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God, Jerusalem was always so hot and dry.
After a long road trip from Masyaf, you and Altair had finally made it to Jerusalem. It was a lovely city, and you loved coming here, even if it was on Assassin business, but the day of arrival was always spoiled by your exhaustion from riding on the back of a horse for several days.
Lucky for you, Altair's target wasn't going to arrive in Jerusalem for the next two days, giving you ample time to rest and relax.
The walk to the bureau was short and sweet, and though the both of you had sore legs from riding on your horses for hours, it was nice to get a chance to stretch and use them.
Just about everything about Jerusalem, besides the heat, pleased you. It was full of life, both fortunate and unfortunate. Unlike most of the cities that you and Altair visited, the entrance to the city led directly into the Rich District, which was much more pleasant than the Poor District.
At last, you both arrived at the bureau, and as you climbed the ladder to the roof, you steeled yourself for Malik's snarky comments. He always had something to say to either you or Altair. Dropping down from the open hatch, you hear Altair grunt behind you as he follows suit, his feet hitting the ground hard. He walks ahead of you to greet Malik.
"Ah, if it isn't my two favorite novices," Malik said, with a mocking tone and a smirk. Altair rolled his eyes.
"Peace, Malik," he said.
He wasn't entirely wrong. You were, technically, a novice. The only reason Malik called Altair such a name was because of the whole De Sable fiasco. The nickname just stuck.
At least they were on better terms now.
"Well," you say, yawning, "I'm going to lie down. I'm exhausted."
"As you wish," Altair and Malik said at the same time. Malik glared at him, while Altair just smiled from beneath his white hood.
Making your way back out to the entrance room, you grabbed as many of the fluffiest pillows you could carry and shoved them into a heap. You collapsed on top of them, selecting the softest one for your head. After a few moments of squirming and trying to get comfortable, you settle down and quickly drift into a light sleep.
--
You crack your eyes open, feeling dizzy and warm, but not uncomfortably so.
You heard a soft sighing coming from behind you. Altair must have joined you in the ocean of cushions. Still tired, you decide to try to sleep again, and you settle into the arms that surround your waist.
Wait, arms?
Whipping around as best you can while lying down, you come face to face with Altair. His hood is down, the first time you've seen him with it.
His face is alluring, which you could have told even with his hood, but now seeing him without it, it only seemed to become more attractive. His arms hold you securely to his chest.
He must have done this in his sleep. You gently grab the arm that is draped across your midriff and try to remove it as slowly as possible as not to wake him. You succeeded in displacing his arm from you, but it didn't last long.
"No," he groaned, placing his arm back around you. Your breath hitches. Is he even actually asleep?
Inhaling, you try again to pick up his arm and place it back at his own side. He growled, opening his eyes and looking right into your own.
He was definitely not asleep.
"Stop it," he hissed, gripping you again. This time, he brought you even closer to his athletic body. He rolled you onto your side and dragged you to press against his chest, where he held you firmly. You now now had your face pressed against his chest, and he buried his face into your hair.
What is going on with him? Before this moment, he'd been nothing but professional with you. You had been confused, of course, when he, the new Mentor, assigned you to a mission with himself. What could he want a novice's help for?
Not that you didn't enjoy...whatever this was. You'd admired Altair for many years, even through his hard times being demoted to novice status. You were just a bit lost.
"Altair, what-"
"Shhh," he said. "Just go back to sleep."
He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and you were grateful that he could not see your face.
If he had, he would have seen the beet-red blush and the uncontrollable smile that stretched across your face.