Rating NC17 this chapter for a lot of smuttiness There is also artwork at the beginning that is slightly NSFW for buttocks and artwork near the end that is very NSFW for everything else
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 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Because I like giving myself presents, I have two commissions that made it into this chapter. Both are NSFW, the second MUCH more so than the first. Thanks so much to demapples and happysatan for working with me.
Commission: Mudita by *Hoshi-san on deviantART
Whoever invented black tie events was a colossal dick.
Desmond dug at his starched collar, idly wondering if there was some way to travel back in time and kill the sadistic asshole. The line through the metal detectors was a test in patience, limping its way along.
“I hope these invitations pass the test,” he murmured through pursed lips. He plastered an impassive smile on his face as a security guard shot a glance his way.
The pat on his shoulder wasn’t exactly reassuring. Nate shot him a winning smile to make up for it. “Don’t worry. I got this!”
“We’ll see about that soon enough,” Shaun interjected with a bit of heat, nervously fidgeting with his cummerbund. Damn, the tuxedo looked amazing on him. If only the guy could let his hair down a little. “Couldn’t you at least have shaved? This is Windsor Castle, for Christ’s sake!”
“I did!” Nate made a self-conscious pass against the shadow already darkening his cheek that still went well with his elegant suit. “Like two hours ago.” That cheek dimpled in lickable fashion. “Some of us need to shave more than once a week!”
“Shut your gob!”
“Hey, now,” was Desmond’s soft warning, another guard looking their way. “How ‘bout you two save your little mating dance for later?”
Shaun stood a little straighter, tugging at the edge of his jacket. “I just want this over with.”
The two other men could only concur.
Finally, it was their turn. Desmond offered up his invitation and tried to remember to breathe.
Seconds ticked by with the chubby little guard reading the engraving with due care. The man looked Desmond over with a healthy dose of skepticism. “And how are you tonight Mister…. Wantanabe, is it?”
Wantanabe? Jesus fuck, Drake.
“I’m quite well, officer.” He reached down deep, trying not to panic. “Arigatou gozaimasu.”
The guard paused for a lifetime before grudgingly handing the invitation back. “Have a good evening, sir.”
He sighed. Thank god for Kurosawa film festivals.
The metal detector wasn’t a big deal, though he felt naked without the bracer strapped to his arm. Strange to miss the damn thing.
Cool relief crept up his spine once Shaun and Nate were safely through, though he had one single word for Drake.
Nate turned a delightful pink down to his collar. “Yeah, sorry about that. But it worked didn’t it?”
Indeed it did, because they were in.
It was hard not to gawk like a tourist. The place was massive, a testament to centuries of decadence though it was easy to see that it was a fortress first and foremost. They were herded through a courtyard to the Drawings Gallery with a few dozen of their closest friends, every eye admiring the room’s beauty from floor to ceiling.
That is, every eye except Desmond’s. He kept his to the floor, shutting out the idea of being surrounded by glass encasing hundreds of pages all written in Da Vinci’s elegant hand.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Shaun’s whisper shocked him back into reality.
Nate was at his shoulder. “Yeah. We can leave at any time.”
“No way,” Desmond answered, locking gazes with them both in turn. “We’re getting what we came for.”
So it began. Under the pretense of admiring each work, the three went through each section to scout for the secrets hidden beneath. Again, it was the anatomical studies that were the focus. Desmond looked beyond this to uncover the message that had hid for centuries.
Under the child in utero was a map. Beneath the dissection of the shoulder was a riddle. Shaun had bits of paper for him, his hands working blindly on each sketch. Each second, each minute of the work was painful but they kept at it. Desmond could feel himself being worn away, time tearing away a part of him with the force of a hurricane washing out a sandy bank. After long enough, he wavered, feeling the heart of him pulled this way and that.
Come ti senti?
“Che… che cosa?” he stammered, suddenly feeling the sweat drenching his shirt.
Someone gripped his elbow. “We’re getting you out of here, Desmond.”
A little surge of clarity at the words. Shaun. This was Shaun.
Another voice penetrated his consciousness. “You got it….” Nate. How could he forget the smartass? “Head towards the- aww, crap!”
Shaun was more than a little distracted. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got company!”
This got all of Shaun’s attention. “What?”
Jerking his head, Nate tried not to stare directly at a rather large Italian man dressed all in black. There was a look of violence to the man and a degree of boredom that suggesting that hanging out in art galleries was not exactly how he would choose to spend his time. Obviously he was not one of the gentlemen who paid their hotel room a visit but there was a certain degree of … familial resemblance.
On closer inspection, the man was not alone. There was a team of identically large, equally sullen gentlemen in just the same black scattered amongst several exits.
Shaun swallowed down the fear trying to climb out of his throat. “Oh, crap!”
“You get him out into the courtyard,” Nate suggested. “I’ll do a little scouting in the basement. There’s got to be a back way out of this place.”
“No,” Shaun answered tightly, one eye on the familiar brute. “We should keep toge– Nate? Nate!”
Nate was gone.
The basements were a little bit intimidating. Nate ran his hand along the walls of stone, thirteen inches thick. All the little signs of modernization were here- retrofitted electrical and plumbing tucked away down here. Out of sight, out of mind.
It was easy to slip through unnoticed, dodging from one recess to another and he was kinda used to scrambling for a quick escape, so it hadn’t taken him long to find what he wanted. A handful of workmen were unloading stuff from the back of a lorry. He could see the twilight sky peeking through the door.
Doubling back, he jogged as quietly as he could manage. The faster they got Desmond out of here, the better. How to get all of them past the cosa nostra? Experience was all too quick to supply possibilities. Maybe trip an alarm, or knock over a catering table? All they would need was a couple of seconds of confusion to-
Something fast and hard cracked against the back of his skull and Nate was out cold before he even hit the floor.
The rush back to consciousness was unfortunately all too familiar. Eyes closed, Nate tried to clear his fog with a little inventory. Sitting. Sitting down. That was good. Head hurting like hell. Not great, but he’d had worse. It was… noisy. Gurgling and hissing. Was he near a boiler or something? His arms-
His arms were pinned above his head. Definitely to pipes. There was a searing hot something too close to the back of his bound hands.
“Wake up, little rabbit.”
The soft crooning shot up Nate’s spine and he was suddenly back in Vajo Stretto.
The point of a blade dug into his cheek. So this was the nutjob who’d been hunting them.
“Come, come, Mister Drake. Do not waste more of my time.”
Nate was ready with a glare.
And completely, not at all ready for how young the man was. The dapper little psychopath couldn’t have been much more than twenty. The blade looked quite comfortable in his slender hand. Its handle was made of buffalo horn, its blade distinctly San Potito style- the knife of the passatore.
“You cost me two men. Once I get back what’s mine, I’ll take my pound of flesh. Now where is the notebook?”
Even with his heart pounding away in his chest, Nate couldn’t help himself. “It’s someplace where the sun don’t shine.”
The young man trailed his blade just under Nathan’s chin. “You won’t have much tough talk when I carve my name into your hide.”
"Mi scusi Il Macellaio, ma..."
The Italian shot a look at his lackey that was as pointed as his blade, forcing all color from the other man's face.
Nate shot out a snort. "'The Butcher'? That’s a little too… common, isn’t it? Or is this some mafia hipster thing where your using it ironically?”
The backhand across the face was not entirely unexpected. Nate tried to work his jaw, the pain still radiating through his teeth. "You must be loads of fun at parties."
“You know nothing,” the asshole shot back. "Perhaps your friends do not play the imbecile. We go find them.”
The suggestion had Nate squirming and Mister Butcher was pleased at this development.
“Maybe we bring them down here and we have a reunion, no? I’ll be polite. You can choose which is the first to die."
"Touch them-" The scalding heat didn't stop Nate from pulling himself up, inching closer to growl out his warning . "And there's nowhere you'll be able to hide from me."
This got the Italian smiling. “How precious you are, Mister Drake!”
Nate forced himself to still still, battling the urge to flinch from the blade now caressing the thin skin just under his eye.
"I'll be back for you, little rabbit."
The blade slipped down his face, his chin, to travel the length of his jugular. "Then we'll have some proper fun, yeah?"
With startling precision, the Italian undid Nate’s bowtie with the tip of his knife. “In the meantime, perhaps this will keep you quiet. This may be difficult for you, I know.”
The bow tie was turned into a gag, the knot cinched ruthlessly tight. One nasty chuckle later, and the Italian and his crew were gone.
Nate fought against his bonds as soon as they disappeared. The knots were strong and his muffled shouts were barely audible over the noisy boiler.
Futility hit him hard.
“C’mon! Let’s get you some air,” Shaun announced to the world, trying to guide Desmond towards the courtyard.
“No.” Desmond pulled his arm away sloppily, a slur to his words. “Theere’ss more. Not done yet.”
“You’re done, all right,” Shaun hissed back, grabbing on to an elbow to have the stumbling man evade him once more. “Desmond, let’s go!”
The plea had Desmond blinking at him with a modicum more coherence. Shaun latched onto him again, grateful to have the man slightly more compliant. They were almost to the courtyard when a giant of a man planted himself directly in front of their exit.
“Right turn!” Shaun murmured, steering them that back into the exhibit.
Landing them right in front of a cross-sectional study of a skull.
For the first time ever, dismay shot through him when Desmond’s vision kicked in.
“A key,” Desmond chanted, digging a scrap of paper from his pockets. “The key.”
Shaun tried to pull the stupid git away, but the commotion was attracting attention of the wrong variety. He shifted from foot to foot as Desmond filled the page with a big, drunken scrawl.
His patience ran out and so did Desmond’s stamina. Shaun caught the man just as he stumbled, throwing an arm around him in support. “You are one stubborn bastard, Desmond Miles.”
The whole of Desmond twitched against him, dark head lolling against his shoulder. “Sss. Ssay it.”
“Say it?” Shaun snapped, trying to frog march the big man away from any more blasted drawings. “Say what, you lunatic?”
“The two of you look like you may need some assistance.”
The voice was smooth and sinister and familiar in all the wrong ways.
“Oh, we’re fine!” Shaun countered with false cheer though his heart sank further at the absurdly young man flanked by two monstrous men in black.
The young Italian was not to be denied. “Your friend. He does not look well.”
That voice. It was hard to forget.
“You'll have to excuse him.” Shaun hauled the man propped against him just a little more upright. “He's had one too many appletinis."
The very last thing he expected was Desmond nuzzling the space under his ear. “Need you to sss… say it,” was the whisper that caressed the lobe.
"Haa!" Shaun squeaked, coherence dropping out from under him at the startling tongue dragging against his skin. "Ho-holds his drink worse than a Welshman, this one!" Just under his breath, he shot out “Desmond, what the hell are you doing?”
There was a sharp gasp and Desmond doubled his efforts.
Good god. Shaun couldn’t stop focusing on the nibbles along his throat. Was he really going to pitch a tent in front of a homicidal maniac? Whatever happened in the next ten minutes, Miles was a dead man.
The Italian regarded them with confusion. “What game do you play? I only want what is mine. Give it to me and Drake can still survive.”
“What?” was the only response Shaun was capable of with a hand sneaking under his cummerbund.
Nathan. They had Nathan and a whole lot of very large, very bad men.
All he had was a boner and a drunk, horny Desmond. And his wits.
But maybe not even that for long, if Desmond couldn’t keep from kneading his arse.
He had one chance.
“We’re not going anywhere with the likes of you!” he declared loudly, hoping to get the attention he’d been so loathe to attract not a minute before.
Eyes narrowing, the Italian took one step closer. “What do you do?” he murmured.
“Are you threatening me?” Shaun half shouted, knowing full well the answer. He thrilled as more and more eyes pointed in their direction and added “Desmond, will you knock that off?”
Desmond stood a little straighter, finally managing to get back on his own feet.
The Italian snarled back. “Take care or this ends badly!”
“Is that a gun?” Shaun’s question pierced through the chatter. He didn’t give a toss if the man had one or not. “My God, he’s got a gun!”
The silence that swept through the crowd lasted mere moments before it exploded into turmoil. Cries of ‘Gun! Gun!’ repeated again and again. Panic swept the drawing gallery to turn a hundred people dressed in all their finery into a crazed stampede. An unfortunately timed shove pushed Desmond off already unsteady feet, right into the Italian’s grasp. In his rage, the young man threw Desmond off and Shaun caught him, pulling back into the crowd before any more damage could be done.
Doors were flung open. An army flooded the floor and the last Shaun saw of the Italian was his apoplectic face once police surrounded the young man and his band of giants.
He didn’t look back.
Police had the upper levels on lockdown and it would take them some time to make sense of the commotion. The underbelly of the castle was intimidating but it was the first place Shaun thought to look for a missing Drake. It didn’t help that his brain decided to go on strike from Desmond being latched on to him like a remora.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Shaun had just enough sense left to complain. Things would have been particularly dire indeed if the Hastings Universally Argumentative Constant had been violated. “You could have gotten us k…k…killed!”
He thought his stammer completely justified with hard suction on his neck and a hand stroking him through his trousers.
“My name,” Desmond panted, once again tonguing the spot he’d been working on. “Say it.”
“Which one?” he demanded back, trying to keep his voice from cracking with someone grinding into him. “Idiot? Maniac? Arsehole? Oh…oh-“
It was the biting that did it. Fucking hell.
Well, that came out a bit loud, now didn’t it?
He could feel Desmond laugh against his skin. “That’s the one. Do it again.”
There was more biting, more than should have been allowed by law. “D…Desmond, what are you-“
He was suddenly left bereft and Desmond finally looked a little less like a sailor coming home from a night out on leave.
“Let’s go find Nate,” Desmond said softly, capturing the other man’s mouth in a kiss.
They were moving even as the kissing continued, Shaun not letting go though he was full of questions. “Would you mind-“ There was a tongue in his mouth. “Telling me what all-“ Now his tongue was in someone else’s. “The snogging is about?”
Somehow they were near sprinting, but Desmond still managed. “Hearing my name-“ He left a messy trail on Shaun’s chin. “Kept me from losing it.”
Shaun stopped in his tracks. “Is that all you needed? You fondled my bum in front of a mafioso because you wanted me to say your name? Why didn’t you just say so?”
He got a lick that tickled the tip of his nose. “Cause this way is much more fun.”
Kill. Kill you dead.
Shaun sighed for what was not the first nor last time of the evening and they continued their search. For all his bravado, it was clear that Desmond was still not as strong as he made himself out to be. A moment would come and he would waver, so Shaun was ready with a touch and a whisper to set the man right again.
They reached a new section and all Desmond said was ‘here’. Shaun caught sight of an elegant pant leg tucked behind a massive water tank and there was a bound and gagged Nathan Drake.
"There you are! Bloody typical. I wind up doing all the work whilst you just sit around on your lazy arse!"
Nate still managed a sardonic glare. "Fuuhh yuh!"
Desmond was on his knees, pulling the gag away.
“It’s about time you guys got here- Holy, shit! Is that a hickey?”
Shaun put an involuntary hand up to his neck and there was a tinge of awe to Nate’s outrage.“You sons of bitches!”
Before the rant could go any further, Desmond shut him up properly. Dear god, they were beautiful. That rumpled elegance made it that much sweeter, neither caring what happened to their perfect suits.
Desmond took the chance to work over Nate, who was without conscious thought. “Shit! Desmond! God- I-ohh…“
“I kinda like you like this,” Desmond murmured, a large hand at the ropes rendering Nate helpless and he got a low moan in response. “Guess you do, too.”
“No! No! No!” Shaun dug his fingers into his scalp. “We are most definitely not having sex inside Windsor Castle! I’m English, for fuck’s sake! This is like doing it on my mum’s bed!”
Desmond gave him a healthy smile. “Guess we’d better get out of here then.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a knife.
A passatore’s knife with a handle made of buffalo horn.
Shaun sputtered “Where did you get that?” while Nate watched the man cut away the ropes.
“So you met our Italian friend?”
“He’s going to be pissed.”
Nate massaged his wrists as soon as he was free. “Let’s go.”
This newest hotel was a god send. Tiny by London’s standards, there was hardly any floor space and Desmond couldn’t give one flying little fuck about that.
It had a bed. A big bed. And a head board.
That was the best news he’d had all week. All year.
There were still traces of Italian clinging to him and he needed that to change.
He had Nate by the waist before any reaction was possible and tossed the man onto this magnificent, wonderful, amazing bed. Shoes didn’t make it, but socks got to stay.
“Ooo, I wonder where this is going?” Nate pondered aloud, scratching his head in deep in thought as if there wasn’t a handsome man straddling him and removing his belt. “Hey!”
His hands were out of his control and the belt was put to good use. Nate pulled hard and gave a grunt of appreciation with his arms neatly pinned above his head. “Nice work!”
“Thanks but we’re just getting started.” The room was small enough that Desmond kept his perch and could still reach out enough to draw Shaun to him.
God, he loved this about the Englishman. Snarky as hell, uptight and unafraid to show it, he would open up, even flourish, under the right circumstances.
Thankfully, sex was one of those circumstances and Desmond reaped the benefits. Lips and tongue tried to eat him alive, fingers carding through his hair letting him know that it’d been a while since his last haircut.
Though when those fingers turned into a fist and yanked his head back by the roots-
Maybe being a little shaggy was such a bad thing.
Hips moving of their own volition and Nate didn’t seem to mind. Desmond put his full weight into the motion and felt the hardness under him. No, from the feel of things, Nate didn’t mind at all.
Moving on, Desmond unwrapped the silk of his cummerbund, making sure to do the same for Shaun. Bow ties were the next to go. Fucking torture. He tried to take care of shirt buttons too but there were so damn many of them, but Shaun was happy to pitch in and they were finally skin to skin.
Fuck, the bruise he’d left on pale skin stood out proudly like a badge of honor and Desmond laved at it, wondering just how much bigger it needed to get to have Shaun wearing a turtleneck during a hot English summer.
And then pants – gone. Like a damn magic trick. Desmond didn’t remember unseating himself but he had to have done that to get them off and there was Nate writhing and desperate and bucking at empty air. “Guys. Guys?”
Shaun was handling the buttons again, peeling Nate open just enough to get what he wanted. “I told you not to go running off,” he murmured, doing a little biting of his own, small nips as he followed the fine line of hair. “Look where it got you.”
Nate had eyes set on simmer. “I kinda like where it got me- oof!”
He jumped at hands tugging his trousers past his hips and pouted when they didn’t go any further. “Don’t I get the full naked treatment?”
“Nope.” Desmond managed to sidle his way in and studied the cock waiting for him. “You always go commando?”
“Do you even need to ask- ah, sh-shit!” The whole of Nate arched up at the tongue running down the length of him.
The scent of sweat was unmistakable, irresistible and Desmond was licking and probing anywhere he could reach to get more. Having a second mouth join in took some of the pressure off. For him anyway. Not for Nate, who was thrashing like each flick was a jolt of electricity straight up his spine.
Fabric was ready to tear at the seams but it helped pin the frantic man in place. Leaving Shaun to keep Nate occupied, Desmond scrambled for a tube he’d found. The specifics of how it had ended up in the room were not something he was really eager to think about but it was a godsend.
A dollop on his fingers and a nod from Nate and he went in. Slowly, carefully, with just the one. Well… maybe another. He moved in concert with Shaun, fascinated with getting the chance to just watch his mouth in action. Not too often he got front row seats for a show like this.
The metal headboard groaned under the strain of containing the man tied to it.
“I’m gonna… gonna…”
And he did.
Twitching and shaking, Nathan came with one man drinking him down and the other milking him for more. They watched him ride out the aftershocks, sharing a kiss that shared the flavor between them.
Nate watched with a hungry eye. “Fuck!”
Desmond laughed around Shaun’s tongue. “What a great suggestion.” He took up the tube once more. “Don’t you think that’s a great suggestion?”
Pouring himself a generous portion, he knew what he wanted. The feel of his own fingers wasn’t anything new. Chilly at first, but warming quickly, he had it the way he liked it.
Having an audience was a nice little… perk. It didn’t take long before he was impaling himself with abandon, Shaun right there with him, kneading, stroking, Nate’s harsh pants loud enough to drown out any of their own.
It was time. He offered himself up and Shaun took it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise but the gentleness took his breath away. There wasn’t one single misstep, not one second where Shaun didn’t make absolutely sure that Desmond was ready for more.
But that sure as hell wasn’t what he was looking for.
He rocked back and the shout was just beautiful. Bearing down and Shaun lost it, rutting mindlessly against him, hands grabbing up both men as if trying to ride them both.
There it was. The breathless gasps, the helpless little whine. “D..Desmond, I… Fuck!”
That. That was what he everything he needed.
No. Almost everything.
And with Nate half hard and digging his heels into the mattress to meet them, that was that. “Please… Desmond. Please…”
Yes. This was all for him. No one else.
He lined himself up and he could feel Shaun struggle, holding back the need to thrust and thrust again. Nate was relaxed and more than ready for him and it took no time at all for before he was fully seated.
A sigh came in threes.
The rhythm was just an awkward fumble at first, a weird syncopation but after the enormity of it wore off, everything fell into place. Back and forth. A wave that rippled between them. They took turns in this dance. One would have his chance to lead the way, the others doing their best to follow.
Each had their own style, if you could call it that.
Shaun-gentle at first, throwing all of that to the wind once he let himself go.
Nate- a trickster, he did his best to catch them off guard, thrust his hips at just the right moment to earn one gasp after another.
Desmond did his best to bring them all together, taking and giving, giving and taking, creating a new harmony.
Shaun was the first to explode in this mix. How he’d lasted this long after a full night of teasing was anybody’s guess, but he stayed with them, planting kisses anywhere he could reach.
Given free rein, Desmond opened up, Nate’s bunched up trousers giving him the excuse to hike long legs in the air and just go. Shaun was there too, hands bringing Nate back to life. Nate didn’t expect much so close to his last but the angle was beyond perfect and he became the noisy second. His hands were freed as soon as he was done.
Desmond took his time as the third, the body above and below him shivering with each pass, too many hands stroking in all the best places until it was finally his turn to let go.
For a brief moment in time, all was right with the world and they collapsed into slumber, sweaty and sated.