If He Only Knew

~ Shaun Hasting ~

What Shaun really meant when he said "Hello Desmond. Go away" was "Hello Desmond. If you wouldn't mind terribly, I would really like to fuck you up your arse so hard, you wouldn't even be able to lie in the Animus, much less train".
Yeah, it would go REALLY well if he tried to tell him that.
Even un-trained, the ex-bartender was fit. Shaun could easily imagine his taunt muscles; his abs, his biceps….
Once, he'd seen the end of a tribal tattoo, and he'd felt his mouth water at the thought.
If it had been anyone else's tattoo, he wouldn't have, but this was Desmond's tattoo, his muscular arms that were traced by black ink, which Shaun desperately wanted to trace.
He wanted to look at those muscle, look at the way they'd flex, the way the tattoo would move…

Shaun Hastings had wanted to fuck Desmond Miles from the moment he laid eyes on him the first time.
In the beginning that was all, he'd just wanted to fuck him, wouldn't even care to be "friends-with-benefits". He was a bloody American after all.
Over time however, he found that his feelings grew deeper and stronger for the bloody wanker, despite the fact that he tried his hardest to keep him miles away (it was something he failed... Desperately at that).
And then it suddenly dawned on him one day that he loved the bastard.
He wasn't sure what to feel about that.
Though, if he was to be completely honest with himself, he did know; he just didn't want to admit it, because it made it that much more real, and he couldn't go back on it.

He wanted Desmond to love him back. As simple and heartbreakingly complicate as that.
Just a handful of people knew that Shaun was gay. But if Desmond could ever love him back, he's happily declare to the whole world (or what would be left of it if the Templars got their way) that he, Shaun Hastings; British historian and sarcasm-using know-it-all, was gay and loved Desmond Miles, an annoying American wanker.

Another part of Desmond that Shaun often found himself drooling over was his arse.
Oh, the way he swayed his hips when he was walking, like he was a bloody prostitute or stripper. Shaun refused to let his mind wander in that direction, just thinking about the Desmond in the same sentence as the word "stripper" made his cock twitch a tad too much as far as Shaun was concerned.
He must've picked it up on the bars he's been working at.
Or did I come naturally? After all, he'd seen Altaïr and Ezio do it as well (though more prominent to Ezio, but he was a ladies man and might've done it on purpose).
Or did Desmond, as well as Ezio, do it on purpose as well?
Bloody American, he only did it because of Lucy, or maybe even Rebecca; it was the only logical solution Shaun's mind could come up with after all.
He groaned. What he wouldn't give to be able to enjoy that gorgeous piece off arse, and to have it, and the man, all to himself.
His cock twitched again. Damn.

And then there was the fact that Shaun had, in his constant musings over the ex-bartender, that he was like a natural predator, even un-trained and out of shape as he was.
Sometimes, the Bleeding Effect would take hold of him, and Shaun would find him owling at the tables, bed, couch, or down in the warehouse itself.
One time, he'd been unfortunate enough to surprise the assassin while he was caught up in some distant memories and Desmond (or was it Altaïr or Ezio?) had pounced on him.
Shaun had never been more pleased of the fact that Desmond didn't have a hidden blade equipped.
But even so, seeing the danger in the situation he'd gotten himself into, he'd been turned on.
And the first thought to run through his head as he was pinned on the ground was not "SHIT! I could have died" but "SHIT! If he'd only been aware and done this on purpose because he wants me as bad as I want him…".

Shaun was glad he was sitting with his back to the others, because now, as he was musing over all the things about Desmond Miles that turned him on, he found he'd gotten quite hard. He turned around, making sure Desmond was still deep in his session, and that the girls wouldn't look at him as he stood. His gaze flickered to Desmond and he found himself wanting to jump his bone right then and there, not giving a bloody fuck about the girl's reactions.
Turning around sharply, he made his way to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door properly, so no one would walk in on him; he had to take care of his 'problem'.

Wasting no time, he unzipped his pants and dropped them to the floor along with his underwear.
Taking his cock into his hand, he hissed at the feeling, and started stroking up and down; slowly at first, then faster and harder as he imagined Desmond's hand wrapped around his length. His pre-come helped the speed, making him slick and feeling closer to release by each stroke of his thumb over the slit.
Not wanting to spend too long in the bathroom (which would make the girls immensely curious as to what he was up to) and feeling close to release, yet still feeling it wasn't enough with just his hand, he moved his free hand to his mouth, licking his middle and index fingers, putting them in his mouth, pretending it was Desmond's calloused ones.
It didn't take long before he came, biting down on his fingers, almost drawing blood as he tried to keep from screaming the ex-bartender's name as he came.
Leaning against the wall, feeling spent, he tried to get back to his normal breathing pattern and to calm his erratic heart.
Gathering some paper towels, he wet them and cleaned up after himself, making 100% sure there were no traces of what he'd just done.

It hit him then, just what he'd done. He just came to the image of a co-worker, one that wasn't gay, and didn't know how Shaun felt. He felt sick; he felt like he'd invaded the other's privacy.
If he found out someone did the same to him (apart from Desmond, he wouldn't mind that), he would feel ashamed and used.
He took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

If Shaun had paid attention to Desmond in a different way (in some aspects), he'd notice how different Desmond was with him. He'd also notice that in Desmond's eyes, the same feelings as the Brit laid, just waiting to be noticed by the historian.
However, on the other hand, if he HAD noticed, h would've brushed it off as his mind playing him cruel tricks.

If he only knew.