They ate a small but satisfying breakfast, Shaun taking a couple of painkillers Lucy and Rebecca coveted for the aches in his back and Desmond throwing him a somewhat apologetic and somewhat smug look, and then promptly got to work. He answered e-mails with an astute sense of boredom. Watched as Ezio navigated the Vatican. Watched through all of Sixteen's puzzles that they had unlocked, which was a fair few with only one last garbled tape to uncover. Watched Lucy somewhat subtly read a copy of 'The Woman In White' behind her desk. And in the gaps between he would all too often find himself looking over his shoulder at the man in the red chair behind him and reminiscing on the strong grip in his hair and the kisses on his neck and jaw. All too often would he go from reminiscing to fantasising about spreading him over their bedrolls and grinding against him until they both found release. Or fucking. On the Animus, over his work desk, on the villa roof. On a bed in the middle of nowhere where Templars and Assassins and Aliens bearing prophecies of doom didn't exist.

He excused himself to the quite unpleasant underground passages-cum-makeshift toilet about five times more than was entirely necessary just to have Desmond out of sight and to clear his mind.

Desmond emerged once for a snack and toilet break in between assassination missions and again in their evening. He pushed himself off the Animus chair and leaned on Shaun's desk each time, watching him stutter in his typing and smiling at the reaction. His hand ghosted over his forearm.

Their dinner was eggs boiled on a portable gas stove with toast. Extra helpings for the an who had missed out on lunch. Shaun's yolk was annoyingly hard boiled, leaving his toast dry but for a measly scraping of margarine and he itched to abandon it and run outside with Desmond to taste him. When he was eventually able to leave he threw a pointed look to Desmond, who returned it evenly, eyes lighting up. Rebecca eyed them suspiciously as they left together with towels thrown over their shoulders and, in Desmond's case due to his good mood, wrapped around his waist.

They breached the stifling restraint of work-relation limits when they left the study, Shaun's feet ceasing movement as soon as they slipped past the door frame whilst Desmond walked on towards the fountain, a light pink towel clinging to his jeans with the movement of his legs. He reached out and caught the scrunched up fabric at Desmond's elbow and pulled him back. He was smiling when hands pressed him back against the wall and lips followed. The chaste kiss they shared was hardly enough to quench the want that had built over the day, but a well muscled limb under his hands was enough to ground Shaun and untie the knots that had twisted in his stomach. He sighed deeply as they broke apart.

“Hello.” Desmond mumbled against his lips and then drew back enough to stare at him.

“Good evening.”

A hand rested on the side of Shaun's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. “I've been thinking about you all day.”

“I've been staring at you all day.” Desmond laughed at that. Shaun decided he liked the sound of Desmond's laugh. “No, really. Rebecca's going to think I'm plotting your demise or something soon.”

“Or maybe she'll catch on that we're, shall we say, enjoying each other's company a little more than expected?” Lips sealed over his once more.

Shaun hummed as he remembered the initial reason for bringing Desmond upstairs in the first place. “About that,” He managed around Desmond's lips, which moved back at sign of his speech. “They can't know.”

Desmond gave an unsatisfied grunt.

“Relationships in our area of profession don't tend to work out.” Shaun persisted. “Lucy wouldn't allow it.”