"Crazy?" Desmond says, a knee jerk reaction that makes him flinch before he can stop himself. "Of course not! I'm fine. Shit, Shaun, all you have to say is you're not interested after all. So, I was reading the signals wrong, okay? Fine. I'm sorry. Just forget I-"
He starts to pull back – his face is fucking burning, but he'll be damned if he'll let this jerkoff see him acting embarrassed – but Shaun's hand on his neck jerks him forward again, flush up against him, and Desmond blinks and looks at him when he doesn't do more.
"Desmond," Shaun says again, like he's trying to instil some kind of knowledge in him just by uttering his name, and, "What?" Desmond says, but it comes out way less demanding than before, and Desmond doesn't get it. Shaun is just standing there, staring at him, his thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth against the hinge of Desmond's jaw, and Desmond's mouth is drying out, is falling open a little because it's getting kind of hard to breathe. There's this pressure in his chest, his heart beating too hard, not like before, in eager anticipation, but like it wants him to run, like this is a mistake, a big mistake, there's danger here and he should have known it, should have…
"Shhhh," Shaun says softly, like he can hear the panic rising in Desmond's thoughts. "Shhh, it's okay, Desmond. Really."
"St- Stop it," Desmond breathes, and he can feel himself shaking now and he can't seem to stop it. "Just fucking… yell at me, or deck me, or… Don't…. Shaun…."
"Shhhh," Shaun says again, and leans forward, reeling Desmond in at the same time, and kisses him.
It's nothing – nothing – like before. Desmond doesn't even- He doesn't even know what it's like but it's sweet and gentle and thorough and lingering and when he opens his eyes again, he's panting and shivering and fucking clinging to the bastard, pressed up against his chest while Shaun strokes his hands over Desmond shoulders and presses his mouth over and over again to whatever skin he can reach.
It's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Desmond's never felt safer in his entire life, and he never even realised he was afraid.
"You know what we're going to do, Desmond?" Shaun tells him eventually, his voice low and easy, lingering like the touch of his hands on Desmond's body.
"No," Desmond whispers, and it sounds like he's been crying – he hasn't, but it feels like it. "What?"
"As soon as Lucy gets back, we're going to gang up on her to let you out for a night. We'll make something up if we have to, I'll make up some important message or fake a new clue somewhere or something. And then you're going to do your thing across the rooftops and you're going to come and find me, and I'm going to be waiting for you in a room that I'll rent through three different shell accounts, and then we're going to take our clothes off, and lie down on a bed, a real bed, and we're going to do everything – absolutely everything – you want to. Everything I want to. Slowly. All night. All right?"
Desmond breathes in, shifts enough to look into Shaun's face and feels his heart do something he's heard described in the kinds of chick-lit novels he has definitely never read, thanks, because Shaun is smiling at him, and Desmond has never seen him look quite like that before.
"All right," he agrees peaceably.
"All right," Shaun echoes, and leans forward and kisses him again, and Desmond just angles his head for a more comfortable fit and parts his lips and lets him and he has no idea who this is or what he did with Shaun Hastings, but whatever it is, he likes it, likes it a lot more than the name calling and the hair pulling and the getting smart about his weight. Although admittedly, that's kind of fun too.
"Hey," he says after a moment, and dragging himself away from the drugging effect of Shaun's embrace, from the gentle strength he never expected to find and the promise of Shaun's arousal still warm and firm against his thigh, is going to be hard, but happily he doesn't have to do it just yet. "Does this mean you're going to be nice to me from now on?"
Re: Fill 2/3 - Re: Shaun/Desmond: Gentle Shaun
He starts to pull back – his face is fucking burning, but he'll be damned if he'll let this jerkoff see him acting embarrassed – but Shaun's hand on his neck jerks him forward again, flush up against him, and Desmond blinks and looks at him when he doesn't do more.
"Desmond," Shaun says again, like he's trying to instil some kind of knowledge in him just by uttering his name, and, "What?" Desmond says, but it comes out way less demanding than before, and Desmond doesn't get it. Shaun is just standing there, staring at him, his thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth against the hinge of Desmond's jaw, and Desmond's mouth is drying out, is falling open a little because it's getting kind of hard to breathe. There's this pressure in his chest, his heart beating too hard, not like before, in eager anticipation, but like it wants him to run, like this is a mistake, a big mistake, there's danger here and he should have known it, should have…
"Shhhh," Shaun says softly, like he can hear the panic rising in Desmond's thoughts. "Shhh, it's okay, Desmond. Really."
"St- Stop it," Desmond breathes, and he can feel himself shaking now and he can't seem to stop it. "Just fucking… yell at me, or deck me, or… Don't…. Shaun…."
"Shhhh," Shaun says again, and leans forward, reeling Desmond in at the same time, and kisses him.
It's nothing – nothing – like before. Desmond doesn't even- He doesn't even know what it's like but it's sweet and gentle and thorough and lingering and when he opens his eyes again, he's panting and shivering and fucking clinging to the bastard, pressed up against his chest while Shaun strokes his hands over Desmond shoulders and presses his mouth over and over again to whatever skin he can reach.
It's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Desmond's never felt safer in his entire life, and he never even realised he was afraid.
"You know what we're going to do, Desmond?" Shaun tells him eventually, his voice low and easy, lingering like the touch of his hands on Desmond's body.
"No," Desmond whispers, and it sounds like he's been crying – he hasn't, but it feels like it. "What?"
"As soon as Lucy gets back, we're going to gang up on her to let you out for a night. We'll make something up if we have to, I'll make up some important message or fake a new clue somewhere or something. And then you're going to do your thing across the rooftops and you're going to come and find me, and I'm going to be waiting for you in a room that I'll rent through three different shell accounts, and then we're going to take our clothes off, and lie down on a bed, a real bed, and we're going to do everything – absolutely everything – you want to. Everything I want to. Slowly. All night. All right?"
Desmond breathes in, shifts enough to look into Shaun's face and feels his heart do something he's heard described in the kinds of chick-lit novels he has definitely never read, thanks, because Shaun is smiling at him, and Desmond has never seen him look quite like that before.
"All right," he agrees peaceably.
"All right," Shaun echoes, and leans forward and kisses him again, and Desmond just angles his head for a more comfortable fit and parts his lips and lets him and he has no idea who this is or what he did with Shaun Hastings, but whatever it is, he likes it, likes it a lot more than the name calling and the hair pulling and the getting smart about his weight. Although admittedly, that's kind of fun too.
"Hey," he says after a moment, and dragging himself away from the drugging effect of Shaun's embrace, from the gentle strength he never expected to find and the promise of Shaun's arousal still warm and firm against his thigh, is going to be hard, but happily he doesn't have to do it just yet. "Does this mean you're going to be nice to me from now on?"