Shaun mutters Desmond's name against his neck as he fucks him, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed and rhythm. Desmond tries to say Shaun's name in response, only for the words to hitch or break or turn into unintelligible noise. He has started to push himself back, ever so subtly, to meet Shaun's thrusts.
'You like this, then,' Shaun says as his hand slides back to Desmond's unattended cock. It's a rhetorical statement, hardly even a question, but Desmond still fights to answer it.
'Not,' he starts, then whines as Shaun begins to jerk him off in time with the movements inside him. 'Not...m-much time to...jack off. Fuck-'
For some reason, it's the quality of Desmond's voice that gets to him. The way he stumbles for words as though he's forgotten them. There's the subtlest hint of Italian to his words, and that brings it all home - Desmond's caught between two worlds at the minute, and Shaun can only hope that he's submerged enough in historic Italy to not remember any of this when he fully wakes.
But all that in time, he thinks grimly, and buries himself in Desmond up to the hilt.
Desmond hisses through his teeth. His hips buck into Shaun's hand helplessly, in short needy movements, and then he lets go - he cries out, comes all over the seat of the Animus. His eyes are shut tightly and his lips are parted, and the sight is enough for Shaun to cry his own release inside him.
As he basks in the afterglow, he thinks about how much cleaning up he will have to do.
-
Fate sometimes is not as cruel as it's cracked up to be, and so Shaun had plenty of time to sponge the Animus - and Desmond - clean, taking special care to rearrange his clothes and place him back into his former position. Tht all went without incident, except for Desmond's brow furrowing and his mouth forming a word that might have been 'Shaun'.
Might have been.
-
When Desmond finally does wake up, he doesn't seem to notice anything. He winces a little when he first stands up, and looks panicked - probably thinks it's to do with that weird Bleeding Effect thing.
He goes straight for Shaun's abandoned cup of reheated noodles this time, and Shaun's shoulders relax - same old Desmond. His voice is perfectly neutral when he speaks. 'Feels like I'm not doing as much stuff in there as I should be. There's so much to keep track of, y'know?'
'I don't use the Animus, Desmond,' Shaun says, forcing himself to look at his computer screens. It's an effort to keep his own voice as neutral as it should be. 'So no, I don't.'
Then there are two hands on his shoulders. Desmond's chin is resting on top of his head.
'Man, this looks boring,' he says. 'I'm gonna go to bed.'
An image flashes at the forefront of Shaun's mind - Desmond straining against him, needy, desperate, unbelievably hard - and refuses to reconcile itself with the man behind him. The man behind him wasn't capable of that sort of wanton behaviour.
Especially not with Shaun.
After Desmond leaves, Shaun buries his head in his hands for a while and makes a point of not looking anywhere near the Animus.
hurrdurr trying to go for a conclusion
'You like this, then,' Shaun says as his hand slides back to Desmond's unattended cock. It's a rhetorical statement, hardly even a question, but Desmond still fights to answer it.
'Not,' he starts, then whines as Shaun begins to jerk him off in time with the movements inside him. 'Not...m-much time to...jack off. Fuck-'
For some reason, it's the quality of Desmond's voice that gets to him. The way he stumbles for words as though he's forgotten them. There's the subtlest hint of Italian to his words, and that brings it all home - Desmond's caught between two worlds at the minute, and Shaun can only hope that he's submerged enough in historic Italy to not remember any of this when he fully wakes.
But all that in time, he thinks grimly, and buries himself in Desmond up to the hilt.
Desmond hisses through his teeth. His hips buck into Shaun's hand helplessly, in short needy movements, and then he lets go - he cries out, comes all over the seat of the Animus. His eyes are shut tightly and his lips are parted, and the sight is enough for Shaun to cry his own release inside him.
As he basks in the afterglow, he thinks about how much cleaning up he will have to do.
-
Fate sometimes is not as cruel as it's cracked up to be, and so Shaun had plenty of time to sponge the Animus - and Desmond - clean, taking special care to rearrange his clothes and place him back into his former position. Tht all went without incident, except for Desmond's brow furrowing and his mouth forming a word that might have been 'Shaun'.
Might have been.
-
When Desmond finally does wake up, he doesn't seem to notice anything. He winces a little when he first stands up, and looks panicked - probably thinks it's to do with that weird Bleeding Effect thing.
He goes straight for Shaun's abandoned cup of reheated noodles this time, and Shaun's shoulders relax - same old Desmond. His voice is perfectly neutral when he speaks. 'Feels like I'm not doing as much stuff in there as I should be. There's so much to keep track of, y'know?'
'I don't use the Animus, Desmond,' Shaun says, forcing himself to look at his computer screens. It's an effort to keep his own voice as neutral as it should be. 'So no, I don't.'
Then there are two hands on his shoulders. Desmond's chin is resting on top of his head.
'Man, this looks boring,' he says. 'I'm gonna go to bed.'
An image flashes at the forefront of Shaun's mind - Desmond straining against him, needy, desperate, unbelievably hard - and refuses to reconcile itself with the man behind him. The man behind him wasn't capable of that sort of wanton behaviour.
Especially not with Shaun.
After Desmond leaves, Shaun buries his head in his hands for a while and makes a point of not looking anywhere near the Animus.