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[personal profile] squirrellysemantics
Title: Every heart sings a song
Fandom: Assassin's Creed (more ACB than anything else, no real spoilers)
AC is owned by Ubisoft
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. -Plato

A/N:  This was to be a short, fluffy smut piece about the guys going out shopping for groceries.  Yeah, well....  Apologies to any Paolo Conte fans. The song I reference is La musica è pagana 

Any feedback is extremely welcome, particularly on this piece. Been sick for close to two weeks and it's left me quite brain dead.

Shaun was fairly sure there wasn’t a bottle of wine on the planet big enough to get him through the day when it started like this. In case of emergency, break into scotch. “Please tell me you’re not going out in public like that.”

Tugging his hood up, Desmond blew a big, fat raspberry in his direction. “So you’re a fashion critic now?” He settled the giant pair of bug-eyed sun glasses he’d nicked from Rebecca across his face. “I kinda like ‘em.”

“Sure- if the look you’re going for is the bastard progeny of Lady Gaga and the Unabomber,” Shaun offered helpfully. “It’s not exactly incognito, is it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Not my first choice but when else are we gonna get to do something like this?”

Second thoughts tied Shaun up in knots. It had taken a lot of wheeling and dealing (and whinging-can’t forget the whinging) to get Lucy to agree to this little excursion but they’d managed it at her weakest moments. With the Animus down for diagnostics, running errands sounded like the perfect opportunity for the two men to escape the villa.

But imagination could be an ugly thing. The myriad of possibilities flooded his mind. What if they were spotted? The sheer size of the market outside of Monteriggioni made it a good choice to disappear in a crowd but what if it went wrong? What if they were-

A gentle kiss broke through his paranoia.

“Hey.” Good god, Desmond had a whisper like warmed honey. “We’re going for groceries, not sneaking into the Vatican. It’ll be fine.”

Shaun was not so dazzled that he missed Desmond trying to snag the set of keys behind him.

He managed to intercept the cheeky little shit. “I drive.”


A nice, relaxing road trip. That had been the plan, anyway. Twenty minutes in?

Shaun had a death grip on the steering wheel.

The drive itself was not the problem. It was quite pretty even this late in the fall. Bright sun warmed rolling Tuscan hills. Neat rows of tangled grapevines that had long since lost their leaves created a patchwork quilt over the countryside.

No, that wasn’t what made Shaun want to direct them into oncoming traffic.

It wasn’t even oddity of Desmond taking in the scenery with his nose pressed to the passenger’s side window like a particularly excitable Labrador. It was more the man’s mercurial audio tastes that induced thoughts of vehicular suicide. Somehow Desmond managed it all blindly, like some dial twirling, button jabbing radio ninja. With his focus to the outside world, he still managed to surf through radio stations non-stop, never alighting on any one song for more than a minute before he was moving on to the next.

His latest choice was particularly delightful; a song by an older Italian gentleman who had the musical stylings of a bullfrog being slowly carved up by the blades of a rusty blender. All this was accompanied by some poor tone deaf fellow picking out individual notes on an electronic keyboard that should have been retired in the eighties.

Com'è pagana la musicaaaaaa the speakers croaked and so too did Desmond, who made an attempt to croon along with it.

‘Attempt’ being the operative word.

Shaun fought against a frisson at another off-key note and lost.

Then the synthesized horn section kicked in.

Never had an off button been mashed so violently.

If Desmond was put off by this visceral critique, he showed no signs of it. Instead, he set about rifling through every crevice in the truck’s console for some treasure. In the course of that exploration, his hand settled on Shaun’s thigh as a point of leverage to search underneath their seat.

There was a thrill of heat that went right through Shaun, sending him squawking. “Save that for later, yeah?”

He would have been fine if the hand hadn’t landed precisely there, where it had done so many things the night before. And the night before that. And that quick one the other morning, and –shit! The truck swerved wildly with just a slight shift of that hand. Was Desmond trying to get them both killed?

“Sorry.” Desmond flashed him a quick leer that was not at all sorry. He continued to dig around at their feet, reaching so far underneath them that it very nearly put his head in Shaun’s lap.
Well, then. This trip just got a whole lot more interesting.

“Aw man!” Both men expressed disappointment for entirely different reasons as Desmond abruptly sat up with the only fruits of his labor- a few napkins and some stray plastic utensils from a long forgotten takeaway meal. “You’d think someone would forget a CD in here or something.”

He left Shaun’s leg with a caress that strayed into dangerous territory. That wasn’t the only thing that strayed into dangerous territory, the casual grope triggering a surge in both Shaun and the gas pedal that very nearly sent them veering into a ditch.

“Nice recovery.” Desmond was the picture of innocence.

Shaun wasn’t sure if this deserved a kiss or a good wallop. He’d settled on a little of both but Desmond had already returned his attention to the world outside.


“What’s so fascinating out there? Keeping an eye out for Templar wineries?” Shaun asked lightly, curiosity piqued at what cogs were turning underneath hood and ridiculous glasses. “Bet there’s loads of ‘em. Certainly explain the existence of grappa.”

The snort of a laugh was a good sign, even if the answer wasn’t. “No. It’s nothing.”

Stupid twat. Desmond should have known better than to think that would put him off.

Bullheadedness was a personality trait that got Shaun into trouble sometimes. All right, maybe all of the time. Spotting problems, weaving conclusions- it’s what he did best. Like a dog with a bone, he wouldn’t give it up he’d worked it out no matter the cost.

And it had cost him. Labeled a crackpot. Fired for being one of those conspiracy theory nutters. Couldn’t have that sort tarnishing the reputation of a university. Even the very real threat of a Templar bullet in his ear hadn’t stopped him for one simple reason.

In the end, he knew he was right.

That same little itch was happening right now with every glance at the man seated next to him. Nothing was a whole lot of something.

So they sat in silence and Shaun did what he was best at.

He watched.

It was a stretch of windy road that had him work it out. The truck leaned into a turn and Desmond leaned right along with it, doing an odd little twist to keep the small patch of sunlight on his face as it danced just out of reach.

Realization left a palpable ache.

The man sought out the sun. Soaking in what warmth he could get.

“We’ve been working pretty long hours, yeah?” Shaun tried to play it off as normal conversation even with the lump building up in his throat. “Haven’t really gotten the chance to get out and about, have you? Not in the daytime, anyway.”

Desmond went very still and that revealed more than anything he could possibly say.

“How long….” His question dug under his skin like a splinter but Shaun forced it out. “How long since you’ve last seen the sun?”

“You mean the real sun? Not somebody else’s?” Desmond splayed his hand out wide, trying to catch the light in his palm. “Six days.”

The truck wobbled off course for a moment and Shaun forced himself to relax his furious grip on the wheel. “Why didn’t… you should have said-“

A flood of words crashed down over his head.

“This will all be over soon.” Easy to hate himself for this ridiculous babbling but there was no way around it. “And.. and after we’ll go away somewhere, somewhere nice and warm and safe-“

A soothing hand was back on his thigh.

“It’s OK.” Desmond had his soft, sad smile, the one that only came out when they shared their thoughts in the wee hours. “Gotta do what we gotta do, right?”
That this truth was inescapable didn’t make it any easier to bear. Perhaps there were ways to make their burden lighter.

Shaun tried not to wince as he reached for the dashboard.

Com'è pagana la musicaaaaaa


Do not fuck with old Italian ladies. Shaun could count that as his lesson learned for today.

His overloaded cart wasn’t easy to navigate in the best of circumstances so it didn’t help that the dozen fired-up grannies wheeling around the produce section behaved as if they were competing in a time trial for the Formula 1 World Championship.

That Shaun was distracted helped not at all. A nascent plan had sprung to life and he nurtured it while camped in front of an array of peaches.

Desmond turned up with a bagful of apples, trying to find a place for it amongst everything else they’d picked up. “Got any room for these?”

Hmm. Diversionary tactics might be particularly useful.

“Why don’t you grab another cart?” Shaun suggested lightly. “We’re not even to the dairy section and you know we’ll be skinned alive if we come back with no yoghurt.”

Desmond inverted the pocket of his jeans, producing a lonely piece of chewing gum. “Got any change for the cart rental doohickey?”

“What am I, your mum?” Shaun grumbled in a sure bid to avoid suspicion

“Gimme,” was all Desmond said, offering up his palm with fingers wiggling in impatience.

Shaun ignored the coins jangling in his pocket to fish for a note in his wallet. Anything to keep the other man busy for a while longer.

He offered up a five. Desmond lit up with a smile, but it vanished as quickly as the note did the same from Shaun’s hand.

“Don’t spend it all in one place!” Shaun shot at the rapidly departing back, but there was no sign that Desmond had heard.

What could Shaun manage in five minutes? An extra loaf of bread, some prosciutto, rearranging the cart to hide their existence. He spared a moment to pore over the dessert case before realizing that Desmond was well overdue.

Paranoia started a maddeningly familiar flutter and he roamed the aisles at a clip. There was a glimpse of a familiar hoodie pushing along a cart and the urge to commit a public act of affection and/or violence came up once more. “Where have you been?”

Desmond gave a guilty start. “I’m here now. Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long before both carts were fully stocked and they were done. Running the checkout line gauntlet brought its own frustrations but hiding the extras Shaun picked out was easy with Desmond fussing over a cart of his own.

Quite ready to be on their way, Shaun headed straight for the truck. A loud clatter from behind had him turning in confusion. What he got for his troubles was the sight of Desmond sprinting with his fully laden cart, reaching top speed before hopping atop the cart’s bottommost rung. The lunatic coasted through the parking lot, riding the cart as if it were some great steed.

“Bastard!” slipped out of Shaun as Desmond sped past. “Wait for me!”

He threw all his weight into one great pus, building up speed of his own. With enough momentum, Shaun mounted up as well and they raced to the lot’s edge in full battle cry.


It was a peaceful ride back, punctuated with the sounds of Desmond’s soft snores as he nodded off in the warmth of a midday sun. Shaun let him be, more intent on finding what he wanted at the moment. They were back amongst the vineyards and that was just fine by him. Somewhere for a moment of quiet seclusion…

There. That looked perfect.

The absence of engine noise roused Desmond from his slumber. “Wuzzup?” he asked, a knuckle wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Home already?”

“Sort of.” Shaun had already hopped from the truck with his bag in tow. “C’mon. Lunchtime.”

The field he’d picked out was vast and open, flanked on either side by an expanse of vines tidily weaved together by many hands and many years of work. Grass that came up to his thigh parted for him as he led the way through, taking no notice of the dirt collecting on his shoes.

He looked back to see Desmond hustling to catch up, hands fussing in his pockets and a hint of a smile already on his face. “The ladies will be kinda pissed If we come back late.”

“They can go hang for all I care.” Shaun plopped down in a natural clearing, pleased to see it would keep them free from prying eyes. Carefully, he laid out the food and drink he’d snuck into their shopping. “Sit. Eat.”

Long legs folded at his side and the two men tore into the offered bread and ham with ravenous hands. It was a simple meal but no less perfect, with sun and birds and breeze adding their own flavor. A pair of pale ales made for good accompaniment. Desmond had the bottles open with practiced ease.



The first sip was crisp and clean and probably the best thing Shaun had ever tasted.

Quiet minutes passed and Desmond was the first to finish. “Was gonna share this later but-“ Setting his bottle aside, he sprawled unceremoniously at Shaun’s feet. “I can think of a few uses for it right now.”

A jar of Nutella came out from underneath his hood- one that most definitely had not been in their cart on their way out.

Shaun let out a little whip crack of a laugh. “Is that what you were doing with my fiver?”

“Mmmhmm,” Desmond confirmed around the spoonful already in his mouth. He offered up the other spoon he’d found that morning. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Too right you will.” Shaun snatched up the spoon and attacked the jar with vigor.

They savored the sweet hazelnut and chocolate with bread and without, making one hell of a mess.

A dangerous mess.

Dangerous for them both because for all his bravado, Shaun knew it almost certainly meant that there would be two very furious women waiting on their return to the villa.

There was a smudge. Just a tiny one, but Shaun couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Not when it was on a mouth like that.

“You’ve got a… a little- uh …“

Quirking a puzzled eyebrow, Desmond added a twitch to his lips that only accentuated Shaun’s agitation further.

“You..um…” For fuck’s sake, where the hell had his tongue gone? Shaun could only think about where it would be going. “There’s… there’s a thing-“

Desmond was completely inscrutable with hood up, absurd glasses on. He gave the spoon in his hand a thorough cleaning with more than one long and lazy lick. . “Hmm?”

“There, you absolute tosser!” Shaun flailed at the bastard’s mouth, trying to get the crack in his voice back down from the stratosphere. “It’s right there!”

A rustle of movement and Desmond was mere inches from his face. “What’s right where?”

The question was close enough to tickle.

Every man had a breaking point and that point was now.

One always hopes that in the heat of passion, one was suave and elegant but in the end, all of that was simply impossible. Out of patience, he bowled Desmond over in an ungainly tackle. Ugly glasses were chucked into the grass, hood shoved back and he cradled the bare, handsome face in both hands to lap at the spot that had driven him to this in the first place. Tonguing it like it was the last sweetness he’d ever get to taste. The soft snicker this earned him was pure encouragement.

Broad hands were at his back, tugging at his shirt to expose a hint of skin as Shaun busied himself with his task. The faint chill bothered him not at all with fingers warming his backside. This wide open space, with birds and sun and sky, now went unnoticed. Desmond was not idle, tonguing the mouth that was working on him, teeth pulling at the lips suckling on his own. It wasn’t long before the smudge was gone.

A grumble of discontent from Shaun as the body underneath him moved.

“Hold yer horses!” Desmond countered with amusement, reaching for the jar that had been forgotten above his head. No spoon this time, he swiped a portion of the spread with his finger.

Then the show began.

There was nothing tentative about it. Desmond went all in, plunging his finger into his mouth, nursing on it like a starving child. Perfect lips were pursed tightly around it as he thrust in and out, lips that were sculpted for sucking, engulfing the digit down to the base and back out again with ease.

Shaun’s small choking noise was purely involuntary but it had Desmond laughing all the same. The sadist got another dab of spread and took to painting the line of his chin like some Nutella tribal warrior. “Oh, hey- I think you missed a spot.”

This didn’t really require much more prompting than that. Shaun was on him, attacking the elegant curve of jaw like it was the first meal he’d seen in days. A hint of stubble made the experience. Roughened texture with all the sweetness, he could finally use more teeth, raking across skin that jumped under the touch.

Writhing like a serpent against him, Desmond was a disheveled mess, clothes riding up as he reached to knead shoulders in appreciation. The chocolate didn’t last long but they both needed a moment to come up for air.

Shaun sat back to gulp great lung fulls. Desmond still had all of his attention on reaching for the jar again, but the man was so bloody quick that the actual motion was lost to Shaun until it was done.

There. A new line had been drawn, tantalizingly close to the low slung edge of trousers at Desmond’s waist.

Desmond had a half smile that was all deviltry and looked him dead in the eye. “Oops.”

Shaun went on the attack. He ignored the burgeoning arousal that came up to meet him, inching the waistband lower so he could do a proper job of cleaning. Fine little hairs became coarse here but no less of a delight to toy with. He explored the tenderest part of exposed belly in long, flat strokes that caused quite a bit of squirming.

To compensate, he settled his hands at strong hips, lavishing attention to one crease, then the other.

The iliac furrow. Apollo’s belt. What a wondrous part of the anatomy. Only revealed on the human form on the fittest of bodies and Desmond…. Desmond was magnificent. Lean and not overly muscled, veins running a tortuous path just underneath the skin, the line of bone and sinew was perfection and there was no way any mortal could resist it.

As Shaun did his work, there was still a distinct lack of sound. Living in close quarters made it a habit of necessity but even now they kept to it and that was a damn shame.

He did his best to remedy that situation. Bite. Pinch. Flick. Tease. Stroke. He did them all and in abundance, until he had Desmond singing a symphony of sighs for him.

And it was. So. Damn. Good.

It was when two hands fisted in his hair that he finally moved in for the kill.

Slim hips did nothing to prevent Shaun tugging jeans down, boxers following along. He didn’t need much room to work with a cock hard and wanting bobbing up to meet him.

There was a high pitched little whinge that never really went away even once he’d got Desmond into his mouth. Not that anyone wanted that to change. The noise came in sharp, punctuated gasps, timed perfectly with the fingers twisting up against his scalp that gave Shaun what he needed of Desmond’s desperation.

Shaun was the one who set the rhythm, slow and steady for all of his previous impatience, bringing the man he played with just to the edge and back again. They never had this, this luxury of time, and he tried to make sure it would be one memory they wouldn’t soon forget.

Each moan he got had him humming in agreement, only to have Desmond let out something so deep, so base that it had Shaun striving to coax a little bit more. Each mouth along the shaft, each swirl around the glans had its own tune and when the hips underneath him began to thrust of their own accord then his own hand took up what length he himself could not.

Thighs under Shaun’s hands began to quiver and the sinuous movements he so adored began to falter. He looked up, wanting to witness the final moment unfold, to find Desmond watching him back. That perfect face was twisted up in helpless need, fighting to see what needed to be seen.

That did it.

The whole of Desmond pulsed in/under/around him and the beauty of it seared itself into memory.

It felt like forever. It wasn’t long enough.

Shaun dutifully cleaned the mess he’d caused with Desmond still shivering through his aftershocks. The tug that pulled him level with Desmond wasn’t a surprise but the tangle of limbs that surrounded him was.

Desmond spun them around, uncaring that the state of his rumpled clothes bared his ass to sun and sky as he covered Shaun in slow, languorous kisses. They took their time even here; so much so that Desmond made damn sure that Shaun had his own chance to sing.

And so it was that by the time they made it back to the villa, they were very late indeed."
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July 2012

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