Index (prompt descriptions courtesy of the livejournal archive)


1. Shaun/Desmond. Prompt: Desmond has a secret gift for baking the most delicious cakes. Shaun loves cake to go with his tea.

2. Shaun/Desmond. Prompt:   So Desmond apparently hasn't shaved in Brotherhood, Shaun thinks it's sexy.

3. Multiple parings. Prompt: Assassins making 'that's what she said' jokes.

1. The cake is not an outright fabrication however it is delicious and moist (1/1)

Bored. Yes, just board. Not board board just one big fat, heavy, lazy, indefinite, board. That's how Desmond felt right now, board.

It always seemed to be like this whenever the animus went down. This happened allot, after all it was an experimental technology.  Even Abstergo had frequent technical difficulties with there's. Despite their generous multimillion dollar budget and army of engineers and You know, considering that all they had in their little wood cabin hideout was one Tec-geek in a pair of Dr. Dre headphones, you think it would break down  even more.

Hold on... What was he thinking about again?... oh yes, how utterly inhumanly board he was. Desmond sighed loudly and rolled over onto his stomach. Burying his face into the soft pillows of his bed, too lazy to move to board to just lie.

Desmond grunted, unhappy with the new position he sat back up, slouched out of bed, and made his way over to the kitchen. Admittedly he wasn't hungry, and he probably shouldn't eat just for a lack of anything useful to do... but that was the advice of responsible Desmond, and board-out-of-his-mind Desmond wasn't inclined to listen at this point.    

But when he opened the fridge he found a distinct lack of anything immediately edible. The leftover pasta from last night was gone, as were the vegetable samosas Shaun likes. There were just some eggs lying in a corner in a box, milk in a carton on the other side. There was some chocolate, but on closer inspection it turned out to be of the unsweetened baker's variety.

Desmond reached out and took a box of baking soda out of the fridge door. He looked down at the label that happily displayed a delicious looking cupcake. He placed the bottle on the table and fetched the milk, eggs, and chocolate, then placed them on the counter before rummaging through the cupboards to see if he could find any flour.

A few moments later and Desmond's pile of ingredients was complete, and he was tieing on a loose white apron. Silently wishing he had been able to find one without lacy frills. Deciding that he would just have to hope no one strayed into the kitchen to see him like this, he placed the medium sized mixing bowl he found onto the counter and opened the carton of eggs.

Taking one of the white spheres into his right hand, he held it over the side of the bowl and snapped it down on the rim, producing a long crack in the shell. He held it up over the bowl and snapped the weakened shell in half with one hand, letting the gooey insides spill into the bowl.  

He repeated the process twice until there were a total of three yokes bobbing around at the bottom of the blue mixing bowl. Then after fetching a whisk from the utensil cupboard he placed it in the bowl, but didn't start mixing it just yet. Instead he stopped for a moment beside the clock/radio hanging from the cabinet near the sink and started fiddling with the dials.

Lots of Static, *skip* something in French, *skip* classical music, *skip* classic rock, *Skip* someone talking about another hurricane hitting Greenland, *skip* - got it on lock, west coast represent. Now put your hands up! Ooh oh ooh~  

Desmond smiled, now this he could work with.  He picked up the mixing bowl and begun to whisk the eggs along to the beat. Singing along with Katy as he worked the eggs into a light, frothy, yellowish goo.     

California girls, we're unforgettable

Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top~  


----


As he worked Desmond had his back to the door, so he didn't notice when the music attracted the bespectacled glare of his British roommate.  Shaun caught a glance of him in his white apron, rocking his hips along with the music, completely absorbed in what he was doing. Forcing his gaze away, the assassin promptly decided he had somewhere else to be and went to see about reorganising the renaissance location files.

When the blended eggs were sufficiently frothy, Desmond poured in some milk strait from the carton into the bowl, instinctually knowing just how much he needed without a measuring cup. The microwave dinged, the sound almost lost under the music. Desmond picked up on it and went over to it, taking the dish of melted chocolate from the microwave and adding it to the mix.  After adding a dollop of canola oil and a dash of vanilla flavouring, he was ready to mix in the flour, baking soda, and sugar.

As the combination of ingredients got thicker, Desmond switched out his old dependable whisk for a sturdy wooden spoon, tilting the bowl to the side in order to make it easier to shift the quickly thinking mixture, stirring with long fluid strokes till the batter had the perfect homogeneous texture.

Next he needed a baking pan, internally kicking himself for not checking for one before he mixed the ingredients together. Desmond grabbed as stool and used it to reach one of the higher cabinets. As he was rummaging through the metal pots and pans, Shaun passed by again, this time with an armful of books and documents. His teeth clenched lightly around the plastic of a sixteen gigabyte flash drive.

He looked into the kitchen, and frowned around the data storage unit, still unsure of what the hell Desmond was making in there. Although he supposed it didn't matter what kind of abomination that idiot was cooking up, as long as he didn't have to clean up after him. Shaun did enough babysitting as it was without little des-des making a mess.

Moving hurriedly onward from the mental illustration he had just given himself, Shaun continued down the hall, passing a dark-haired woman in her late twenties who was kneeling beside a sleek red chair, swearing profusely enough to make a sailor blush.  When he got to his desk in the corner, He placed down his books and got back to work.

By the time Shaun had finally sorted the last of the important, yet horribly boring files, it was nearly four o'clock and well passed time for a well-deserved cup of tea.  

Not exactly sure of what he would find once he got to the kitchen. Shaun walked slowly and cautiously back down the hall, passed a still infuriated Rebecca who was typing madly on the Animus keyboard. However contrary to his expectations, when he got to the small cooking space it was nearly spotless.  All the bottles and bags of ingredients had been put away and all the flour and batter spills mopped up.

In fact the only thing left on the counter was a small mixing bowl full of some white cream icing, a strainer holding a few washed and plucked strawberries, and a plate that was blocked from his view by Desmond, who was protectively hunched over it as he put the finishing touches on whatever he had spent the last few hours slaving over.

Shrugging it off, Shaun collected the kettle, stopping briefly to check that the water level was adequate before turning it on and beginning the hunt for his favourite tea; the same one that he always kept at the back of the cabinet for safe keeping.

A few minutes passed in silence before Desmond finally finished adjusting the last strawberry on his cake.  He straightened back up just in time for Shaun to walk back passed him holding his signature union jack mug, full of semi-sweet brown liquid.  The reddish haired male's eyes fell on the perfectly crafted dessert, He was lost for words.

There on the serving plate sat the most delectable looking black forest cake he had ever seen. Elegant chocolate shavings covered a layer of decadent white icing that was spread evenly across the whole surface of the pastry, on top sat a ring of ripe juicy strawberries nestled into their own little cloud of fluffy wiped cream, a single unlit candle set into the center.

Thoroughly stunned, Shaun looked back up to Desmond, wondering how something this faultless and delicate could be made by the same bumbling idiot who was constantly tripping off buildings in the animus. The ex-bartender looked back at him with a passive half smile, ignoring the strange look he was getting; he went to go get some small desert plates and forks out and placed them by the cake. Picking up a larger knife and holding it over the pastry.  

"You want some?" He asked, looking over his shoulder to Shaun who was still standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen. The Brit nodded and seemed to unfreeze a little. Desmond returned the nod and brought the knife down on the cake, slicing the soft layers with ease.    

"Wow, Desmond it looks brilliant" Shaun commented stepping a little closer to Desmond.

"I used to be a pastry chef at this bakery in Wisconsin…" Desmond admitted, not taking his eyes away from the cake as he took out two slices. Placing them on plates and handing Shaun the piece with a strawberry on it.  Offering no further information on the subject, he sat down at the kitchen table to eat. While Shaun managed to return to his desk before he gave in, and took his first bite.   

You know at first he didn't think it was possible, but after that first mouthful of chocolaty heaven Shaun was in love.
----

When he returned to the kitchen, Desmond was washing the icing bowl in the sink. He glanced over when he heard the other come in and asked "so how was the cake?" Shaun placed his now empty plate on the counter. Not bothering to answer the question until after he had snuck up behind the preoccupied Desmond, and laced his fingers into the straps of that cute little froufrou apron he seemed to have forgotten he was wearing.  

"Absolutely scrumptious, I would have never expected it from you." Shaun murmured his tone of voice gruffer than Desmond had ever heard it be before. "Ah Shaun..." Desmond stammered wiggling a little in the other's firm grip. Ignoring Desmond's confusion, Shaun added "You should make these more often, after all tea time is so much better with cake."  

He leaned in closer, Desmond felt hot lips brushing against his collarbone, sending a warm shiver through his entire body. "By the way, in that apron you make a very cute maid" Shaun insinuated, gradually detaching himself from the wannabe-assassin and heading back to his abandoned workload.   

After a few moments of staring at the empty doorway Desmond shook his head and stated to remove the stupid girly apron. However it didn't take long for him to discover that while he was distracted Shaun had tied a granny knot in the apron's strings making it nearly impossible for him to untie it.

"Fucking Shaun" Desmond growled as he rifled through the cabinets hoping to find some scissors.     

2. I Think I Like it (1/1)

Our story begins on a cold Italian morning in the slapdash Assassin's hideout located under the destroyed-then-rebuilt commune of Monteriggioni. As usual Shaun was sitting at his now mobile desk, putting the finishing torches on the collage of pictures and mind-webs that helped him keep track his complex thought patterns. Pictures of famous figures, copies of Leonardo da vinci's blue prints, and historic documents all littered the expanse of canvas in perfect definition of controlled chaos. Shaun was just sitting back down, and was about to boot his computer when he heard the familiar sound of Desmond's trainers on the cracked stone floor of the decaying sanctuary.      

The historian's first thought upon hearing the other assassin was whether or not Desmond had taken care of that beard he was now sporting, due to not shaving since his escape from Abstergo.  Sure the last few days had been hectic, but god knew Shaun was just as preoccupied as Desmond, and he had still found time to shave, so what was taking Desmond so bloody long.

Shaun tracked the footsteps feeling a flicker of displeasure when he realised they were heading his way. Taking a deep breath Shaun quietly repeated the mental mantra that he had been thinking to himself since he was first introduced to Desmond, 'remember Hastings, eyes above the waist. The secrets of the world do not lie in the front of his pants, so stop staring at it.'

A hand rested on his shoulder and Shaun looked up, his well-practiced look of passive-aggressive annoyance shattering.  Suddenly, his commitment to keeping his eyes on Desmond's face no longer requiring any will power because; Yes, Desmond had shaved, but it had seemed he missed a spot, a large goatee shaped spot.

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the look he was receiving and raised a hand self-consciously to his lips, running his fingers over the short hairs.  "What, It looks okay doesn't it?" he asked, obviously inexperienced in the art of having a beard.  

"Eh, err... Yha, mate it's fine, just odd that's all..." Shaun responded hurriedly, focusing back on his computer to avoid a rather embarrassing staring match with Desmond's mouth. "I thought I might want to try something new, that and maybe it will keep Abstergo off my back for a while" Desmond explained, dropping his hand back to his side.           

"I hardly think they will be fooled by a new beard Desmond, sexy as it may be." Shaun retorted he brain only registering the word 'sexy' until after it had slipped passed his lips, internally kicking himself as he tried to stay calm, hoping that maybe the ex-bartender would take it as one of those guy to guy endearment things.

Desmond didn't respond, instead going back to stroking his facial hair pensively. After a few long moments of waiting for a retort Shaun decided to take a stab at changing the subject; "you know, that beard makes you look an awful lot like Ezio" he observed sparing a glance back at Desmond just to make sure.   Desmond murmured and added "I hadn't thought of that," casting a sidelong look at the animus, which was in surprisingly good condition despite the bumpy escape and less than ideal hideout conditions.  

Shaun wondered for a moment if Desmond's decision to keep his beard was at all influenced by the bleeding effect, but kept the thoughts to himself.  He had a feeling that des would be tempted to shave it all off is he thought that it was only the traces of his ancestors personality that had prompted him to grow it, and for some reason the thought of Desmond parting with it was unpleasant.  

"Better be careful though, you could give a poor girl a rash with those whiskers of yours."  Shaun observed, the thought coming to him as he remembered Ezio, and moreover the countless woman he slept with. "I don't think it's that bad..." Desmond argued, once again moving his fingers up to check the texture of his goatee.  "Well how would you know?" Shaun shot back.

"I don't… but you could" Desmond smiled, a hint of Ezio playing in his expression. Without another word of warning Desmond's had leaned down, his hand cupping the historian's cheek, His bare lips meeting Des's scruffy ones, the shorts hairs sending off faint tickle that caught Shaun off guard. Desmond tilted his head a little, deepening the kiss moving his mouth over Shaun's.

Back on the other side of the impromptu kiss, the part of Shaun's brain not freaking out from the sudden affection was busy being intrigued by the fact that the gesture it was not at all prickly like he expected, but rather soft and really quite enjoyable. So much so, that Shaun soon found his thoughts straying to how the bearded mouth would feel when it was giving those scruffy kisses to a much lower part of his body.

Sadly before he could dwell to long on those pleasant thoughts, Desmond tensed and pulled back, Shaun gave a half-hearted groaned of protest but  was forced to kept his comments to himself  when a half second later Lucy was rounding the corner, pulling a brown jacket  over her white shirt to keep out the chill. She saw them and waved at Desmond indicating that she needed his help.  Desmond nodded and stopped only to give Shaun one last "I told you so" grin before stalking off to go see what she wanted.  Shaun frowned at the retreating assassin and turned back to his work.

3. What? She said it! (1/1)

Shaun's fingers flew across the keyboard, a key clicking every few milliseconds, so fast that it blended together into one continuous sound. His eyes stared fixedly through the thin glass of his spectacles, fixed completely on the computer screen.  Every fibre of his mind entirely focused on the task at hand.

Or at least he was until a nosy little novice decided to look over his shoulder and ask, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Hello Desmond... Would you do me a favour and please get lost?" Shaun replied, his tone striving to break the word record for most annoyed boredom in a single sentence. Desmond prickled at the surly response, frowning and commenting, "Jesus Shaun, why are you always so hard up?"

Shaun humphed loudly, and was about to voice his well thought out and brilliantly witty reply, when the sound of plastic wheals rolling across the wooden floor made them both look up to see Rebecca gliding across the room on her seat, and come to a halt by Shaun's desk.  Stopping only to add "that's what she said!"  Before pushing off the table, giggling to herself all the way back to the animus.


---

Rosa dropped gracefully back down to the paved city streets, ignoring the odd looks from her fellow venetians, keeping up her angry mutterings as she continued this arduous wild goose chase... or more accurately wild assassino chase.

She slipped a hand into her reggiseno, making sure the letter Antonio had tasked her with delivering was sill safely tucked away, smiling grimly when she found that the cause of her current annoyance was doing fine and dandy, thank you very much.

The sun was just beginning to set over Venice and she had been on her feet all day, checking every one of Ezio's usual haunts with very little success. She wasn't even sure if the idiota was still in the city anymore, and after a long day of searching she was about ready to give up, however she knew all too well what Antonio would be like if she didn't check every place he might be.

And that was why she was now standing rather awkwardly outside the workshop of the famed Leonardo da vinci, steeling herself to knock on the door of arguably, the most important man in Venezia, but before she could get her nerve, her highly trained thief's ears picked up the soft sounds of conversation coming from somewhere inside.   

"Sì, sì, Ezio just like that, Right there."

"Mio dio! Leonardo, doing this upside down is variare difficile..."

Curiosity peeked, Rosa suddenly forgot her qualms and pushed open the door.  Stepping into the room and raising her eyebrows at the two men inside.

It seemed that she had finely found Ezio, although she hadn't been expecting him to be hanging upside-down rather precariously from one of the workshop's rafters. A strange device of wood and canvas strapped to his back, Leonardo standing below him hammer in hand.

"B-Buona sera Rosa!" Ezio greeted, his cracking voice communicating exactly how much strain he was currently under, Leonardo acknowledged her with a brief nod before going back to his work.  Ezio spared her another pained grin before glancing back at the inventor.  

"Piacere Leonardo, I don't think I can hold on much longer." He grunted, tightening his grip on the wooden beam to little avail.

"Questo è ciò che ha detto" Rosa grinned.

Ezio almost laughed, but what came out turned quickly into a startled cry as his fingers slipped and he crashed back down to the workshop floor.  

---

Kadar's leather boots padded softly on the supple grass of Masyaf's main training field.  Making a strait path towards the far end of the lawn, where he had just spotted his older brother and his childhood idol Altair crowded around one of the training dummies.

As he got closer, he noticed that Altair was holding a long metal sword that had, seemingly, become logged in the stomach of the hay-filled practice dummy. Malik was standing off to one side looking thoroughly unimpressed. As Kadar drew even closer, he could hear some of the conversation going back and forth between the master assassins.         

"Come on Altair! You can do better than that, Put your back into it!"

"I'm trying my best Malik, but it's really wedged in there."

"Just push it in and wiggle it around a bit."

"Don't you see I'm doing that?"

"From this angle it always looks like it's going in..."

By the time Kadar had reached the other two a deep red blush had formed on his cheeks, and he had to stifle a childish giggle. He didn't want to seem immature to his teammates, but seriously, were they even hearing what they were saying??  Altair glared at Malik and let go of the sword, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.  

"If you're so good at this, why don't you give it a try?"

"I'd love to, but it's far too big and my hand won't fit around it."

Malik shrugged his shoulders in a "what can you do?" sort of way. Altair frowned and kicked the dummy in frustration, neither of them noticing how Kadar had to clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"Do we even need to take it out?" Altair suggested hopefully.

"What? You can't just leave it in there!"  Malik cried, placing his hands on his hips and giving Altair a stern look.

And that's when Kadar broke; he doubled over in peals of laughter, gaining confused looks from the two other assassins. "What on earth is so funny Kadar?" Malik asked, slightly concerned for his brother's sanity. "Your words-" Kadar managed to heave out through his sniggering "they sound like those of a dysfunctional couple making love!"

Altair and Malik paused, taking a second to re-run the last few minutes of conversation in their heads. Both feeling their cheeks flush when they realised what Kadar meant. After a rather awkward silence Kadar got back to his feet and walked over to the dummy, wrapping his hands around the base of the sword.

"Don't go too fast, you might hurt yourself." Malik advised, realizing to late the possible double entendre in his words.   

"That's what she said!" Kadar smiled giving the sword a sharp twist dislodging it from the dummy.

----

Bow, Chicka, Bow-Wow!