Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

[asscreedkinkmeme]

We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

Writers! It is your responsibility to link back to the original prompt.

There are no request in this part of the meme.

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Discussion

Comments

Sneezes and Other Physiological Responses [2/5]

[(Anonymous)]

The above section was obviously part one, derp.

Desmond almost had a heart attack. “What the fuck, Shaun?” He crouched by the chair and wasn’t at all sure what to do. “Shit. I thought you said you weren’t dying!”

“I’m not.” Shaun’s breathing was coming out in pants. “Didn’t want the girls to worry. God. It doesn’t feel like I’m—it’s just, it’s a bit, ah, much. Do me a favor, Desmond, and kindly back the fuck away from me? Thank you.”

Desmond stared at Shaun’s tightly knit forehead, heavy breathing, flushed face. This was bad. Shaun was clearly either about to die at any moment or die at any moment and then explode. And how long had it been this bad, Shaun too stubborn to tell them?

“What do we do?” Desmond sniffed again, but rubbed his nose and ignored the itch. “Lucy will kill me if I let you die on my watch. We need to…” He paused, blinking. “We need to get you to bed and, uh, raise your legs, right? Something like that?”

Shaun’s glare promised all kinds of excruciating demise. “I’m not going into bloody shock, Desmond, I’m just—” Another wave of what looked like agony interrupted the belligerent snark. He crumpled against the chair, head thrown back and neck bared as he gasped.

Desmond blinked again, incredibly distracted. Something about the twist of Shaun’s eyebrows, the shape of his expression when he winced was wrong, didn’t…

“Fuck.” Shaun’s arms shook as he tried to push himself up. “Ah. Alright. I may have been a tad hasty when I said it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

Desmond grabbed Shaun’s arm. The skin burned under the sleeve. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“It feels a like I’m going to die in five minutes,” said Shaun in a hoarse voice. “And a little like I’m about to lose my mind. Or explode. I think… I think I might need your help on this one.”

“Oh. Wow. You really are dying. Okay.” Desmond pulled him out of the chair. “Come on. Bedroom.”

Shaun gave a whole-body jerk at that. “No, Desmond—”

“Shut up. As the only man here who isn’t about to die in five minutes or explode, I call the shots,” he said and dragged Shaun to his bed. He ran back to rinse some washcloths under cold water and when he returned Shaun was flat on the bed and—

Oh.

Desmond swallowed. Now that Shaun was in his bedroom and Desmond saw his symptoms in a new frame, it—well, still didn’t look like allergies but it didn’t look like allergies in an entirely new way. Shaun was biting his lower lip, eyes pressed shut as he writhed back against the covers, tossing his head back and forth. One of his hands clenched over his stomach and clawed at his sweater. The other pulled firmly at his shirt collar, wrenching it down from his neck.

Definitely not allergies.

Desmond’s mouth was dry. He sniffed again. “Shaun,” he said. He tried desperately to think whether it would be best to cover Shaun in blankets or cool him off or, or what. He gripped the damp washcloths in his hands. “Shaun, what do you need?” The last word stuck in his throat.

Shaun kicked his shoes off and they went flying against the wall. “Anything but blankets!” He seized Desmond’s wrists and held him still when Desmond pressed the cold washcloth to his face and neck. Shaun’s gratified moan raised bumps all over Desmond’s skin. “I don’t know. I just need.”

“Jesus, Shaun,” he muttered. “What’s going on in there?”

“Shut up! Don’t you think I’ve been trying to figure that out?” Shaun continued turning against the bed and rubbing himself against the cloth and Desmond’s hand. It seemed to offer him some relief to have something to move against. “God, this is torture. It doesn’t hurt, that’s the worst thing.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” Desmond’s mouth may have hung open. “Then… what is it? What’s the problem?”

Shaun looked away. “I don’t know.”

“You have to tell me if it’s—” He reared back from the bed and barely got his arm up before he sneezed into his sleeve.

Shaun stared at him in horror.