AN: HEY! I'M FINALLY FINISHED WITH THIS! Took me a couple of days to write it, as inspiration struck just two hours before my brothers birthdayparty-.-
Ah, well, I did manage to finish it, so YAY!
And I mean it this time, THIS IS THE END!
There'll be no more after this… I'm gonna miss this, but it was great while it lasted!

Thank you all so much for faving this story, it means so much to me!

So here I present to you, episode III of my (now aptly named by PeorthMood on devA) story Shaun the Douchebag

But Was He really Gone?

Shaun Hastings wasn't a man of feelings for the people in the present; he only cared for those who had made history.

He was the man who had managed to fool the assassins; he had tricked them into believing him, tricked them into "saving" him from the Templars.

He was the man who had tricked Desmond Miles – the "chosen" one – into believing he loved him and cared for him.
And then Shaun had killed him in cold blood.

He had grown to loath Desmond, for he was so eager to cuddle and kiss him, so eager to "make love" to him, it made Shaun sick.

But now, the hatred and loathing he felt towards the dead man had grown into a festering wound.
Each night, Shaun dreamt of Desmond and him; dreamt of them being together, loving one another. In those dreams, he was happy; they were happy.
When he woke after those dreams in the beginning, he'd felt violently sick and he had barely made it to the toilet in time.

It had been going on for a few weeks before Shaun started dreading falling asleep.
He did everything imaginable to at first slip into a dreamless sleep, and when that had failed, he tried everything in order to not fall asleep.
But when he hadn't slept for over two days straight, he'd began seeing things.
Or rather, he'd begun seeing Desmond.

He saw him everywhere he turned, and he often thought he saw many of him in one or more places.
As if that wasn't bad enough, when he finally submitted to sleep and woke a day later, he saw Desmond in his apartment.
He thought it a dream, so he ignored him and went back to his bed.
But then he felt his bed dip, as if someone sat down on it.
Barely daring to turn his head to look, he saw Desmond sit there, looking at him with a queer look in his eyes and the ghost of a sad smile on his lips. Desmond didn't speak, he just looked at him.
Enraged, Shaun picked up the knife he kept under his pillow and swung it towards Desmond.
The knife went right through him, as did part of Shaun's arm.

The shock caused Shaun to drop the knife, pull his arm back and back away towards the other end of the bed.
The… thing moved, and when its hand stretched out toward Shaun's cheek, Shaun could feel it, as solid as any flesh.

Shaun bolted upright in his bed, his chest heaving and beads of sweat covering his forehead, soaking his hair.
Looking around he could see nothing and no one.

Flopping back on his back, he tried to calm his breath as a nervous chuckle left him.
A nightmare. That was all it was, a nightmare.
But doubt still gnawed at him, and he could have sworn he could still feel the warmth of that hand on his cheek.
Shaking his head, thinking it foolish to believe such things, he turned to look at the time.

Five in the morning, which meant he's slept for almost a whole day. He was still exhausted though, so he closed his eyes and tried to calm his breath. For a moment, he just laid there, staring at the ceiling.
After a while, he got out of bed, and the rest of the day was thankfully uneventful.

But the next night, the thing was back again, looking the same at first.
Then Shaun noticed a blooming, red wound on the thing's throat. Like the wound Desmond received after Shaun stabbed him.
The blood ran down the previously white hoodie, and the thing – for it wasn't Desmond and Shaun refused to think of it as him – looked down on the blood, surprise clearly written on its face.
Then it dipped two of his fingers in the red fluid and looked at Shaun before putting the fingers in its own mouth, licking them clean, with an expression of pure bliss on its face.
Shaun couldn't remember the last time he'd been that turned on.
And when the thing had licked its fingers clean, it once again dipped in in blood and offered it to Shaun, who willingly accepted it.
They both leaned into one another at the same time, their lips meeting, their mouths opening, offering the other full access to their own mouth. They tasted each other, their tongues moving together in a passionate dance.
And the taste, oh, the taste! The metallic taste of blood mixed with that something else from the creature's mouth…

The dream ended abruptly.
Shaun found himself sitting propped up against the headboard on his bed, his mouth open, panting, and his right hand mid-air, as if curling up in someone's hair, holding that someone's head in place.
Letting his arm drop to his side, he suddenly noticed the worst part; his cock was straining against his boxers.
Conjuring images from that dream, he reached down to free his cock from the restraining cotton.

A shuddering sigh escaped him as he began stroking his shaft, lazy at first, then faster, harder and more urgent. Using his left hand, he began massaging his balls.
Feeling the release building up, he began sliding his thumb over the slit, slicking parts of his cock with pre-cum. His back arched and his toes curled, but he wasn't close enough.
There was something lacking. Shaun licked his lips and tasted blood.
And that was all he needed to completely fall apart; his seeds coating his stomach, his back arching even more and he had to bite his lip in order to not scream out Desmond's name.
He'd bitten hard enough to draw blood, but he didn't mind. Instead, he started sucking on his bottom lip, enjoying the taste of the blood, though it didn't taste as wonderful as Desmo… that thing's blood.

The next night was just the same, only it lasted longer this time.
Blood was offered in the same way, but this time the creature offered his neck to Shaun, letting the historian lick and suck at it.
Oh, but the sounds the creature made, those sounds of pleasure…
Shaun felt his cock twitch, and let out a breathless sigh against the creature's throat.
As if on cue, the creature's right hand sneaked down between them and covered Shaun's dick through his boxers.
The Brit buried his head in the crook of the creature's neck and he arched up against the hand that provided such warmth and pleasure just by that simple touch.
Shaun started moving his hips, desperate for friction…

And then he woke. He could still taste the blood on his lips and tongue; could still feel the warmth of the hand that had covered his cock.
So Shaun's day began just as the previous one; with him jerking off to the memories of a dream.

And the night after that went by in the same manner.
Blood being offered from fingers and neck, one hand against his hard cock, Shaun's hips moving in order to get friction…
The creature ripped off Shaun's boxers and Shaun had to bite down on its neck in order to muffle his sounds of pleasure.
It didn't seem to mind however, and only made sounds of pleasure itself as the creature's right hand gripped Shaun's cock. The hand moved slowly, painfully so, which only made Shaun try to move his hips as much as he could to get more friction.
He turned his head, so he could lap up more of that delicious blood.

He woke again, this time with his mouth open, and tongue frozen mid-air as if trying to lap up some blood.

And so his dreams continued; longer and more eventful.

Two nights later, he woke just as he was coming.

Three nights after that, he was standing on all fours in his bed.

And the night after that was the best one.
After making him come the first time, the creature kissed him, and the kiss was filled with so much raw lust and want, Shaun didn't want to stop.
He could feel his member grow hard again, and saw that the creature's dick was straining against the denim of its jeans.
Shaun wanted, needed, it naked. So he began undressing it.
The red and white hoodie went first. Then its shoes, socks, t-shirt – here Shaun stopped to drag his fingers over its upper body, painting it with streaks of blood – jeans and lastly the boxers.
Seeing the cock, Shaun's mouth watered, so he bent down to lick it, suck it, smell it.
Shaun was very talented with his mouth, and soon had the creature writhing and mewling. With a loud pop, he removed his mouth from the creature's cock, a smirk playing on his lips.
The creature didn't sound awfully pleased, but seemed to know what to do.
Using its left hand, it coated its dick in blood from the neck wound that was still pouring, making sure to keep Shaun's eyes locked with its own as he did.
And then he flipped Shaun over, making sure he was on all fours.

In a moment, it was right behind him, sticking two blood-coated fingers up Shaun's ass.
Shaun let out a hiss of pain, but it was soon gone, replaced with building pleasure as the creature began scissoring its fingers.
When the fingers slipped out, Shaun let out a disappointed sound, which was cut off when he felt the bloody dick enter him.
His back arched and damn, how it hurt, for the cock was larger than he though. Neither of them moved, until Shaun began trembling and slowly started pushing his ass backwards.
Taking that as a sign, the creature pulled almost all the way out, before slamming into him again.

Again and again it slammed into him, trying to find a perfect angle in order to hit Shaun's prostate.
And when it found that angle, it began slamming into him harder and harder.
Shaun met every thrust and could feel himself coming closer and closer each time the creature hit his prostate.
And then a hand covered in blood sneaked down and circled his cock, pumping it in time with the thrusts.
The creature came, nothing but sounds of pleasure escaping those scarred lips, and Shaun came not long after, screaming out Desmond's name, mixed in with swears.

The creature leaned in close, and licked the shell of Shaun's ear.
"Payback," it whispered into his ear and Shaun felt a knife burying itself between his ribs.

The Brit had never been scared in his life, but he woke screaming from that dream that had turned into a nightmare.
He felt semen running out from his asshole, down his legs.
Still on all fours, he dared to look down and felt relieved when he saw no wound. He saw his own dick covered in blood.
But even though there was no wound, he could swear he felt the pain of the knife.

Nothing happened during the nights of the next week, but Shaun could feel himself get weaker and weaker and he could still see Desmond everywhere, except that now he was naked, bloody and dick fully erect and covered in blood.
He also felt the sting of where the knife had slipped into him in his dream.

Two weeks later, he was in bed in his apartment, not having enough strength to do anything other than just lying there.
He'd been to several doctors, but no one had found anything wrong with him.

Two months later, the fire department broke into his flat, because his neighbours had complained about a foul smell.
The call had come from a man who called himself the Eagle.
What they found was what remained of the body of a thirty-something year old man, propped up against the headboard of the bed.
The eyes were gone, but the glasses still on; there was no blood left in his body – it had all soaked his mattress and bed-covers – and there was not one wound.
There was no note or clue or anything explaining what had happened.

But when the coroner later looked at the body, he found the words "I'm sorry Desmond" etched into the palm of his left hand.
The words hadn't been there earlier, they had shown up two days after he had been brought to the morgue.

~Le end