inheritance if he wasn't allowed to hunt down and kill Robert. He would be doomed to forever be Malik's broodmare and servant.

But if Altaïr did leave, nobody would necessarily have to know about how he got pregnant. That his husband was a callous man who treated him like a servant and thing for pleasure. Altaïr could easily say his husband had died. Him being a widow with a child wouldn't be that unusual. The biggest hurdle that Altaïr saw was that... he had nothing outside of the brotherhood. No family. No purpose. No real way of earning money to support himself. At least with Malik, he did have a small amount of food and security. He only had to sacrifice every speck of his pride and personality for it. And deal with the torment of being so close to his inheritance and forever unable to earn it.

Then, one day he woke up feeling absolutely horrible. Altaïr barely managed to crawl over to the wash basin and get his head over it before he began to throw up. It was so intense and painful that he was worried his entire stomach might turn inside out and end up in the mess under his head. Altaïr was left trembling and feeling like any move would send him into painful dry heaves all over again. He risked letting go of the basin's edge to wipe at his face. Tears had trailed down his eyes from how intense the sickness had been, while his lips and chin were even more unpleasant.

"Well. That seems promising."

Altaïr tilted his head just barely enough to see Malik sitting in the bed. Apparently, Altaïr's sickness had woken him. "We'll go to the healers after breakfast," Malik said. "But Mother says that's often the first sign."

Altaïr wanted to say something snappish back, but his stomach rolled again, and he couldn't stop the reflexive heaving that came over him. It was horribly painful. Especially as everything that had been in his stomach had already come out. All that was left was bile, but his body apparently didn't care.

Altaïr tried to get up and get ready for the day, but he felt chained to the basin. He was heaving over it more times that morning than he wanted to admit. His attempt to try and eat something for breakfast came back up after only a few minutes. Not that it had helped his discomfort in the first place. He didn't particularly want to eat when he was feeling so nauseous and would almost certainly throw everything back up.

The walk to Masyaf was difficult as well. Altaïr was sick twice. Or it would have been if he'd had even the smallest bit of anything in his stomach. He felt utterly horrible. Never in his life had he ever felt so ill. Did people die from this? It seemed possible. Malik took Altaïr to Master Fayiz. Not a healer that Altaïr particularly liked.

Master Fayiz seemed excited that Altaïr was so ill and quickly ordered him to drop his pants and lay back on a nearby table. Altaïr did not want to do that in the least, but Malik just lifted an eyebrow as if questioning, while Altaïr hadn't immediately done so. Altaïr was tired and nauseous and just wanted things over with, so he undid his pants and laid down.

Altaïr tried to ignore how exposed and vulnerable he felt as Fayiz spread his legs and propped his feet up in stirrups. It was horribly demeaning, and Altaïr was feeling more than a little embarrassment and oddly panic and anger. He tried to press down all the conflicting emotions even as Fayiz put his fingers into Altaïr's body. Altaïr very nearly kicked him, but the strap around his ankle kept him from doing it. Instead, Altaïr dug his fingers into the table and fought the noises trying to rise up from his chest.

Altaïr closed his eyes and ignored the violating, probing fingers as best he could. Fayiz's other hand was on Altaïr's abdomen, and he was chattering something, apparently oblivious to anything above Altaïr's waist. It went on for too long. Much too long. Altaïr felt his eyes burning behind his lids, and he felt the urge to vomit, not just from nausea but utter disgust. There was a reason he had stopped going to Fayiz in favor of other healers.

"-rst time examining a pregnant Omega. Fascinating. His birth canal is still quite narrow. But, yes, I'm sure of it. He's definitely been bred successfully. Congratulations, Master Malik."

Altaïr dug his fingers in deeper as Fayiz's fingers spread apart uncomfortably. Like Altaïr was some curiosity. "You should work to loosen the muscles here for the birth. It'll make things easier." Fayiz pushed Altaïr's shirt up without warning and groped at his chest. Altaïr gasped and jerked away, but he was flat on his back on the table, so he didn't get very far. "Still no growth but that shouldn't happen for a few months yet. Are they more sensitive?"

Altaïr was bewildered and too distressed to even think of an answer, but it turned out the question wasn't really addressed to him anyway. "Haven't noticed any extra sensitivity," Malik said. "Should there be?"

"Mm, it's common for pregnancy to make breasts more tender. But pregnancy, especially with Omegas isn't an exact science," Fayiz said as he finally stepped away. Altaïr quickly unstrapped his legs and pulled his shirt down. He felt like he was swaying in place when he sat upright again. He reached for his pants and pulled them back on, not liking how his hand was trembling but hoping nobody else noticed it. Luckily Fayiz and Malik were talking to the side and seemingly not paying Altaïr any attention.

The only medical examination that Altaïr recalled being more uncomfortable than that was the one immediately after his first heat. That, too, had been Fayiz's exam, and it had made him feel equally violated and shaken. Fayiz was apparently a good healer. One of the best. But Altaïr hated how he just grabbed and prodded with little to no warning. How he never told Altaïr himself anything. He had always either reported the results of his exam to Al Mualim or... apparently now to Malik.

Altaïr got dressed as Fayiz spoke only to Malik. The two men were ignoring him, so Altaïr left the room once he was again properly clothed. He didn't really have a destination in mind, but he couldn't stay in that room and listen to them discuss his pregnancy as if he were not even there. Or worth consulting. Because he realized... they probably didn't think he was. Altaïr understood that this was his punishment. He did. But that didn't help. Eventually, not having literally anywhere else to go, Altaïr ended up back at Malik's Mother's house.

Chapter Text

Pregnancy, it seemed, did not agree with Altaïr. He was nauseous all the time. When he first woke up, when he ate, when he didn’t eat, when he smelled anything too pungent, and whenever his stomach damn well wanted. Altaïr found himself throwing up constantly. He could barely keep any food down. Water, bread, and sometimes a few olives or dates were all he was managing. And even then, he sometimes still threw it back up. It was miserable, and after only a week, he’d lost a truly shocking amount of weight. He didn’t know how anyone would put up with it for multiple children.

Throwing up constantly also made him tired. He simply couldn’t get through all the chores his mother-in-law gave him. Especially if he got supremely unlucky and vomited all over the place before he could get to a basin or outside. That had happened a few times, and cleaning up his own sick had only made him even more ill. A spiraling chain reaction he couldn’t stop.

Altaïr could also live without being woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, which was happening all the time. Altaïr was contemplating just ignoring his mother-in-law entirely and staying in his room until he felt better. Considering how difficult it was for him to do anything productive around the house, it wouldn’t actually be that big of a loss. Plus, they wouldn’t have to interact. Everyone would likely be happier with that.

The only time he didn’t seem to be miserable with nausea was when he was under his husband, and that was only the barest of comforts considering Malik still did not seem interested in more than his own satisfaction. It was probably caused by his body being too busy being an absolute needy disgrace to remember to be sick. Not that it helped the distress after even a little. Altaïr’s teeth had left several marks in both arms by this point.

Altaïr had had enough. He had made a mistake with the Temple of Solomon, yes, but he didn’t deserve this treatment. He was sure of it. He hadn’t made his mistake with the intention of anyone getting hurt, much less Kadar dying. It might have been his fault, but he wasn’t the evil murderer they kept trying to paint him as. Not for this particular death, anyway.

But the problem was, as ever, his inheritance. It still hung over his head tauntingly. The one thing he’d ever truly wanted, and it was kept hidden away by Al Mualim. Leaving it behind felt like… well, like everything he’d ever done had been for nothing. All the hard training, all the killing, and now bearing Malik’s ill-tempered babe. That felt like stroking a cat the wrong way to Altaïr. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to give it up yet. However, Al Mualim had said if de Sable was killed, he would give it back… So what if Malik hadn’t given him permission to pursue the man? Altaïr might have promised to be Malik’s wife, but he’d never sworn to be a particularly obedient or good one.

Ideally, Altaïr would leave immediately before his body became too laden with the child. But, the constant sickness was a significant hindrance. One couldn’t easily hunt a man across the Holy Lands while being sick a dozen times a day. So, he figured he had a small but precious window between when the illness abated and before his belly swelled. Until then, he would endure being where he was. Altaïr was more likely to get bits of information here, and he wouldn’t have to worry about providing himself food and shelter. So, he just had to endure. He could do that.

Altaïr was washing Malik’s clothes when he heard footsteps nearby. He didn’t bother to look up and just focused on what he was doing. “Altaïr.” Altaïr froze in pure shock. That was his mother-in-law’s voice. Addressing him by name. But she never did that. Altaïr looked up and saw the woman standing there with a strange expression on her face. “Come with me.”

Altaïr assumed she had some other chore to demand of him, although using his name was still very odd. He dropped the shirt he had been washing back in the basin and followed his mother-in-law inside the house and to the kitchen. Altaïr glanced around for whatever needed to be done but didn’t immediately spot anything. His nausea swelled at the pungent smell of spices nearby, but he swallowed hard and tried to muscle past the discomfort.

“Sit.”

Altaïr was still confused but sat at his usual spot at the end of the table like his mother-in-law ordered. She busied herself on the other side of the kitchen while Altaïr tried to figure out why she had called him into the kitchen. What did she need him to do? Why tell him to sit with no task in front of him? It didn’t make sense with what he had come to know of her.

She came back to the table and set a cup in front of where he was sitting. “Drink that.”

Altaïr eyed the steaming cup and then looked back at her. This was now two things that had never happened before. Using his name and giving him anything at all without it being for some chore she wanted him to do. Despite her distaste for hearing him talk, Altaïr simply couldn’t reason what was going on. “... what is it?” he asked.

“It will help with your sickness,” she said. “I realized yesterday you probably didn’t know how to make it.”

Yesterday? Altaïr thought back to the day before. He’d had a particularly bad bout of vomiting the other day and had made a mess in the entry hall from it. Cleaning up the mess had been utterly disgusting, time-consuming, and frustrating. He’d almost been driven to tears and complained to nobody that Malik’s child truly was like his father. That even the babe growing in him hated him utterly. Altaïr had been secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t a soul around that could hear him or would be upset by his difficulties. He’d thought briefly he’d heard footsteps in the hall, but he’d not seen anyone when he checked.

“Drink it,” Malik’s mother repeated. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm you.” Altaïr narrowed his eyes at that and let his silence linger. He didn’t accept that statement in the least, and it was ridiculous that she thought he’d believe it. The silence lasted another moment, and she sighed. “I wouldn’t do anything that would harm the baby,” she corrected.

That Altaïr believed a little more. He picked up the cup and sipped at the hot liquid. It was bitter and unpleasant on his tongue, but he didn’t protest. He just drank it quickly. His mother-in-law sat down in the seat across from him, and Altaïr continued to be wary. “You have lost quite a lot of weight,” she said.

“... I’m aware,” Altaïr said. He couldn’t do much about that, though, considering he couldn’t keep food in his stomach with any sort of regularity.

“This tea will help and you need to eat more frequently. That should help as well,” she said. “Every pregnancy is different but your baby seems to be quite particular about many things.”

“A familial trait,” Altaïr said. She looked at him with a slight scowl on her face, but Altaïr wasn’t about to take it back. He still lived with her and was subject to her very exacting demands.

After a moment, she sighed. “I will teach you how to make the tea. I’ve altered a few ingredients from what I used myself to better work with your Omega body. We can still change things if it doesn’t turn out to be effective.”

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at the word ‘we’ that she’d used. What was all this? He didn’t really believe that she felt bad for his treatment. Perhaps she saw it purely from a practical standpoint. If Altaïr continued to lose weight, the baby would undoubtedly be affected negatively as well. That, at least, was something Altaïr felt he could understand. “Very well,” Altaïr said.

His mother-in-law refilled his cup with more tea and then proceeded to teach him how to make the drink. Altaïr still found it unpleasant, but he could put up with quite a lot if it actually did soothe his constantly churning stomach. She also gave him some roasted nuts and dried dates to eat and insisted he actually do it. Altaïr felt like he’d somehow stepped into a completely other world. Even with the excuse of ensuring the child’s health, Malik’s mother was being… almost cordial. Not friendly by any means but much blunted than her usual sharp criticism of him.

Altaïr left after the impromptu tea lesson and went back to the laundry. His stomach still wasn’t settled, but he didn’t feel like he was immediately going to throw up, so he considered it an improvement. He even managed to finish scrubbing and hanging up all of Malik’s clothes before the nausea started to return. Altaïr went back to the kitchen and drank more of the tea in an effort to combat the sickness. It didn’t work, unfortunately, and Altaïr ended up losing everything he’d eaten into a nearby pot.

He wondered if his mother-in-law would follow through and help him find a better tea recipe. Altaïr couldn’t quite bring himself to believe this unusual kindness would last. He drank more of the tea and ate some bread, although he didn’t have much hope that any of it would stay down. Then he went back to his seemingly never-ending chores.

Chapter Text

The tea helped. Sometimes. On average, Altaïr was now able to keep down most of a meal a day. He tried snacking to ease his stomach as his Mother-in-Law suggested, but that didn’t help much at all to stop him from throwing up. It had been many weeks since the sickness had started, and he was getting too thin. Altaïr knew it but couldn’t fix the situation. The baby simply wrought extreme havoc on his digestive system.

In fact, he was losing enough weight that Malik wanted to take him to the healers. Altaïr managed to avoid doing that simply by assuring Malik he’d eat more and eating whenever Malik told him to do so. He vomited most of it back up, but Malik didn’t need to know that. But the sickness wasn’t the only symptom that Altaïr had to contend with. His chest was sore. Malik even commented that he thought that Altaïr’s chest was already getting larger, which Altaïr was sure was in Malik’s head. The concept was mortifying, though, even if it did seem to assure Malik that Altaïr was indeed managing to put on some of the weight he lost. He was also getting headaches frequently, which was unusual for him and made his life just that much more miserable. How did anyone put up with this sort of thing more than once?

Altaïr knew that all of his symptoms were normal, but that didn’t make him any less self-conscious about them. He wasn’t a man who was prone to illness or weakness, and now he was getting physically sick multiple times a day, and his body was changing in ways he wasn’t at all familiar or comfortable with.

And then, at dinner one day, Malik made an announcement. “I have been cleared by the healers,” he said. “Al Mualim wants me to begin training in Jerusalem to take over the Bureau there.”

“And how long will that take?” his Mother asked.

Malik shrugged even as he picked up a piece of bread. “A month or two, most likely. But I’m to take over as soon as I’m deemed ready. It would be best to simply move now before Altaïr is too far along to easily travel.” Altaïr stared at his plate in front of him and tuned out the rest of the conversation. He had known that -if Malik was indeed promoted to Dai- that leaving Masyaf was highly likely. Malik wasn’t the sort of man to leave Altaïr -or, more accurately, the babe he was growing- behind in another city.

But, the idea of leaving Masyaf was… oddly unsettling. Altaïr didn’t like his situation here. He didn’t appreciate the stares and whispers. He was not ignorant of the many rumors that had begun to be spread about him ever since his marriage to Malik. He often felt shamed by his own fall in status. But, at least here, he was also acknowledged as a formidable fighter. He was more than just an Omega, even if he’d fallen. Out there… well, he was nobody out there. Once he began to show, he would be disregarded by almost everyone. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Then again, being in Jerusalem might bring him closer to finding and killing de Sable. The Brotherhood informants likely wouldn’t tell Altaïr anything, but they weren’t the only sources of information in the world. It would undoubtedly be difficult, but ultimately, it could prove to be exactly what he needed to achieve his goals. He found himself torn.

Altaïr was brought back to the conversation when he heard his Mother-in-Law saying something about ‘finding a big enough house,’ which was strange as there should already be quarters attached to the Bureau. It took a few moments, but then Altaïr realized she planned to go to Jerusalem with them. “You don’t have to come as well,” Altaïr said.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I do,” she said. “Setting up a new household is difficult and then the birth of my grandchild right after it? You’ll definitely need help.”

Altaïr frowned. He really didn’t think he would. And even if he did, his Mother-in-Law, despite her softening slightly, was not the person he’d first pick for such a thing. But… he looked back down at his plate and realized he also didn’t have anyone else. He has no family of his own. No friends, either. And it wasn’t as if he could stop her from coming along.

“Are you sure?” Malik asked. “I did not think you wanted to leave this home.”

“I don’t. But I also want to be nearby when you need me,” she said. “And… if you are in Jerusalem… I fear this house will be too big for just myself.”

Malik hummed thoughtfully. “Very well… it will take some time to find a place and move, though.”

“I know. That’s why I’m bringing it up now.”

“Very well, we’ll make that a priority then,” Malik assured her.

And that, apparently, was that. Altaïr was annoyed but was becoming somewhat used to his opinions and thoughts being outright ignored if he could voice them. Altaïr was packing a few bags for travel the very next day. At least, he reasoned this was an opportunity that he sorely needed, and he didn’t even have to flee his husband to accomplish it.

Altaïr half expected Malik to treat him like many men treated their spouse, get a cart, and force him to ride along as a passenger, but thankfully, he didn’t. Altaïr was still fully capable of riding his horse even if the nausea still was a problem that required him to stop riding more frequently than he’d like. Malik seemed a bit annoyed every time Altaïr stopped them to vomit, but he didn’t actually say anything, which was good. Altaïr wasn’t sure he’d have kept his temper if Malik had said something about Altaïr’s illness when Malik was the one dragging them to another city.

Especially as the further they got from Masyaf, the better Altaïr felt. The more like himself he felt. He hadn’t entirely realized just how stifled and depressed he’d been until he was far from the walls he’d come to view as a sort of prison. Just a few hours of travel had his spirits lifting and his fracturing sense of self being soothed. Altaïr was in no hurry anyway, but as the day wore on, he found he didn’t mind as much when he stopped repeatedly.

That meant it would take them longer to get to Jerusalem, and Altaïr was perfectly fine with that. The first night as they made camp, Altaïr was, for the first time, in charge of dinner on his own. It was such a relief to be able to actually cook rather than being snapped at and ordered around doing mostly preparations and mindless tasks that toddlers could do. Of course, they were still camping in the wilderness, so that limited what he could do, but Malik didn’t bother him like his Mother-in-Law would have.

Malik tended to the horses as Altaïr put together all the ingredients he had pulled out. He knew the lentils would take longer to cook since he hadn’t soaked them, but Altaïr didn’t consider that would be a big deal. If he ate travel rations, he felt confident he would vomit immediately, which he was tired of doing. Altaïr and Malik continued doing their tasks until the meal was ready. It was less uncomfortable here in the wilderness with Malik than it had been in town. Perhaps travelling with Malik was what made him feel more like himself, as it was almost like they were simply on another mission as assassins. Something they had done before and, as such, felt familiar and ordinary. Although back then, when they were much younger, Altaïr had relied on travelling rations more than actually cooking, and they had been substantially friendlier with each other.

When the soup was done, Malik looked apprehensive as he took the bowl Altaïr handed him. Altaïr rolled his eyes and began to eat his own portion. Malik took a tentative bite and straightened up in clear surprise. Altaïr continued to eat, hoping that, for once, he would keep it all down afterward. “You… did mother teach you this?”

Altaïr rolled his eyes again. “No. I taught me this.”

“You said you couldn’t cook!”

“I said I cooked well enough for me,” Altaïr said dryly. “Which is true. Both you and your Mother assumed that meant it was bad.” He lived alone and usually travelled alone. Yes, he frequently relied on travel rations and preserved foods, but it hadn’t taken very long before he wanted good meals even while on the road, and so he had figured out how to cook. “I may not know all the family recipes and traditional cooking that your mother learned from hers and so on and so forth, but I don’t eat tasteless slop.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Malik demanded.

“Why should I?” Altaïr asked back. “You have made it quite clear what you want from me and how you view me, Malik. As long as you get a son from my womb, what does it matter?”

Malik frowned. “It would have saved quite a bit of trouble.”

Altaïr nearly laughed aloud. “Oh, yes, my sole purpose in life is to save you trouble,” he said before lifting his spoon again. “If you truly cared, you’d have at least tried what I could make before throwing me to your Mother. But you didn’t. And you don’t.”

Malik was quiet at that, and Altaïr considered it a rare win. He turned his attention to his meal, and eventually, Malik returned to eating as well. The rest of the meal was quiet. Altaïr wondered what Malik seemed to be thinking about so hard but didn’t bother to ask. If it was important, Malik would eventually say something.

What Altaïr hadn’t really thought about, though, was that Malik wasn’t going to stop taking his law-given right to Altaïr’s body while they travelled. He wasn’t sure why that didn’t occur to him, but it didn’t to the point that he was surprised when, after dinner, Malik grabbed his wrist to stop him from putting his bedroll out on the other side of the fire. “It’s pointless to be over there, Altaïr,” Malik said. “Better to share blankets.”

Altaïr frowned. “I’d rather have my own sleeping place.”

“Sharing our blankets will be more comfortable,” Malik insisted. “Come here.”

There was another pause as Altaïr didn’t exactly want to share bedding with Malik. He’d avoided it for several months since they’d been married, and he wasn’t terribly interested in changing that. Malik tugged on Altaïr’s wrist. “Stop being stubborn. Strip and get in bed.”

“Strip?”

“Yes,” Malik said as if it were obvious. “So long as we are within easy distance of each other I intend to do my duty. It is better for you and the baby for me to have you.”

Altaïr’s frown deepened. “Neither of us need your attentions.”

“The doctor was quite clear. Besides, you are my wife,” Malik said firmly. Altaïr knew that Malik was technically correct, but that didn’t soothe him. He just wanted to go to sleep for once. With a heavy sigh, Altaïr managed to twist his wrist out of Malik’s hand to begin undoing his clothes. He didn’t fully remove his shirt, so the bites along his arms were still concealed, but Malik probably wouldn’t care. Aside from groping Altaïr’s chest blindly, he spent most of his energy simply spending himself.

Sharing blankets was by far more intimate than Malik’s bed had been. There wasn’t as much room as Altaïr knelt down, and even with a little extra cushioning under his knees from the second set of blankets, it was still solid ground. Malik surprised Altaïr by taking Altaïr by the hip and rolling him over. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see you,” Malik said as he rucked Altaïr’s shirt up to expose his chest. His hand moved up to grope his chest, rubbing over Altaïr’s nipple firmly. “Your breasts have been sore lately, haven’t they? Does it feel better when I rub them?”

“Why would it?” Altaïr asked as he looked at the fire rather than Malik above him.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No.”

“You’re blushing though,” Malik said.

Altaïr glared at him. “I am not.”

Malik, the bastard, chuckled. “Sure, you’re not,” he said before lowering his head. Altaïr gasped in surprise as Malik pressed his mouth against one nipple to lick the aching nub. Malik’s hand squeezed and massaged the other side of Altaïr’s chest for a few moments before moving down between his legs. Altaïr closed his eyes and simply allowed himself to enjoy the pleasant sensations. He knew it wouldn’t amount to much for him, but it was easier this way.

Malik’s fingers pressed into the tender nerves under Altaïr’s penis while still sucking his chest. It wasn’t surprising when Altaïr felt his body heating and growing wet between his legs. Altaïr gripped the blankets beneath him and tried to remain quiet as Malik did what he wanted. He knew from experience that while it felt good now, he would ultimately end up disappointed.

Malik shifted to kiss and suck on Altaïr’s other nipple while his fingers rubbed and stroked over Altaïr’s moistening center. Altaïr groaned a little but kept his eyes closed. Malik shifted, and Altaïr heard rustling cloth. A moment later, Malik was pressing his cock inside Altaïr’s body. Altaïr couldn’t quite stop the noise that escaped. Damn it, he sometimes hated that the man filled his body so nicely.

Malik rocked his hips in long, slow motions, different from the way he usually took Altaïr’s body beneath him. Usually, he was harder. Faster. But Altaïr certainly didn’t mind the difference. Malik’s hand moved up to massage and squeeze Altaïr’s chest while his mouth continued to suck and gently bite against Altaïr’s other nipple.

Altaïr wasn’t sure what had changed to get Malik to act so differently, but it was definitely harder to simply let it happen. He gripped the bedding beneath him and tried to focus on breathing despite the pleasant sensations that were flooding his brain. Malik lifted his head from Altaïr’s chest. “You’re even wetter than usual, Altaïr,” he said.

“Shut up,” Altaïr murmured.

“I’m not mocking you,” Malik said. “I’m just surprised.”

Altaïr opened his eyes and looked at his husband. Considering how Malik usually bedded him, what an absolutely ridiculous thing to say. “Are you?” Altaïr asked as he felt his temper, forcibly banked for months, rise up sharply. Able to finally break free now that they were soundly alone and Altaïr had nothing to fear.

Malik barely had a chance to react before Altaïr used his strength and years of combat training to flip them over so that Malik was the one flat on his back. Altaïr pushed one hand down against Malik’s chest as he settled on Malik’s lap. “I think you forget just who it is you fuck every night, Malik,” he said.

“I know who you are,” Malik denied.

“No. You do not know who I am at all,” Altaïr said. “Nor have you made an attempt to find out.” Malik moved as if to get up, but Altaïr pinned him down quickly. “No,” he said forcefully. A command that made Malik freeze. “I know you do not like me. But I am your spouse, am I not?”

Malik hesitated but nodded. “You are.”

“And do you enjoy my body?”

“I do.”

Altaïr rolled his hips, and Malik gasped slightly as his cock twitched. “I can feel that,” Altaïr said. “Now tell me, Malik… between your usual efforts and our time during my heat… which do you think I appreciate more?” He didn’t wait for Malik to answer before leaning closer and sliding one hand up to wrap around Malik’s throat. He squeezed just enough to remind his husband how strong he was and how easily Malik could be strangled. “I think it long past time I remind you just who it is you married, Malik. I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, not some weak sheltered omega who’s never even held a sword. You use my body and I allow it because it is your right by law. But do not make the mistake of thinking you have once satisfied me since my heat ended.”

“Altaïr-”

“Hush, Malik. I’m not done,” Altaïr said. “I may be bearing your child, but I am still a man. And I am quite tired of the treatment you give me. Am I making myself clear, husband?” He could feel the bob of Malik’s Adam’s Apple under his hand as he swallowed, and then Malik nodded. Altaïr studied Malik before leaning down so that his mouth was beside his ear. “Have you noticed that you haven’t softened even slightly? I think you don’t mind me being on top. Shall I remind you what else we did during my heat?”

Malik was still staring and swallowed under Altaïr’s hand again. But Altaïr caught the slight nod and allowed himself to smirk. “Good. I think we’ll both enjoy it much more this way,” he said before starting to rock his hips. Malik groaned as Altaïr began to ride him, and Altaïr turned his attention to satisfying himself for once. That should be easy enough because despite how Malik had used it, Altaïr did find his cock to be quite satisfying.

Altaïr braced himself against Malik’s chest with one hand while his other grabbed at Malik’s wrist. Altaïr guided Malik’s hand to his cock even as he continued to rock his hips. Malik jerked under him when his hand came into contact with Altaïr’s stiff dick. “I’m still a man,” Altaïr said for the second time. “I still like having my cock touched.”

Malik still had a strange expression on his face. Altaïr couldn’t quite tell if it was confusion, surprise, or something else, but Altaïr used his hand to guide Malik’s. Altaïr closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the dual sources of pleasure. Malik’s cock filled his body so perfectly and had only grown harder as Altaïr’s moved.

“A-Altaïr…”

Altaïr looked down and saw that Malik’s face was flushed with arousal, and he started stroking Altaïr’s cock without further guidance. Altaïr leaned down to press his mouth to Malik’s ear. He allowed his teeth to scrape against Malik’s skin but refrained from biting because of how much Malik bitched about Altaïr’s biting during his heat. “Just touch me like you touch yourself. You know how good it feels.” He heard Malik’s inhale and mouthed his way down Malik’s neck and shoulder. He really wanted to bite and suck and mark up his skin and show he had a mate, but Altaïr could control himself. Altaïr prided himself on not being controlled by his Omega instincts.

Altaïr pushed himself back upright and used his legs to speed up his movements. This way, Altaïr’s teeth were far away from Malik’s skin. Altaïr’s cock was leaking, and he was feeling closer to climax than he had in quite some time. “Yes. Like that,” Altaïr said.

Malik was clearly enjoying it as well. Altaïr could tell by how his husband’s hips were jerking that Malik was getting close to climax. Altaïr was getting closer as well. His legs were starting to burn, but he ignored them.

Malik groaned and jerked his hips up harder, and Altaïr couldn’t entirely stop the noise that escaped when Malik did that. Malik either noticed or really wanted to finish as he started thrusting up faster and more energetically. Altaïr was glad that Malik hadn’t stopped stroking him like he rather expected him to. Altaïr braced himself against Malik’s chest again as he bounced over Malik faster and ground down when they came together again.

Altaïr closed his eyes as he felt the pleasure overwhelm him. He was glad that there was nobody around, and he couldn’t quite hold back the noises that were breaking free as he sped up his motion. Finally, he felt the immense pleasure of his orgasm washing over him. His whole body trembled as his brain whited out for just a moment.

Altaïr was vaguely aware of being on his back again and Malik taking charge to thrust hard and fast into Altaïr’s body. It didn’t take Malik long to groan out his own pleasure and finish as well. They lay beside each other in the tangled blankets and just caught their breath. Aside from their breathing and the occasional fire crack, it was quiet.

After several moments, Altaïr finally roused himself enough to go and retrieve a rag and wet it with some of their water so that they could clean up the worst of the mess. Once he’d cleaned himself, he handed the rag to Malik. The quiet remained between them as they resettled in the blankets. Altaïr reluctantly allowed his husband to curl around his body. Malik’s hand came to rest on Altaïr’s stomach and, although Altaïr was uncomfortable with the man so close, didn’t protest. His neck itched terribly, but Altaïr didn’t ask Malik to bite him. Malik never bit him, after all. Altaïr would just deal with the discomfort of it. Neither of them spoke any further, and eventually, Altaïr managed to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The sky was just beginning to lighten on the horizon as Malik lay curled around Altaïr. He had slept, although not terribly well. His mind was preoccupied with a good many things. His hand spanned his wife’s abdomen still, and his thumb idly stroked over his skin as his mind buzzed. The night before had been unexpected. Altaïr pushing him down and riding him had been… very pleasurable. Malik felt his morning stiffness harden a little more just because of his memory of it. Malik hadn’t put much thought into his and Altaïr’s sex life, which was admittedly an oversight. Malik had bedded many women before marrying Altaïr and was quite good at it, but his wife was not a woman, and Malik had been avoiding that fact.

Malik hadn’t thought he’d minded much that Altaïr was the masculine version of an Omega, but as he thought about it, Altaïr did have a point. He had tried to be quick and efficient in bedding his wife for (what he thought) was both their sakes. Malik had enjoyed Altaïr’s body well enough, and he wanted the birth of his child to go as smoothly as possible. He had just sort of assumed that Altaïr was fine with quick and efficient. But Altaïr obviously didn’t think so. When Altaïr had put Malik’s hand on his dick the night before, it had been startling. It had only then occurred to Malik that he’d never touched Altaïr’s cock before then. He hadn’t been consciously avoiding it, but Malik was aware that Altaïr’s cock was more or less impotent. Even if he wasn’t married to Malik, a male Omega’s ability to sire children was woefully small. And Malik was honestly not sure how well Altaïr’s cock would satisfy a woman in the first place. He wasn’t childlike, but his cock was smaller and thinner than any other man Malik had seen -even when fully aroused.

But, Malik reminded himself, that clearly didn’t mean that Altaïr didn’t enjoy being touched there. He remembered quite clearly the expression on his wife’s face when Malik had done as commanded and stroked his dick. Malik realized then that wasn’t the only thing that Malik had never done with Altaïr. Before marrying Altaïr, Malik had prided himself in being an attentive lover to his partners. He’d never before had complaints at all. But, he admitted, he’d only ever bedded normal women. Not men and not Omegas. Maybe he’d allowed that and his own history with Altaïr to influence him more than he thought. No, he realized, there was no ‘maybe’ about it. He had allowed all of that to affect his behavior.

Malik let his hand drift from Altaïr’s stomach to his crotch. His fingers gently brushed over the thin patch of hair that Altaïr had before his fingers found Altaïr’s limp cock. Malik tried to be objective as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the length and got familiar with it. Altaïr was soft and smooth, and Malik’s hand almost fully engulfed him. Malik admitted that he was a little strange to touch, but not so much as he would have thought. Malik shifted his hips and slipped his own stiffened cock between Altaïr’s toned thighs. Malik allowed his hips to move a little, enjoying the slight friction even as his hand gently stroked Altaïr’s smaller cock.

Malik was surprised and pleased to find he didn’t actually mind having Altaïr’s cock slowly stiffening against his palm. It was odd indeed but not so different from his own experience masturbating that it threw him off. Even his being smaller wasn’t so hard to wrap his mind around, especially as he seemed to be swelling quickly. Perhaps he was even more sensitive than average? Altaïr inhaled a little deeper than before and shifted, but he didn’t seem to wake up as Malik pressed closer. Malik’s thumb brushed across Altaïr’s cock before he gently pulled Altaïr’s foreskin back. Altaïr shifted again as Malik took his time touching and stroking.

It didn’t take very long for Altaïr’s cock to seemingly reach full erection. Even fully aroused, he was barely ten centimeters at best, but he wasn’t malformed or anything. It was almost cute in a way. Most things that were smaller than average tended to be. He let that thought roll around in his head for a moment. Yes, he decided, he found Altaïr’s small cock cute, but he wouldn’t be telling his wife that. Malik slid his own cock between Altaïr’s thighs while Malik languidly played with Altaïr’s slender erection.

Moisture began to seep from Altaïr’s cock, and Malik spread it across the head of his penis. Malik wondered and moved his hand further down. He couldn’t help but grin when he slid his fingers between the folds of Altaïr’s pussy and felt his wife had grown wet there as well. Maybe it wasn’t as hard to get Altaïr in the mood for sex as he’d thought. Malik had just assumed that Altaïr was naturally cold, but he was admitting to himself now that he hadn’t tried very hard. He hadn’t, after all, really had to try since he’d had the right to Altaïr’s body. That had been a comfort earlier when he could barely civilly talk to Altaïr, much less try to bed him like a husband should. But, the sharpness of that anger had faded at least enough that Malik could have made an attempt.

Malik didn’t enjoy the realization that he’d taken the easy way out in his own marriage. He’d always assumed himself to be better than that. But here he was surprised that Altaïr got aroused when he was touched intimately. Perhaps it was no wonder that Altaïr had pinned him to the ground and ridden him hard the night before. Perhaps Malik should invite Altaïr to do it more often… it had been highly arousing. It was strange and different as no woman had ever been capable of doing it, but arousing nonetheless.

A thought from earlier came back to him. Touching Altaïr’s dick wasn’t the only thing Malik had never done. Malik carefully shifted and ducked beneath the blankets. It took a few moments, but he managed to situate himself between Altaïr’s legs. Malik lowered his head and licked across the delicate folds of Altaïr’s pussy. That got another sharp inhale and shifting, but Malik put his hand on one of Altaïr’s thighs so that he could do it again. Malik honestly had no idea why he’d never done this before. According to previous lovers, he was quite good at it, and he rather enjoyed doing it. But, perhaps because Altaïr was a man first and foremost in Malik’s mind, the idea of eating his pussy had never really occurred as an option. Despite Malik being well aware, he had one.

Malik lowered his head and began to taste Altaïr in earnest. Altaïr whined and shifted, but Malik didn’t allow that to distract him. He licked along the already damp folds and dipped his tongue inside Altaïr’s hole where he was wettest. Malik’s hand slid up Altaïr’s thigh to his cock. His thumb pressed lightly against that bundle of nerves that he’d become so good at finding and was pleased when Altaïr made another noise of pleasure. Normally he would just press against that spot, and that was it, but this time, Malik gently wrapped his fingers around Altaïr’s cock to stroke him as Malik continued to lick and suck.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly Altaïr grew wet and hot. That Malik was able to lap up Altaïr’s juices like he was at an oasis. But he was. He’d gotten too used to Altaïr having to be worked to something like arousal. “Mm, wha-? Malik?”

Malik lifted his head a little at the sound of Altaïr’s confused and dazed-sounding voice. “Finally up, Altaïr?” he asked.

“What’re you-Ah!”

Malik had ducked his head and began to more aggressively lick and suck against Altaïr’s wet center. Now that Altaïr was awake, Malik didn’t hold back in the least. Malik was a little surprised at how good Altaïr actually tasted. It wasn’t at all a chore to feast on his tight pussy. He should have done it ages ago. Altaïr cried out, and one hand gripped Malik’s hair. Malik felt a little bit of discomfort at just how tightly Altaïr held on, but it wasn’t painful, so he didn’t stop. His hand stroked Altaïr’s cock, spreading slick pre-emissions to ease the friction.

Altaïr cried out and squirmed, but Malik just found that made it easier to get his shoulders under Altaïr’s thighs. With Altaïr’s hips more elevated, Malik was able to press his tongue even deeper inside his wife’s tight hole. Altaïr cried out again, and Malik grinned at how similar he sounded to when he was in heat, until the night before, it had been a while since he’d heard Altaïr’s pleasure. He found he’d missed it. Malik shifted his mouth to suck against that bundle of nerves at the base of Altaïr’s cock and got another loud moan of pleasure.

Malik rubbed his thumb across the head of Altaïr’s penis even as he dropped his mouth to work his whole tongue inside Altaïr’s molten body. Altaïr cried out Malik’s name and arched off the ground. Malik sucked and licked and even scraped his teeth a few times when Altaïr showed no dislike of the sensation. Altaïr was getting louder and clutching at both Malik’s hair and the blankets beneath them. Malik could easily shift them and take Altaïr with his cock, which was achingly hard, but he decided to see if he could push Altaïr to climax with just his mouth and hand.

He sucked harder and let his teeth scrape across the delicate folds again, pleased at how Altaïr shuddered and whined. Altaïr’s legs hooked around Malik’s head, and he tugged at Malik’s hair to get him even closer. Demanding, Malik thought with a bit of amusement even as he obeyed the silent order to work his tongue inside again. He continued to eat Altaïr out with great enthusiasm while doing his best to jerk him off at the same time. The second part was less natural for him, and he wasn’t convinced about how good a job he did, but Malik did his best. It was just easy to forget when his face was buried in such a delicious pussy.

His tongue was still buried deeply inside Altaïr’s body when his wife cried out and shuddered as he came. Malik felt Altaïr’s cock spill his thin semen across his hand but was far more distracted by the flood of slick that poured across his tongue. He did his best to lap it all away but was sure it was staining his chin as he lifted his head.

Altaïr was panting beneath him and looked a little dazed as Malik discarded several blankets off to the side. Malik grinned at the expression on Altaïr’s face even as he stroked his own aching cock. He shifted them and groaned as he pressed into the wet hole he’d just spent quite a lot of time eating out. Altaïr let out a quavering moan beneath him as Malik fully sheathed himself.

“I think we’ve both missed out, Altaïr,” Malik said as he started to rock his hips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it. But you’re right… our sex could definitely be a lot better. So, shall we figure this out, wife?”

Altaïr huffed and groaned. “... idiot,” he managed before Malik jerked his hips hard and made him cry out sharply.

Malik smiled and pushed Altaïr’s shirt up enough to lick and suck on one of his nipples. He couldn’t help but be terribly fascinated and aroused by Altaïr’s chest. Altaïr’s nipples were darker than they had been, and Malik was sure that his chest had swollen some since getting pregnant despite Altaïr’s skepticism. The idea of his chest swelling even more was highly arousing, as was the realization that it was because Altaïr carried Malik’s child that caused it. Malik’s hips kicked forward even harder and faster as he sucked hard against one nipple. Altaïr moaned and arched beneath him as Malik moved.

Malik was a little afraid he was going to cum much too quickly. Altaïr felt so good beneath him that it was hard not to spill himself. He’d always enjoyed having Altaïr’s body, but it was so much better when Altaïr wasn’t just there enduring it. When he rocked his own hips and moaned Malik’s name. Malik wanted to smack himself for having settled for less when this was so much more satisfying.

Altaïr’s arms wrapped around Malik tightly and Malik lifted his head from Altaïr’s chest to actually look at the other man. Altaïr was flushed with arousal and panting hard. Malik smirked at how disheveled his spouse looked and moved even faster.

It felt so good. Malik let himself fully enjoy Altaïr’s tight and hot body. Altaïr clearly was enjoying it as well. Never in Malik’s Mother’s house had Altaïr been loud, but here he was. It was not as loud as during his heat, but it was definitely enough to let Malik know he was enjoying things. Malik shifted his hips and the force of his thrusts until he found the exact right angle to make Altaïr cry out in pleasure.

“There, you like that, Altaïr?” Malik asked as he rocked his hips. “You sound like you do.”

Altaïr groaned and his legs tightened around Malik’s waist. Malik recalled how easily Altaïr could flip them over and take control if he got impatient and felt a strange thrill go through him. He still wasn’t quite sure why the thought of such things sent chills of pleasure down his spine, but perhaps he’d examine it later. Malik rested his forehead on Altaïr’s shoulder as he repeatedly focused on hitting that same spot. “You feel so good,” he said as his breathing became more and more labored.

“Mal,” Altaïr groaned, and his fingers dug into Malik’s back.

Malik lowered his hand and found Altaïr’s cock again. He rubbed it between his hand and Altaïr’s own stomach as he moved. Altaïr whined and arched again. “Does it feel good, Altaïr?” Malik asked as he began to reach his own limit. “Am I still not pleasing you enough?”

Altaïr gasped and trembled as Malik gave his cock a few careful but deliberate tugs. “Well, Altaïr?”

Altaïr groaned his name and clung even tighter. Malik pressed his fingers into Altaïr’s pleasure spot, which Malik had begun to think of as his hidden clit, and rubbed hard. Altaïr nearly shrieked as he came fully undone. He trembled and bucked as he climaxed. Malik groaned as his spouse’s body tensed around him. Malik only lasted another few thrusts of his own before reaching his own shattering conclusion.

Malik didn’t bother removing himself or even getting off of Altaïr as they both caught their breath from their orgasms. Malik was expecting questions. After all, he’d never woken Altaïr early for sex, much less by being between his thighs eating him out. A gross oversight, he now realized. He’d have to do it again. Regularly.

After yet another few minutes, Altaïr finally spoke, “You are… energetic this morning.”

Malik snorted and still remained draped over Altaïr. “I told you… I’ve been thinking about it and we’ve both been missing out,” he said. “But I think we could be quite compatible if we try. You seemed to enjoy me eating your pussy quite a bit, after all.”

Malik had cracked open his eyes and was pleased to see Altaïr’s face redden. “You didn’t seem interested in this before,” he said.

“Mm. For some reason it never occurred to me before. I guess, even though I know you are an Omega, my first instinct is just that you’re a man,” Malik said. “But I think this is a good chance to rectify that, don’t you? We have the whole trip to Jerusalem to explore what we both like.”

“Do you think sex is the answer to everything?”

“No. But good sex won’t hurt.”

Altaïr rolled his eyes and pushed at Malik’s shoulder. “Get up. We need to eat something,” he said. “And the sun is up.”

Malik hummed and detangled himself from Altaïr and the blankets. Altaïr was right that the sun had risen in the time they were enjoying each other. Malik found the washcloth that they used the night before and set to cleaning himself up. It didn’t take long at all for Altaïr to make something for them to eat. It was a simple breakfast but filling and, again, surprisingly tasty. Malik supposed the night before hadn’t been a fluke. Afterward, they packed up their camp so that they could move on.

Of course, they only made it about an hour and a half down the road before Altaïr stopped them to be sick on the side of the road. It felt quite odd waiting as Altaïr was sick. Malik felt as if he should do something but wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t as if he could stop Altaïr from vomiting. The man was pregnant, after all. Malik allowed Altaïr to take whatever time he needed.

They ended up stopping three times before midday, which was admittedly somewhat frustrating, but Altaïr seemed to be the one most aggravated by it. “We’re not in a rush. It’s fine,” Malik said.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one throwing up all the time,” Altaïr replied.

“I’m not,” Malik said. “But the point remains. However often you’re ill won’t be a problem for that at least.” Altaïr gave him a sour look but didn’t say anything. Malik sighed but wasn’t going to offer anything else. The last thing he needed was Altaïr getting even more annoyed. Nothing good would come of that. Against his better judgment, Malik added, “I am sorry, though, that you’re having so much sickness.”

Altaïr shrugged slightly before putting a sliver of dried fruit in his mouth. “It is what it is,” Altaïr said. “I am hoping it reduces soon.” Malik wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to that and just nodded instead. The rest of the day’s travel was relatively quiet. Though they had had some good sex, Altaïr was right that it hardly fixed anything.

Chapter Text

Malik had woken him that morning as he had that first -and many other days- on the trip. With his head between Altaïr’s thighs and working his mouth with great enthusiasm. Altaïr was almost embarrassed at how satisfying he found it. He tried not to be. It was natural, and Malik was really quite skilled with his tongue when he wanted to be. But Altaïr hadn’t thought he’d melt so easily.

Malik was also taking more care in bedding Altaïr at night. Putting in at least some more effort and their whole sex life was much improved after the trip. The rest of their relationship… not as much. They still didn’t talk or, rather, when they did it still devolved into sniping and arguments. But, Altaïr supposed he couldn’t expect miracles. Even though it was irritating that Malik still looked surprised that the food they ate wasn’t horrible.

Altaïr didn’t much appreciate how the guards of Jerusalem looked at him when Malik answered their question of who he was with ‘my wife.’ True though it might have been, only one sort of man was called that. Some looked at him with interest, others with poorly hidden amusement, and quite a few with clear distaste. Altaïr did his best to ignore all of the reactions. It had gotten them through the gates without difficulty, at least. And really, he figured he’d best get used to the humiliation of being known as another man’s wife and Omega.

When they got to the Bureau, the old man that Malik was replacing -Faizel- shooed Altaïr into the kitchen, saying that ‘it was inappropriate for wives to be involved in such conversations’ with the most teeth-grindingly patronizing tone of voice Altaïr had heard in a while. As if that very same man hadn’t seen Altaïr’s skills and taken bloodied feathers from his hand. It was infuriating to be dismissed as nothing but Malik’s wife. He hadn’t been naive enough to not expect it, but that didn’t lessen the sting or anger.

Altaïr sat at the table and contemplated what he should do. Being overlooked and dismissed had never sat well with him. But if he sat there and stewed in annoyance, he would likely do something ill-advised, which nobody needed. Altaïr glanced around the kitchen and frowned. It was a cluttered mess. The room itself was rather small, but it would have been perfectly adequate had pots and pans not been stacked on preparation surfaces and dishes left out. He could tell that the old Bureau leader had not paid much attention to the kitchen. Likely thought it wasn’t his job, although, with only him here, Altaïr couldn’t fathom how it would have been anyone else’s. Slob. Either that or because he knew Altaïr and Malik were coming, the old man had just let the mess build. In which case, he’s both an ass and a slob.

Part of Altaïr wanted to leave the mess just to prove that he wasn’t going to be a demure housewife. But the longer he sat there, the more annoyed he got by it. Part of the reason that Altaïr’s own rooms had been relatively sparse was because he disliked clutter and mess. It agitated him. A clean and organized space was calming to him. And so, after what felt like half an hour of trying to ignore the mess, Altaïr got up with a huff. “I don’t know how you stand it,” he muttered as he started looking for what he would need to put the place to rights.

Since most everything had been taken out of their places and left scattered around, Altaïr was also able to organize the room into what made the most sense. He didn’t think it was the same organization as before, but he really didn’t care. If the old man wanted to change it back, he was welcome to do so, but Altaïr was sure he wouldn’t. That would, after all, be a ‘wife’s job.

It took most of the afternoon to fully fix the kitchen. Unfortunately and aggravatingly, the first thing the Bureau leader said when he and Malik entered the room was, “You still haven’t started dinner yet? What a neglectful wife you have, Malik.”

Altaïr didn’t exactly expect Malik to defend him but was still somewhat stung when his husband said nothing about the slight. The best he could manage was, “It isn’t yet that late.”

“Well, then Altaïr, we’ll leave you to your cooking,” the Faizel said. “We’ll be in the main room when it’s time to eat.”

Altaïr had to bite his tongue to keep his temper as the two other men left. He had managed to forget on the road that he was viewed as lesser. A servant, if anything. It grated on him, and he could only curse them both under his breath as he picked up a knife. He sorely wanted to go and stab that old man but forced himself to turn and hack an onion in half with one quick motion.

Altaïr was expected to clean, cook, and even serve the two non-omegas, which he begrudgingly did. He served them dinner and was shooed away back into the kitchen almost immediately, only to be shouted at whenever they needed something. Usually, it was Faizel wanting more drinks. Malik didn’t shout for him, although that didn’t stop him from asking for things when Altaïr was dragged back into the room.

By the time he and Malik retired that night, Altaïr was fuming with anger. Malik, to his credit, did seem to notice Altaïr’s mood. But less to his credit didn’t seem to understand why. “You didn’t get sick as many times today,” Malik said as he wrapped his arm around Altaïr’s waist and rested his hand over his abdomen. “I would have thought that would please you,” he added as he pressed his hips into the cleft of Altaïr’s backside. Altaïr wasn’t in the mood but didn’t pull away.

“And what do you care what does or doesn’t please me?” Altaïr asked.

Malik sighed and pulled back. “Because you get quite unpleasant when you’re annoyed,” Malik said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t a large bed, but it was at least in its own room, which was more than what any visiting novices would have gotten. Altaïr had been the one to get linens for the bed and clean the dust out of the room, so he was well aware that this was likely a storage room before their arrival. He had seen the clear outlines in the dirt from where boxes had been and lines from where the bed was dragged in.

“Oh? And you think nothing of my being agitated?” Altaïr asked as he turned to face Malik. “That man called me a neglectful wife and you had nothing to say about it. And then ordered me around like a servant.”

“What would you want me to say about it? That you’re a good wife?” Malik asked. “Because I doubt that would have pleased you either. And it isn’t even true.”

Altaïr narrowed his eyes, although he supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise. He knew that Malik still didn’t exactly like him, even if they were having better sex lately. “A bad husband doesn’t deserve a good wife,” Altaïr said.

Malik looked up with a scowl. “Bad husband?”

“What? Are you under the impression you’re a good one?” Altaïr asked.

“I have given you a lot more leeway than I should,” Malik said. “And much more than you deserve.”

Altaïr scoffed. “You treat me like a servant and have only recently started bedding me with any sort of care. So don’t go spinning tales about how you’re not that bad just because you aren’t the worst man that I could have been married to.”

“What exactly did you expect?” Malik asked as he got up again.

Altaïr studied Malik quietly for several minutes. Then he let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing, I suppose,” he said. He’d always known this marriage was a punishment, after all. It would do Altaïr no good to forget that. To hope that Malik would eventually soften and treat him decently.

Malik was quiet for a few moments before starting to disrobe. “Then let us retire. It’s been a long day,” he said. Altaïr still wasn’t happy but knew what was expected of him. He, too, began to disrobe and tried to not think about how unpleasant the next day was bound to be. Or the next week, months, years…

At least Malik followed through with his new habit of actually being attentive to Altaïr’s needs in bed. He fingered Altaïr to completion once before hiking his legs up and fucking him thoroughly. It wasn’t enough to fully alleviate Altaïr’s annoyance, but it was a very good distraction.

Altaïr woke up first the next day and found he was actually hungry for once. He had no idea if he’d keep anything down, but he took it as a good sign that he wanted to eat. Lately, he’d been forcing himself constantly. He hoped that his appetite was evidence that his nausea and sickness would finally start to abate. Altaïr also woke up with a pounding headache, which was less of a good sign and put him in a foul mood.

Altaïr quickly got ready for the day and then went to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and scowled darkly at the mess that was left there. He knew he had cleaned up before retiring the night before, so somebody had come in that night and left a mess behind. Altaïr was even more annoyed than he had been. He didn’t know who had made the mess, and they were lucky because if Altaïr had known, he would have stabbed them through the neck.

As Altaïr angrily cleaned the dishes, he heard someone approaching from behind. He turned and saw the old bureau leader. “Ah, you’re up already. Good,” the old man said. “You may want to go shopping today. We’re running low on quite a few things.”

“Why didn’t you go shopping before we arrived then?” Altaïr asked.

Faizel waved one gnarled hand dismissively. “I have been busy.” Altaïr had many things he wanted to say to that but bit his tongue and went back to washing the dishes that someone had left scattered from whatever midnight snack they had made. “It was surprising to hear what happened to you,” Faizel said. “I never would have expected… an Omega.”

Altaïr felt his cheeks heat up but ignored it as best he could. The way Faizel said it made it clear that the old man was judging him. Not surprising but still unpleasant. “I’m surprised that Al Mualim indulged your unnatural desires for so long. You managed to act differently from your nature for quite a while, which is impressive.”

“I do not have unnatural desires,” Altaïr responded with as little emotion as he could manage.

The old man chuckled and stepped closer. “No, the noises you made last night made it clear that you still have desires more natural for someone of your persuasion.”

Altaïr stopped what he was doing, and half turned to look at Faizel. “You were spying on us?”

“Is it spying when I could hear your moaning from across the hall? It was quite a pretty sound. I wasn’t expecting such a… manish Omega to make them,” he said. Faizel reached over and picked a few dates out of a bowl right by Altaïr’s elbow. “Painted quite a vivid picture for me.”

“That’s inappropriate,” Altaïr said lowly while trying his best to not show anything beyond anger when he wanted to curl up and die from mortification. This old man was looking at him very differently than he ever had before. Like a piece of meat that he was starving for. It made his skin crawl. “What I do with my husband is none of your business.”

“Then maybe you should be quieter,” Faizel said as his eyes travelled down Altaïr’s body. “Although, I suppose being well fucked would be difficult for an Omega to keep silent about. I used to know an Omega at the local brothel that practically woke the dead when I took him. Always begged for more… would you like me to tell your husband a trick or two?”

Altaïr knew his face was bright red in a mix of outrage and embarrassment. “Get out!”

The old man chuckled again and put one date in his mouth. “Yes, yes, I know an Omega is always so touchy in their natural domain,” he said mockingly as he left the kitchen.

Altaïr thought he might explode from anger. He turned back to the herbs he’d been chopping and took several deep breaths to try and calm himself. It didn’t fully work, but after a dozen or so, he thought he had a grip on his own temper. He didn’t feel likely to go and stab someone, at least.

Again, he was forced to serve the two non-Omega’s their food. Altaïr did his best to not even acknowledge Faizel, but the old man made it difficult. He would ask for seemingly anything he could think of just to make Altaïr have to deal with him. After an aggravating breakfast, Malik and Faizel locked themselves away for more talk on how to run the Bureau, and Altaïr was left to his own devices.

Since he had already been told that the kitchen was running low on several things, Altaïr decided to take the excuse to leave the Bureau. He hadn’t taken the time to explore the city more than was necessary to complete his missions before, and he would gladly take the excuse to spend longer away from Faizel. He wondered idly if Malik had noticed how the old man leered at Altaïr. He didn’t act as if he’d noticed and certainly hadn’t said anything. So, Altaïr would avoid them both as much as possible from now on.

Chapter Text

Altaïr could not wait for Faizel to finish teaching Malik whatever he supposedly needed to know so that he could leave. The old man still leered at him and made comments about Altaïr’s gender and status. Usually, he waited until they were alone, but didn’t always. Malik still didn’t seem to notice anything, although Altaïr had definitely complained to him about it.

Altaïr also highly doubted that Faizel wasn’t spying on them in bed. He had noticed the door to their room cracked open when he was positive that he’d closed it. Faizel often made the comment in the morning about how ‘satisfied’ Altaïr seemed to be or how ‘pretty his moans’ were, even though Altaïr made a distinct effort to keep as quiet as possible ever since that first night. The old man made Altaïr’s skin crawl, especially as he had to serve the man his meals and cook for him. It took great restraint to not put something unpleasant into his food.

Of course, avoiding the men at the Bureau did mean that Altaïr had plenty of time to explore the city and try to listen for any rumors about Robert de Sable. Sadly, there wasn’t as much information to be had as Altaïr would like. Nothing that was easily able to be confirmed, at least. The days crept by slowly, but Altaïr did his best to not lose confidence that he would find some way to complete his mission. After all, he hadn’t had a chance to really do much investigating, what with everything that had happened.

And luckily, so long as he returned with some appropriately ‘wifely’ excuse as to where he was, nobody seemed to question what Altaïr was doing by leaving the bureau so frequently. Usually, he satisfied this by purchasing something from the market on his way back. He was certain that Malik knew he had to be doing more than just going and buying bread, but he didn’t seem inclined to ask any questions. Especially after a long day of listening to lessons from Faizel.

And so a week went by like this until things were interrupted by a novice appearing in Jerusalem for an assignment. “Ah, wonderful. Al Mualim wrote to say a novice was being sent,” Faizel said when the young man dropped into the courtyard. Altaïr eyed the novice from his own seat in the corner and was not all that impressed. He was definitely young; Altaïr doubted he’d even reached two decades and was built thin and lean. He would likely be fast, but his entire demeanor nearly screamed uncertainty, which was a terrible thing for a novice on a mission. Not unexpected if it was perhaps his first solo mission, but he should be trying to hide it better.

The novice greeted both Faizel and Malik and gave his own name of Latif. “Come inside and we can discuss what mission has brought you to us,” Faizel said with a gesture to the doorway leading further inside. “Altaïr, I’m sure that Latif has had a long journey and is in need of refreshments,” he added.

Latif seemed surprised to see Altaïr sitting in the corner, to the point he even jumped slightly. “I’m not a servant,” Altaïr said.

“Your husband is the next Bureau leader. It is as much your job to look after the novices that stay here as it is his,” Faizel said.

Altaïr would have said something to that, but Malik stepped in before he could. “Altaïr. He’s right. Go on and prepare something.” Altaïr scowled but got up from his seat. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure as he brushed past to go to the kitchen yet again. The number of times he’d been shooed to that room was becoming downright infuriating. He heard from behind him Malik apologizing for his ‘surly wife’ and blaming Altaïr’s pregnancy for it. That annoyed Altaïr even more as his pregnancy was A) not the reason he was aggravated and B) not anyone else’s business. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rumor of his condition had spread to all of the order by this point, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be the subject of so much gossip or that it was okay to just go spouting things about him to every novice that wandered in.

Altaïr took his time and lingered in the kitchen because nobody said he had to do ‘his job’ quickly. It was petty, but that was one of his few weapons that he still could use, and he wasn’t remotely above doing so. By the time he brought tea, warmed bread, cheese, and sliced fruits to the table they were sitting at, the novice was telling Malik and Faizel why he’d been sent to Jerusalem. He only heard little bits and pieces about some rich man and his warehouse before being shooed off for it ‘not being a wife’s business.’ Faizel was quite lucky that Malik didn’t allow Altaïr to wear his hidden blade any longer.

Altaïr didn’t return to the kitchen, however. He hovered just out of sight through the doorway and strained his ears to listen to what was being talked about. It took a few minutes to put together the pieces of who the other assassins were talking about. Talal. He’d heard a bit about the man on the streets. A slaver of some sort who seemed to be operating out of the Rich District. The most notable thing that Altaïr heard was that Talal didn’t seem to be focusing on kidnapping those who would sell for the highest price. Omegas being sold to brothels was quite common, as was selling young children for easy labor. While Talal apparently did do this, most of his slaves seemed to be weak beggars or those who simply spent the night drunk in the streets. Not prime slave labor at all.

After only listening for a few more minutes, Altaïr felt his stomach roll in protest at his breakfast. He tried to ignore it, but his mouth was watering, and he felt the bile building. Altaïr fled and barely managed to get to a waste bin in time. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and cursed. Though his sickness had been getting marginally less frequent, he had yet to go a full day without being sick at least two or three times. Even the tea Malik’s mother showed him how to make only worked some of the time.

Altaïr got back to his feet and leaned against the wall. Why did this child hate him so much anyway? Once he was sure that his stomach would not try to empty for a second time in a row, Altaïr returned to lingering outside the Bureau office. Unfortunately, the conversation seemed to have drifted away from the novice’s task and onto other, far more mundane things.

Altaïr returned to the kitchen, where he wasn’t going to be ordered around as much. He would be brushed off for trying to participate in any important conversations anyway. He quickly cleaned up the kitchen and then left the Bureau. Though Altaïr knew that the actual informants wouldn’t talk to him, he wasn’t as unaware as most people seemed to think he was. He knew most of their best informants’ wives. When he’d first been a novice hunting down information, he’d been wary of talking to just any men hanging around -too keenly aware of his status to be entirely comfortable as any minor slip could end everything. So he’d investigated each of the informants before he’d allow himself to talk with them alone.

It had taught Altaïr quite a lot. A teenager at the time, Altaïr had not had to try terribly hard to get the wives of many informants to eventually open up to him. They usually didn’t know any secrets of the order, but they often knew quite a lot just from listening to their husbands and their own observations. Wives tended to notice quite a lot that informants sometimes didn’t think was important. Altaïr had also found out which of their informants beat and abused their wives. Those he’d quietly worked to oust from the order over the years. He wouldn’t call the wives of the informants his friends by any means, but they would perhaps be willing to talk to Altaïr while their husbands would not.

Altaïr made his way to the home of one of their better informants and his wife. He waited for nearly half an hour to be sure the man wasn’t home before approaching the door. Altaïr knocked, and after several minutes, the door opened to reveal an older female Omega. They stood there in silence for a moment. “I was wondering about you,” she said finally, and stepped back to let Altaïr inside.

“We all have heard what happened,” she said. “I was surprised at first, but then it made sense.”

“Did it?”

“You were always a bit strange compared to the other Assassins. None of the others even acted like we wives existed,” she said as they sat down. Altaïr managed to not react, although he was a little unhappy that his quirks had been noticed by anyone. “Makes perfect sense now that you’ve been revealed. But I wouldn’t have thought you’d show up here.”

Altaïr tried to not be self-conscious. “Yes, well, your husband won’t speak to me, and I need information,” he said.

“I take it you don’t mean information on housekeeping,” she said.

“No,” Altaïr agreed. “I can get my status as an assassin back if I kill Robert de Sable. But I can’t do that if I am not even able to get any information on where he is and what he is doing.”

The older omega hummed and tapped the top of the table. “Are you sure it’s worth it?” she asked.

“Why would it not be worth it?”

“Being an assassin is quite the dangerous and oftentimes unpleasant task,” she said. “All you will be is a weapon.”

“Better a weapon than a womb,” Altaïr said.

The old Omega frowned. “Is that what you think I am?”

Altaïr shook his head. “I wouldn’t presume to know how your husband thinks of you, but I know that is all I am to mine. He hates me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut my throat once I give him a son,” Altaïr said honestly. “If I regain my status… I will at least have some protection against that.” Not much as he’d still be Malik’s wife, but it would cause more of a scandal if he were to kill a Master Assassin versus just his disgraced wife. There was, of course, no way to tell if that would actually deter Malik, but it was better than nothing at all.

“Being returned to your rank will not remove the fact that they know now,” she said. “Everyone will have heard you’re an Omega by now.”

“... I know. I will deal with that,” Altaïr said. He didn’t have much of a choice.

The old woman studied him for a moment before sighing. “I’ll see what my husband knows but I can’t promise he’ll tell me much,” she said.

Altaïr nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

Altaïr left after that and visited a few more of the wives. Some were far more willing to help than others, but enough agreed to at least listen for any information that Altaïr didn’t feel as if he wasted his time. Plus, it kept him away from being ordered around like a servant some more.

Unfortunately, when he did return to the Bureau, he was immediately told he needed to prepare the room for the novice to stay in. With a huff of annoyance, Altaïr went to do as he was told. It wasn’t worth an argument, even if he wanted to point out that a grown man should be able to make his own bed without help. It wasn’t like it was hard.

He was still finishing with the bed when the novice in question came in. Latif stood there awkwardly as Altaïr worked. Since Altaïr wasn’t about to speak to the boy and Latif seemed too uncomfortable, the silence was unpleasantly tense. Altaïr finished with the linens and finally turned to the novice. Latif wasn’t shuffling in his spot, but it looked to be a near thing. He was definitely fiddling with his hidden blade. “What?” Altaïr asked. He had enough experience to recognize this was similar to the phenomena of novices wanting to talk to him, but not having the courage to follow through. He rather doubted that Latif was nervous in awe considering everything, but he’d never had much patience for fidgeting and even less so when he was annoyed like he was currently.

“Ah… just… uh, thank you,” Latif said.

Altaïr didn’t think that was really what the boy wanted to say, but he accepted it with a short nod and left the room. He was glad the first novice that came by wasn’t openly mocking him or anything, but he didn’t imagine that would take long to start happening. Especially if he was going to be forced to feed and pick up after them. Altaïr had tried to become as self-sufficient as early as possible to avoid any chance of being found out, but he knew that most novices didn’t. Most also didn’t pay much mind to the servants, but Altaïr wasn’t a typical servant. Others in the order had been wanting him to be disgraced for quite some time, and Altaïr wasn’t oblivious to it. Now he was, and Malik had little reason to shield him from any of the ridicule.

Altaïr returned to the kitchen and huffed in annoyance at the dirty dishes left out. Of course. Because who else was going to wash up? He would have to make the three men dinner as well, he knew. But his stomach was unsettled again, so Altaïr went to make himself some tea before he dealt with the mess. The tea helped, as did eating some nuts and pieces of bread. But Altaïr had gotten ill enough lately that he wasn’t fully confident it would all stay down.

He couldn’t let his nausea win, however. He still had to clean up… so that he could cook and serve dinner, only to clean up again and then go to bed to repeat the whole routine. Altaïr tried to remind himself that this was better than being in a brothel, spreading his legs to strangers for coin as he grabbed the dirty dishes so that he could wash them.

Altaïr was about halfway through cleaning up when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen. The slight scuff of a heel told him it was Faizel and not Malik, so Altaïr ignored the old man. He was really hoping he would turn the Bureau over to Malik soon and would disappear. Faizel didn’t say anything, so Altaïr continued to ignore him, although he was getting closer than Altaïr was truly comfortable with. “Your husband stepped out,” Faizel said finally.

“Did he?” Altaïr wasn’t particularly interested.

“Yes, to speak to some informants,” Faizel said. “And send some messages. He should be back in a few hours.” Altaïr made a noise to show he heard and put a cleaned plate to the side. Altaïr was very aware of Faizel stepping closer and did his best to not get any more tense than he already was. He didn’t want to let on that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“You’ve been quieter lately. Is your husband not up to the task of satisfying you?” Faizel asked. Altaïr immediately felt outrage, but before he could say anything in response, he was cut off. Faizel’s palm smacked hard against his backside and squeezed.

Altaïr couldn’t help but be very nervous and uncomfortable as he stood in front of Master Fayiz. He glanced at the door Al Mualim had left through. “Well, Altaïr… let’s take a look at what’s going on, hmm?” Fayiz said in a tone of voice that was probably meant to be sweet and gentle but made Altaïr’s skin crawl. Altaïr hesitated, but Fayiz kept insisting and rubbing at Altaïr’s shoulders and biceps. Slowly, Altaïr felt he had no choice but to strip out of his clothes. He tried to bury his discomfort and odd sense of fear. Fayiz was one of their best healers… This was a medical exam. There was no reason to be so uncomfortable. Al Mualim had been clear that this was routine and to cooperate.

Fayiz smiled, and Altaïr tried to find something else to focus on as Fayiz’s hands moved down his body. At first, it was fine, but then Fayiz’s hand slid between Altaïr’s legs, and he knew for a fact he was shaking. Altaïr closed his eyes as Fayiz touched him for several minutes. “Well, that does seem to be an Omega’s pussy,” he said. His hand patted Altaïr’s backside but lingered there even after. “Get on the table, Altaïr. I need to get a full examination done.”

Altaïr hesitated again. Fayiz’s fingers tightened on his backside, and he quickly sprang forward to try and get out of the older man’s grip. He climbed onto the table only to be directed to lie down and spread his legs. Altaïr stared up at the ceiling and hoped this wouldn’t take long. He didn’t like it at all. He was still shaking and grabbed the edges of the table as he reluctantly spread his legs. “Good, Altaïr. Very good. Now, let’s take a look at that pussy of yours, hmm? We need to make sure everything’s in order…” Fayiz said as his hands pushed Altaïr’s ankles up and then slid over his legs to part them further. Altaïr continued to stare up at the ceiling and did his best to not notice the fingers touching him or the offhand remarks about his ‘development’. It felt like it lasted forever.

Altaïr realized someone had grabbed him by the arm and was pulling frantically. His knuckles stung, and he wasn’t sure why. He allowed himself to be pulled and realized he’d been straddling Faizel. The old man was on the ground with blood streaming from his nose and mouth. He was alive, though; he was moaning pathetically in pain, and corpses didn’t do that. Altaïr wasn’t entirely sure what happened as he couldn’t remember beating the bastard’s face in, but he clearly had.

A hand pushed him back further, and Altaïr realized the novice, Latif, was the one who’d pulled him off. He was saying something, but Altaïr wasn’t really paying attention. Altaïr stared down at the old man still sprawled out on the ground. He didn’t feel better for hitting the pervert. He just felt off balance and somewhat shaky. Altaïr shook Latif’s hand off and brushed past. He heard Latif call after him, but didn’t stop as he hoisted himself up the side of the courtyard and out of the Bureau.

Chapter Text

Altaïr eventually found himself at the top of a tower staring out across Jerusalem. He hadn’t had a conscious destination in mind when he’d fled, but he certainly wouldn’t be bothered where he was. He wasn’t sure what sort of fallout would happen from him beating Faizel, and he wasn’t terribly worried about it at the moment. His hands were shaking, and he wasn’t sure why or how to stop it. An entirely unacceptable loss of composure. Altaïr had always prided himself on not losing his control, and yet he had. Not only did he not even remember hitting the old man, but he hadn’t been the one to stop it either. A novice had to drag him away. Not that the man didn’t deserve every broken bone in his face, but Altaïr was supposed to be better than his base instincts. To make matters even worse, he doubted that the man had even been much of a threat. Altaïr was younger and stronger, so there hadn’t really been a need to punch him so many times… but Altaïr hadn’t been thinking about that. He hadn’t been thinking about anything at all. He’d just… reacted.

Altaïr closed his eyes and tried to take long, deep breaths to center himself. Malik would want an explanation when he got home, and he wasn’t exactly wrong to demand one. But Altaïr didn’t have much of one to give. The man had touched him inappropriately, yes, but he’d… maybe overreacted a little. Everyone would agree about that. Altaïr dropped his head into his hands. That wasn’t an excuse that anyone would accept. He’d attacked another member of the order. A higher-ranked member at that. This wasn’t the same as a brawl in the training ring that went too far.

Altaïr wanted to come up with some sort of explanation that Malik might accept, but his brain was not working. His mind kept trying to venture to other, even less pleasant things. That damn medical exam after his first heat kept trying to rise up despite how Altaïr made a point to never think about that again. He hated that he had been reminded of it at all, and now it wasn’t going back down to where it could be ignored forever.

His body was still trembling for some reason, and he couldn’t seem to wrangle control again. Where was this infuriating weakness even coming from? How could he stop it? He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to force even breaths through his lungs. Not really thinking about what he was doing, Altaïr pushed the left sleeve of his clothing up to his elbow. There were already a dozen or so bite marks that were healing there (some better than others), but Altaïr ignored them all.

His skin tasted like the salt of sweat and the bitterness of emotions he didn’t want to define, and then the tang of his own blood coated his tongue. Altaïr tried to regulate his bite but failed, and his teeth dug in deeper. The sting of the bite helped, and slowly his body stopped shaking. Altaïr loosened his jaw and looked down at the bleeding crescents in his arm. Hopefully, this bite mark wouldn’t scar like several of them had, but he’d bitten pretty hard.  He really needed to stop biting himself as he knew it wasn’t a healthy habit, but he couldn’t deny it did help, and there was little else he could even try to use in its place.

Altaïr clamped a hand over his arm and squeezed to put pressure on the mark until it stopped bleeding. He would clean and bandage it later. After the bleeding had finally slowed and then stopped, Altaïr pulled his sleeve back down and wiped his bloody hand on the inside of his robes so that hopefully nobody would notice any stains. It was hardly perfect. If someone were determined or particularly observant, they would probably still see the red, but it would do for now. And, perhaps, he could say it was Faizel’s blood. His sleeves did have a bit of blood staining at the end from the old man.

With the tremors reduced, Altaïr again tried to think of what he would say to Malik. He still didn’t know how he could explain. The only thing he could say was not something he wanted to admit to. That he’d lost control of himself. That was never a good thing to say. An assassin wasn’t meant to lose control.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, but eventually he heard a scuff of noise. It was followed by another, and the flapping of fabric in the wind. Curious, Altaïr twisted to look down the tower. His eyebrow went up at the sight of Malik actually somehow climbing the stonework. He was clearly struggling and looked quite peeved, but he was making progress. Altaïr watched as Malik had to unevenly jerk and leap so that he could haul himself up with only one arm, sometimes even wedging his amputated stump into gaps in the carvings to help stabilize himself. It couldn’t be enjoyable, and yet he kept climbing.

After what had to be at least ten or fifteen minutes, Malik struggled up high enough for Altaïr to lean over and offer his right hand. Malik took it, and Altaïr helped haul him up onto the ledge. “I’m impressed,” Altaïr admitted. He never would have thought that Malik would be willing to climb the tower with his injury just to berate him, and he wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was still quite the physical feat. “You could have called me down.”

“Would you have actually come?” Malik asked as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Altaïr admitted, if only to himself, that no, he probably wouldn’t have. He was in no rush to be scolded. They sat there for a few moments as Malik caught his breath. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Malik finally asked.

Altaïr couldn’t help but stiffen again. “I would have thought you’d already knew since you came looking for me.”

“I know only what Latif told me. The dai was still not conscious when I returned to the bureau,” Malik said. “So… what happened?” he asked with a bit more bite than before. Altaïr looked off across the city. Infuriatingly enough, his eyes stung, and his trembling was beginning again in his hand. He quickly tucked that hand away so that Malik wouldn’t see his ridiculous reaction to literally nothing. “Altaïr.”

Altaïr huffed, and though he had no further excuses to give, he knew he’d run out of time to try and think of them. “The man grabbed me. Inappropriately. I wouldn’t think you’d appreciate another man groping your wife,” he said.

“What?”

Altaïr turned back to Malik angrily. “What do you mean ‘what’? What did I say that was unclear? I’ve told you time and time again the man was leering at me and making insinuations, but you never listened! And the second you were gone for more than five minutes he tried to get handsy with me. Treat me like a common whore that he can do anything to with no consequences just because he knows now what’s between my legs! Probably because you wouldn’t say anything! Well, if you weren’t going to do anything then I would!” Altaïr said. “What do you think I’m lying?”

Malik seemed surprised by the outburst, which just made Altaïr even angrier. “I told you, Malik! I told you he was spying on us in bed and leering, but I suppose all that was lies, too! I don’t care how much you hate me, Malik, but I’m not going to be some piece of meat for anyone to slobber over!”

“Altaïr!” Malik snapped. Altaïr took several angry breaths to try to calm himself. “If you say he touched you, then I believe you,” Malik said. Altaïr swallowed thickly; he hadn’t really expected to be believed and wasn’t sure if Malik was just trying to placate him. Malik reached up, and Altaïr flinched when his fingers brushed his cheek. Altaïr realized then that a few tears had managed to slip out while he was distracted.

Altaïr looked away and wiped his face. “It’s windy up here,” he muttered. How impossibly embarrassing. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad did not… cry.

“I’ve never seen you so upset,” Malik said.

“I’m not upset,” Altaïr lied.

“You beat a man’s face in, and you are crying. You’re very upset,” Malik replied. “You’re many things, Altaïr, but I’ve never known you to attack a member of the order. Even those fights with Abbas… he always attacked first.” Altaïr was tempted to say he’d very much threatened Abbas with physical violence in the past, but he supposed that since he’d never actually had to follow through with those threats, Malik’s point still stood. “I have to admit, I did think you were being paranoid about Faizel’s intentions…”

Altaïr glared, and Malik sighed. “You have only recently been revealed as an omega. It made sense that you might be more… overly conscious of that. And Faizel assured me he much preferred women… but I doubt you would blindly attack a man for paranoia alone.”

“I’m not paranoid,” Altaïr muttered.

Malik continued as if Altaïr had not said anything at all, “I’ve also never known you to be unable to stop. Latif said it was as if you didn’t even hear him. He said he had to pull you off?”

Altaïr still didn’t have anything he could say about that. He didn’t know why he had lost control like he had. Why couldn’t he remember anything about hitting the man or why he’d been oblivious to Latif? It was as if his mind and body had been completely disconnected for a few minutes. “I… might have let my emotions get the better of me,” he offered, since that was really all he had.

They were quiet for several minutes. Altaïr had expected Malik to say something, but he didn’t. Altaïr did still feel Malik’s gaze boring into him, as if there was some deeper answer to be had, but Altaïr truly had none. Nothing excused his absolutely appalling lack of self-control. He knew better. He’d been trained to be better. After another few minutes, Malik reached over and put a hand on Altaïr’s back. Altaïr flinched, not having expected to be touched at all, but forced himself to loosen his muscles.

“You don’t like being touched,” Malik said suddenly. Altaïr was startled a little at that statement and turned to look at Malik. He wasn’t wrong, but he’d hardly expected Malik to notice something like that. “Don’t look at me like that. You think I’m blind? I admit, I didn’t notice it at first… and you seemed to be getting better while we were on the road, although maybe that was just because we were in closer contact. But I first noticed it at the healer's. I don't know if you realize just how tense you get when other men are around.”

“... just because you did not know I was an Omega does not mean I suddenly became one when we mated,” Altaïr said as he shifted to look at Malik more comfortably. “I grew up knowing exactly what I was… knowing what would happen to me if I was not safely sequestered during my heats. I had seen boys and girls not much older than myself suffering those fates. How others have such a presumption about Omegas… an unwanted touch from a lecherous Alpha is hardly uncommon.” Which, admittedly, made his lack of control due to such contact even more unacceptable. It wasn’t as if Altaïr was naive.

The two of them lapsed into silence for several minutes. Altaïr looked back out across Jerusalem as he tried to figure out just how badly things were going to go for him. But Malik wasn’t saying anything, and that meant that Altaïr couldn’t judge what he would do or say. He needed the man to react. To give him some sort of a hint. Anything! “They’re going to want you to punish me,” Altaïr said finally.

Malik hummed as if he’d barely even heard what Altaïr said. Altaïr wanted to press again, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Luckily, he only had to wait another moment or two. Malik said, “The way I see it… there’s nothing to punish you for. You defended yourself against an unwanted advance. Just as I would expect my wife to do.” Altaïr looked over sharply. That… was not what he would have expected. Malik still hated him, Altaïr knew. So he would have expected the man to take advantage of this overreaction.

“The order will not like it,” Altaïr said. “They will deride you for letting me ‘get away’ with such a violent reaction.”

Malik leaned back on his one arm. “You are my responsibility, so they will simply have to get used to the way I do things.”

“They already don’t respect you,” Altaïr said. He wasn’t sure why he was arguing, other than it just didn’t make sense. Malik should be trying to position himself in the best possible light. That was what Altaïr had always known people to do. Malik raised a questioning eyebrow. “Ignoring the fact that it was me that he… It is common knowledge now that I am your wife. Of course, they do not respect me, but it shows a complete disrespect for you as my husband. This never would have happened if I were married to-”

Altaïr looked away as he just barely caught himself before saying something he knew would spark yet another of their arguments. Malik didn’t let it go, however. “Go ahead,” he pressed. “Finish the sentence.”

Altaïr still hesitated before sighing. They had both known the gist of what he’d been about to say, so there wasn’t much point in trying to avoid it. “To an active assassin.”

Malik said nothing, and Altaïr didn’t dare look at him. He tried to never bring up Malik’s missing arm or the difficulties that arose from such a devastating injury. Though it wasn’t the same disrespect that Altaïr himself suffered from, the disrespect of being disgraced and punished so publicly, it was, in many ways, worse. Because it was a slow and pitiful diminishing of respect, from being viewed as less capable. Not even due to something Malik could change or was his fault. It wasn’t even intentional, but it was still there. Altaïr knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach that and doubted Malik would be any more likely.

The wind seemed incredibly loud, and Altaïr shifted uneasily. Malik still hadn’t said anything, and that felt dangerous. Altaïr wasn’t sure how Malik would react to that tidbit of truth. He didn’t know if Malik had realized it yet or not, and Altaïr hated being the one to bring it up if he hadn’t. “...You’re not wrong,” Malik said. “I hate the looks that they give me. They never dare say anything, but I know what they are thinking. It’s obvious. This appointment is meant to be prestigious… not given out of pity.”

Altaïr turned back to Malik. Malik was looking at something in the distance, but Altaïr had a feeling he wasn’t actually seeing whatever his eyes had focused on. “I didn’t earn this appointment and everyone knows it,” Malik said.

“I don’t know it,” Altaïr said. Malik seemed startled. “You brought back the artifact. You succeeded despite being badly injured. If that is not worthy of a prestigious appointment like bureau leader, then what possibly could? I may not be the right person to say this… but you do deserve this job.” He didn’t know if Malik cared about his opinion, but there it was anyway.

“You’re the one who pointed out they don’t have the respect for me that they should,” Malik said, sounding rather annoyed.

“And they don’t,” Altaïr said without flinching. “But that doesn’t mean it is right… or that you should give them more reasons to doubt your worth.”

“I am surprised you are even concerned about this,” Malik said.

Altaïr narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “I am your wife and you have forbidden me from trying to restore my honor and ranks. What little I still have is tied directly to you and your achievements. I would be a fool to not be concerned about how the rest of the order views you.”

Malik sighed. “I cannot allow your recklessness to endanger yourself or the child,” Malik said as if Altaïr were no more than a child himself.

“Do you think me an idiot, Malik?” Altaïr asked.

“I think your arrogance and recklessness is what led directly to this situation we’re in now,” Malik said.

“And I do not make a habit of repeating mistakes,” Altaïr snapped.

Malik still looked annoyed. “That is a risk I cannot take. Besides, we’ve gotten off topic. The point is, I’m not upset with you for defending yourself. Nor will I punish you for it.”

Altaïr supposed that was the most pressing thing, but now he was annoyed at yet again being refused even the chance to restore his place in the order. He wasn’t a fool. He knew why he’d been married, but that didn’t make the continual denials any less infuriating. But he also knew that pushing Malik was unlikely to actually get him anywhere. “Then what? I’m supposed to just… let that lecherous old man be near me and act like nothing happened?” It had been one thing to ignore him when it had just been comments. It was another altogether when Faizel had actually put his hand on Altaïr’s person.

“Faizel has said there was little else he could teach me about the position. The plan was for him to leave next week… I will simply tell him to leave immediately instead,” Malik said.

“And you think he will listen to you?”

“I’m not planning on giving him the choice,” Malik said. “And listening to me is something you should do as well, Altaïr.”

Altaïr snorted. “I have not openly disobeyed you,” he said, ignoring the fact that he’d taken steps to disobey Malik in secret. Nobody was likely to learn that until his task was complete. “Be content with that.”

“You disobey me all the time,” Malik denied. “In small ways. Everyday. I’m not stupid, Altaïr. This will not work if you keep being so stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Altaïr echoed. “Who was it that thought I was being ‘paranoid’ about another man’s interest in me? Who is it that wants me to do nothing but cook, clean, and produce babies? I may be stubborn but so are you, and you’ve already decided I deserve to be miserable.”

“It isn’t about you being miserable,” Malik said, sounding frustrated. “This is about you fulfilling your duties.”

“Duties that were given arbitrarily because I happened to be born an Omega,” Altaïr said. “I have trained and fought all my life to be more than just a womb, and now, because you declare it so, all of that is useless. Do not talk to me about duty, Malik. I’ve given you everything that you demanded, everything that law says you deserve because you planted life in me. But I cannot give you my pride too.” Then he really would have nothing left. Altaïr got to his feet. “It would be unwise for me to return while that old man is still there. I’ll return in the morning and we’ll see if he really capitulates to your authority. If he does not… well, we will see what happens.” Altaïr didn’t give Malik a chance to respond and swung himself over the ledge they had been sitting on. He couldn’t risk just dropping, but he was still able to rapidly descend the tower before Malik could do more than call after him.