Chapter Text
The moment Desmond woke, he knew instantly that his heat was broken. Shocked, he blinked, shifted so that he was upright, and the blanket that had been covering him slid with a whisper of sound to pool around his waist.
It was very early, so much so that only the faintest blue-tinged the sky, only a suggestion of the sun's rise. In that scant light, he felt...good. Clear-headed, for the first time in days, and the relentless, constant and cloying heat was completely lifted. His heat was over.
Holy shit. For a moment, Desmond could only stare blankly at his own palms, bewildered and thoroughly caught off-guard. Is this what a heat's supposed to be like?
Just comparing the two, it was clear which experience was vastly preferable; his first had been nearly two weeks of unbridled agony. This one? In his state, it had been hard to judge time accurately, but he highly doubted even a week had passed since he'd entrusted himself to Ezio's care. It seemed at every turn, everything he'd known about heats was being proven wrong...
Ezio was sound asleep in bed beside him, barely a few inches away. At rest, his features were soft and handsome as ever. One of his hands were outstretched in the space between them, a hint that he'd held Desmond through the night, and the sight made a dull ache throb in Desmond's chest.
Desmond could feel a flush suffuse his cheeks. Looking at him, it was impossible not to remember the things Ezio had said to him, the dirty things and the crazier, much more sincere ones.
He'd been telling the truth when he'd confessed to Ezio that he'd spent his time in Rome just...here, unsure and adrift without a purpose or even, seemingly, a reason to exist. He'd idly nursed a vague idea of eventually paying a visit to the Vatican, of retrieving the Apple laid to rest there. Perhaps it would bring him back to his own time, he'd thought, but there were no guarantees with the Apple. The uncertainty of the plan had kept him from truly considering it, and even more so, he'd been wary of screwing up the timeline as it was or drawing attention to the vault—if, by some miracle, it opened for him in the first place.
The only hope he'd had to cling to since accepting his new status as a refugee of time was that one day he might get a sign, from Minerva, or Juno, or someone—but that was it.
And then Ezio had proposed his crazy, impossible idea. That Desmond simply stayed, became pack, and after experiencing a heat so...incredible, the idea sounded so good it made his skin crawl.
Desmond had never been pack, didn't even know how he would do it—and there wasn't a doubt in his mind he'd be shit at it, too. He wasn't eager to show off how wrong he was, at least not more than he'd already exposed.
But it was still undeniable how well his second heat had gone. Sex, in general, had never felt so mind-blowing and he couldn't help an idle curiosity, one that wondered what it would be like outside of a heat—
Desmond forced the thought away, pressing the tips of his fingers, hard, at the space between his eyes with a small shake of his head, impatient with himself and the post-heat haze that must be lingering in his system.
This was just to help, Desmond told himself firmly. He couldn't get greedy. Offered or not, expecting that kind of thing from Ezio, it came close to running the risk of getting comfortable, of allowing himself to fall into the trap of thinking he belonged. It was almost worse, in a way, to know that he could lie back down, fall asleep, and know that when he awoke, Ezio wouldn't have a single complaint for him—might even ask him to stay.
The thought made a tight band of fear coil in his chest, chased him out of bed despite the tempting, lingering warmth of Ezio's body, just inches away.
He shivered when his bare feet touched the cool stone, frowned as he carefully tip-toed around the room in search of his clothes, only to come up empty.
Crap. He vaguely remembered Ezio stripping him, but the floor was clear, meaning Ezio had probably sent both of their things for cleaning. Which was considerate, but also incredibly inconvenient.
Desmond sighed, reluctantly and carefully opened Ezio's swollen wardrobe. Reassured himself that he was just borrowing, and would have the clothes returned before Ezio had time to miss them.
He tried to find the plainest clothes, but even the simpler garments were of fine, luxurious make, and Desmond had to bite his lip against the warm feeling that crept over him as he slipped a linen tunic over his head, borrowed plain black breeches and a simple pair of boots. Ezio's subtle, masculine scent swamped him, wrapped him up with a feeling of safety and security he was dismayed to find comforted him even outside of his heat. He cinched a leather belt around his waist as tight as he could and his fingers lingered over the supple, rich texture, over the fine stitching that lined his collar.
Why does he have to smell so good? Desmond lamented, annoyed and embarrassed in equal measure.
Dressed, Desmond had no reason to linger, but he still found himself hesitating. After a brief moment warring with himself, his footsteps reluctantly yet unerringly led him back to the bed, where he stood over Ezio, wavering and torn, all but wringing his hands.
Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to slip right back beneath the sheets, to be wrapped up in Ezio's secure, doting embrace, but he'd already loitered here too long. In the wake of his broken heat, whole and healthy and feeling better than he'd had any right to expect after his last experience, he could admit that he was so, so grateful that Ezio had come and found him, even if he'd been less than gracious accepting him at first. His patience was more than Desmond could have asked for or deserved, and his addicting, attentive care—well, even with his mind his to command again, Ezio's words and touch haunted him, brought a longing over him Desmond had never experienced before.
Desmond allowed himself a single touch. He knew Ezio must have been exhausted, otherwise, he would have woken when Desmond left the bed and pawed through his clothes, so he didn't worry about waking him now as he ran the back of his fingers across Ezio's cheek, as he gently brushed the hair from his eyes to better reveal his peaceful features.
He was powerless to stop himself, unable to resist this one caress that was his choice entirely, and bent slightly, enough so that he could press a light kiss to Ezio's forehead.
Thank you. Sorry I was an asshole about it.
Suddenly overcome with the feeling that he'd overstayed his welcome, Desmond pulled back and didn't hesitate to pull himself out of the window without a look behind him. Memory pulled him up, gripping cool, pale stone as he climbed to the roof of the keep, and as the first rays of vibrant golden sunlight began to pierce the sky, Desmond dove from it.
It was intoxicating, those brief snatches of time when there was only his body in limitless freefall, the billowing gusts of wind as it rushed to meet him, as if trying to push him up and lengthen this fleeting time when his mind was clear and he had no worries but for the awareness that his period of freedom was soon to end—and then he landed in the hay, the sudden reintroduction of gravity as jarring as it was scratchy.
Desmond pulled himself from the hay pile with a grimace, brushing himself off. It was impractical, he knew, but he'd never stop wishing for a nice pile of leaves to land in, or feathers. Hay was so annoying...
His awareness prickled with the undeniable sensation of being watched, and Desmond's head snapped up, carefully surveying his surroundings with a critical eye.
It didn't take long to find the culprit. Just a few buildings away, Desmond picked out a figure dressed in white, crouched atop a roof, focus unerringly pointed Desmond's way. She was too far to scent, but Desmond recognized her all the same, given away by the long spear at her back, glinting wickedly in the dawning light.
Tessa saluted him, palm outstretched above her head, and after a long pause, he hesitantly returned it, trying to chase the feeling that she was smiling, unbearably knowing.
She didn't move to meet or stop him, so after another hesitant moment, Desmond took it for a sign that his leaving was to be noticed, but not hindered.
Eager to be back within familiar walls, Desmond turned and strode away. He wished he still had his cloak, wished he was wearing his own clothes. Ezio's scent was as comforting as a blanket around him and he was only too glad he'd left so early in the morning, where there'd hardly be a soul around to see him, to smell his true scent mingled with an Alpha's and make assumptions.
You should consider staying here, with me.
It still sounded crazy, allowing himself to enjoy Rome, to actually want to stay and to build a life here...but not bad.
Ezio's kindness and patience, his gentleness and easy affection—it was more persuasive than he perhaps knew.
Desmond ran his palms across his upper arms, cheeks warming in exasperated embarrassment to find himself so pleased at the sensation of Ezio's clothes against his skin, as if, despite the distance, Ezio was claiming him even now.
No...definitely not bad.