squirrellysemantics: (drake)
[personal profile] squirrellysemantics
Title: Mudita
part 5
Rating NC17 this chapter for some smuttiness
Warnings for slash and polyamory between three dudes. Some degree of voyeurism
Series:  Uncharted, Assassin's Creed 2.  Spoilers for neither
Characters: Nathan Drake, Shaun Hastings, Desmond Miles
Uncharted is owned by Naughty Dog, AC is owned by Ubisoft. I own nothing.

Previous chapters Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Summary:  A search for something in plain sight might cost some their sanity. A deviation in the timeline after the events in Assassin's Creed 2.  

A/N: Being trapped in an airport makes one a little more productive. Except when people are looking over your shoulder in the middle of writing a sex scene.  Who knew?

Comments, critique, thoughts?  Anything and everything is welcome.


Who would have thought that Desmond would have felt like this in a crowded station, trying to get out of Paris?


And bored as fuck.

He sighed, shifting painfully in the molded plastic seat that clearly had been designed to make sure he and anyone else choosing to leave by rail regretted the choices they made in life.

Swarms of bodies-tourists, families, suits- moved blindly by in their rush to get to one train or another. It was all sorts of ordinary. People going on with their daily routine without a care.

Lucky bastards.

With the clock ticking down, anticipation coiled tightly in his gut. They had a job to do, even if it hardly looked like it with him stuck in a chair that was an abomination to asses everywhere.

Where had this dread come from, prickling just under his skin, wearing him down to the bone? He did his best to sweep it aside but it had its tendrils wrapped around him tight.

The others looked somewhat more productive, rather than trapped in butt numbing hell.

Maybe 'looked' was the operative word.

Shaun held nothing back from the deep scowl directed at his laptop, as if the machine was intentionally making things difficult. Watching Nate pore over floor plan would have been more fun under different circumstances. The details in his hands made his handsome face jump through all sorts of gymnastics but none of his expressions looked like his efforts were proving all that fruitful.

Another glance at the time. A whole, entire minute had passed. Awesome. Only another thirty five to go until their train to London was due.

Heel tapping in agitation ended with Desmond's whole body vibrating with the need to move. Restlessness chafed just under his skin. He hadn't always been so impatient. Confinement kind of did that to you, especially the not-so-voluntary kind. Strapped into a chair with someone else's memories stomping through his psyche for days, weeks, months. Felt like a lifetime at any rate.

Or more than one lifetime.

Ask his sixteen year old self what his future would be and it sure as hell wasn't lying flat on his back with random people doing all sorts of crazy shit to him and- holy hell that sounded a lot worse than it should have.


The ratty little convenience store tucked into the rear of the station suddenly looked mighty appealing.

“You guys want anything?” he asked, hoping the desperation wasn't too obvious.

Of course, Shaun didn’t bother looking up, fingers still flying over his keyboard. “If they happen to have some spare passwords that might get me into this fucking network, I'll take two.” His dejected sigh was explosive. “Otherwise, I'll have another espresso.”

"Seriously?" Even after months the Englishman's smartassedry, Desmond still couldn't be sure. "I'm pretty sure it's a rule that your heart blows up after your sixth one of the morning."

The truth came out in Shaun's bleary eyed gaze, dark circles a stark contrast to his pale, pale face. “No big loss.”

The whole of his chair shook underneath him from a solid kick. Shaun offered a quietly abashed look at its source though Nate still appeared consumed by whatever the fuck it was he was doing.

Desmond tried to shield his amusement.

Or rather-

Didn’t try very hard at all.

“So we're still a no-go on finding out the schedule of Windsor's night watch?” he asked, a little taken aback by how good it felt to smile.
Shaun let loose a sigh that carried the full weight of his exhaustion. “Getting into Royalty Protection's system is ending up a lot tougher than faking a Bilderberg Group meeting invite." A hint of color came to his cheeks . "Not...not that I would know anything about that..."
The Englishman carded his fingers through his hair, leaving it in great big spikes. “Perhaps Nate has had some luck.”
Pushing aside the urge to muss Shaun’s hair further in more interesting ways, Desmond turned his focus on the third of their party, who seemed to suddenly find the plans the absolutely the most fascinating thing on the planet.
Desmond looked over expectantly. “Nate?”
“How's it goin' over there?”
There was a prolonged pause and a rustle of paper. “It might be a little harder to get into Windsor than I thought.”
Earnest looks passed between the two men listening to this assessment.
“How much harder?” Shaun asked with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Nate squirmed in his seat. “A bit.”
Another significant look shared. Desmond tongued the inside of his cheek. "How much is 'a bit'?"
Long eyelashes made Nate's sheepishness slightly more forgivable. "A bit of a lot. The castle's been around for over eight hundred years. They’ve kinda gotten used to the whole ‘laying siege’ thing and most of Leonardo’s part of the Royal Collection isn’t exactly out in the open.”
He unwound long limbs but his words did most of the backpedaling. "But we've got time! Give me the train ride to London. I... I'll figure something out."
The three shared a measured silence before Desmond rose to his feet.
"Maybe we’ll get lucky," he offered, trying to inject some optimism though he had little enough of his own. “For once."
"Hey," Nate called, the whole of him trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably. "You heading to that little shop?"
Desmond didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the store that was his target. “I’ll check if they have anything sweet.”
The high wattage smile he got in thanks went straight to Desmond’s groin. “You’re awesome!”
God damn it. If they’d been anywhere but an open rail platform in front of a few hundred prying eyes, Nate would have found out just how awesome he could be.
In multiple ways and as loudly as possible.
Desmond sighed and slipped into the crowd.
Moving into the busy ebb and flow felt too much like swimming through a current, letting it take you where it will. It should have felt natural but the sensations warred with what he already knew. Crowds had always been a thing to avoid for a life on the run and it had stayed with him until now, quashed messily by memories laid down by others.
It was smothering.
He came up for air in front of the small store, trying to get his bearings. What was he doing here again? Right. Coffee. Cake.
Desmond muddled through his purchases and waited his turn to pay, aching for this plain, old normalcy. Not running or jumping or thieving or hunting. Just a few seconds of sitting in line, buying stuff.
That feeling lasted for a little while anyway.

The tiny, tiny old man ahead of him was having a hard time making himself understood in his thick Russian accent and his inability to hear anything the shopkeeper said in response pretty much meant the queue behind him was dead in the water. His equally tiny old wife did nothing to help the situation, more than comfortable rifling through the glossy magazines that lined the front of the keeper’s stand.
Impatience barely in check, Desmond tried to ignore it all but old habits kicked in. Mindlessly, he followed along over the elderly woman’s shoulder as she quickly ‘tch’d and ‘nyet’ed her disapproval through each one.
Her reading list started with Vogue which wasn’t too bad, but was still pretty much all adverts with tits. She clearly wasn’t reading a damn thing, moving on to the next glossy bearing a pouty guy that was trying too hard to flex through his strategically wet t-shirt. Each selection seemed worse than the next.
Desmond took a peek at the shopkeeper. For the love of god, what could they possibly be talking about when neither party knew what the other was saying?
Another booberific fashion mag. Football. Football. A tawdry gossip mag got all of her attention and it was chock full of- surprise! More tits. The least offensive thing was some article trumpeting the British royals hosting some event-
Desmond’s heart rate shot into the stratosphere as he struggled to process what he had seen in the old woman’s hands.
No fucking way!
He scrambled to dig up another copy of the magazine, tearing though pages one by one until he found the article rife with royal gossip and -
The Vitruvian Man.
Breath catching in his throat, he tried to piece together what he could in his pidgin French.
Château de Windsor.
Léonard de Vinci.
Le mécénat philanthropique.
Dates, dates, where the hell are you…
Two weeks.
Two weeks from now.
A charity fundraiser showcasing the works of Leonardo da Vinci.
At Windsor Castle.
In two weeks.

Flinging what coins he had at the shopkeeper, Desmond took off with the magazine tucked under his arm. It would have been easier to bowl over anyone who got in his way but he danced through the crowd all the same. Unwanted attention was the last thing he needed when they were still being chased by pissed off Italians but holy fuck, this would be their first big break since-
The scene that greeted him made Desmond pull up short.
Still at his laptop, Shaun was no longer full of glum and glower. He had Nate alongside him now and their heads bowed together, a joke or smart remark bouncing effortless good humor between them as they worked together.

It was beautiful.
Desmond’s return didn’t go unnoticed and the two looked up at him with eyes filled with concern.
And his heart nearly split right there.
They’d pushed so hard to get to this point, rushing, rushing, rushing to get to London. A race against time. Blast full steam ahead to do…. what exactly?
Either there would be outright success or complete failure and in either case, nothing would ever be the same.
Maybe this was what had him on edge all along. What he wanted, so tantalizingly close but still impossibly out of reach.
This right here
This affable affection.
Caring and being cared for no matter who or what or how.
How much longer did he get to have this? How much longer before he had to walk into Windsor? Before the bleeding effect ended up tearing his soul into bloody chunks?
A few pages. A few pages had nearly done him in, and if that article had been right he'd be surrounded by hundreds.
Whatever time they had left, it wasn't enough.
“What’s wrong?” Shaun asked, alarm growing at the prolonged silence.
It took far too much time for Desmond to get his throat to work. “Nothing. I… Here. Take a look at this.”
Shaun was the first to get to the magazine, eyes getting wider and wider with every line he absorbed. “My god. This could be it. This could be exactly what we need!”
The magazine wasn’t in his possession for long.
“’Parts of the collection rarely made public will be on display at this black tie event,’” Nate read aloud. “Even if this isn’t what we’re looking for we’ll be able to case the place, more than we could on some bullshit guided tour. Sounds like we hit the jackpot!”
Desmond no longer followed their conversation, instead laying a hand on them both as if to reassure himself that they were still there.
“We have to check a few things first!” Shaun warned, though even his caution couldn’t blot out his enthusiasm. “Some absurd piece of tripe that thinks one of the most iconic works ever created lives somewhere other than under lock and key in Venice isn’t precisely a good source of information.”
“Absolutely,” Nate beamed back. “But it looks like we’ve got a party to crash!”
They’d hauled ass to London and had gone shopping.
Desmond kept to the corner, trying to blend in with row upon row of jackets and trousers, hoping that if the world had to end that it might end just a little bit sooner.
“C’mon, Desmond! Black tie means black tie!” Shaun proclaimed loudly, digging through an assortment of elegant shirts. He and Nate had already had what they needed but Desmond had proved more difficult. “What size do you wear?”
“Dunno,” he said flatly, wanting to be anyplace but here, doing anything but this.

Nate’s head popped up between racks. “Whatayamean you don’t know?”
“I. Don’t. Know,” Desmond enunciated carefully, shortened fuse already burning. He could feel Nate's sharp eyed scrutiny but shrugged it off, focusing on his own reflection in a mirror. Damn, he was getting scruffy, hair getting long enough it was starting to curl around the edges. “Does it come in a large? I’ve never needed to wear a suit before, much less a tuxedo.”
“Don’t worry, sir!” The timorous young woman who had been the one unlucky enough to mind the shop they’d chosen tried to sound confident and failed utterly. “I can size you properly!”
The smile Nate flashed her made her fumble her measuring tape. “I’m sure you could.”
“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” Her hands quaked as she recovered what she’d dropped. “Would you mind standing over here, sir?”
Desmond obliged with a sigh and nearly jumped out of his skin as ice cold tape wrapped around his neck.
The girl looked ready to have a stroke. “Sorry, sir! Excuse me, sir!” she echoed yet again. “I don’t normally work the men's section.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, forcing himself into a smile. Whatever issue he had with how the three of them chose to run out the clock, none of it was this girl’s fault. He tried to crawl out of his doldrums. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”
Somehow the words of reassurance only made her blush a shade of red not normally found in nature, her eyes directed demurely to the floor. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I can take the measurements if you want,” Nate offered, covered in a smile that should have been illegal in forty seven countries.
The flustered young woman looked vaguely disappointed as she offered up the tape. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Nathan.” Shaun growled a warning that only the three men could hear.
“What?” Nate continued to play the angel, keeping his voice soft and smooth. “I’m helping. Besides, Desmond’s been a little on the crabby side since we left France, don’t you think?”
Shaun gave voice to the question both men were thinking. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
A single wicked eyebrow lifted for the barest of seconds. “Nothin’.”
The tape was fit snugly around Desmond’s neck once more.
“Hmm, sixteen inch collar,” Nate announced out loud before he dropped to a whisper. “Got to remember that. Might come in useful.”
Desmond felt some of his tension melt away.
So this was how Drake was going to play i- shit! The hiss escaped him as hands moved over his torso far too slowly than should have been allowed. The tape tightened around his chest accompanied by what could only be a bite through the cloth covering his shoulder blades, well out of the girl’s line of sight.
“Nathan.” This time Shaun’s growl was for a whole different reason.
A reason that appeared to please Nathan Drake to no end. “Forty two.”
The young woman was off in her own dreamy universe and completely failed to notice she’d been spoken to. A polite cough from Shaun and he repeated the number for her to hastily scribble it down.

Next, the tape settled across Desmond’s hips but the edge of his hoodie added far too much bulk.
“No, no, no.” Nate was full of theatrical disappointment. “We have a situation that must be rectified.”
Desmond let a breath escape slowly as warm fingers edged underneath his clothes to dance along the sharp line of his hipbone.
"Thirty two!"
A shiver went through him as a fingernail lightly brushed the small of his back.
"Now for the fun one."
Desmond had no idea what this meant but he was nowhere near ready for Nate dropped to his knees in front of him. His cock was plenty ready for both of them, though. He pressed into the caress along his inner thigh.
"Nathan." Shaun tried one more time but the name came out soft and breezy.
"Just getting his inseam," Nate answered smoothly, lips dangerously close to the bulge rising to meet him.
It was no accident that Nate pressed the tape to just the r...right sp...spot and Desmond choked off a gasp.
"Thirty six."
It might have been the end of the measurements but the touches kept going, teasing out sinful noises.
There was a horrendous gurgle from the direction of the saleswoman and she threw a mortified hand over her mouth. "Sorry, sir!" She gulped lungfuls of air. "Goodness, I must be coming down with something. I'll.. I'll just get a selection for you to try on." Her fluster was something to behold. "If you wouldn't mind heading to the fitting room..."
The woman vanished into the ether but none of them noticed.
"Drake, you son of a bitch!” Desmond snarled, voice rough and full of smoke.
“You say that like it's a bad thing.” Nate slowly made his way to his feet, delivering more of those delicious bites as he went with Desmond offering his own in return.
Suddenly, both of them had their heads pulled back, throats exposed from Shaun gripping a scalpful of hair in each fist. “Utter bastards.” He was raw and throaty, unraveled by jagged arousal. “The both of you.”
He tore into them, one then the other, using hard, unforgiving kisses that consumed them all.
“Now,” Shaun began, giving them each the shove they deserved. “Let's get Desmond kitted up and get the hell out of here so we can finish this properly.”
The hapless woman chose this particular moment to return with an armful of clothing. “Oh.. oh, dear! I...” Her stammer got worse as she caught sight of bruised lips and breathless men. “I..I..I'll just leave these here, shall I? I need to step outside for a moment.” She added the words 'for a cigarette' under her breath but not a one of them noticed.
Desmond lumbered mindlessly into a dressing room, desperate to get out of jeans that were far too tight for far too long. Struggling into a shirt, he cursed each and every button. Did the damn thing really need so many?
It was only after minutes ticked by that he realized there was an uncharacteristic silence. What the fuck were the others up to?
“Guys? Everything all right out there?”
The door to the room rattled in its frame as something big and heavy crashed against it. Adrenaline fired up even though Desmond was only part way into his trousers. “Guys!”
That lack of response kicked his instincts into overdrive and he nudged the door open, only to have two familiar bodies barrel into the room with him, mouths and hands all over one another in a frantic fight that wasn't much of a fight at all.
The two broke apart when oxygen became scare, Nate was a disheveled mess, teeth marks lining his neck while Shaun was even more bedraggled with his trousers partially undone.

Nate had a savage grin on his face, raising a shaky finger in the direction of a certain Englishman as he looked to Desmond for support. “He started it!” he said, sounding too much like a petulant ten year old.
“This is not a joke!” Shaun snapped, arousal coming off him in waves even with his building ire. “Do you even stop and think what we're doing? What the bleeding effect might do with Desmond exposed to that many of Da Vinci's works? We're dressing him up like a Christmas turkey and throwing him to a pack of starving wolves! ”
It was a shock to hear the fears Desmond thought he'd kept so secret come from the other man's mouth.
“You don't think I worry about that?” Nate shot back. “You can tell he can't stop thinking about it.”
The world dropped out beneath Desmond's feet. They knew.
They knew.
“We're in deep shit here but that doesn't mean we should accept the cards we've been dealt.” Nate opened up that wicked smile. “Maybe I'm just trying to stack the deck.”
He licked his lips, all of that natural bravado disappearing for a moment. “I gotta say, at first I wasn't too sure about this... thing we have.”  Warm eyes begged for understanding. “But now.... now I'm not going to give up either of you with out a fight.”
He reached out and latched on to both men, dragging them in for a kiss in turn that was all softness, all tenderness. Foreheads pressed together, they shared air as Nate whispered his confession. “Desmond Miles, you're going to remember us. You got that?”
Desmond fought off the ache in his chest as he crushed the two men to him. “I will,” he babbled, caught up in just trying to breath. “I swear I will.”
This promise came over and over, all of them willing it to be true.
The kisses began and didn't stop and Desmond could feel the spark flare anew. “Shouldn't we get going?” he panted, the feel of two mouths on him more than he could stand.
It was Shaun who paused first, Nate watching him carefully.
“No,” was the Englishman's reply and the moan from Desmond was long and low as he found his arms pinned above his head.
“That girl,” Desmond gasped, more than one hand cupping him through his trousers turning him into a mindless thing. “She'll be back.” His ability to speak rapidly disintegrated as his cock was finally freed. “Any minute.”
Nate's murmur tickled his ear and it could have launched him into orbit. “We better hurry up, then.”
A word slipped from him, no control whatsoever. “Fuck!”
The smile that Nate had all along turned nasty as he sank to his knees. “Sure, since you ask so nicely.”
With that as his only warning, Desmond found himself engulfed to the root.

Fuck!” The shouts blasted from him as he thrashed. “God, I... fuck!”
Cool air hit him as Nate paused in his ministrations. “Keep him quiet, willya?” he asked almost conversationally, casually pumping Desmond with his hand. “We've barely gotten started.”
“Not a problem.” and Shaun took control of Desmond's mouth, eating him alive.
The moans and groans kept coming though and Desmond gave in. Hands clawed at his ass, his back, his own arms free again but now too frantic to make much use of them besides holding himself up. Talented mouth worked his cock, licking, stroking, sucking. It was the contented hum that vibrated up his spine that was probably going to kill him.
There were the kisses. Open and raw, teeth clashing, lips consuming his tongue. Nails leaving marks as they clawed up his sides, welts raising as soon as they were made.
Fingers. God god. Fingers. Probing him, testing him. Coming at him from different angles that Desmond could no longer tell who or what or why. None of those questions really mattered once one made its way to seat itself fully inside him.
The wicked little finger moved.
The walls to the dressing room were of solid construction yet they shook and rattled as Desmond threw himself against them, trying to push, push, push against anything and everything.
Time stood still and they were in this perfect, perpetual motion. Thrust, yield, thrust. Again and again. The heat, the pressure, the glide. It was all too much yet they all demanded more while giving all that they could. Building to a frenzied pace until-
Desmond came.
And came.
And came, pouring himself down one man's throat as the other swallowed his cries of release.
There were hands here too, keeping him from collapse now that he was utterly spent.
A few minutes passed and Desmond couldn't remember how they'd gotten him dressed but dressed he was. It was Shaun who reached for the dressing room door and there was the sound of footsteps fleeing the scene ahead of them as soon as the door creaked open.
Desmond couldn't bring himself to care, teaching his legs to walk again while slumped against Shaun for support.
“Oh!” The saleswoman was in the middle of catching her breath as if she had sprinted through the store and from the footsteps they'd heard, she had. “There you are, sir. I do hope you found everything you needed”
Shaun was all smug satisfaction as Desmond continued to hang heavily against him. “I'd say he's quite pleased, wouldn't you?”
Nate slapped down a credit card on the counter. “We'll take three of everything to go. And if you could wrap it up real quick that would be great.” His grin turned on full force, nearly melting the woman into a puddle. “We're kind of in a hurry.”
Identity URL: 
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.


squirrellysemantics: (Default)

July 2012

8910111213 14

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 19th, 2017 05:10 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios