A/N: This is a sort of spur-of-the-moment fic, done for AmandaMiau. It's a Shaun/Desmond pairing, based on the fact that I made a Shaun character in Guitar Hero 5 XD

Enjoy!

…

Waking up in the middle of the night is not fun. Take it from Desmond. Although he spends most of his day in the Animus, and the state he's in while there is classified as unconscious, somehow he still wakes up tired.

So you can imagine his mood when he is wrenched from his sleep by the sound of someone watching the TV.

He slid out of bed and half stomped, half dragged his way into the TV room with a drowsy snarl of, "Shaun!" at the sight of the red head sitting on the couch next to a pile of DVD's.

"What do you want, Desmond," the man's British accent is even more annoying when he's tired. "Shouldn't you be sleeping about now?"

"Yes, I should," came the furious reply, "But I can't, because you have the freaking TV on!"

The Brit shrugged. "Get some earplugs, mate."

Desmond gave up and asked, "What are you watching, anyway?"

"I had a bout of nostalgia earlier and felt the need to cure it," he answered simply, waving an arm in the flat screen's direction. Desmond dared a look—his eyes widened and the urge to cackle like an old witch was too much for him to control.

"You used to sing?" he gasped, doubled over with the paroxysms of laughter surging through him.

"Yes, I was in a band with a few of my cousins. Now stop laughing, you wanker, or I'll be forced to hit you," Shaun crossed his arms and fixed an annoyed green glare at the top of Desmond's head.

Desmond took in a deep breath and decided to watch the video with Shaun. On the TV was a group of four people—Shaun on the microphone, a black-haired teen stomping around with a guitar in his hands, a blond in his early twenties playing bass, and another blonde on a set of drums brandishing the Union Jack. They were performing a song Desmond thought is by Nirvana, though he wasn't completely sure.

"Hello, hello, hello, how low…." Shaun sang in the video, clinging to the mic as the camera finally stops on him after going past all the other band members. As much as he hated to admit it (to himself, no less), this was quite entertaining. And not in the way he thought.

Shaun is a lot of things. An insufferable jerk. A complete know it all. An unabridged dictionary of insults with a temper short enough to rival Malik's. And, apparently, 'singer' had been one of those things for a long time now. Just another reason for Desmond to adore him.

He wasn't even sure if it was him that wanted the snarky Brit. It was just that one day he woke with a new-found tolerance, or God forbid—understanding of the numerous invectives he was on the receiving end of. It seemed so familiar to him when he was being called a novice at any given minute of the day, or when Shaun's eyes brightened at the sight of new information he could use to their advantage. It was Malik. It was Leonardo. It was… cute.

So, Desmond had a choice to make. Was he going to dismiss his feelings as just another downside to the Bleeding Effect? Or was he going to accept that maybe he actually liked Shaun himself, his ancestors' preferences aside.

He picked up the TV remote and paused the video. Shaun turned him with an expression that was half-disturbed, half-offended. "Who told you to come in here and mess with my videos? Get your bloody hands off my remote, you wank—,"

"Oh, shut up!" Desmond shouted, cutting the man off mid-sentence. "You're always saying, 'don't do this, you wanker. Don't do that, you wanker,'" he said with a bad impression of Shaun's accent. "Stop being so freaking antisocial or I'll wank you myself."

Shaun clenched his jaw, turning a slight shade of red, before heaving a sigh and saying, "Are you saying that you'd wank me, Desmond?"

Desmond didn't say anything, wishing that he'd thought to ask what the word meant before using it as a threat.

This reaction brought a crooked grin to Shaun's mouth. "Maybe I should show you what it means?"

Desmond only had time to narrow his eyes before Shaun was on him, literally on him—he didn't know how, but suddenly he was on his back on the couch, straddled by the older man. "Shaun, what the he—!"

And he was cut off when a set of foreign lips captured his. Shaun kissed him softly, nibbling on Desmond's lower lip as he caught his bearings. But the kind charade didn't last long—soon the two men had escalated into a battle for dominance, their teeth ground together audibly and they were both sure to bruise the other's lips. Desmond fought with desperation; he was already on the bottom and he had every intention to change that.

At last the two men pulled apart, panting heavily, a thick string of saliva joining their parted lips. Desmond hadn't moved and was beginning to accept the spot. Shaun leaned down and trailed kisses down the other's freshly-shaved jawline until he met the place where neck met shoulder and bit down, marking Desmond as his. The novice made a small noise in the back of his throat, something between a moan and a grunt, and he closed his eyes.

Desmond knew he was hard from the way his boxers seemed to be trying to choke the life out of his crotch, but it didn't stop him from yelping in surprise when Shaun's hand rested between his legs. "Sh-Shaun?"

The Brit ignored him and placed his hands on Desmond's thighs, feeling them tighten under his palms at what was to come. But it wasn't exactly what he thought—his member wasn't enclosed in wet heat—but instead Shaun's chilled hand curled around the throbbing organ. Desmond gave a sharp cry, protesting the cold touch on his warm skin, and tried in vain to jerk his hips away from the other. "Quiet, Des," Shaun cooed tauntingly.

Desmond watched with wide eyes as Shaun began to languidly stroke Desmond. "Oh G—," the word was in vain; it dissipated into a long moan as Shaun's thumb pressed into his head. His legs quivered in pleasure.

"Shaun, what the hell are you—ah!" Desmond chomped down on his lip in an attempt to quiet the moan threatening to break free of his throat.

Shaun couldn't help but grin as Desmond panted below him, ochre eyes squeezed shut and a fierce blush painted across his cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. The novice made a small noise of disappointment as his member was suddenly re-exposed to the cool air of the TV room, the light breeze coming through the window enough to keep him at bay. He glared at Shaun. "What… the fuck are you doing?"

"Just calm down a bit, alright, mate?" the accent had gone from annoying to sexy in less than twenty minutes. The sentence had barely been past his lips before he was slipping out of his pajama pants and boxers, then moving back over to straddle Desmond all over again.

"This may hurt a bit, alright, Des?" Since when had he started calling him Des? "Just relax a little, and the pain will be gone before you know it."

Desmond took a deep breath as Shaun gripped him by the ass and rolled his hips forward; he groaned at the pain and pleasure surging through his body at once as Shaun buried himself to the hilt. He was given a moment to adjust and when he nodded shallowly Shaun began to rock forward. Desmond went into sensory overload and he moaned, his head rolling to the side.

Shaun then let out a cry, adding speed to his rhythm. His nails dug painfully into Desmond's hip bones, but he didn't feel it; Shaun's head brushed against his sweet spot and he cried out, lifting his hips in a wordless cry for more. The Brit hissed in pleasure and he hit that spot again and again; Desmond's insides tightened around his member and he moaned, grasping at the novice's weeping manhood and driving his thumb into the thick vein.

Desmond's mouth opened in a silent scream and his lips formed Shaun's name right before he came, his vision going white while his body was wracked with wild spasms. The already-tight ring of muscles around Shaun's cock squeezed him almost painfully and it proved too much for him; he moaned through his release and Desmond felt liquid warmth spurt between his thighs.

He felt Shaun collapse onto him and lay his head on the novice's chest. Desmond, in turn grasped loosely at Shaun's shirt. "So I take it that a wanker is a fucker?" he asked, a drowsy smile spreading across his face.

"No," was the whispered reply, "I just got a little carried away."

…

A/N: Sucky ending, I know. Hoped you liked the rest, though! ^^