A/N: And here comes the second and final chapter. I really hope you guys have a bit of fun with this. And we've all been there, haven't we? Ahem. Ahem!

**Pardon any typos and all that.

** Disclaimer: None of these fun and sexy people belong to me. We all know if!

It was a little after 2am when Nature called Lionel out of a deep sleep. The horrible weather had slowed some, reduced to a pretty standard rainfall. The TV was blaring on the channel he'd left it on, although the Laurel and Hardy marathon had long since gone off. Turning on the bedside lamp, Lionel went to relieve himself in due haste.

It wasn't until he came out of the bathroom that he realized his roommate was not in bed across from him. In fact, the bed hadn't been slept in at all, the linens and comforter still folded and tucked as pristinely as they had been upon their arrival. Lionel's hackles got raised. What the hell? Where was he? Could the bogus lead on their cases have changed his mind, and decided to talk after all? Maybe something had gone down, and John and Carter had forgotten to clue him in on it. Well, he was only a cop, working this investigation too. What would he need to be clued in on?

Hastily getting his pants and suit clothes back on, Lionel got his gun and badge off the desk and exited the room, his phone out. Maybe it was nothing, and Wonderboy was just out shooting at glass bottles for target practice somewhere. Well, he'd find out.

When he turned into the hallway toward Carter's suite, he breathed a sigh of relief. Prepared to find her not there, he clutched his phone irritably in his hand, ready to make the blast call and let her have it for leaving him behind. Instead, the sounds of a rock music video-much clearer now-that he'd heard upon waking let him know she was there. Probably couldn't sleep in a strange place easily, he grinned inwardly, whereas he could drop like a stone on a bed of rocks. Or maybe she was asleep and left the TV on like he had.

Okay, so Carter was around, but that still didn't tell him where Mr. Perfect was. He should be glad the creep was out of his hair for a little bit, but that worried him, to be honest. He could be a loose cannon if left to his own devices. It was good to have an idea of his whereabouts. He decided to call him, but when he did, it went straight to voicemail.

Well, nothing for it but to head back to their room and try to get some sleep, and see John in the morning, hopefully with some fresh duds. He turned around to schlep back to his room, grateful for the chance to rest a bit longer, even if he did fully expect to be in on the action.

It was at that point that he'd almost missed it; almost didn't hear it over the din of the rock music guitar and drums. But a second sense in the back of his brain told him that he had heard it. It was faint, almost a whisper in light of the blaring music, but it reached out to greet him, make itself known.

His rational mind couldn't fully believe the tiny seed of suspicion planted there, though, so he decided, like any good cop to back up his instincts with evidence.

He felt like a heel, a real snake in the hallway, but damnit, he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the spot; his ears lurched towards the door as he slowly, silently lifted his head to look at it, the number 809 looming large in his face. For some strange reason, he just had to.

For a moment, all he heard was the music again, and a slight toggle of the bed springs. His eyes fixed themselves on the carpet in front of him, then his shoes, and then the door again, as the brass numbers 8-0-9 continued to loom out towards him. He waited a second or two longer, beads of sweat forming on his forehead; he had willed himself not to breathe, so lost in concentration he was. But nothing more save for another toggle and the muffled din of the music on the television could he hear.

Ah, Lionel, go back to your room and stop being a Nosy Tom! he silently chastised himself. You must be crazy to think—

The bed toggled again. And this time the sound beneath the music was plain, clear, and unmistakable. And it floored Lionel where he stood.

Ohhhh…ohhhh…..John….ohhhh…baby….shit…aw YEAH…..

His head snapped up as if he'd been struck with a whip. Jesus Christ! Carter and Wonderboy? Carter and Wonderboy were—were—Jesus Christ! What the hell! What the hell!

Somehow, through the fog of his utter disbelief, he got the message that he should make tracks back to his own room now as quickly as possible. He did so, quietly closing the door behind him and rushed over to sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing the linens for something, anything, to do with his hands. Finally, he let out the breath he'd been holding. He was absolutely stunned. Never in his most whacked out dreams would he have ever thought that Carter and Captain America would be gettin' it on, and with him close enough to hear them going at it, no less!

But then, didn't he see it? At the diner last night, he'd noticed John's attention. He was somehow…softer, more willing to flash those chompers, instead of pulling Stony Face like he usually did. And not only there. Now that he thought about it, there had been other instances of John's interest in Carter he'd been privy to, instances that he'd brushed off as nothing much at the time. Well, Lionel always thought she was special to him in some way. Now, he supposed, he knew why.

He wondered how long it had been going on. Carter was much better at keeping mum on her involvement with Wonderboy. She never betrayed any feelings for him, beyond friendship. But he knew what he'd just heard.

Well, whatever they were doing specifically in there, it was obviously good. Carter didn't strike him as the type to fake it for a man's benefit. And, knowing Captain America, there'd be no need for pretendy passion. Shit, what wasn't this guy good at?

Suddenly, Lionel didn't quite know what to do with himself, in light of his new discovery. He decided to just go back to bed and try to get some sleep. What else was there to do? Carter and Wonderboy were both adults, entitled to enjoy one another's company if they liked. It was none of his business. And hell, if Mr. Serious was getting laid on a regular basis, he might just mellow out some. That could only be a win-win for everyone.

He got up to prep for turning in, but when he did so, he was faced with the floral patterned wall where the headboard rested. The music was still blaring, and now he could hear both Carter and John through the paper thin walls. The bed squeaked, then stopped, then squeaked again rhythmically, until that sound was replaced with a steady knocking against the wall, and a low scream from Carter. As the knocking continued, John could be heard making short groans, punctuated by short, breathless gasps, peppered with utterances of the word fuck. From there, after a few minutes, a slowing of movement, and talking could be heard, but over the loud music, it was hard to make out what was being said. He did, however, make out the sound of Wonderboy grinning. Lionel surmised that a change of positions must be occurring.

Jesus, he was speculating on how they were doing it? Yeah, Fusco, that's real classy. I guess you're gonna know when the money shot happens too, huh? That's sick shit, even for you.

But he couldn't help it. He was fascinated, fascinated at the idea that his partners and good friends were showing sides of themselves to each other, at least, that he'd never seen before, especially John. Yeah, he was good-looking, smooth, looked great in his clothes; carried the air of an intense bad boy effortlessly. Women took to that shit like catnip. But he was guarded, careful about his feelings. He didn't run around with a bunch of different chicks all the time. That wasn't his style. So, to hear Superman let that guard down and come to earth for a little bit was something special, for sure.

Looks like this trip to Palookaville wasn't a waste after all.

More muffled sounds made him nuts, and he found himself tiptoeing on a carpeted floor to affix his ear to the papered wall. He was ashamed of himself, honestly—but his curiosity was bigger than his shame. He was going straight to hell for sure, and he didn't give a flying damn.

He had a much better vantage point now, the ability to hear everything more keenly, even with the music going. For instance, he made out the sound of what could only be John giving Joss a few good whacks on her ass, and her answering him back in a particularly lusty way. Having checked out Carter's ample ass for himself on occasion, he fully understood the urge—and agreed.

"Damn, Wonderboy, you're good!" he snickered to himself, ear still glued firmly to the wallpaper. But then, it was John's turn to respond.

Joss…..mmm….mmm…..fuuuuuuck…..mmm…like that….oh yeah…like that. So….good…..yesss….oohhh, fuuuuuck…..oh…..

Mmmm, you like that, baby?

God, yes…aaaah…aaah…I love it….Joss…sexy woman….you're so fucking sexy….aah….yeah….oh, that's it, girl…ohhh…

Jesus! Her mouth on him must have felt amazing. She had those full lips, just made for blowin' a guy good enough to put hair on his chest, and if Wonderboy was gettin' that, by the sounds of it, then fuckin' hell he really was a lucky bastard!

After a bit more of her sweet torture, he could hear John stop her; he must have been getting close and he didn't want to yet. The bed squeaked again, as position changed once more. And he could now make out the short sounds of smacking lips and heavy breathing. They were kissing as they moved around, probably loaded with tongue. Lionel could feel more beads of sweat gather at his forehead, and by the warmth in his cheeks, he knew he was blushing. But still, he didn't move.

He could hear Joss grin again softly, as the bed springs continued to squeak. The squeak and grin were both soon replaced with a long, deep moan and rush of breath. Then, John could be heard quietly joining in with her. Soon, Lionel could hear the slap of flesh again, but this time it wasn't like a spanking. It was steady, rhythmic—and Joss' moans got louder, wilder.

She must be ridin' his pony, he thought. Wonderful! That had always been his favorite position. The guy gets to lie there and enjoy, without having to do the work. Maybe thrust his hips if the woman got hot from it. More good luck for Wonderboy!

Oooohhh, John…..yessss…yesssss…..fuck me…fuck me good…..oh, my spot…keep hittin' that, John…..ooooohhhh, babyyyyyyy….yeah….fuck me so good, John….please…..

Soon, John breathlessly answered her.

Cum for me….cum for me…..damn…..you're so tight…..mmmm…I can feel you getting closer, Joss…give it to me….give it to me, honey…..

Lionel wanted her to give it to him too, in spirit, at least. Because, in addition to his flushed face and rapid heartbeat, he now sported a rather robust erection. You couldn't hear that kind of hotness for long without being turned on by it, even if it was creepy to be actively listening.

The pace grew more furious, the slapping sounds, bed knocking, and moans all grew louder. Interspersed between all that was the sound of kisses and panting. Suddenly, the bed rumbled loudly and Joss screamed. John grunted and growled, before he and Joss joined their love sounds in unison. Lionel knew they were geared up for a mutual orgasm. The bed springs groaned loudly, like the sound of a set of gears revving up. John had probably flipped her on her back, and was going in deep for his final thrusts, he figured. Truly out of control. When they came, they both shouted loud enough that, had he been asleep, they would have woken him up. He slowly closed his eyes in relief, pleased for the both of them.

They came down from their high slowly, panting, gasping, exclaiming words of love and passion for one another. They kissed repeatedly, until their heat subsided, and all Lionel could hear was soft, mutual laughter. He wanted to laugh with them, give them his seal of approval. It sounded crazy, but in that moment, they were both sexy, both beautiful. And they belonged together, just as they were.

That was…that was…oh, my…

That was unexpected. But wonderful. You are wonderful, Joss.

Still a little wine left. Might as well make use of it.

Oh, of course, Joss. We should toast to our amazing encounter in this beautiful suite, absolutely! I don't do this kind of thing every day, you know.

You sure you didn't plan this?

I swear I didn't. But when the idea of getting you this room crossed my mind, well…

Well, you're a sneaky bastard, John Reese. But, thank you. For everything. You're amazing.

You're welcome, Detective. Thank you. And I hope this isn't our last time at this, fancy room or not.

We'll see, Mr. Reese. We'll see.

The after convo soon stopped after yet another kiss. So this occasion had been their first time. Wow, he thought. I was in on the ground floor for this. I wonder how far each of them is willing to go with this, too. Might be good for them both. They got the bedroom hijinks down, in any case! The bed squeaked again, and soon, Lionel could hear the toilet flush and the sink run. They were done, sated. The two of them would have their wine and soon fall asleep in each other's arms. As it should be, he thought, with a smile. As it should be.

##

As dawn began to break, Lionel could hear, from his bed, a key card slide into the door, and the jam being turned. He pretended to be asleep, snore effects and all, even though he'd been awake for about an hour at that point. The foot falls were quiet, but Lionel could make out the rustle of plastic bags, and then, the shuffling of clothing. Soon, the bathroom light clicked on, and the spray of shower started up. The door closed behind him.

Lionel turned away from the window, and lie flat on his back. He stared at the ceiling as the shower continued to run. So how was this going to go now? Should he just pretend he hadn't heard anything? How would he do that, when he had heard everything? He had heard so much that it turned him on. And he had to jack in the toilet. Hell, he hadn't done that since before he got married. But he did this time. And now, everything was just weird.

Soon, the shower spray was shut off. After about fifteen minutes, John emerged from the bathroom, mostly dressed, the only thing missing being his socks. He went to the plastic bag to get those.

"Your stuff is here on the desk, Lionel. I think the things I got you will fit," he said, without looking at him.

How the hell did he know I was awake? Well, no need to pretend otherwise. He'd just keep talking, with that damn smirk on his face.

"Oh, good morning. Hey, thanks. I'm sure they'll be fine. Did you, uh, sleep well?"

John turned to look at him over his shoulder, a wry smile playing on his face. His hair was wet from the shower, but no gel slicked it back for him. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, actually. Like a happy baby."

I'll bet you did, Wonderboy. I'll bet you did!

"Oh, that's great, great. Well, if you're, uh…done in the bathroom, I'll get going."

"Good Lionel. Check out's not until 11:30, but that will give us time to get breakfast, refill Carter's car, and beat a little of the traffic back."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Well, uh…yeah, I'll go get cleaned up."

As he went towards the bathroom, John stopped him. "Hey, Lionel?"

"Yeah, John?"

"You called me last night. Was there something you wanted?"

Shit, I'd forgotten about that. Think fast, Fusco!

"Um, yeah, I uh, I just was gonna call for some snacks from the store when you were…uh..when you were there, but you didn't answer, so…I just said forget it. No big."

"Oh. Okay. Well, sorry I didn't answer. I was busy…shopping." He said that last one with a tilt of his head and his trademark smirk, and his eyes, steady, filled with mirth, bore holes into Lionel's face. Lionel didn't like that look. Didn't like it at all.

"Ahh, no worries." Lionel tried to stay unaffected, appear nonchalant. But he felt exposed instead. Did he know that he knew about this morning? "I can get snacks any time. Need to go on a damn diet anyway. Yeah, a…diet…." He could feel himself starting to sweat again.

John put his dirty things and toiletries in one of the plastic bags and turned toward the door. "My phone is on now. Give me a call when you're done and we'll meet downstairs."

"Where are you going now?"

"Gonna go and check in on Joss. See if she's awake, getting ready. You know, Lionel…how women can be…in getting ready."

Lionel swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. So, uh, I'll call you when I'm done. Give my regards to Carter."

"Will do, Lionel. Oh, Lionel?"

"Yeah, John?"

"One more thing: I think you should sit behind Joss on the way back. Got a wicked leg cramp just now, didn't sleep a whole lot, you know, not sure how long it'll last. I'll need the room. Well, see you, Lionel. Enjoy your shower. Mine was wonderful. Refreshing."

John left the room. Lionel sank into the door and let go of the breath he'd been holding. If he'd kept on staring at him like that, a second longer, and Lionel would have spilled everything like a ripped guts bag. Hell, he would have confessed to having sunk The Titanic with Wonderboy's crazy eye on him. Thank heaven for short exits.

He glanced at the bathroom, a small pile of towels already on the floor, one heavily smeared with lipstick. Boy, this was gonna be a strange ride back to New York. But he still couldn't help but smile all the same.

-The End

A/N: And there you have it! Fusco will never look at his two pals the same way again, nor hear their voices the same, either, I reckon! I do hope you all had fun reading, and please give a holler if you feel. Cheers, guys!

** Hey, how about it, kids! Joss and John will be together again on the show soon! I know, I know, flashbacks are lame in this sense, but it's better than not ever having them bounce off each other again (and Cookie Lyon needs to continue, haha). Just weird to me that they bring back memories of Joss for John, after all this time, when he's so supposedly into Iris now. Are they trying to start a war, haha?