Hey all! I was sorta in the mood to finish this one-shot that I started a long time ago, but never finished. In actuality, I actually morphed it a little to suit a fanfiction challenge for one of my deviantart groups :) [If anyone wants to read the original version, comment, and I might put it up as a secondary chapter :P) Anyways, it was either work on this, or another chapter of several other stories I'm working on right now :p I love Desmond and Lucy together so much! As I've said before, there is a definite lacking of good fanfics about them, so I feel justified in my slacking off on my other stories XD. I wanted to experiment with a quasi-OC/AU plot, taking place in Bad Weather, the bar where Desmond worked at in New York before the Templars kidnapped him. Lucy does work for Abstergo, and is sent to capture Desmond. However, in the alternate version, (the non-contest version), she doesn't know anything about Desmond/isn't trying to capture him etc. Please enjoy, and rate & review sil vous plait! :P If you want, tell me which version you liked better, and why!

Assassin's Creed is owned by Ubisoft, not me :(

The cycling of shrill treble and throbbing bass was no longer perceptible to the harried, exhausted bartender. Exhilarating the Friday night dancers, the monotony of fast paced electronic rhythms would have normally gotten on his already grated nerves, however tonight Desmond couldn't afford to think about anything other than his duties; he had faced an onslaught of flushed, impatient patrons in numbers he thought greater than the legal building capacity. As 1o'clock a.m. came around, as untimely as it usually did, Desmond finally allowed himself to collect his thoughts, and wiped his pickled fingers on a wet towel. He had lost count of how many drinks he had atypically slopped while struggling to keep on top of the stream of drink orders. He sighed, stretching his tight back, feeling the protest of several large knots. He grimaced, forcing himself to relax, while cursing himself for not having enough money for a decent massage once every so often.

He trudged into the back of the bar, and looked for his punch card to hand out his only form of release he would have that day.

"Hey man"

Desmond turned, wincing slightly at the pain this produced. "Hey Adrian, what's up?"

Adrian was one of the few bartenders at Bad Weather who hadn't managed to piss off, or be pissed off by, Desmond. Moderately tall and slimly built, with average blue eyes and a somewhat round face, he wasn't a favourite of the ladies, especially when placed beside Desmond's powerful and muscled frame and exotic golden-mahogany eyes. For the most part he kept to himself, rarely talking to anyone save Desmond. Adrian would be the one to take over Desmond's shift tonight, and yet he glanced at Desmond with a somewhat troubled expression.

"Can you cover my shift man?" Adrian held out his hands pleadingly, "Look hey, before you can object, it's for a good reason, ok-"

"The hell it is. What? I bet you've got another one of your 'girlfriends' waiting for you back at your place." Desmond scoffed, crossing his arms intimidating. "No way man, there's no way, not again."

Adrian looked wilted, "Yeah it is a girl- my sister. She's asked me to drive her to night school. She's uh, well she's finally started to go straight."

Desmond sighed and closed his eyes, the seductive image of his rumpled bed and 7 whole hours in it sitting on his shoulder.

"Fine," Desmond growled, "but I'm not doing it again."

Adrian looked ecstatic, "For sure man, I wouldn't ask normally its just-"

Desmond stepped closer to Adrian, jabbing a finger into his chest, " I don't care if next time your fucking grandmother died, ok?" at this point Desmond was too tired to be decent, "That's life, and this is New York buddy."

"I know, and thanks Desmond, I'll make it up to next week– uh, maybe I could cover a shift?" Adrian offered with a smile.

"Can I get that in writing? Where's legal when I need them?" he grumbled to himself. Desmond watched Adrian scamper out the backdoor, free.

Desmond groaned as he pulled himself back up behind the bar counter; the other side already surging with thirsty sweaty bodies.

Desmond finally managed to catch a break around 3 a.m., the majority of patrons having left in search of better, more "quiet" places.

Yeah, like what they're doing is quiet Desmond smirked bitterly. His last girlfriend had been over a year ago, and even then, he had to claw his way out of the friend zone, to be rewarded with a week and a half of first base, and then dumped for some douche who treated her "better". Apparently spending half your paycheck on your girlfriend of a week and a half is "expected". God forbid he might actually make his way out of this hellhole he was living in now.

"Oh no, you're right," Desmond spat aloud, "your Michael Kors shoes are way more important than my dreams!"

"Excuse me?" a soft voice interrupted.

Desmond glanced up from the drink he was pouring, taking in a translucent cream buttoned blouse, which failed to hide the ample cleavage and distinctly black lace bra underneath. Kohl rimmed blue eyes traded a seductively reprimanding gaze with Desmond's exploratory one.

He stammered, straightening his stance, "Er uh, sorry" Desmond wearily rubbed his eyes with a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, and trying vainly to blink back the fatigue behind his eyes. " I've had a really long shift- double shift actually, and come to think of it, I didn't get my last break"

The blonde smirked, catching Desmond's eyes with the pull of her lips," I thought bartenders were the ones who listen to the patrons problems, not the other way around."

Desmond felt his own lips match her smirk, but not the emotion behind it, "This bartender is done for the night- aaaand he's taking his break right now."

Desmond grabbed a bottle of whiskey from behind him, grabbed a shot glass, and slowly made his way over to an unkempt table- for the moment, choosing to ignore how much this "break" would cost him.

The blonde turned on her stool to watch the moody bartender make his way to the empty table. Her eyes roamed over his impressive physique, his stature imposing, albeit bowed slightly under the weight of his obvious fatigue.

His eyes– I don't think I've ever seen eyes that gold before.

Keeping her eyes fixed on him, she watched his hips sway and sink down into his chair. She chewed slightly on the straw in her orgasm, her cocktail of choice, drinking in the sight before her, not the dregs in her glass. Her eyes followed his sculpted arms, pausing to examine a tattoo on his lower left arm.

Nice ink. I wonder if he's got any more…

She smirked, imagining him stripping down for her, inviting her to explore his body with her hands and mouth. She bit down on the tip of her straw, lustily running with the salacious images in her mind. Her tongue wound around her straw, her eyes slightly closed. She continued in her ministrations, the forgotten sensation of arousal pooling in her lower abdomen, coursing through her veins. Her fantasies were interrupted by a blatantly loud scoff from a scowling older woman sitting beside her at the bar. The blonde blinked back the desire clouding her vision and followed the woman's priggish gaze down to her slightly parted lips, realizing her tongue was protruding, coiled suggestively around the straw. She felt her cheeks redden even more as she hurriedly drew the straw from her tongue's grasp, flicking some of the creamy liquid that still remained in the straw onto the counter. She wiped her lower lip with a finger, licking off a droplet of her orgasm that had remained. She grabbed her purse and hurriedly made her way through the throng of erratically moving dancers to the bathrooms.

Desmond remained frozen in his seat, resting, exhausted, with his elbow propped on the table supporting him. His eyes remained fixed on the blonde woman's empty seat at the bar, struggling to collect his thoughts after what he had just witnessed.

Did that honestly just happen? I really hope I'm not just hallucinating from the lack of sleep – if I am though, I wouldn't mind a few more of those. Maybe after– if I could ever get a moment of peace in my bed…

. . .

Desmond had hardly breathed as she had lifted the straw up to her waiting lips. She slid it further and further into her mouth, a mild smirk had played across her features. He had already been having trouble enough fighting his urges because of what she was wearing, let alone this new form of torture. He had closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to clear his mind of her suggestive actions. Instead, the only image that had come to mind was her standing there, in that thin, white blouse, drenching herself with water. She had smiled at him, looking up promiscuously from her shirt that lay plastered against her large chest. He had forgotten to breathe for a moment as he saw her slip her hands under her shirt, fidget for a second, then emerge again, holding her black lace bra in her fingers. Desmond had inhaled sharply as he took in her bare chest under the slick, transparent blouse, feeling himself grow hard. When he had opened his eyes to try and banish that seductive image, he had groaned audibly, watching an even more enticing sight unfold in front of him. She had sat facing him; her heavy-lidded eyes flutter slightly as her tongue slipped through her lips, wrapping itself around the straw. He had sworn she was purposely trying to get him hot and bothered.

Why the fuck else would any woman do that? It's a fucking straw!

Desmond had continued to watch her, enraptured by the slow, explicitly suggestive motions of her tongue. He had groaned louder, feeling his fingers clench into fists as he watched a creamy drop of her drink leak out of the straw, and land on her lip. He had ripped his eyes from her; instead he had decided to pour himself a double shot of whisky, downing it quickly in hopes of calming himself down. He had winced slightly as the liquid burned down his throat, leaving a tingling thick trail as the burning subsided. He had dared to look back at her, however, to both his disappointment and his relief, she had been reprimanded by an older lady sitting near her, and was in the process of gathering her belongings.

Well, it was an… amusing… distraction while it lasted. He grimaced slightly, remembering how she had made him feel, and realizing that, if he was ever able to go home, he would be greeted by an empty bed. He poured another double shot, cursing his love life and how much a whole bottle of whisky was going to set him back.

. . .

Lucy sighed as she entered the bathroom, the bright vanity lights around the mirrors causing her to squint against their harsh light. She stumbled over to one of them, careful to set her purse down where the counter was still dry around the sink. She opened it, checking to ensure the contents– cosmetics, a small pistol, several condoms, and a syringe– were still intact.

She could still feel the heat on her blushing cheeks from her actions: although she had a duty to perform, she was not used to having to resort to such…techniques to acquire her target. A few well-placed punches or a jab with a syringe in a dark alley would normally do the job, but not this time. Desmond Miles was too important of a target: too well trained for Lucy to take him out with traditional methods. This job had too much at stake to be performed rashly; Lucy would have to rely instead on alcohol and poor judgment on his part.

Lucy closed her purse with a smirk, That, and the fact that I know he hasn't had decent sex in at least 6 months.

She took her hair out of the conservative bun, flipped over, quickly ruffling her blonde lengths with her fingers. She flipped back up, watching herself in the mirror. She finger-combed a few unruly sections, unsuccessfully trying to smooth it out.

Looks like I just rolled out of bed. Perfect. She scrutinized the wanton blonde beauty that gazed back at her just as harshly. Her heavy-lidded eyes sending teasing glances back her way. She re-applied her lipstick, running the lipstick slightly over the peaks of her lips, creating an illusion of an even fuller pout than her natural one. A few touch-ups to her smoky eyeshadow had her bedroom eyes smoldering. She scrunched her hair a few times, testing its bounce, slightly miffed at it's frizziness.

Well, at least it's dark in there.

She bit her bottom lip as she rearranged her bra in a very unladylike manner; trying to keep from sweating in the humid room. Luckily she was alone in the bathroom for pride's sake. She adjusted her blouse, undoing two of the buttons, and re-tucking it into her black fitted skirt. She gave herself a once over and, deciding she was presentable, walked out into the surge of bodies, making her way over to the bar again.

After stumbling a few times, narrowly avoiding a few stray limbs flung at her by the erratically moving dancers, she strode to the other side of the throng, swiveling slightly on the points of her patent leather Louboutin's. She looked around, slightly annoyed that he wasn't at his table, drowning his abundant sorrows in a bottle of whisky. She stood for a moment, hand on hip, surveying the interior for him; the colorful array of lights and pulsing sounds significantly impeding her search. A pleasant surprise curled her lips into a smile, as her eyes roamed over a familiar silhouette behind the bar. She sashayed up to the counter, seating herself far enough back in the chair for him to take in her bare legs.

She waited patiently for the other patrons to finish their orders before putting hers in: she wanted his undivided attention if she was to have any luck. After what seemed to be an hour or so of tapping her fingernails and crossing and re-crossing her legs, she finally saw that he was free. She watched him take an exaggerated inhale and exhale, slowly stretching his shoulders in a smooth rotation. Lucy had had enough of waiting however, so she cleared her throat indignantly, causing Desmond to turn his tired gaze over to where she was seated.

"Can I have another orgasm?"

"Another?" Desmond looked at her, trying to remain unaffected by her eye rolling choice of drink. Fuck it's been a long time since I got laid.

"Yeah, first one wasn't very good. I'm sure you'd give me a better one." Lucy simpered, punctuating her double entendre by pressing her elbows closer to each other, straining her thin blouse against her bountiful chest.

Desmond sucked in a breath, clamping his hand around the wet rag in his hand. He was struggling to resist glancing down at her coquettish smile and enticing breasts.

"Uh, sure." He stammered, after finally succumbing to temptation.

Fuck! The things I would do with her – no stop! Stop stop stop! Don't even think about it 'cuz you know it's never gonna happen. At least, not in real life–fantasy perhaps…

Desmond had drifted off again, partially because of his semi-inebriated state, partially because of the machinations of this wanton blonde. He finished the drink, and slid it over to her across the counter.

"One orgasm for– didn't catch your name"

Real smooth Desmond he thought

Lucy's smile faltered for a second: to use her real name or her usual alias. The latter would be her best bet, incase anything went wrong; all he would have was a face. However, the stirring look in his eyes of a man trying to hide his lust was so striking, she blurted "Lucy" before she could think.

"It means 'light' in Latin– doesn't it?" Desmond ventured.

Lucy's eyes sparkled slightly at his intellectual response.

Hmm. Something different from the usual douche response of "that's pretty" or "that's cool" I usually get.

"Yeah, it does." She smiled up at him, with now genuine interest playing across her features. "A lot of people don't know Latin nowadays you know. Where'd you pick it up?"

Desmond felt a knot settle in the pit of his stomach, he tried to cover by forcing himself to keep the easy smile on his lips. "Here and there– my parents insisted on some pretty…unorthodox… school subjects."

"So you were homeschooled?" Lucy tried, seeing how much he would reveal about his past– not that she didn't already know all there was.

"You could say that." Desmond stood for a moment, meeting Lucy's gaze, searching her eyes for something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He couldn't verbalize it, but there was some feeling in the back of his mind that was trying to be heard over the thoughts of lust. Something too far away to be recognized as circumspect.

Lucy glanced at her phone's screen– 4:16. She was supposed to meet the extraction team with the target at no later than 5 a.m. Guess I'm gonna have to call it a night. She opened her purse, cursing under her breath as she realized she had only brought her Abstergo-issued credit card.

Vidic's gonna have my head if I blow this over a stupid credit card. Fuck–I should have brought some cash…

She looked up with sultry eyes, trying her best to keep his interest anywhere else but on the card in her hand, "Do you guys take credit?"

"Yeah, we do– big bill or something?" He chuckled lightly, enraptured by her smile.

She deftly slid the card into his hand, delicately curling his fingers around it.

He happened to glance down at the card in his hand before he slid it into the machine– the edge of a symbol on the card catching his eye.

Almost like a triangle– like the emblem of Abstergo Industries kind of triangle…

The long-forgotten pooling of fear and dread dripped down into his stomach, weighing him down even more than the fatigue had. He suddenly felt himself wishing he hadn't abandoned his training: hadn't run away from safety. He slowly turned his head up to look at Lucy, not exactly what to do, or what to expect. She was sitting, taking in her surroundings, fingers tapping to the beat of the music. He felt relief replace the dread– kicking himself for being as paranoid as his parents were.

What was the likelihood that she is one of them? Like she's gonna take me down in those heels? He finished the transaction, pulling the card out and handing it back to her. And even if she had backup, are they really going to pull something here? In front of all these people?

She brushed her fingers against his, trying to channel every last bit of vixen in her words, "Wanna get out of here?" she breathed.

Desmond thought he heard himself moan at both her question, and his father's words that resonated in his head, "When something is too good to be true– it isn't real. Remember that Desmond. Don't fall for the reality the Templars shove down your throat.

He stood there for a moment, physically incapacitated by the two choices he had in front of him.

Listen to your father who you ran away from 'cuz you thought he was batshit crazy, or have sex with someone other than yourself for the first time in how long now?

Lucy continued to observe the exhausted bartender with captivation toying with the straw again. She sucked the remaining liquid from her glass, savoring the feeling of the straw in her mouth.

Come on Desmond! Take a hint already!

Desmond opened his mouth to speak, but as much as he wanted to say something, he only heard those damn words– " Fight it; fight them! That's what we do, what we have to do… for the preservation of humanity."

Come on Lucy– now or never!

"Are these condoms big enough?" She practically gagged at how much of a whore she sounded like right now– it was the last ace up her sleeve to get him to go with her.

Fuck humanity– I'm getting laid tonight, Desmond thought, quickly walking out from behind the bar to where Lucy was sitting.

"I'm good to go. You have a ride?"

"No, I don't actually," she slung her purse onto her arm, "I got a ride with a friend, but she left a while ago. Maybe you could drive me?" She grabbed onto his arm, pulling him closer to her.

"I really shouldn't be driving right now," he looked down at her, trying to make up some sort of excuse other than the fact that his bike had been impounded for his mountain of unpaid parking tickets. "I'm kinda too tired to be operating a vehicle, regardless of how much I've also had to drink."

Since when did I become so comfortable with lying through my teeth?

Lucy and Desmond stopped outside the doors of the club, looking around for one of the multitude of taxis the state boasted. Oddly, there were none in sight; even the street traffic in the distance was quieter than either had ever heard before.

"We are in New York City, right?" Desmond snorted, trying to quiet the uneasiness threatening to wash over him again.

"You wouldn't know it by the traffic!" Lucy agreed, scanning up and down the street for any sign of yellow. Unsuccessful to find one, she turned back to look at Desmond, who had stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"My place isn't far from here, we could walk…"

"It's a little late for romance, don't you think?" She grinned, "I mean, I'm the one who asked if we could 'get out of here'." She looked up at the troubled clouds above them, "Better make it snappy though– looks like rain.

Desmond and Lucy crashed through the doorway, feverishly grasping at each other, trying through pure force to drive themselves closer together. Both had gotten soaked in the sudden downpour on the way to Desmond's apartment, and Lucy moaned into Desmond's mouth as she inhaled the potency of cologne mixed with his natural heady scent, intensified by the rain. Her hands roamed up his soaking wet shirt, which clung against each and every peak and crevice of his torso. She licked at a few stray water droplets on his neck, savoring the taste of the rain, and his warm skin. Lucy pulled away from him briefly to throw off the dripping sweater he had chivalrously offered to her. Much to Desmond's annoyance, her white blouse remained dry because of his actions. He moved to suck on her neck, groaning as he remembered his fantasy of Lucy's wet blouse from earlier. Lucy felt Desmond grin against her neck as he roughly pressed her against the wall, grinding against her. Her lips parted as she felt the remarkable sensation of her dry clothes absorbing the wetness of Desmond's, slowly turning her blouse to stick to her skin just like Desmond had imagined.

Lucy had to mentally check herself before going any further, turning her head slightly so Desmond could return to his ministrations. As much as she would love to cut loose, she still had a job to do. She was still trying to devise some sort of strategy to keep her head above water, when she found Desmond pulling her under it, as he fell onto the bed with her.

"Someone's excited." Lucy breathed between hungry nips of Desmond's lips.

"It's been a while." Desmond grunted, straddling Lucy while lifting her hips to meet his.

"Do you have some–" The question died in Lucy's throat as she felt him hard against her. The blush returned to her cheeks, and she felt her eyes roll slightly as Desmond began to help her out of her clothes. He kissed down her neck, pausing to suck on her collarbone, tasting the sweetness of her skin and the rivulets of water from the rain that had collected there. He watched as Lucy responded to every touch, every lick. How her back arched ever so slightly, and how her rouge lips parted, a faint gasp escaping when he brought his lips to her breast. She slid her hands up his strong neck, exploring his damp curls with her fingers. A few times Desmond found her grip tighten on his hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting in an infuriating mixture of pain and pleasure.

She opened her eyes, and tugged at Desmond's wet shirt, slinging it off into the wall with a dull thump. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his beauty, but feel it. She let her fingers be her guide, starting from his prominent collarbones, diving and swelling into the broad planes of his chest. She continued, fingernails dragging softly over the large dip under his chest, leveling out into defined abdominals. Her fingers slipped along his wet skin, pausing for a moment to study the movement of his breathing. She bit her lip as one hand skipped across the prominent dips of his obliques, the other trailing lower to the trench of his hips. She lifted her eyelids to take in what she had just felt; shivering slightly at how the shadows of the poorly light room hit his features.

"You ready?" Desmond practically grunted as he lowered himself onto her.

Lucy could only nod her head fervently, all other thoughts interrupted by Desmond slipping her underwear down.

She widened her eyes as she felt him enter her, startled by the pain the coursed through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets in an attempt to distract herself from how rough he had been– of course, she hadn't told him to be.

She's a virgin?

"You've gotta be fuckin' me! Your– shit, are you o.k? Should I–"

She opened her eyes, pain still evident in her expression, "No just," she winced slightly, "just give me a minute."

Desmond blinked, eyes flitting around, not entirely sure where to look at this point, "You should have told me for fuck's sake! I didn't mean to hurt you…" His gaze met hers, and he gladly noticed it had softened significantly. She wrapped a leg around his waist, and Desmond moved against her; slowly, experimentally.

Lucy closed her eyes as she felt tingling pleasure replace the pain, washing over her slowly at first, becoming much more potent as time went by. Her moans and screams growing louder until Desmond kissed her again to stop the neighbors from hearing through the paper thin walls of his shitty apartment.

He had already begun to lose himself in the smell of her hair, the heart stopping sight of her laying beneath him, hair fanning out over his pillow. His pillow– it would hold the sweet perfume of her hair for days. Especially given the fact that he spent so little time in his bed, thanks to his hellish work schedule. His thoughts barely glanced upon the thought of work, as he felt Lucy wrap her other leg around him, squeezing tightly against his thrusts.

The two remained locked together, for a brief moment, enjoying the closest thing to perfection that would be possible for both of them. No assignment. No Templars or Assassins. Nothing close to the 'truth' the Templar's projected. Just two heartbeats beating as one.

Lucy sat up, her hands grasping at the sheets underneath her, chest heaving, startled awake by a dream. She glanced down beside her, where Desmond lay sleeping, his arm slung protectively around her waist. She relaxed slightly, holding her head in her hand as she waited for her mind to wake up fully. Her head swam slightly at her sudden change of position: feeling the effects of her drinks from earlier.

Fuck. How did I let it go this far. He's fucking snuggling with me– how the hell am I supposed to …"

"Shit!" She breathed, leaning carefully over the side of the bed, to where her purse lay on the floor by the nightstand. She grabbed her cell phone, almost screaming at the brightness of her display that assaulted her eyes.

4:57 a.m.

She deftly retrieved the syringe from her purse, cautiously looking over at Desmond, who still lay undisturbed. She groaned as she felt guilt seep into her thougts. I'm just going to drug him while he's sleeping? Poor guys hasn't even slept in the last 48 hours, and when he does, he gets drugged? She closed her eyes, trying to push past her doubts, and get on with her assignment. She had less than two minutes to send in her location for pickup– no way in hell was she going to make it to the drop site now.

She took the cap off and flicked the side of the needle with practiced motions. She gingerly turned his arm over, exposing her target area: his inner arm. She closed her eyes, trying to forget the genuine peace that left his features in a childlike vision. His brow lifted out of fatigue and utter submission to his need for rest. His mouth turning up ever so slightly at the corners of his parted lips. No, she pretended she didn't see these things, didn't feel the slight presence of his breath on her arm, or the way his hand twitched slightly on her waist, the warm pads of his fingers radiating against her skin.

All she felt was numb.

She remained in bed, waiting the remaining minute she had alone with him before the retrieval team arrived. She silently lay back down, wrapping herself into his embrace. She pulled his arm tighter around her, and wrapped a leg over his hip. Her eyes hurriedly trying to memorize the way his face looked in the pale shadows, how his hair was lit up on the edges by a stream of light bleeding in through his blinds. She took his hand in hers, and with his thumb wiped away the hot tear that trailed down her cheek.

She kissed it off of his fingertip and buried her head in his chest.

Whatever happened next, he would always be the first.