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Description
Something in the very back of his mind just screamed.

It told him to wake up, get up and out. No one should see him like this, ever…

He only stirred slightly, mind hazy and too slow to really catch up. He was exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept like this… Peaceful, dreamless and without being woken up by others or his dreams. For a brief moment he didn't realize why it was like this…

Hot breath tickled his ear and fingers flexed on his stomach, making him aware of the fact that he wasn't alone in his bed. He wanted to turn around in those arms, to find out who was hugging him.

However, the grip on his naked hips only tightened and made it impossible for him to move.

"You damn…" the remaining words, mumbled against his neck, thick with accent, were lost as the Brit yawned, "Get back to sleep. You've been whining for hours… Now I'm here, so shut the fuck up, Des…"

Only now did he notice that he had been mumbling something, the language not easily recognized even by himself. He had been talking in quite a mixture of French, German, broken Arabic, English and Italian. He was going crazy…

"Shaun…" he managed to choke out, tears welling up as memories flooded his head. The pictures were confusing him, the voices, the emotions, making him wonder who he was.

Strong arms turned him around and he was facing Shaun, their eyes meeting in the little light illuminating the room. A hand stroked his neck, making him sigh contently, the caress calming him down a little.

The memories that weren't his slowly disappeared as he watched the Brit, only distantly hearing the words the historian spoke to calm him down after his nightmares. He hadn't seen this kind of smile on Shaun's face before, so loving that he wasn't sure if he was even awake, not dreaming…

He let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the other's voice and presence.

Lips kissed along his cheek gently, the feeling so different from a woman's kiss because of the slightly scratching and tickling stubble. Still it was tender, loving. He had never felt like this with his girlfriends…

Finally, those rough lips were on his, the touch still careful, but he didn't find the power to actually return the favor to make Shaun's skin tingle the same way as his did. Instead, he drifted off to sleep once again, the exploring hands and lips both guiding and comforting him.

The last thing he noticed before everything went black, was the smile against his skin.

When he woke up the next morning – or it might have even been the same, he didn't know – he was sure that all of that had been just a dream. The kisses, those hands, the words… the smile…

He still wore his pants and hoodie, and the bed next to him was still made.

And, like always, Shaun didn't even look up as Desmond greeted him. There was not even an insult directed at him.

They were ignoring each other once again. There had been no comfort this night, no love, nothing. He could still feel the other's body heat, slick skin, could hear the historian whisper sweet nothings into his ear, a husky "Des…" as he came inside him…

"Des, buddy, are you still with us?"

The assassin almost jumped when someone touched his shoulder. His heart clenched as memories flooded his mind. The dream had started the same way, with just a little touch, a few words…

Swallowing hard, banning the thoughts from his mind, he turned around to face Shaun. He could bet that there was a hint of concern in the historian's eyes. But he couldn't think much further, Shaun breaking the contact by looking down at the pile of maps and other sheets and folders in his arms.

"Help me carry them, will you?"

He only nodded emotionless, taking about half of the papers. Damn heavy… he thought but didn't care. He wanted to help – and hoped he got to see the smile from his dream once again.

He followed Shaun out of the room and down the hallway. He knew where they were heading. He would have been able to walk along that way even blindfolded. He had woken up in front of Shaun's room at the end of the hallway many times already, too often to keep count on it. He would stand there, staring at the door when the hallucinations caused by the bleeding effect stopped at once, leaving him in the present, just somewhere in Europe, instead of the familiar bureau in Jerusalem or Leonardo's workshop in Venezia.

The desire to be comforted by the Brit, just like his ancestors had been comforted and calmed by their counterparts, had always caused his legs to carry him here. Almost every night for a few weeks by now. He couldn't really stand it anymore… Just standing there, only a door separating them – but it felt as if the whole world was between them. Or, most likely, the border between being an assassin and an informant.

"There we are…" Shaun stated needlessly, apparently only to break the uncomfortable silence between them. The door slid open and the historian stepped inside, the assassin soon following. They put down the two piles right next to a few others, covering about half of the floor.

Desmond eyed the room closely while Shaun rummaged through the files. Shaun reminded him just too much of Malik and Leonardo, with all the maps, drawings and sketches pinned to the walls and the books on the floor, chaotic but still with an organization only known to the owner of the room…

Desmond couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

Hand gripped his shoulders harshly and he was spun around, only to be forced back. His knees met the edge of the bed and he was pushed down onto the mattress with a strong body soon on top of his. He couldn't move.

And the moment that lips descended to kiss along his jaw and the scar at the corner of his mouth, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to free himself from the grasp.

"Do that more often… Show that smile, I mean…" Shaun whispered, his hands cupping Desmond's cheeks, eyes glowing as he just looked at the younger assassin, "I think… I've only seen you smile about… three times until now… when you just came here with Lucy, you smiled at her… and damn, I was so jealous… and then, last night, you finally looked at me the same way…"

Desmond couldn't help but stare at that confession.

"You mean… that was real?" he whispered, raising his trembling arms to wrap them loosely around Shaun's shoulders. He wanted to feel the historian, to be sure that moment was a part of reality. He had never thought that he'd get so close to Shaun – both physically and mentally…

The Brit smiled, although a bit sad.

"You've… thought it was only… a dream?"

His voice was shaking, betraying his disbelief and shattered hopes, his fear, which he stubbornly wanted to hide behind the smile. Desmond only nodded.

"Well… I woke up alone… You ignored me… I've… hoped for something like this for so long… Shit… I had even hoped at some point that I'd be able to stay in the Animus… somewhere together with Leonardo when I was Ezio… or as Altair, together with Malik – despite their bickering… Just to have someone who loves me…"

Someone who comforts me…

Another kiss, more insistent, begging to be returned by Desmond. The assassin noticed something akin to desperation in Shaun's eyes. But as soon as his lips began to move against the other's, the look vanished, being replaced by longing. They broke apart when air became sparse. They looked at each other for another few moments, before Shaun sighed and laid down next to Desmond, arm draped over the younger one's hips.

Their foreheads touched as Shaun leaned forward.

"Des… the Animus is messing you up – we all know that… But you should have noticed by now, that this is not a dream… There's no need to crave for the presence of those who've been dead for centuries… those who belonged to somebody else…

Because, if it's love or comfort you want…

I've given it to you once and I'd always do it again… Just tell me, you goddamn pig-head…"

Desmond simply smiled, the expression feeling a bit foreign on his face. He punched Shaun's stomach playfully, making the historian flinch.

"You should have heard yourself just now… That was fucking sappy, you prick…"

Shaun grinned and kissed him, only a peck on the lips, but enough to stop Desmond from proceeding his words, giving Shaun the chance to talk himself before the conversation turned into an argument or a fight even.

"Good to see you back, damn assassin…"

Description
Something in the very back of his mind just screamed.

It told him to wake up, get up and out. No one should see him like this, ever…

He only stirred slightly, mind hazy and too slow to really catch up. He was exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept like this… Peaceful, dreamless and without being woken up by others or his dreams. For a brief moment he didn't realize why it was like this…

Hot breath tickled his ear and fingers flexed on his stomach, making him aware of the fact that he wasn't alone in his bed. He wanted to turn around in those arms, to find out who was hugging him.

However, the grip on his naked hips only tightened and made it impossible for him to move.

"You damn…" the remaining words, mumbled against his neck, thick with accent, were lost as the Brit yawned, "Get back to sleep. You've been whining for hours… Now I'm here, so shut the fuck up, Des…"

Only now did he notice that he had been mumbling something, the language not easily recognized even by himself. He had been talking in quite a mixture of French, German, broken Arabic, English and Italian. He was going crazy…

"Shaun…" he managed to choke out, tears welling up as memories flooded his head. The pictures were confusing him, the voices, the emotions, making him wonder who he was.

Strong arms turned him around and he was facing Shaun, their eyes meeting in the little light illuminating the room. A hand stroked his neck, making him sigh contently, the caress calming him down a little.

The memories that weren't his slowly disappeared as he watched the Brit, only distantly hearing the words the historian spoke to calm him down after his nightmares. He hadn't seen this kind of smile on Shaun's face before, so loving that he wasn't sure if he was even awake, not dreaming…

He let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the other's voice and presence.

Lips kissed along his cheek gently, the feeling so different from a woman's kiss because of the slightly scratching and tickling stubble. Still it was tender, loving. He had never felt like this with his girlfriends…

Finally, those rough lips were on his, the touch still careful, but he didn't find the power to actually return the favor to make Shaun's skin tingle the same way as his did. Instead, he drifted off to sleep once again, the exploring hands and lips both guiding and comforting him.

The last thing he noticed before everything went black, was the smile against his skin.

When he woke up the next morning – or it might have even been the same, he didn't know – he was sure that all of that had been just a dream. The kisses, those hands, the words… the smile…

He still wore his pants and hoodie, and the bed next to him was still made.

And, like always, Shaun didn't even look up as Desmond greeted him. There was not even an insult directed at him.

They were ignoring each other once again. There had been no comfort this night, no love, nothing. He could still feel the other's body heat, slick skin, could hear the historian whisper sweet nothings into his ear, a husky "Des…" as he came inside him…

"Des, buddy, are you still with us?"

The assassin almost jumped when someone touched his shoulder. His heart clenched as memories flooded his mind. The dream had started the same way, with just a little touch, a few words…

Swallowing hard, banning the thoughts from his mind, he turned around to face Shaun. He could bet that there was a hint of concern in the historian's eyes. But he couldn't think much further, Shaun breaking the contact by looking down at the pile of maps and other sheets and folders in his arms.

"Help me carry them, will you?"

He only nodded emotionless, taking about half of the papers. Damn heavy… he thought but didn't care. He wanted to help – and hoped he got to see the smile from his dream once again.

He followed Shaun out of the room and down the hallway. He knew where they were heading. He would have been able to walk along that way even blindfolded. He had woken up in front of Shaun's room at the end of the hallway many times already, too often to keep count on it. He would stand there, staring at the door when the hallucinations caused by the bleeding effect stopped at once, leaving him in the present, just somewhere in Europe, instead of the familiar bureau in Jerusalem or Leonardo's workshop in Venezia.

The desire to be comforted by the Brit, just like his ancestors had been comforted and calmed by their counterparts, had always caused his legs to carry him here. Almost every night for a few weeks by now. He couldn't really stand it anymore… Just standing there, only a door separating them – but it felt as if the whole world was between them. Or, most likely, the border between being an assassin and an informant.

"There we are…" Shaun stated needlessly, apparently only to break the uncomfortable silence between them. The door slid open and the historian stepped inside, the assassin soon following. They put down the two piles right next to a few others, covering about half of the floor.

Desmond eyed the room closely while Shaun rummaged through the files. Shaun reminded him just too much of Malik and Leonardo, with all the maps, drawings and sketches pinned to the walls and the books on the floor, chaotic but still with an organization only known to the owner of the room…

Desmond couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

Hand gripped his shoulders harshly and he was spun around, only to be forced back. His knees met the edge of the bed and he was pushed down onto the mattress with a strong body soon on top of his. He couldn't move.

And the moment that lips descended to kiss along his jaw and the scar at the corner of his mouth, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to free himself from the grasp.

"Do that more often… Show that smile, I mean…" Shaun whispered, his hands cupping Desmond's cheeks, eyes glowing as he just looked at the younger assassin, "I think… I've only seen you smile about… three times until now… when you just came here with Lucy, you smiled at her… and damn, I was so jealous… and then, last night, you finally looked at me the same way…"

Desmond couldn't help but stare at that confession.

"You mean… that was real?" he whispered, raising his trembling arms to wrap them loosely around Shaun's shoulders. He wanted to feel the historian, to be sure that moment was a part of reality. He had never thought that he'd get so close to Shaun – both physically and mentally…

The Brit smiled, although a bit sad.

"You've… thought it was only… a dream?"

His voice was shaking, betraying his disbelief and shattered hopes, his fear, which he stubbornly wanted to hide behind the smile. Desmond only nodded.

"Well… I woke up alone… You ignored me… I've… hoped for something like this for so long… Shit… I had even hoped at some point that I'd be able to stay in the Animus… somewhere together with Leonardo when I was Ezio… or as Altair, together with Malik – despite their bickering… Just to have someone who loves me…"

Someone who comforts me…

Another kiss, more insistent, begging to be returned by Desmond. The assassin noticed something akin to desperation in Shaun's eyes. But as soon as his lips began to move against the other's, the look vanished, being replaced by longing. They broke apart when air became sparse. They looked at each other for another few moments, before Shaun sighed and laid down next to Desmond, arm draped over the younger one's hips.

Their foreheads touched as Shaun leaned forward.

"Des… the Animus is messing you up – we all know that… But you should have noticed by now, that this is not a dream… There's no need to crave for the presence of those who've been dead for centuries… those who belonged to somebody else…

Because, if it's love or comfort you want…

I've given it to you once and I'd always do it again… Just tell me, you goddamn pig-head…"

Desmond simply smiled, the expression feeling a bit foreign on his face. He punched Shaun's stomach playfully, making the historian flinch.

"You should have heard yourself just now… That was fucking sappy, you prick…"

Shaun grinned and kissed him, only a peck on the lips, but enough to stop Desmond from proceeding his words, giving Shaun the chance to talk himself before the conversation turned into an argument or a fight even.

"Good to see you back, damn assassin…"