Trajectory

Altair frowned. "Wait. The book said that you have to push your knees all the way to your chest."

"I am doing that."

"…then, it says that you have to brace yourself against a sturdy surface."

A growl. "That is why we are on the Grand Master's table."

"And so …" The other clumsily shuffled as he gripped his cock, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make out the ancient Indian words in the dim light. "I—" Pause. "Malik?"

"What now?"

" … is there a possibility that you are extremely flexible? For the position seems quite impossible if I—"

Agitatedly, the Dai grunted as he grabbed for the master assassin's head, his annoyance at the hiatus clear by the mere aggressiveness of his kiss; Altair dumbly held on and gasped when a calloused hand took hold of his length.

"Put the damn sex book down and fuck me."

Altair widened his eyes.

Kama Sutra was so overrated.

Bend

"How is this?"

A groan.

"What about this?"

Breathlessness.

"How about … as such?"

A moan.

"Do you like—"

"Shut up and keep moving."

Plot

"Do you like it when I talk dirty to you?"

Malik suddenly choked on his tea and coughed, glaring at the other man, who simply blinked at him in inquisitive silence.

"Zarba; what type of question is this?"

A shrug. "I do not know—all that I can recall at the moment is how you would release faster than normal when I would tell you how much you love my cock inside—"

Out of nowhere, a sick thump of a body hitting the floor next to them snapped their attention to the spectacle: The incredulous assassin nearly had a cardiac trauma when he saw the unconscious form of his poor little brother sprawled out on top of his books.

"Altair …!"

Said being narrowly dodged a throwing knife and scudded out of the area.

"I shall take that as an affirmative."