So, I didn't exactly follow the prompt. Sorry! Hopefully I can be forgiven though...
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Reliving centuries old memories, cooped up in a god damned cave, Desmond figures he might as well use his painfully learned, possibly-going-to-send-him-crazy-eventually skills for something. And sure, Lucy's pretty and everything, but Desmond knows when someone's paying him that kind of attention and when they're not. He can flirt with Lucy all he likes; but it isn't going to pay off. Whether that's because she needs to keep it professional, or whether he's not her type or she prefers girls or what is hard to say, but either way, Desmond's not entirely stupid; he knows when someone's not interested.
Lucy is not interested.
But Shaun is.
Sure, Shaun is the kind of interested that amounts to a lot of posturing, of snarky come backs, of thinly veiled insults and pulling his bloody pig-tails, but he's interested. Desmond can feel him watching him sometimes, when Desmond's not in the Animus, even catches him occasionally, Shaun's expression closed, his gaze lingering heavily like he'd touch if he could. And Desmond's been looking back, at Shaun's large hands, at his smart-arsed mouth, at the way he glares whenever the two of them start in on each other for want of anything better to do to break the tedium. Desmond's been looking, and he's been thinking. Every time Shaun tears Desmond a new one, whenever he rolls out new lows in sarcasm and Desmond fires his shit straight back at him, he meets Desmond's gaze and smirks like he knows something, like he's just fucking daring Desmond, like he's on to him and everything that he's thinking and he doesn't think Desmond is man enough to try for it.
Well, Desmond – and not many people would know this – lives to prove people wrong. So, he figures he might as well put his skills to use on something. If it constitutes an abuse of power, right now he really doesn't care.
"Shit! Des-" Shaun starts to gasp when Desmond stops kissing him long enough to let him breathe.
"Thought I wouldn't make a move, didn't you, asshole," Desmond pants, and actually, tangled up with him against his workstation with his tongue in his mouth while the girls are out doing some major resupplying is a lot nicer than Desmond actually thought it would be. Shaun feels good against him, really solid. There's muscle under there, not the kind that a professional assassin develops, but enough to get a few good hits in, and then Desmond wonders whether Shaun will – hit him, that is – and feels something hot spark like a firecracker in the pit of his stomach.
"Come on," he mutters, kissing him again, as dirtily as he knows how, pushing up against him so that his filling cock rubs into the fit of Shaun's hip bone, and so he can feel Shaun is definitely not uninterested either. "Come on. Fuck, I know you want to, right? I'm not wrong. You think about this, don't you? When we're arguing, think about shutting me up with something more than just a decent come-back, right? You want me on my knees? I can do that."
"Jesus," Shaun breathes, and then pushes at him. Not down - like anyone, any guy with a fucking pulse would, right? - but off. "Jesus, Desmond."
Desmond lurches back a step, not entirely letting go, but that, that wasn't in the plan. The plan was, he jumps Shaun, Shaun gives him a serving, Desmond gives Shaun a blow job, and maybe gets jerked off in return, and then they get back to work. This is not happening according to plan.
"What?" Desmond demands. "Seriously, you're going to pussy out on me now? You know, last week you did in fact tell me to suck your dick. I'm pretty sure I heard you say that."
"Desmond," Shaun says again, and his expression is weird, kind of soft, like he understands something else entirely, something Desmond isn't seeing. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" His voice is soft to go along with that look, and when he raises his hand and drags it up the side of Desmond's neck to cup the back of his head, that's just as gentle.
Fill 1/3 - Re: Shaun/Desmond: Gentle Shaun
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Reliving centuries old memories, cooped up in a god damned cave, Desmond figures he might as well use his painfully learned, possibly-going-to-send-him-crazy-eventually skills for something. And sure, Lucy's pretty and everything, but Desmond knows when someone's paying him that kind of attention and when they're not. He can flirt with Lucy all he likes; but it isn't going to pay off. Whether that's because she needs to keep it professional, or whether he's not her type or she prefers girls or what is hard to say, but either way, Desmond's not entirely stupid; he knows when someone's not interested.
Lucy is not interested.
But Shaun is.
Sure, Shaun is the kind of interested that amounts to a lot of posturing, of snarky come backs, of thinly veiled insults and pulling his bloody pig-tails, but he's interested. Desmond can feel him watching him sometimes, when Desmond's not in the Animus, even catches him occasionally, Shaun's expression closed, his gaze lingering heavily like he'd touch if he could. And Desmond's been looking back, at Shaun's large hands, at his smart-arsed mouth, at the way he glares whenever the two of them start in on each other for want of anything better to do to break the tedium. Desmond's been looking, and he's been thinking. Every time Shaun tears Desmond a new one, whenever he rolls out new lows in sarcasm and Desmond fires his shit straight back at him, he meets Desmond's gaze and smirks like he knows something, like he's just fucking daring Desmond, like he's on to him and everything that he's thinking and he doesn't think Desmond is man enough to try for it.
Well, Desmond – and not many people would know this – lives to prove people wrong. So, he figures he might as well put his skills to use on something. If it constitutes an abuse of power, right now he really doesn't care.
"Shit! Des-" Shaun starts to gasp when Desmond stops kissing him long enough to let him breathe.
"Thought I wouldn't make a move, didn't you, asshole," Desmond pants, and actually, tangled up with him against his workstation with his tongue in his mouth while the girls are out doing some major resupplying is a lot nicer than Desmond actually thought it would be. Shaun feels good against him, really solid. There's muscle under there, not the kind that a professional assassin develops, but enough to get a few good hits in, and then Desmond wonders whether Shaun will – hit him, that is – and feels something hot spark like a firecracker in the pit of his stomach.
"Come on," he mutters, kissing him again, as dirtily as he knows how, pushing up against him so that his filling cock rubs into the fit of Shaun's hip bone, and so he can feel Shaun is definitely not uninterested either. "Come on. Fuck, I know you want to, right? I'm not wrong. You think about this, don't you? When we're arguing, think about shutting me up with something more than just a decent come-back, right? You want me on my knees? I can do that."
"Jesus," Shaun breathes, and then pushes at him. Not down - like anyone, any guy with a fucking pulse would, right? - but off. "Jesus, Desmond."
Desmond lurches back a step, not entirely letting go, but that, that wasn't in the plan. The plan was, he jumps Shaun, Shaun gives him a serving, Desmond gives Shaun a blow job, and maybe gets jerked off in return, and then they get back to work. This is not happening according to plan.
"What?" Desmond demands. "Seriously, you're going to pussy out on me now? You know, last week you did in fact tell me to suck your dick. I'm pretty sure I heard you say that."
"Desmond," Shaun says again, and his expression is weird, kind of soft, like he understands something else entirely, something Desmond isn't seeing. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" His voice is soft to go along with that look, and when he raises his hand and drags it up the side of Desmond's neck to cup the back of his head, that's just as gentle.