100 Prompts #62: Fingertips
He wasn't one to obsess or fixate upon particular aspects of his partner, never had been. He had always seen a person as a whole, rather than as being made up of various bits and pieces of varying degrees of attractiveness. He preferred to take the image unabridged rather than try to break it down into different bodily parts.
But that being said, Shaun had always loved Desmond's hands.
Desmond was undeniably an altogether attractive man. And now that he looked closely, scrutinising him piece by piece, Shaun could see that there was not a single part of him that he found in any way less than pleasant (at least until he opened that big, stupid, beautiful mouth of his). Every part of him was stunning, from his defined chest and stomach to his lean arms, his deep chocolate brown eyes to that wicked grin slashed at the corner by the scar that only added to his rugged beauty.
And his hands, moulded by years of climbing and working outdoors.
God, those hands…
And yes, those strong legs were straddling his waist, and Desmond's soft, full lips were entwined fiercely with his own. His pearl white teeth nipped at Shaun's bottom lip and every inch of his tanned skin was pressed against the historian's paler body, but it was those hands that tormented his flesh so deliciously.
The rough, calloused fingertips dragged teasingly across his skin. The strong fingers gripped at his chin to allow the assassin better access to nip and tease the skin of the historian's neck, deftly unbuttoning and slipping beneath the cloth of his shirt, seeking out the sensitive buds of his nipples, teasing his chest until the straight-laced man began to unravel in Desmond's hands, then moving lower; stroking teasingly along his length, long slender fingers working their way inside of him, brushing up against the bundle of nerves that sent fire shooting through his veins, those slashed lips muffling his gasps and moans as he squirmed beneath him, like putty in his hands.
He loved those hands that teased and tormented him, that pressed against his lips and brushed the hair back from his damp forehead as they both panted in the afterglow. The hands that ruffled his hair, messed with his glasses and wiped the blood, sweat and tears from his cheeks when necessary.
But Shaun thought that he might like them best when the strong fingers were intertwined with his own, the calloused pad of the assassins thumb rubbing absentmindedly over his knuckles as they sat entwined together watching a film on the couch, as Shaun worked in the lab, as Desmond boarded the animus, as they sat on the rooftop watching the sun rise and set together.
And no matter what lay ahead of them, he knew that everything would be okay because, at the end of the day, those hands would always be his to hold.
A/N: So I've found a new love for Assassins Creed, and Shaun x Desmond. Got a few more of these oneshots planned (I'll try not to let them get in the way of my multichap ffics) but this is my first time writing the pairing so feedback would be greatfully appreciated :3
Hand fetish ftw.
