Pillow Talk

[madimpossibledreamer]

usually I try not to make specific kinds of jokes about things like word count numbers but in this case given what’s implied I think it’s pretty appropriate, actually
happy Echoes anniversary!
This is just a nebulous fluff thing that wouldn't leave me alone the week before until I wrote it, and then when I was done I stared at it and went 'uh, this actually works really well as a 'special' because it doesn't really spoil anything and probably doesn't 100% fit in with the story anyway'.  So it may someday be somewhat AU whenever I get to that part, but isn't as much as, say, A Tad Too Inviting.  Also I'll note I'm sick, keep writing chapters out of order that I'm probably going to have to heavily revise whenever I actually get there, and have been watching The Bourne Identity a lot all because of a) being sick and b) a one-off joke that's going to happen in the next interlude-esque volume?  That being said I actually kinda like this a lot and hope you do too, thanks for sticking with this story!

Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: In a quiet moment, Shaun and Desmond get to talk.
Word Count: 690
Rating: Teen
Warnings: ish.  Definitely teen, nothing on-screen, but implied offscreen sex.

 

         “You really like playing with my hair, don’t you?” Shaun’s soft and careful, like he might break the moment.
         Desmond pauses, then laughs. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just longer than mine. Not by a lot, but. And I kinda like messing up your gel.” Making a mess of the man to watch him make faces and having to put himself back together again.
         And then Shaun presses onward. Just as soft, just as careful, and—ah, yeah, this is one of his ‘you grew up in a cult didn’t you’ conversations. For all his sharp words normally, he’s a lot more gentle—slow and sure, too, and unwilling to back down, but—willing to yield, too, maybe. Just to circle back around to it later, but in a way that makes him think, not directly challenging. “You could grow your own hair out, you know.”
         Desmond cuts off his instinctual reaction and actually lets himself think about it. It’d actually be kinda fun, but he’d basically have to learn to fight all over again. He could go the Ezio route with it, maybe, but… “It wouldn’t be practical. And I look good with short hair.”
         The sharp look isn’t quite as sharp nor effective when it’s not behind Shaun’s glasses, but the man tries anyway. Probably thinking that Desmond’s deflecting, rather than actually answering the question. “Do you need it to be practical? Or is that just you repeating something your father’s said?”
         ...Both? “It’s a lot easier fighting when it’s not getting in the way.”
         Shaun decides that a kiss is gonna to help him pay more attention. Which is pretty strange logic even for him, but whatever, Desmond’s not gonna complain. Not about that, anyway. “You don’t have to fight.”
         “Knowing that actually helps a lot. You’ve been saying something along those lines since we sparred, and it helps.” He tries to collect his thoughts and gets a little distracted rubbing circles on Shaun’s bare shoulder, not that he seems to mind. “I like doing things I’m good at, and I’m good at fighting. But it’s my choice, now. Nobody’s ordering me around anymore, so it’s my call when and where I step in. What?”
         Shaun’s trying not to meet his eyes, which means he’s probably embarrassed, and Desmond wants in. “My brain is going off on a ‘workers seizing the means of production’ tangent and I’m finding it slightly mortifying,” he finally admits.
         It’s not like Desmond completely gets the reference, but he laughs anyway. “That’s, uh, Marxism, right?” Shaun looks a little shocked, so he adds, “The businessmen at the bar would complain sometimes. I picked up a little.”
         Shaun just puts a hand on Desmond’s face, slightly intense. Desmond shivers. “It is...incredible what you’ve managed to pick up, just like that.”
         Desmond tries to protest that it’s not that much but is very purposefully distracted with a kiss. It’s pretty effective, because once Shaun pulls away it actually makes him think. He’d never thought of what he does as being anything special—hell, other Shaun implied it wasn’t real work. “I think the amount of stuff you know is pretty special too, actually.”
         Shaun sighs, burying his head in Desmond’s collarbone so they don’t have the chance to meet each other’s gaze, muffling his words. “As much as I’d love to accept that compliment and crow about what I do, anyone can memorize facts.”
         “Not everyone can make connections like you do, though,” Desmond responds with absolutely no hesitation, running his fingers through Shaun’s hair again. “So, go on. How is this Marxist exactly?”
         “Well, it’s not about going into a different line of work, obviously, and I cannot dispute that you are, indeed, good at what you do. But you’re choosing to become your own master, rather than be subservient to another, and thus…” Shaun trails off and shrugs, but he’s at least not hiding anymore.
         “That...makes sense, actually, but most of your ‘tangents’ do, really.” Shaun still looks a little flustered at the compliment, but he might actually be starting to believe it. Both of them, really, which is honestly what they both need.