Settled In
A Word: Set in the same AU as Stare at the Camera. Because Connor and Des wanted to have a bigger role.
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"You alright?" Desmond asks when Connor eventually wanders out from the direction of wardrobe. The man's pulling on the collar of his shirt and looks more than vaguely uncomfortable. Knowing Connor it's either because of the steel-eyed woman in charge -Mary or Maria he thinks- or Ezio being himself again.
"I'm fine," Connor says immediately which means it was probably the woman. He's got no problems complaining about Ezio, but he likes to at least give new people the benefit of the doubt. "You ready to go home?"
"Yep," Desmond jumps off the post he was perched on and follows his roommate to the parking lot. A lot of the vehicles are already gone when he slides into the passenger seat. No one wanting to stay any later than they actually have to. His shoulders are a little warm and he rubs them through his shirt wondering if he's going to peel a bit because of today. He doesn't have another shoot for a while so it'll be fine if he does. "We still have some of that aloe lotion?"
"Yes," Connor looks over after backing out of their spot. His eyes flick over Desmond's face and he frowns. "Your face is red. I told you to put some sunblock on."
Desmond shrugs and touches his face. The skin over his nose and cheekbones feels a little tight. He thought he was tan enough to not have to worry about it. "Salai distracted me and I forgot," he grins out the window. "Did you see Leo's face? I swear he looked ready to actually strangle him today!"
"No, Leonardo'd sooner strangle himself," Connor disagrees and he's right of course. Leo would never do anything to harm Salai, or even upset him. Which is why the man can get away with being such a diva so much of the time. It makes for good entertainment on slow shoots, but it tends to get old and annoying when Desmond just wants to get something over with.
Thank fuck there were enough people to go through with the shoot anyway today. Even if Altair hadn't been able to stop eye-fucking the photographer the whole time, and Ezio had kept trying his damnest to get Connor to crack. The older man seems to have taken Connor's reticence as a challenge and fixated on his-
Well, it's not an aversion to touch. Desmond knows Connor and his reasons. He knows that touch is not a casual thing in his family, that it's something that only really happens with good friends and relatives. He was raised that way and Desmond's quite frankly touched beyond words that Connor thoughtlessly pushes him around or leaves a hand on his shoulder. Connor can push his dislike down for shoots when he needs to, but it doesn't mean he likes having strangers or people he barely knows all over him. Explaining that to Ezio though does no good, the man never seems to understand how anyone can see a friendly touch as a bad thing. So Desmond usually just sighs and tries to step in when he can.
"Chicken or fish?" Desmond asks as the beach gives way to the city all too fast.
"Fish," Connor decides after a moment of thinking. "I think we've had it too long."
"Eh," Desmond leans back in the seat and can't remember buying the fish fillets in the freezer so Connor's probably right. The man himself wouldn't ever buy frozen things. Too obsessed with fresh and organic foods to even think about doing more than looking at the freezer section with distrust and awful suspicion. It's hilarious watching him look through the freezer at home after Desmond's taken his turn to go grocery shopping. "Think we've got some rice, or maybe vegetables."
"Whatever's there," Connor says with a dismissive shrug. Meaning he can't quite recall what they're running low on either.
"Great, who's turn is it to go shopping?" Connor doesn't answer his question which means it's probably his. Awesome. Tomorrow's a Tuesday too which is when all the shelves get restocked. Which means all the mothers and deal seekers will be crowding the store closest to the apartment. Desmond sighs in resignation. "Make a list, I'll go in the morning."
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He'd met Connor on his first shoot. Something that had been thrown together hastily to meet a changed deadline. Desmond had only been brought in on it when one of the models flaked out, and Shaun had kicked his ass off the couch he'd been surfing on. Telling him to start earning his keep enough to get his own place again.
It'd been awkward for Desmond, but the directions were simple and Desmond had just done what he was told. Smiling and laughing like he did when he was working the bar for tips. Connor had been closest to him in the group shots and had been friendly enough. Willing to tell Desmond what he was doing right or wrong in between the small talk that had gotten deep in a matter of minutes. Desmond doesn't remember the other people who'd worked that shoot, he probably never saw them again.
"I need a roommate," Connor had said when it ended. Straightforward and it was as much practicality as niceness that shaped his offer. Though Desmond wouldn't figure that out until he got to know the man better. "You interested?"
"Seriously?" Desmond asked because he'd been looking for weeks for a place that wasn't already packed with four other guys, or would leave him fearing for the safety of his internal organs. Connor had a decent sized place on the outskirts of the city that sounded almost too good to be true.
"Yes," Connor had given him an exasperated look as they wandered away from where two of the other models had started arguing with each other. "I'd rather rent to someone I've talked with than take an ad out in the paper. You get a lot of strange calls when you do that."
"No kidding," Desmond had shrugged and gone for it. It wasn't any better or worse than what he'd been doing before. "Sure, why not. Give me your address and I'll meet you there?"
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Desmond wonders sometimes why he even keeps putting his headshots out there. The work kind of sucks, and he kind of hates most of the people he works with. There's a few who he can stand, but the overwhelming majority of people he meets can go hang for all he cares about them.
The money is good when he can get a steady string of jobs going, but the same can be said of bartending. Sure, opening bottles is more work and trying to translate drunken slurring, but at least at a bar he's got a counter separating him from his patrons. A wide and physical barrier that discourages most of them from trying to grope his ass.
"Yeah, sure," Desmond conveniently drops the card he's been handed into a nearby trash can as the client continues to stare hungrily between him and Claudia Auditore. His hand grips Desmond's ass tighter and if he goes any lower into Claudia's shirt with the other Desmond's going to be helping the woman bury his body later in the night.
Desmond reaches back and knocks the hand off his ass. Spinning a little to get an arm around Claudia's stiffening body before she can lash out and force him to think up alibis for them both. His smile is perfected from long hours working at bars and reveals nothing as he pulls her away. Desmond lies through his teeth as she grabs onto him in turn and yanks him toward the door, "We'll call you."
Claudia mutters something that's probably highly insulting in Italian under her breath as she leads them quickly away from the man who's proclaiming his shirts as being the next thing to make it. Make what, Desmond hadn't been interested in learning as the man had directed the two of them into a progressively more and more sexual shoot. The photographer, a college student from the looks of it, had even been getting uncomfortable by the end of it as the man all but panted his instructions.
"Fuck, I'm going to need a shower," Desmond says when they get out of the run-down building the studio is in. The streets are bright and make him relax for the first time since he was told to grab Claudia's tits. "Another thing we never tell your brothers about, I assume?"
Desmond's only ever met Ezio, but he's worked with Claudia enough to have heard all about both of her older and almost psychotically protective brothers. She's sworn him to secrecy enough times for him to worry about either Ezio or Federico finding out and coming to take his head one of these days.
"Please, that bastard would deserve everything they would do to him," Claudia aggressively rearranges her shirt and slows her walk down as they head to her car down the street. The parking is shitty and they'd been lucky to find that spot. Thank fuck they'd decided to drive together. He wouldn't have trusted his bike on this block. "Not that I couldn't have taken care of it myself if he went further."
Desmond believes her. She had once broken the nose of a man who just refused to take no for an answer. An incident that had never resulted in anything more than a scolding from her father when he paid the man off he thinks.
Desmond slides down onto the leather -real, he'd asked once and gotten a scornful look, "It wouldn't be worth it if it were not real."- seat and holds on tight as Claudia tears out of there. Speed limits a thing that happens to other people, and Desmond thinks that might be a family trait because he got a ride from Ezio once that had made his life flash before his eyes.
"How's your virtue?" Claudia asks after a harrowing corner turn with only one hand. The other busy lighting up a cigarette before she cracks a window down. "I was afraid he was going to fuck you right through your jeans for a while there."
"With his hand?" Desmond laughs when she gives him a smirk. He shifts and can still feel the individual fingers of the hand that had thoroughly mapped him out back there. "Ok, yeah, his hand almost got to third base there for a minute."
"I won't tell Connor," Claudia laughs brightly at his scowl and throws Desmond into the door on the next corner. "You'll still be able to wear white for your wedding."
"Shut up," Desmond pulls himself back up in the seat and fixes his eyes firmly inside the car as they careen onto the highway. It's better for his health if he doesn't pay any attention to the way people seem to lose their minds when Claudia gets in the left lane and stays there. "We're not getting married."
"Not if you don't do something about all that pining you won't," Claudia flicks the butt of her cigarette out the window and cranks it closed. His ears pop from the change in pressure and sudden cessation of screaming wind. She almost growls as a truck swerves in front of her, forcing her to slow down. "I swear the two of you have skipped all the fun parts of being married and gone straight for the steady and boring parts."
"Connor's not looking for a relationship," of any kind. Desmond knows, he lives with the man and has watched him shoot down all comers left and right in his own special way. A mix of obliviousness and innocence that neatly masks the fact that he's intentionally turning people down. It's surprisingly effective. Desmond's seen people who wouldn't take no from anyone else wander away without fight from Connor and warn off anyone else from trying. Protectively. It's funny as hell to watch, especially when Connor feels like having fun and exploiting it. "I don't think he does them at all."
He's never seen any evidence of Connor dating at least, and even Aveline, one of his oldest friends, had just shrugged when Desmond had asked. Claiming she had never seen him so much as give anyone a second look the entire time she's known him.
Which is a shame, because they could have so much fun. Desmond isn't blind or dead. Everyone he meets in this business is blindingly attractive, but Connor's also a good man on top of it. Not full of his own looks or fame, and an interesting person once you get to know him and stop looking at his face for clues as to what he's thinking. The man has the best poker face Desmond's ever encountered.
"You keep telling yourself that," Claudia says and jerks the car over into the right lane before gunning it hard enough to shoot past the truck. She cuts it off with a vicious satisfaction that fades as the truck disappears in their rearview mirror. "I expect an extravagant Las Vegas wedding invite though. No boring courthouse ceremony or I'll plan the whole thing for you. Understand?"
"Sure," Desmond winces as Claudia cuts through four lanes and doesn't break much on the off ramp. "Fuck! Don't kill me and I'll let you be maid of honor."
"Please," Claudia snorts as she turns into the parking lot of the strip mall they'd met at earlier. Stopping neatly next to his bike which is in full sight of at least five different and very busy stores. "You'll be giving that position to Shaun or he'll bitch for a year straight. Just don't skimp on the drinks and I'll call it even."
Desmond jumps out and shakes his head as she peels off. He thinks about going into the bar and grill for lunch and a stiff drink, but the thought of being in a crowded place doesn't really appeal to him as much as going home does. Desmond groans and puts on the helmet he'd stored in Claudia's car, because when he thinks about going home it's not his comfortable couch and the chilled beers in the fridge he thinks about. It's Connor's little smirking smile as he listens to Desmond complain about Claudia's driving that comes to mind.
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So, Desmond might be a little bit in love with his roommate. Just a tiny, hopeless little bit. Or a lot, depending on who you ask. Claudia and Shaun both being of the opinion that the latter is more true than Desmond does.
It's not that big of a deal. Desmond's used to awkward crushes on friends. Witness the first year of his friendship with Shaun which had also been the first year the man had met his soulmate in evilness, Rebecca. That had been a kind of sucky time for him all over, but he'd gotten through it well enough to keep both Shaun and Rebecca as two of his closest friends who are kind enough not to bring that time period up more than twice a month.
So, he's no stranger to it. He can handle it and himself just fine.
Connor's on the couch when he gets home with a bag of chips and no salsa in sight. Desmond dumps his jacket and helmet on the way to kitchen. He can hear familiar shouts of excitement from the TV as something explodes. Probably not when it was supposed to in the hunt to find some truth to a myth that shouldn't involve explosives, but does because explosives are awesome. Desmond grabs two beers along with the salsa and heads back out to the living room.
"Thanks," Connor takes the beer and only eyes the jar he sets on the end table a little. Desmond hasn't quite figured what he finds objectionable about it but has narrowed it down to either the peppers or the very racist depiction of a man in a sombrero on the label. "How'd it go?"
He shares the chips at least, because food is a communal property in their apartment. They take turns buying it all out of a joint account that they put money in, and fuck if Claudia isn't right. They are married. "Alright. Claudia almost killed someone."
"Intentionally?" Connor asks because that's something that needs to be clarified when speaking of Claudia's tendency to homicide as both a voluntary and involuntary reaction. He's curious enough to tear his eyes away from the screen, and Desmond can see a few small braids have been plaited into his hair. Aveline most likely, because Connor's interest in his hair does not extend past tying it back from his face most days.
"Yeah, dude got a little handsy," Desmond grimaces and puts the name on his mental 'do not' list. It's a long list that he has to type out every few weeks or risk accepting gigs from people he wants nothing to do with. Rebecca made him a spreadsheet that helps a lot.
Connor grimaces in understanding. Claudia threatens death to people who touch her, Desmond is good at just slipping away from grabby hands most of the time, but Connor has his own ways of dealing with strangers who get inappropriate with him. He'll suffer uncomfortably with people he kind of knows, but complete strangers get an entirely different treatment. A cold stare that's hard enough to make most smart people wish they were dead. "You'll put the name on the list, right?"
"Sure," because if Desmond didn't like dealing with the people then Connor definitely wouldn't either. The man made more entries into the spreadsheet than Desmond actually. "After this episode."
Or later because Desmond relaxes back on the couch and feels all of his tension leave him as the explosions get larger and Connor actually laughs at a few of the myths. Desmond's heart beats faster each time it happens and he has to remind himself that it's just not going to happen. That he should really look into getting over it sometime soon.
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This has to be one of the funnest shoots Desmond's done yet in his career. He'd been given a bucket of paint at the door and pretty much been told to go wild with it. Which is something that can never not be a good thing as far as Desmond is now concerned.
It also, very quickly, turns into one of the most excruciating shoots because it's just him and Connor on the paint spattered sheets making up the white background. Both of them shirtless and wearing jeans so worn and old they cling in all the right ways. Desmond's been working hard on keeping his smile up and his eyes from fixating. Connor's not helping though. He's relaxed enough by the setting and some familiarity with the photographer that it hadn't been long before Desmond gets a glob of paint right to his stomach.
Desmond yelps from the cold sensation as much as the surprise of Connor's hand resting low on his bare stomach. Connor laughs and Desmond plants a hand on his chest to push him back. The blue paint leaves a perfect outline of his hand over Connor's sternum. "Oh, it's so on now."
They can't exactly have an out and out paint war. There's too many expensive lights and cameras around for that, but Desmond smears his hand down his face. Connor grimaces at the cold paint running down his nose, and the photographers keep snapping pictures as he gets a wet hand on Desmond's lower back that starts to seep under the band of his jeans. The paint drips unevenly as Connor's nose wrinkles in distaste. "It smells."
"It's paint," Desmond gets another hand-print on the side of Connor's neck before the man flinches back. Jerking Desmond with him because he hasn't let go with the hand on his back. Desmond turns to face the photographer and his assistant who are quietly discussing something even as they both keep working. Desmond grins at them and doesn't jump when Connor's other hand presses deliberately against his side. Leaving bright purple hand-prints going up his bare chest. "Of course it's going to smell."
Connor swipes his hand under Desmond's nose with the leftover paint and smirks when he jerks back from it. The smell of the paint is strong and Desmond immediately regrets leaving the stripe on Connor's nose now.
"Alright, can you stand closer?" The man in charge asks. Gentle and absolutely not pushing what Desmond knows he actually wants from the few things he's overheard. June's coming up and they're angling more for the homoerotic with this shoot, as much as they can while leaving them both in their jeans. They're being very respectful about it though, more so than Desmond's used to form a shoot. Desmond finds it a refreshing change of pace. It's probably the main difference between companies and actual artists.
"Sure," Connor can read them just as easily as Desmond and pulls Desmond in close. Stretching Desmond's left arm up straight up over his left shoulder to show off the hand prints on his side, and keeping his fingers firmly around the wrist as he puts their foreheads together. It's a possessive stance and Desmond relaxes into it, tipping his head back. Letting his eyes slip closed enough to show well in the photo.
"Perfect!" Connor's breath washes over his face as the photographers move around them. Getting each angle covered, and Desmond has to work to keep his face relaxed as his traitorous mind chooses that time to point out how very close they're standing. How very warm and nice Connor's body is when he shifts even closer until there's no space between them anymore.
A job, that's all this is. Desmond has to work hard to keep reminding himself of this as they're directed into other positions. All equally close and more than just a little suggestive. The paint on Desmond's skin dries and turns tacky. Catching on Connor's skin with each shift, and it's taking all Desmond has to not show how very much he really likes that.
The cameras capture it all with exacting detail, and Desmond is kinda curious now to see how they'll come out. "Great! Do you feel up to giving us a kiss to end on?"
The question is hopeful but not pushy, and he knows that they won't press it they say no. Desmond feels his stomach clench but before he can offer up one of his usual brush offs Connor speaks up for them both, "Sure."
Shock feels as cold as the paint and silences the words Desmond would have said as Connor volunteers them for something Desmond once saw the man almost get into a fist fight over on another shoot.
Crap. Someone hates Desmond very, very much.
He keeps up a half smile and turns his head around enough to bump noses with Connor. Connor's fingers come up to cup his face and angle his head even further. Beyond what Desmond was expecting and surprise keeps him from pulling back to question what he's doing. Desmond doesn't even hear the near silent clicking of the cameras. Not when Connor's lips move against his in an actual kiss, and not just the impersonal press of lips that's usually good enough to fool the camera that he's used to. It's firm and warm, exactly like how he'd always thought a kiss from Connor would be. It leaves him stupid when Connor eventually pulls back and turns to their client. "That good enough?"
"Yes, thanks," the man says and he's clicking through the images on the camera as his assistant moves away to a laptop set up nearby. They're both waved off the cloth with a negligent motion that brings Desmond's sputtering mind back to reality fast.
"Awesome," Desmond feels flushed and hopes there's enough paint on his cheeks to hide it when he turns away to the sink he'd seen when they came in earlier. His gut sinking hard as he's reminded that this is just another job for them. That the kiss really didn't mean much aside from the fact that Connor feels like Desmond is a good enough friend to allow it.
Desmond focuses on the water running over his hands and not the sound of Connor asking some questions behind him. He's got maybe a few minutes to gather himself back up before Connor comes over to wash off as well.
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So, he's a bit more than a tiny bit in love with Connor. Just a small, almost unnoticeable smidgen more than he was willing to admit before.
"I think you're cursed," Rebecca says with as much sympathy as her blackened heart can dredge up. She makes up for the lack of sympathy and heart with a generous pour of vodka into his nearly empty glass. Shaun shows his concern by nudging the ice bucket half an inch closer to them before the stretch becomes too much for him to bother with.
"You need to man up, Miles," Shaun offers as he eyes the level of liquid in his bottle. It's some dark and bitter stuff that Desmond still isn't sure where the man gets it. "Just stop moaning about how perfect his hair is, and how much you want to have his babies. Tell him how you feel and get over this snit."
"Fuck you, no!" Desmond takes a long drink and the vodka isn't even burning anymore. He's going to end up passed out on Shaun's couch now. An iffy prospect that can be bearable or hell depending on the drunkness of everyone in the apartment. Desmond's either going to have to get drunk enough not to wake up until morning, or get Rebecca and Shaun drunk enough not to have loud sex in the next room. "I'm not saying shit and making it all awkward. It'll pass."
"If it was going to pass I wouldn't know what Connor looks like working out with his new red shorts," Shaun says and irritation practically drips off his voice. Which is fair, because the little break down Desmond had when Connor bought himself a pair of brain-meltingly short workout shorts last month was not something that anyone's dignity had survived. "Look, Desmond, you know how this goes. You need to pull your big boy pants on and tell the man how you feel, because this isn't just going to go away. Not now that you're writing purple, soft-core porn in your head over one kiss."
"Look, if you're lucky, you'll get lucky and stop obsessing so much," vodka splashes into his glass again and Rebecca kindly flicks a few ice cubes into it after it's too late to do as much good. "If you're not lucky, well, you'll know it's not going to happen and you won't spend so much time burning braincells out over it."
They've hit their twice a month quota on bringing Desmond's embarrassing crush on Shaun up and he's thankful for that. He doesn't think he could handle a rehash of it right now.
"Have I ever told you how very helpful you both are to me?" Desmond drains the glass and loads it up with fresh ice before taking the bottle from Rebecca and filling it to the brim. Two or three more and even Rebecca's loudest shrieks won't phase him.
"No, not that I can recall," Shaun says and eyes his glass with a smirk that Desmond knows not to trust.
"Yeah, there's a reason for that," Desmond hunches over his glass and Rebecca laughs.
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Modeling for book covers doesn't pay as much as most other jobs, but the work is more reliable. Desmond tries to relax as he's directed into position for another shoot with Ezio for some romance series he's very carefully not tried Googling. It's a pretty reliable paycheck so he doesn't usually mind it too much. Usually, but usually Ezio isn't doing his best to try and piss Desmond off.
Ezio's fingers are calloused and might feel nice against Desmond's stomach if he didn't keep tensing them between shots. A silent threat to find out once and for all if Desmond is as ticklish as he denies being. He smiles arrogantly at the camera as Desmond pretends to be mesmerized by him and not holding back the reflexive urge to punch him.
"You're too tense," Ezio says when they stop to adjust the lighting. He sits up enough to give Desmond some space to actually breathe and arches an eyebrow at him expectantly. "What happened, did you break up with Connor?"
"No! We're not dating!" Desmond rolls off the cloth draped table. Keeping one hand on the sheet tied around his waist to make sure it doesn't slip. He's got briefs on under it, but it took almost an hour to knot the thing up to the satisfaction of everyone present and he doesn't want to go through that again. Some of the configurations they'd gone through had almost left him castrated. "Why do you and your sister say that shit?"
"Because we have eyes," Ezio says with a grin as he stretches out. His loose pants slip down a little more, but he's unconcerned with petty things like modesty. Most models are that way, but Ezio takes it to a whole new level. "Also because the last time I saw Connor he tried to push me off a dock in the middle of a shoot."
"That's because you're an asshole who can't keep his hands to himself," Desmond wonders when Connor did a shoot with Ezio. Usually Desmond is the first to hear about it at the end of the day, but Connor hasn't done his usual bitching lately. "If you keep pushing his buttons he's going to try breaking your nose next."
"He's already tried," Ezio says carelessly and waves the words away when Desmond turns back to gape at him. "Malik was not pleased by the attempt in the least and we both almost ended up swimming with the trash at the end of it. You know how he gets when he has to smooth over jealousies."
"What?" Desmond frowns at Ezio and flinches as there's an ominous crash. One of the lights topples over in the shift of equipment, and the photographer curses loudly as she shakes shattered glass off her foot. "You alright?"
"Fine, fine," she looks at the light critically for a bit before sighing. "Take a break. It's going to take me a bit to find a replacement."
"What are you talking about?" Desmond shuffles away from the mess of glass and glares at Ezio who has decided to take Desmond's position on the table up. He lounges like the camera is still there, and is one of the few people he's met who seems to be made for this job. "Jealous about what?"
"You really are an idiot," Ezio says and gestures grandly around them at the studio. "Of this. Of the fact that I get to touch you the way he wants to," Desmond opens his mouth to protest and Ezio lashes out. A half-hearted smack that barely clips him. "Yes, he does, and your denial was amusing at first, but I'm tired of watching the two of you dance around this. The integrity of my face is at stake over your love life now."
The photographer comes back with the correct light and Desmond has plenty of time to chew over Ezio's words as they follow her directions again.
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Damn Ezio.
Desmond wasn't even going to give serious thought to anything Ezio said until he gets home and Connor doesn't ask about the shoot. An odd thing becuase talking about work is sort of like their version of talking about the weather. Something they do without fail after each gig. Except for this one particular job now that he's thinking about it. It's a small, almost unnoticeable difference but it's always the small differences that he has to pay attention to with Connor.
"Hey," Desmond boosts himself up onto the counter in the kitchen and watches Connor at the sink for a bit. Dinner's in the oven and is starting to smell really awesome, and Connor's working on a surprising amount of dishes now. Getting them clean while the food is still soft, unlike Desmond who tends to save cleaning up until after they've eaten and it's all dried out.
"Enchiladas," Connor offers up before he can ask, and he's working on a pan with more focus than the task really needs. Pointedly, now that it's been shoved into Desmond's face, not asking anything questions of his own.
"Did you really try to punch Ezio?" Desmond blurts out because there's no easing into this conversation, and Desmond doesn't want to spend the rest of the night trying to think of a better way to bring it up.
"No," Connor denies, his shoulders tensing. "I didn't just try."
"You actually did?" Desmond asks in surprise. It can't have been a very bad punch though because they're both still alive, and Malik would have murdered them both if Ezio had visibly bruised before he was done shooting them.
"Did he not mention that?" Connor manages to sound both annoyed and smug as he rinses the pan off and slots it into the plastic milk crate they use to air dry the dishes. He turns then to face Desmond and crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head back in a way that looks arrogant.
"Connor," Desmond starts then stops as he looks the man over critically. Not really believing that Ezio was actually right, but that's the danger with Connor isn't it? People tend to think only the best of him and put him up on a ridiculous pedestal. Forgetting that he's just a man as susceptible to emotion as anyone else. "Are you jealous?"
Connor's face stiffens but he doesn't deny it or look away. He squares his jaw and looks back at him as if Desmond is the one who's been acting ridiculous. And maybe he's right. Maybe Desmond is being a little stupid, he feels like it.
"Of Ezio?" Desmond wants to laugh because there's no way this is happening. "Why?"
Connor shifts uncomfortably, that weird look he gets every time he has to work with Ezio coming up and Desmond can read it clearly now. There is jealousy mixed in with the discomfort that makes it very clear how much he doesn't like Ezio, and that it might not be just because of how very physical the man can be. At least not over Connor.
"You know," Desmond says through a throat that's suddenly dry, "most people would try asking someone out before going all jealous over them."
"Yes, let me make you dinner and then show you a movie," Connor snorts and that's fair enough. It sounds like their plans for most nights. "Do you realize how hard it is to ask you out when we're all but married?"
"Well, in that case," Desmond slides off the counter and walks up to Connor. Feeling light and happy because Connor doesn't flinch back from him. His arms loosen and drop allowing Desmond to get real close. "Guess we don't have to wait for the third date to do any of the fun stuff."
Connor's lips quirk and then Desmond finds himself spun around and pinned to the counter. Kissing Connor is every bit as good as he remembers it being. Better, because now he knows this isn't just some pose for a job. A lie for the picture.
The edge of the counter digs into the small of his back as Connor crowds him up against it. His hands coming up to cup Desmond's jaw and angle his head just enough to slot them together, and Desmond promptly loses his breath as Connor drops his hands and lifts him up to sit on the counter.
Desmond buries one hand in Connor's long hair and opens his mouth, coaxing Connor to follow suit enough to suck his tongue in. Connor groans at that and drags Desmond to the very edge, pressing in close enough that his dick is starting to get interested in each shift of their bodies. Until Connor pulls away sharply and resists being pulled back in.
"What?" Desmond asks before the sound of the timer going off registers in his brain. "We can reheat it," Desmond protests not wanting to let go at all.
"Not if it's burnt," Connor says with a laugh and moves once Desmond lets go. Grabbing a potholder before pulling out the tray from the oven. It clatters onto the stove top and Desmond barely has the time to see the bubbling cheese and sauce before Connor's back between his legs. Hands curving around his back as he pulls him close. "Now we can reheat it later."
"But it won't taste as good," Desmond says with a grin just to see that tiny flash of irritation go through Connor's eyes. He winds his arms around Connor before the man can pull back though. "It won't, but I really don't mind."
Neither does Connor because he doesn't waste his breath answering him. Instead focusing on melting Desmond's mind out through his ears with a hungry kiss. Desmond arches up against him. Feeling his jeans grow uncomfortably tight with each second of grinding friction between them. Connor's hard against the inside of his thigh, obvious even through both layers of their clothing.
"Wait, let me," Desmond's words slur against the skin of Connor's chin and jaw as he shifts back enough to get some space between them. Just enough to fumble with the buttons on their jeans. An awkward fumble made worse when Connor takes the opportunity to map out Desmond's neck. With his tongue and his teeth. "Jesus, fuck!"
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[Obvious cut for site ratings. See profile for link to unedited fic with the sex scene intact.].
Connor lets them go and slowly straightens up. His hair is a mess from sweat and Desmond's fingers, his lips a little swollen, and it's one of the best looks Desmond's seen on the other man ever. Which is saying something because he's seen Connor in nothing more than a Tarzan thong and oil.
Desmond laughs helplessly at the thought, and Connor grins at him. Not insulted in the least. He probably already knows what Desmond's thinking, because Connor's pretty good at predicting him. Most of the time.
"So, we've got to talk, because I've been thinking about this for over a year now," Desmond says. Three years actually, but it's only been the last year that his healthy appreciation of Connor's body has turned into something more.
"Yeah?" Connor's fingers dig into his legs as he eases him down. Straightening up with a faint smirk. "Can we do that after we eat though? I'm kind of hungry."
"Sure, dear," Desmond leans over and rips off a paper towel to start mopping up the mess on him. His shirt got most of it and Desmond shrugs it off. Throwing it out into the living room. A remark about a movie date dying on his tongue. He can joke about this all night, and Connor will joke right back. It's what they normally do, but Desmond is pretty hungry too and the enchiladas smell fantastic.
There's going to be enough time to talk and joke about this later now.
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