Author's Notes: I wrote this for Atlantisgrrrl who asked for Shawn/Lassi kissing in my round of the 'Drabble it forward' meme, and the wonderful person she is she even helped pound out most of the mistakes.

It wasn't until later that Carlton remembered to be embarrassed, when the pounding in his head was only drowned out by the persistent ringing of the phone. He groaned and made a mental note to shoot it next time he was at the shooting range.

He could hear someone banging around in the kitchen – his kitchen, he noted with a mental wince, and answered the phone with a muttered curse. Chief Vick's voice was surprisingly shrill and grated on his nerves more than usual as she started with an exasperated, "Detective Lassiter, if this is what you consider a proper case report then you'd better have a damned good sense of humor, because –"

At which point Spencer breezed into the room and snatched the phone from him with a disgustingly cheery, "Oh, hi, Chief, don't worry, I have it all under control."

Carlton never did find out what the chief had wanted as he took the opportunity to shove himself painstakingly to his feet and lock himself in the bathroom. Halfway through his morning ritual vivid images from the previous night assaulted his mind and he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, blushing furiously. He scowled at his face which frowned back at him, eyes bloodshot and unimpressed. With a sigh he conceded the point; there was little chance of repressing and denying the whole encounter with the other participant's loud and perky voice filtering in through the noise of running water.

It might have been the first time he had gotten drunk right after a job but the case had been solved and if he lost some dignity in the impromptu striptease contest the post-arrest euphoria of the partying crowd had lead to, well. At least he hadn't had flowers drawn all over his body in fluorescent paint – he definitely didn't want to know the details of O'Hara's art hobby – and he could've done without Guster throwing up on his shoes. The view had definitely been worth it, though, and as it turned out, so had been letting himself get caught looking. Even the double-triple dog dare shooter rounds that resulted in him ending up sitting in the back seat of O'Hara's car with a lapful of very inebriated Shawn Spencer were only vaguely mortifying as she'd had her own hands full with a wannabe detective of her own swinging between being frisky and being sick every five minutes.

The mayor's family had been more than eager to thank them for their discretion while solving the case (it had, in fact, been a lucky break that the butler had confessed the first time Spencer had opened his mouth about ghostly whisperings or some other nonsense) and they'd rented the bar most of the police force had found themselves in at the wrap-up as a thank-you. Carlton was vaguely certain his transgressions under the influence of alcohol would not be widely remembered, as he'd hardly been the highlight of the evening. McNabb's wife was no doubt having an interesting morning what with all the candid and not-so-candid-as-downright-obscene snapshots her husband had thought a good idea to take of himself and send her via his mobile phone (there were certain body parts even a spouse couldn't want to get pictures of in the middle of the night). All in all, his job had been done and he hadn't woken up to an empty apartment, even if he'd had to drag a passed-out Spencer to bed. It really hadn't been his fault that opening his bedroom door had taken more time than Spencer was willing to stay awake for, but as it was morning and the world was still there, there was a good chance of averting whatever disaster still lurked around the corner.

A long shower and some painkillers having done their usual miracle he went back into the bedroom feeling marginally more human, towel-drying his hair and trying to remember what his planned duties for the day were. A shocked-sounding squeak had him looking up to see Spencer – Shawn, he corrected himself; it was correct protocol to be on first name basis after what had happened, he supposed – perched on the side of his bed, gaping slack-jawed at him. Shawn fumbled blindly with one hand and hung up the phone, staring at Carlton as he crossed the room. He noticed that Shawn's eyes widened comically when Carlton reached around him to get to the dresser, brushing close to him in the rather cramped space.

"I got the Chief to give you the day off," Shawn stammered out after a moment of looking like he didn't know what to do with his eyes; he finally settled on staring at an old framed print of a pineapple plantation that had come with the apartment and conveniently hid a dubious stain on the wallpaper. He aimed his words at it like it was the most fascinating audience he had ever had, Carlton noted with some bemusement. "After last night's marvelous case-breaking detective work with some, well, a lot, well, a small amount of considerable help, well, insightful but helpful comments from me, well, my psychic vibes about the mayor's daughter, actually, but I'm getting lost, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, you don't have to go into the station today – and you're naked," the self-proclaimed psychic blurted out, looking rather flushed.

Well, now. "Next you're going to pretend your 'psychic feelings' told you about my birthmark?" Carlton quipped, feeling a little stung. Not like Shawn hadn't seen it all before, and the prudish act left him feeling like he'd been trespassing in his own bedroom. "I'll call Karen back and go in to do a debrief and tie up the case," his headache came marching back, with reinforcements. "I'll give you a ride on the way out," he said with a sigh, tying the towel around his waist. That pretty much wrapped up the highlight of his morning right there. (No pun intended, dammit.)

Shawn grabbed his wrist, stopping him from moving farther away. "What, no! Wait," he said, rushed and sounding out of breath, "that's not what I – can I get a do-over? That's seriously not what," he was still saying, eyes huge and expression a little pleading when Carlton rolled his eyes, leaned down and stopped him with a kiss.

It took a moment for Shawn to relax against Carlton but then he responded with a pleased sounding murmur, tongue sneaking into Carlton's mouth. Carlton raised a hand to pull Shawn's head closer into the perfect angle and lost himself in the kiss, heat spreading up and down his spine.

He could've sworn he heard another squeak as his towel lost the fight with gravity, but he ignored it in favor of following its example and pushing Shawn down onto the bed under him.

"I made breakfast," Shawn panted out while Carlton kissed down the grain of his stubble, groaning at the feeling. Carlton hummed a vague agreement, nibbling across the hot skin of his neck.

"Seriously, Lassi, I was going to apologize with the perfect fluffy omelet and maybe try and talk you into going, you know, out with me sometime, after hiding your gun and leaving the door open just in case, not that I thought you'd be a bigot or anything," Shawn persisted, and Carlton stopped with a suppressed groan. His headache was never going to leave at this rate.

"Spencer." He tried for his no-nonsense detective voice and pushed himself up on his arms above Shawn. The younger man's eyes looked a little wild as they darted from Carlton's face to his chest, up to his mouth then lower and back again, avoiding his eyes.

"Is my front door open?" Carlton asked in his mildest tone.

Shawn gulped and shook his head. If it wasn't for the dimness of the room Carlton would have sworn he was blushing.

Carlton paused to take a careful breath. "Do you want it to be?"

Shawn's hands tightened where they were holding his waist, his eyes narrow as they locked on Carlton's for the first time that morning. He made a conscious effort to relax under their scrutiny and not pull back, pull away.

He almost did just that anyway when he felt the hands holding him let go, and closed his eyes to brace himself as he heard Shawn swallow under him. He started to sit up when a hand on his face stopped him, Shawn pressing up into the crook of his neck and mouthing the words against his skin, voice soft as a breath.

"Keep it locked."

Oh. Alright then. As hesitant hands slid across his skin to settle on the small of his back and pull his head back down into a kiss, Carlton figured that was the most important issue resolved. Breakfast and finding out what had happened to his gun could wait.

He had a back-up and other important provisions in the nightstand's top drawer, after all.

The End