PSL: accommodated

[not_kenway]

For a week, Connor didn't get a lot of quality time with Desmond.

Desmond had work and Connor had medical appointments and when he was home, he tended to crash out under a mix of relieving stress, modern pain medication and the energy taken to heal wounds like he was recovering from.

He wasn't sleeping well, either. His nightmares were worse than ever and his sleep paralysis was still completely broken, meaning he thrashed, rolled and sometimes struck out in his sleep. Which was also the reason he didn't wear his bracers to bed, unwilling to risk Desmond's safety, should he mistakenly think Haytham was the weight on top of him.

But when he had his last medical check and bout of whatever strange healing technology this place used, he decided to surprise Desmond at work.

He arrived near the end of his shift, dressed in the jeans that Desmond had always liked on him and the loose white shirt that was technically only his on Wednesdays (but since he was wearing it for Desmond, he felt it counted). His bear claw necklace was visible, the second leather thong with the Creator coin hung low enough to remain nearly completely out of sight. The hidden blades looked like decorative, leather cuffs and he exuded quiet, competent danger as he moved through the crowd and up to the bar, waiting to see how long it took Desmond to see him.

Comments

[accommodated]

The thrashing doesn't bother Desmond. The intensity, yes, and he's been trying to puzzle out how to best help Connor through it. It just never bothered him personally. He'd rather take his chances to be there and soothe Connor down when Connor needed it the most, rather than sleep somewhere else. Not that he wasn't extremely grateful for Connor not wearing his bracers to bed (something else Desmond wouldn't have blamed him for doing, either, really). Sure, he's perfectly capable of defending himself, it just doesn't change the simple fact that Connor's got more practical experience than he does. It'd be foolhardy not to take precautions. Being there made the lack of sleep worth it, too.

And the thing is, Desmond logically knows that the other is having his last treatment. Hell, he wanted to celebrate it, even. Take Connor somewhere nice, maybe. Do something for him, considering how exhausted Connor's been. Healing is a process. Both literally and figuratively. So this? This was absolutely a surprise.

One that has Desmond doing a bit of a double-take. Sure, as soon as Connor was within his peripheral (a wariness Desmond will never be able to turn off) he'd known he was there. It's not like it was exactly uncommon for Connor to occasionally turn up. That isn't the same as actually seeing someone, though. The quiet danger? The way Connor moves, turning a few other heads as well? Desmond just about drops the til he'd been switching out for the beginning of the 2:00AM shift, mouth parting slightly. It's a surprise all right. A very good one.

Somewhere behind him, he hears his coworker chuckling, and someone taking the til from his slack hands. "Go get him, Romeo." James has called him that long before Desmond ever met Connor, but it still gets James elbowed.

"Hey-- uh. You're here," Desmond says, leaning against the bar top as casually as possible. "Unexpectedly. And looking really good."

Smooth, Desmond finds himself thinking sarcastically. Too late to take it back. Besides, it's not like he doesn't understand that Connor didn't have to dress so nicely if he didn't want to.

[not_kenway]

The fortunate thing for Desmond is that he doesn't have to pick Connor up, so his failure at casual and smooth is just charming in the face of already knowing Desmond and being there to collect him.

"Romeo was not romantic," Connor murmurs as Desmond leans in. "Nor much of a seducer." He leans his elbows on the bar, with a freer range of movement than he's had in a while. "Mercutio is by far more passionate and devoted than either of the eponymous leads. You are near the end of your shift?"

[accommodated]

Little by little, he's watched Connor improve, gain more and more mobility back. The fact that there isn't even the slightest hint that something might be hurting doesn't go unnoticed. Understanding --and honest happiness-- right there where Connor would know were to look for it. They don't always have to speak in words. That's something Desmond has always deeply enjoyed.

"Why am I not surprised you've read Shakespeare?" Desmond asks with a quiet laugh, unconsciously leaning in a little closer just to hear Connor over the noise. Technically, he had some things he should do before he clocks out. It'd mean waiting, though. Waiting has its own appeal, just not right at that moment. Maybe it wasn't what Connor had intended, but Desmond's the one that feels less like he's being collected, and more like the one being picked up, as it were.

Technically, James also still owed him for covering a few times. Which makes his next decision a no-brainer.

"I'm done, actually," Desmond says, absolutely ignoring the amused look James shoots them as he moves out from behind the bar-- he usually walks to work, and it's been good enough weather he hadn't needed anything more than what he had in his pockets. Connor doesn't have to believe him, of course. Especially considering he hasn't collected his tips. That he can do tomorrow. "But don't expect me to go calling your Mercutio."

[not_kenway]

It's not perfect. Arguably, Connor will never be without a mild ache in that spot again, or not for a long time. But it's so low as to be forgettable, and so his movements are smooth and easy and casual.

Deliberately so, in fact. He shifts his weight as he leans forward, the claws swinging away from his skin and his head tilting slightly. "Done?" He moves as Desmond does to keep watching him, to lean back on his elbows as Desmond comes around his side of the bar. "No cleaning? No money to collect?" With his height and the bar's height, it puts his body on display in an inviting curve that is perfectly respectable and loud invitation at once.

[accommodated]

You horrible, goddamn tease sits right at the tip of Desmond's tongue, and it takes way too much to bite down on it. Before, he could sneak side-long and casual glances. Which would be fine. It would be absolutely peachy. There's just one problem.

Desmond has a terrible weakness for this. For the moments when Connor all but weaponizes that confidence of his, when he doesn't just turn the tables on Desmond, doing exactly what Desmond's pulled more than a few times, no-- he straight up flips it, and Desmond swears his knees partially liquified for a second. It makes his heart race, standing there like a complete idiot. Especially consider Connor damn well knows it, too. Knows Desmond is absolutely going to look, professionality taking a sharp dive right out a proverbial window. From the purposeful sway of Connor's body, the elegant way that necklace frames the man's neck, and to the way every line of him is far too inviting, drawing Desmond in. Then again, Desmond dares anyone remotely attracted to men to not openly eyeball Connor right then. He's probably not the only one.

The look he gives Connor is somewhere between well played and I'm debating murdering you for this once that little realization settles in. Other people were absolutely looking, and it wasn't for them, it was for Desmond.

Oh, well. He's already committed. "Nope, all done. I'll worry about tips later, it's fine. We can go."

[not_kenway]

There are things Connor is not confident with and there are things he is and his body, healed up and limber, is something he knows, he's confident with, with how it moves and looks and what it does to Desmond.

Especially what it does to Desmond. He knows that. He can enjoy it, revel in it. And he can enjoy the confidence that no one else can touch him, that he not only can stop them but is permitted to do so by society.

There's eyes on him and he can feel them, catalogues where and what sort and dismisses each and every one as not a threat and not of interest. All of them except those warm, whiskey eyes in front of him. "I was going to stay for a drink if you were not finished. But if you are..." He straightens slowly. "Then I will walk you home."

[accommodated]

A part of him is glad for even the complete and utter flub he's made of this, because there was no way he was going to last through the rest of the shift. It'd be twenty-minutes of agony, and not even then. He knows himself. He is so not above the cliche stock room blowjob probably not even five minutes in of watching Connor nurse a drink (and boy, the places Desmond mind goes immediately do not help him right now).

"Home sounds good." Desmond at least tries to keep his cool. Well, some of it, anyways. He's not jealous of the eyes on Connor. They don't matter. It gives him an idea, though.

He takes Connor's hand. Very deliberate about it. A clear signal that this very attractive man was his to take home, and everyone else can eat their hearts out. It's a little selfish, maybe, and he knows it, and he doesn't really care. He takes Connor's hand, making a beeline right for the doors, and finds that he's more than okay with disappointing some people. "When we get home..." Desmond mutters under his breath. He doesn't even finish it, he doesn't even know how he wants to finish it.

[not_kenway]

And the promise is... Connor would have made it hell for Desmond, just for the amusement and the promise of heat in Desmond's eyes and face. He would've flirted without outright flirting. He would've invited Desmond with looks and positioned his body for optimal watching.

Instead, he tilts his head, allows Desmond to have his hand, even though he's not really one for public displays, for being touched where others see, but he lets Desmond lead him out, chuckling to himself as the strop of lust and mild frustration Desmond's already got himself into.

"When we get home? What is it that you intend when we get home, Desmond?" Connor lengthens his stride to fall alongside Desmond.

[accommodated]

"I have no idea, I haven't hammered out the details, except I'm not letting you out of bed for a good while."

There, there it is. He doesn't say it loudly, waits when there aren't as many people, because this is been building for longer than Desmond had realized. There was so much they hadn't been able to do while Connor was laid up like he was. A whole week of not being able to spend that quality time together wasn't anyone's fault. That's how it was. (And it wasn't just about the physical aspects of their relationship; it went for emotional, too.) It wasn't anyone's fault, so that made it easier to put certain things on the back burner.

He finds himself squeezing Connor's hand for a moment, as a small gesture of kindness, and loosening his hold enough that if Connor wants to let go now, he can. "We both know I bailed, and I'd do it again-- you drive me absolutely crazy like that. In a good way."

[not_kenway]

"You could let me out of bed. We have a whole apartment's worth of surfaces to explore." He pinks saying it, because it's not how he was raised, certainly not to say those things, nor to even seriously consider doing them, sex is in private, in the quiet a dark or a bunk, not shamelessly against a wall or table.

Connor squeezes back... and takes a breath, lacing their fingers instead. His people are gone. They left him. So he won't keep sticking to their ways, because he's not going to go and live that. "All right?"

[accommodated]

It's a big move for Connor. Desmond knows that. He smiles at him. Not knowingly, not in any way other than just that-- affection. "Yeah. You're right. We'll see what happens, then."

There's something sitting in the pit of his chest, a place where a lot of his hurt used to be, and it aches now in a good way. These days, old hurts matter less. They matter less, and Desmond finds that he can make room for other things along with it. Make room for Connor's hurts, and his joys. Make room for his own. It's a heady sort of thing that Desmond don't really know how to label. He doesn't know how to put words to something feels good, even when there are times it hurts the most.

It's not a long walk, but he does slow down a little, enough to linger with Connor's hand in his before he had to fish out keys to unlock the front door.

[not_kenway]

There's undeniable heat, simmering in Connor's gut and lower, but he's comfortable to let it be for now, just let it wait and enjoy the quiet of the late night and walking down the street with company he enjoys and no red coats chasing him.

If it was warmer, he would've worn a coat, slid their linked hands into the pocket, but the breeze is comfortable and the streets lit by night light. While Desmond gets out his keys, Connor briefly thinks he could probably pick the lock as quickly, but he'd need both hands and he's disinclined to let go.

Instead, he distracts Desmond by leaning down to whisper in his ear. "What are you going to do when we get home?"

[accommodated]

It was nice. Peaceful, even, for a moment. The night always seemed like it kind of belonged to them at times. Before Eudio stripped off the glitz and glamor, or shuttered her neons, as if this were that magic hour, and the whole city was taking a collective breath. Up until Desmond just about drops said keys, fumbling them. It's like a lightening bolt right down his spine. Damn it, and right when he thought he'd had that slow burn under control enough not to actually listen to the urge to shove Connor up against a wall and kiss him breathless, whether it would have embarrassed the guy or not. He doesn't. Only just barely.

"...you are very good at pushing all the right buttons, you know that?" he says, voice surprisingly level, taking a slow breath so he can unlock the damn door without making even more of an idiot out of himself. When he glances at Connor, that hunger is sharp. "When we get inside, I'm debating two options..."

Desmond uses the hold he has of Connor's hand to reel him in, not quite opening the door. It's a ground floor apartment, the unit itself tucked away behind some decent tree cover. You;d have to really be looking for them to see them. Standing up on his toes a little to murmur into Connor's ear this time, Desmond finds himself smirking slightly.

"Either I'm going to get you off just my hands right in the entryway, or I'm going to ride you right into wherever it is we last left the lube. Better decide how patient you want to be-- you've got about ten seconds."

[not_kenway]

Desmond tugs and Connor steps in, trapping Desmond between the unlocked door and his own bulk. He dips his head for the whisper, pleased at the rush of heat Desmond's words spark along his spine.

That first, frantic rush of lust and need aside, Connor has been up for much more than falling asleep with Desmond close by and he's really ready to change that. "I've waited two years," he murmurs back. "I'm willing to wait longer if you can. If you want to ride me. Or if you want to ride me a different way." He leans their cheeks together, hand reaching to turn the door knob.

[accommodated]

Two years-- sometimes, Desmond forgets about that, and his insides twist even thinking about it. Two weeks, and he's practically climbing the walls. Hell, just about crawling out of his own skin when he's flattened to the door, able to practically taste the heat coming off of Connor. Two years is practically an eternity. Desmond had to give Connor credit where credit was due: Connor would win any battle of wills with him.

"Bold if you to assume I wasn't already thinking of riding you a different way." Desmond was already breathless, bodily dragging Connor over the threshold after elbowing the door open by hooking fingers right into the hem of those incredibly sexy jeans. Shuts it behind the other with his free hand all so Desmond could trap him against the door. He may not have Connor's bulk, but if he wants you to stay put, you stay put.

Desmond pulls Connor into a kiss that's as much desperation as it is affectionate.

[not_kenway]

Being manhandled is... sexy. Only because he can see Desmond while he does it, see the fight and want in his gaze and feel it in his hands. He's trapped and it feels good to be wanted like this, and he tries to put that into the kiss, all that pent up want and reciprocation.

He wants. He wants whatever Desmond will give him, share with him, demand of him. For now, he wants to get his hands down on Desmond's butt, squeezing and lifting him up into the kiss.

[accommodated]

Desmond drops his keys to the floor the second Connor squeezes his ass, a slight gasp against the man's mouth followed by a soft groan. He drops them, the damned thing no longer important, so he can keep Connor anchored to that door by a hand on one hip (squeezing lightly), and the other decidedly wanting up the man's shirt (that he owns definitely more often than on Wednesday, but the joke will never not be funny). Carefully tracing the wound that'd been there, just not too carefully.

There is nothing hotter to Desmond than Connor wanting. And he'd give, too. After he's done testing a little bit, mostly to sooth his own paranoia about possibly hurting him. Gives him a good excuse to work at licking his way into Connor's mouth to taste that want, too, drink him down as if it'd be the last time either of them would ever get the chance to.

[not_kenway]

It will take time for Connor's strength to rebuild, where he can easily lift Desmond's weight without needing support against the wall. He can manage now, leaning against the door and pulling Desmond up against him, up onto his toes and pushing a thigh between Desmond's legs to hold him there.

The next kiss is hungry and slower, teeth on Desmond's lip and tugging softly before letting go to gasp a breath. The scar itself feels nothing but the skin around the edges is sensitive and has him arching his body and pushing his leg up further.

[accommodated]

And, oh, for that glorious moment, Connor's thigh between his, kissing him slow and hungry like that, Desmond could forget about the rest of the world. Damn well does when it hitches up further, groaning soft and low in the back of his throat. The friction is a good slice of heaven. Bit over dramatic? Maybe, but he'd like to see anyone else argue with him right now. They'd lose, he'd make sure of it.

Desmond leans into it with a slow, pronounced roll of his hips, making sure his mouth doesn't stray too far from Connor's. Calloused fingertips continue to trace that sensitive skin, too. He needs to feel Connor keep arching like that, needs to hear the man's breath in his ear, the heat of his body. Enough that he peels his hand away from that hip to every so slowly walk fingers over to the button to Connor's fly.

"I ever tell you how good it is that your the first and last thing I usually see every day?" The question is murmured against Connor's mouth after another quick kiss, Desmond's dark eyes half-lidded and watching closely.

Dexterous fingers know exactly hot to pop that button open without needing his other hand.

"It's a wonder I get anything done other than you these days."

[not_kenway]

If Desmond were wearing less, Connor would probably heft him up by the grip he has, put his legs around his waist. If Connor were stronger, more recovered, he could just carry Desmond back through the apartment, to the bedroom.

Neither of these is true, so Connor just half opens his eyes when Desmond speaks, tasting the words on his breath with parted lips and fairly sure that no response is required or even wanted in answer. No, Desmond has never said that specifically, but he's expressed enough sentiments that are similar that it's a given.

Connor nuzzles another soft kiss to the corner of Desmond's lips, then to the top of the scar over his mouth, and then shifts to slot their mouths together for a slow kiss. He feels like he should have something clever to say in return, but he doesn't and he doesn't want to break the kiss to try.

[accommodated]

There would be time for all of that later, when Connor's got more of his strength. Sure, landing square back in the hospital or whatever because you were trying to pick up your partner after some heavy making out would be a funny story to tell. In practice, however? Not so much fun. And no-- no, no real answer was needed.

That slow, heater kiss is all the answer Desmond actually needs.

His second hand joins the first, working Connor's fly open. He'll move them both in a bit. Right now? Bit busy stepping back enough so that getting a hand down the front of those pants is doable, palming Connor slowly, teasingly. Doesn't break that kiss for anything, either.

[not_kenway]

Tearing healing muscle by picking up your large, heavily muscled partner for sexy times was not how Connor wanted to end this night.

Connor makes a low sound, unhappy to have to let Desmond down at all, but he loosened his grip on Desmond's butt to let him shuffle back a little. He doesn't regret the decision when Desmond's hand slips into his clothing, skin rough in all the right, familiar ways. He groans into the kiss, teeth softly catching Desmond's lip and then licking the pinched flesh, hips pushing up into the grip.