CHPT 3
Shawn awoke to a damp spot on his shoulder a few hours later, wondering if Lassie was drooling before realizing the viscosity of the liquid soaking through his shirt was that of tears and not saliva.
He started, unsure of what to do. Though Lassiter had been wrecked earlier, Shawn hadn't realized it was openly-weeping-on-top-of-him wrecked and he expected the detective might get abrasive were he to mention it. Still, it broke his heart to see and he decided then that even if it got him hit, there was just no way he could leave him in that state.
His fingers slowly pushed the silken salt-and-mostly-pepper off Lassie's brow and he leaned in to kiss the cop's forehead, watching as he shut his eyes like doing so would will the world away. Carlton softened at his touch, the act unconsciously letting Shawn know that he wasn't sleeping; that he was really faking slumber, awake a reality too complex to bear.
Lassie deserved so much more than the hurt he'd been immersed in all night long and the sight left Shawn with a pang of empathy so intense he was overtaken by a determination to make him feel better, regardless the cost.
His lashes fluttered when Shawn kissed his face again. The psychic's lips moved across his brow and down his nose, silently skating across his cheeks to wipe the tears away. Lassie murmured – nonsensical sounds that meant absolutely nothing. His eyes popped open, watery and wet from whatever misery he'd been holding in, and Shawn found himself unable to breathe, his heart caught in his throat.
Opening his mouth to speak, the detective's eyes darted around the room as they adjusted to the lack of light, but Shawn interrupted, whispering;
"It's okay, Lassie. Everything's okay."
Shawn ran his hand down the cop's arm, moving from Lassie's shoulder to his elbow to his clenched fist, prying it open and lacing their fingers together. Lassie closed his mouth and let him, his grip on Shawn saying everything his words couldn't. When he felt Carlton clutch him tight, Shawn knew he'd made the right move in refusing to let him lie there and cry. A question flickered in Lassiter's eyes and his lips parted to ask, but Shawn answered before he had the chance, hoping his tone carried all that Carlton had ever wanted to hear.
"It doesn't matter, Lassie. Whatever's eating you alive right now – it just doesn't matter. I've got you. I'm not letting go."
A whimper escaped the man's mouth at that, not like the one he'd made during their moment of hedonism in the rented hall, but one of sorrow somehow mixed with hope. The sound tugged at Shawn's heartstrings so hard it felt like they were going to snap, and he captured Lassie's chin with his free hand, deliberately holding the man in place. His fingers brushed across the cop's jaw as he spoke, and Carlton's eyes closed as Shawn's whispered assurances washed over him.
"You're not alone anymore," Shawn said, the affirmation tumbling from his lips almost faster than he could think, his need to comfort Carlton consuming. "You're not alone anymore because you've got me."
Rubbing circles into the webbing between Lassie's thumb and forefinger, he forced the muscles in the man's hand to slacken, Lassiter's grip nearly bone-shattering. "You've always had me, Lassie. I've been yours from the moment I saw you."
Shawn paused, letting it sink in that this was not a new attraction.
That he had wanted Lassie nigh on forever.
"Not during the McCallum case," he breathed. "Before."
Lassie's brow crinkled as he tried to understand. As he worked toward piecing the sentences together. As he came to a conclusion that didn't seem to make sense.
"That would mean – " he started, looking at Shawn with a gaze full of wonder, surprised and confused by the statement. Shawn shushed him again, a closed-mouth kiss quickly pressed against his lips, unable to care that Lassie had puked on him hours prior when he was so obviously wrapped in an emotional agony only he could relieve.
Or, at least, he hoped to.
Shawn considered his next sentence carefully, worried he might accidentally give away an even bigger secret. The big secret. The one he fully intended to explain on a day that was very much not today, when he and Lassie were both sober and in much better places. Not that there was a much better place to be than Lassie's bed. But still...
Lassie didn't need that truth now.
He needed to be worshipped.
To be made to realize that nothing else existed when it was just the two of them.
Lassie needed love and acceptance and validation, all of which Shawn wanted to give him in spades.
"Your mustache was horrible, but your eyes were kind," he told Carlton, pressing himself close so Lassie could feel the way his heart trip-stepped with the truth. Lassie's heart beat hard against his and his gaze shot to Shawn's, searching for honesty in the psychic's features like he couldn't quite believe his words.
Shawn let him and, knowing the truth was there and laid bare, continued to console, soft and low and soothing.
"You were fresh out of the academy," he said, the pad of his thumb massaging Lassie's wrist. "Still working towards your degree, probably. And the world hadn't beaten you down yet."
Blood surged through veins beneath thin skin and Shawn kept speaking, tracing the life coursing through Lassie's wrist, his words flowing free as he painted a tale from long ago into the present with hopes he could make the man understand.
"You had that stupid little mustache. And you hadn't gotten your frown lines yet. And you looked at me with such confusion and compassion that I wondered how the hell a man like you had ever become a cop in the first place," he admitted, remembering the consoling yet confused look on the young cop's face, startled by his dad barking orders. "Worried over the young punk being brought in by the formidable Henry Spencer, not knowing that we were just escalating our regular Friday night fight. If he hadn't been dragging me down to booking, I'm sure I would have hit on you then, you know. And I'm sure it would have flustered you even more than it does now."
"But –"
"That would mean I've carried a Statue of Liberty sized torch for you for the last thirteen years? That I want you more than Pinky and the Brain want to take over the world? Well, the Brain, really. Pinky's just along for the ride." As he amended his statement, he felt Lassie's heart beat in time with the staccato rhythm of his own. "It would mean that I've watched you over the years – the years I was here, anyway – grow from a naive young Ackerman into a rough and gruff Pulvoski, all sexy Clint Eastwood-style. It'd mean that I've always known you had a soft squooshy center even though you've done your best to guard your heart and gird your loins and possibly shoot anyone that ever suggested as much."
Shawn paused a moment, just long enough for his tone to drop to a whisper.
"That no matter how hard you try to hide it, I know part of you will always care."
He thought a moment, then added with a grin –
"Please don't shoot me."
Carlton replied, smile thin.
"I appreciate the Rookie reference, but it's not exactly the most apt choice. Even I can admit it wasn't a very good fi–"
"Shut up, Lassie," Shawn interrupted, finger pressed to the detective's lips to shush him. "You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can't lie to me. I see everything."
There it was. Half the secret, but Lassie was too distracted to realize the gravity of what he'd just been told.
He shook his head, eyes no longer leaking but still wet with tears, the brilliant shimmering blue of them cutting through the darkness like a beacon bringing ships home safe in the night, somehow searing into Shawn's soul despite the lack of light.
"I had just gotten engaged that weekend. Victoria and I –" Carlton started, voice cracking as if he hadn't spoken in ages, the weight of the emotion attached to it enormous. "We'd just moved in together and I was trying to convince myself that it was what I wanted. The next step to becoming a detective – to becoming the man I needed to be."
"You looked so sad, Lassie," Shawn replied, turning to his side so he could get a better look at the man he'd fallen head over heels for, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the cast of the room. "Like you weren't comfortable in your own gorgeous skin – like that sexy runner's body of yours was a rented suit you were being forced to wear to your own funeral."
Lassiter sighed, flopping on his back, his fingers still entwined in Shawn's.
"I know."
Shawn ran his hand across Lassie's jaw, dipping behind his ear to cup the back of his head, and Lassie just lay there, breathing deeply into the silence.
It took Shawn a second - a second of listening and loving and feeling - before he could gather the nerve to ask.
"If you know -?"
Lassie looked over, catching Shawn's eye.
Shawn held his gaze, the glance a particularly charged one.
"The man I thought I needed to be is not the man I am," Lassiter admitted, drawing the words out slowly. "And the man I am was suppressed for a long time, Spencer. A very long time."
Sure he knew the answer, Shawn still asked.
"How long?"
Carlton exhaled his response.
"Thirty-nine years. Eight months…"
He paused.
Breathed.
Continued.
"And eight days."
Shawn did the math in his head, putting it at -
A week and a half prior.
Ten days before, when he'd accosted Lassie with mistletoe at the Christmas party and worked his way into the detective's pants.
And heart, apparently.
"Oh, Lassie –" he moaned, hit with a wave of heavy emotion.
But it was Lassiter's turn to babble and he cut the psychic off, nearly frantic as he explained.
"Do you have any idea how impossible it's been working with you? Watching you?" he asked, eyes raking over Shawn's face, his heart splayed open on his own. "Seeing you flirt with O'Hara, or worse, with me? How tough it was to sit back and do nothing as you pulled your psychic bull-crap, dazzling and stretching your way into my lap in Vick's office? Or smacking my ass in front of my ex-father-in-law? Or any of the other ways you constantly propositioned me – always in public, I might add?"
He was exasperated, impassioned, and Shawn could only imagine how difficult it had been.
"How hard it was to do nothing when I wanted you desperately the whole time – just wanted to pin you down and take what I needed? Wanted to taste that frenetic energy of yours, never knowing if you meant what you said or if you were just fucking with me? Always being too scared to make a move, just in case you were?"
"Lassie, I –"
"I wanted you from the start, Spencer. Not the 'Henry arresting you' start, but from the first time I shoved you into the back of my car; the way your body pressed up against mine as you fought me, just needing to flail about. Just needing to prove you were smarter than me. Better than me."
"Lassie, I don't think I'm –"
"You made my blood boil, psychic." The nomenclature was laced with sarcasm and Shawn shivered when he heard it, Lassie's use of the title somehow both demeaning and uplifting. "I'd never been so pissed and so turned on at the same time. I thought it was just annoyance at first, but…"
Lassie took another deep breath, letting the sentence trail off, the end of it obvious and therefore not needing to be spoken.
"I'm surprised you couldn't tell by how riled up I was," he said, and Shawn rested his forehead against the cop's as he whispered his truth against Shawn's mouth. "You were so clever, and you didn't give a shit what people thought of you. You still don't."
Shifting their still twisted together hands to his lips, Lassie paused to kissed Shawn's knuckles.
"It didn't matter what I thought or what the Chief thought," he said, breath tickling the back of Shawn's fingers. "Or that you were pissing off one of the most powerful men in Santa Barbara. All that mattered was solving the case, even if nobody believed you. You were willing to look like a fucking fool, to put everything on the line just to get the bad guy."
Shawn laughed at that, quiet but still heartfelt.
"Still am."
"Yes, you still are. And you still do, all the damn time. Because the only thing that matters is what's right."
Lassie stopped. Swallowed, his eyes flashing in the night.
"Even if what's right seems so wrong."
"Lassie, we're not wrong," Shawn breathed, his words ghosting across the detective's face, the psychic understanding the unsaid statement just fine. "This isn't wrong. Being who you are and loving who you love isn't wrong, no matter what anyone else says."
"But"-
A chill raced through Carlton's body, the hairs on Lassie's arms standing on end, and he placed his mouth on the cop's jaw and kissed his way down his neck, lips lingering on Lassie's pulse point.
Shawn relished in the feel of it racing at his touch.
"Does this feel wrong, Lassie?" he mumbled against the crook of Lassie's neck, tugging the collar of the detective's shirt aside.
Carlton closed his eyes, his breath quickening in response.
"No…"
Shawn rolled toward him. In one quick motion he hovered over the man, the elbow connected to the hand holding Lassiter's propping him up, the other following the trail his mouth left. Nipping at collarbone, his tongue darted out to lick the barely abused flesh he left behind, and he felt Lassie – the way his chest rose and fell, the tiny shocks rushing through him, how his skin flushed in response to Shawn's movements – and was pleased.
"Does this?"
He muttered against skin, knowing the vibrations his mouth made would travel straight to the cop's groin.
Growing aroused, Lassie breathed again, his heart pounding harder with every syllable Shawn spoke.
"No… it doesn't."
Lassie's shirt was still open from earlier in the night so Shawn slipped lower to finish peeling the cop from his top, stopping only when the man's ribcage lay bared beneath him. He caressed his way down, lips following fingers threading through thick chest hair, his mouth hop-skipping south until it latched onto an already erect nipple.
Lassiter quivered at the connection, the psychic's tongue swiping across the pebbled flesh. Shawn savored in the slightly salty taste of it – dusky and dark, just like the detective's mood had been – and when Lassie's breath caught in his throat, he cataloged the hitch. Loving how openly his lover reacted to his movements, he filed the reaction away to achieve again later. Now, Shawn wanted more than simple breathlessness; he aimed to make the cop crumble. His freed fingers fluttering down Lassiter's ribcage, he scraped his teeth across sensitive skin, gently tormenting with a calm sense of contentment and watching as the detective bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed beautifully in full-blown satisfaction.
But it wasn't enough.
The look of pleasure on Lassie's face was mind-blowing, but Shawn wanted more. Needed more. Was willing to give almost anything to see Lassie truly let go.
To take him out of his brain and bring him into his body.
To make him nothing but a bundle of nerves, tethered to the Earth by only Shawn's touch.
A wicked thought popping into the psychic's head, he flicked the tip of his tongue and blew a quick puff of air across the glistening wet flesh before pulling away to leave the detective writhing at the sensation. Lassie's body arched up in response and, the detective gasping as their bodies melded together, Shawn smiled as he noticed his detective already half-hard.
The thought that he was affecting the detective this way, that he was the one that made Lassie's heart pitter-patter and his skin tingle and his boner rage… it made Shawn's heart feel fit to burst, the man overwhelmed by this odd feeling he'd never experienced before.
Love.
He rolled the thought around in his head, tasting it on the back of his tongue, his heart having clenched when Lassie had drunkenly declared his. But what was love, really and truly?
Shawn had thought for so long that it was the need to be with another person, the want to spend all their waking hours together. He'd never wanted that before – never with anyone other than Val Kilmer, of course – and while that certainly seemed to be a part of it, it was then that he realized love was putting someone else first, their needs more important than one's own. Love was his desire to never let Lassiter feel alone again. It was the pressing urgency to ensure Lassie's happiness, the ability to make him feel better the most important of Shawn's skills.
It was the fact that he wanted to do it forever – to take care of Carlton until the end of days.
Lassie's every wish was his command. The cop had him completely and utterly wrapped, and Shawn realized he wouldn't have it any other way.
Pressing his lips into the hollow of each rib bone he passed, he crossed Lassiter's body with licks and little nips to drive the man wild; a reminder that there was nothing but the two of them in that moment – no world outside the euphoria of seconds slowly slipping between their interlocked fingers. He nuzzled into the soft skin at Carlton's hipbone – that perfect V, sculpted like a statue of Apollo made flesh just for him – and breathed in the gentle scent of the man, gunpowder lingering though it had been weeks since Lassie had last fired his gun. The smell of him was intoxicating, a special blend of seduction and masculinity that shot straight to Shawn's groin, and he wondered how it would taste, curbing his curiosity by indulging himself immediately, Lassie's hip held down as the man moved beneath him, the flat of Shawn's tongue slowly swiping across the exposed indent.
"Shawn," Lassiter moaned, letting go of Shawn's hand to grasp him by the back of his head, restrained need reaching his voice.
Shawn looked up in shock, his eyes flitting to Lassie's face, the fingers in his hair preventing further movement. He was rarely anything other than Spencer, just like Carlton was always some version of Lassie, and Shawn knew that not being called by his surname meant something important. Meant that maybe Carlton was surrendering what little control he'd been holding on to, finally giving into sensation instead.
Something sparked when their eyes met, Carlton's beautiful blues clouded with what Shawn could only assume was love; lust mingled with emotion stronger than he had ever seen on Lassie's face before. On anyone's face before. It was heavy, and it was warm, the intensity nearly freezing him in place as it clutched at his heart and kicked at his soul, unlocking something deep inside.
Full of magic, the moment stretched, the psychic's return stare full of blunt affection and Shawn couldn't stop himself, the words falling from his lips before he even realized he'd spoken.
He broke the silence, the words the truest thing he'd ever said.
"God, Lassie. You're so fucking beautiful right now."
A flush crossed the cop's cheeks at that and he turned his head to the side as if he could avoid the truth of the statement by not acknowledging it. But Shawn continued, his warm breath caressing the cop's bare skin and exposed vulnerabilities.
"You're so fucking beautiful and you don't even know it." Dipping his head to place small kisses along Lassie's belt line, his fingers fumbled to work the man's fly open. "If nobody's ever told you that before, they're all a pack of morons, Lassie. Even dumber than that kid in the fifth grade who thought the first man on the moon was the camera guy."
The sound of the zipper sliding down filled the room and Lassie lifted his hips, allowing Shawn to divest him of his pants, the cop left wearing nothing but boxer-briefs as his khakis hit the floor behind him. Carlton started to speak but quickly stopped, his statement turning into a muffled whimper when Shawn mouthed at his cloth-clad cock, his lips tracing the outline and further dampening the already wet spot he found there.
"Because you are, you know. Beautiful and seductive and so very mine," Shawn insisted, his fingers drawing down the detective's inner thigh as his mouth made magic happen. "Or at least, I want you to be. Cause how could this be wrong, Lassie? How could my loving you ever be wrong?"
He hadn't planned on saying it.
It wasn't the traditional declaration of 'I love you', nor the avant-garde alcohol-fueled admission Lassie had upchucked all over him earlier. But Shawn didn't regret it in the slightest. Lassie needed to hear it and he needed to say it, the feeling having grown from an esoteric sexual obsession into something so much more profound. He couldn't believe how aroused he'd been the first few times Lassie had manhandled him, but he'd just assumed the cop's alpha-male mentality and raging authoritarianism had gotten entangled in his daddy issues. Wrong. Shawn had been so, so wrong.
It was that night at Tom Blair's that clued him in to the fact that he'd caught a case of the feelings. Carlton had spent weeks acting like his enemy then with one drunken admission cut Shawn's legs straight from under him. Not only had he exclaimed astonishment over the pseudo-psychic's sleuthing skills, he had opened up about his separation, sharing with Shawn a secret that nobody else knew – not even his partner. And it was in that moment Shawn realized he'd been gifted something rarer than gold found at the end of any rainbow, far more precious than the stars. Somehow, Shawn had attained a sliver of Lassie's trust. And it was a thing he planned on nursing from a fragile little creature into something strong enough to withstand the weight of the world.
He had wanted it, wanted so desperately to prove to the man his worth, and once he knew he had, he was willing to do almost anything to keep that trust, not realizing until then exactly how much it meant.
Carlton was strong.
Solid.
Honest.
True.
He was a good man.
And for some reason, he trusted Shawn.
Imagine how he felt then, when the emotion didn't go away. Instead it mutated into honest-to-god affection, the time he spent with the detective in a hands-free capacity just as adrenaline-pumping as the encounters full of touchy-feely: Carlton's hand on his collar, Shawn's fingers splayed across Lassie's thigh, arms wrapped around each other as the cop escorted the counterfeit clairvoyant out of a room or off of a case.
Shawn felt sad when Lassie was sad. He was pissed when Lassie was pissed. Became absolutely elated when he saw even a semblance of a smile cross the other man's face. It was astounding and mind-boggling and pants-wetting; the terror he felt at encountering feeling unrelated to his libido staggering. And that was how he knew he needed to kick It up a notch, having never experienced anything other than the desire to flee far and fast when things had the option of turning serious.
Shawn couldn't believe it but serious is exactly how he felt. Seriously in love and seriously willing to make a fool out of himself to prove it if he had to. He acted an idiot for far less important things on a near-daily basis, after all. What was one more act of jack-assery when it was one of such importance?
"You –" Lassie began. The honesty was sobering, and Shawn watched as clarity encompassed the cop, the admission smashing him in the face with the force of a cast iron frying pan.
"Yeah, Lassie," Shawn responded, unable to hold the emotion at bay. "Even though it scares the hell out of me, I fucking love you. You're the best thing since the invention of blowjobs and I don't know what I'd do without you. Why else do you think you're the one I always bother – the one I sit on and play with and practically molest in public whenever I can? I've been pulling your pigtails, Lass, trying to get you to notice me."
The cop stopped breathing, the impact of Shawn's honesty clearly overwhelming, the only thing letting the pseudo-psychic know he was still alive the thump-thumping of his heart in his chest.
"God, Lassie. I don't know how you don't know that," he continued, nuzzling Carlton's groin with his nose as he spoke, his gaze still locked on the detective's. "I don't know how you don't see how close to perfect you are. How amazing –"
"I'm not."
The words tore from Lassie's lips sounding pained, like he wanted desperately to believe them but something was holding him back. It broke Shawn's heart to hear, the man's self-esteem so low that he believed so much less of himself than Shawn knew to be true.
"I'm not," he said again. "I'm –"
Shawn interrupted, his fingers slipping beneath Lassie's shorts as he kissed his way back up the man's lithe frame. His teeth latched onto an earlobe and he whispered, the words filled with as much conviction as he could muster.
"You are, Lassie. You are because I say you are. You're perfect to me and I love you so fucking much."
Carlton opened his mouth to speak again and Shawn took advantage, running his hand down Lassie's length and brushing his lips against the shell of his ear.
"You're smart and you're strong and you're loyal. You're gruff and you're rough and you're sexy as hell. You're the only one who challenges me, the one who holds my strings when I'm flying high," he said, pressing a kiss into the tender flesh just below Lassiter's earlobe, followed by a second and third along the cop's jaw. "You're the high-octane fuel for my fucking jet-pack, Lassie, but you're also its built-in navigation system, keeping me safe and guiding me home."
Lassie laughed at that, a soft low chuckle as his body responded to Shawn's wandering fingers trying to touch as much of him as they could.
"You expect more out of me than anybody else, you know," Shawn breathed, lips at the corner of Lassiter's mouth as he kept talking. Talking as close as he could without actually kissing him. "But you also make me want to give it to you."
He wasn't sure whether it was his admission or the motion of his hand as it wrapped around the base of Carlton's cock that did it, but the man bucked and his breath grew ragged, Lassie's heart beating so hard Shawn swore he could almost hear it.
"Shawn –" he moaned, the sound equally raw and erotic as it scraped across Shawn's name. "God, Spencer, I need –"
"Whatever you want, Lassie," Shawn whispered, digits dancing across hot, hard flesh. He knew what he wanted to do, but what he wanted wasn't important. It was all about Lassie. What Lassie wanted and what Lassie needed and how he could possibly make the man believe everything he said was the truth. "I'll give you the world if you ask for it. Pluck the stars from the fucking sky and make them dance before your eyes like Michigan J. Frog if that's what will make you happy."
"Your mouth," Carlton gasped, lashes fluttering closed as he sank into his pillow and surrendered to the feeling of Shawn's hand as it moved. The phrase – two short, sexy, sensual words – sent a jolt straight to Shawn's cock and he happily complied, pressing wet kisses along Lassiter's neck as he slid himself down his lover's body. His talented fingers touched as slowly as his lips danced down the man's sternum and Lassie's breath grew heavy, his pulse racing as Shawn descended.
"I need –"
Lassie wanted exactly what Shawn had hoped to offer, but it didn't mean the psychic wasn't going to take his sweet time giving it to him. The first time he had sucked Carlton off had been a rushed affair, an air of urgency enveloping them as they finally came together in a rented hall, expressing their desire for each other in a way that never would have happened were it not for a sprig of mistletoe and some too-strong eggnog supplying Shawn with the type of courage he usually had to fake. And while he wouldn't trade the experience for anything on this earth, this time he wanted it to be different.
To be special, however much of a sap that made him.
When drew his hand off Lassiter's erection, Lassie moaned at the loss, biting his lower lip as if the disconnect from Shawn's flesh was torture. But Shawn quickly hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the cop's underwear and drew them down the length of his slender frame until they followed the trajectory of his pants, effortlessly falling to the floor at the end of the bed.
The cool air caressed Carlton and he shivered and Shawn chose that moment to make it worse in the best possible way. His breath warmed the cop's sensitive skin for a single moment before his tongue slipped out to lick a long stripe against the throbbing flesh. Lassiter bit back a sound in his throat and Shawn cupped his hand and twisted his wrist, beyond pleased when the feel of his palm rubbing into the crown of Carlton's cock caused the man to buck again.
"Shawn –" Lassie said, practically pleading, his eyes searching for the psychic's as he exhaled. As the breath left Carlton's body, Shawn licked him a second time, watching those pools of cerulean grow wide, Lassiter's pupils blown and his desire wild. Pointing it into an evil little triangle, he tapered his tongue and paid special attention to the head of Lassie's cock, his lips grazing the man's foreskin as his other hand gently pushed it back, using it and the moisture from his mouth to stroke him.
Slowly.
Very
incredibly
unnecessarily
ridiculously
devilishly
slowly,
torturing the detective with his tentative touch.
"Shawn –" Lassie said again, high and shaky as Shawn's tongue flickered, a soft hum of pleasure escaping the psychic as he dipped into the slit, lapping at the gathering moisture.
"Spencer –" Lassie begged, and hearing the detective so desperate made Shawn nearly lose it right there. His own cock just ached to be touched, the pressure of his zipper pressing against him practically unbearable. But he ignored the throb, knowing his own release would be nothing compared to one he was working the cop toward, both physical and emotional.
Skirting a hand across Carlton's stomach, he curled it in soft belly fur, focusing instead on the pleasure of his partner. Shawn held him in place and wrapped his fingers around the base of the detective's dick, drawing it into his mouth he applied gentle suction. Lassie shoved a hand through Shawn's hair in response, holding him firm as his other hand fisted the sheets beneath his body. A hiss slipped through his lips when Shawn shifted his attention, his tongue running across the sensitive glans at a speed that made them both feel like time had stopped existing.
Shawn's scalp tingled at Lassie's fingers in his hair. He loved the touch, the brief flare of pain that burned through him from tip to toes reminding him that he was alive.
He was alive, and was human, and could be hurt – had been hurt; hell, he could die at any time, doing what he did. But right now he was happy. He was happy, and he was in love and he was so fucking full of life, his fantasies somehow becoming reality for the second time.
"Spencer –" Lassie growled and Shawn glanced up, the fire in Lassiter's eyes making him freeze. The cop's brow creased, looking like it was taking all he had not to move, not to thrust up and face-fuck the psychic right there. So, sweetheart that Shawn was, he took the thought from his head and brought it to his dick instead, sliding down in one swift motion, throat constricting when his gag-reflex kicked in.
Lassiter's mouth widened in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as Shawn flattened his tongue and hollowed his cheeks, deliberately drawing himself back then moving forward again. The psychic increased the suction as he picked up pace, repeating the motion until Lassie choked on his name like Shawn had choked on his cock, the cop's control clearly slipping.
"Spencer –" Lassie moaned, louder this time, his strengthening grip sending tingles down Shawn's spine.
Shawn's mouth left Lassie with a soft pop as he pulled off and stared, the same question in his eyes as the one leaving his lips.
"Carlton?"
The look on Lassie's face as Shawn said his name was orgasmic in its own right, like it had brushed his prostate and hugged him tight and set the entirety of his body alight, amazement and confusion and desire laced together and aimed directly at Shawn's heart.
It left Shawn breathless and desperate and so fucking over the moon.
The name awkward in his mouth, Shawn said it again, just to see the look intensify.
"Carlton?" he whispered, lips barely moving even though his fingers hadn't stopped, digits sliding up and down rigid flesh that somehow got thicker and darker and harder every time Lassie heard his name.
"God, Spencer –"
"Not God, but I can make you feel like I am," Shawn smirked.
Propped up on his elbows, Carlton rolled his eyes. Shawn wasn't sure if it was because of his winning sarcasm or the fact that he'd just run a thumb along the throbbing vein on the underside of Lassie's cock, but he had an inkling that it might be both.
"What's gonna make you feel good right now?"
The question came out heavy and thick and Shawn dragged his fingers up the inside of Lassiter's thigh, relishing in the feel of the man's skin turning to gooseflesh when the back of his knuckles grazed a testicle.
"Isn't God supposed to be omniscient?" Lassie sputtered when Shawn continued to fondle, leaning forward to kiss his way back up the cop's shaft and smiling into taut, hot skin when he heard Carlton's response.
"Not God," the psychic reminded gently, tongue sneaking out for another taste as a laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Not God. But I know what you want, Lassie. And, fuck – I want it, too."
Lassie's head hit his pillow as he responded to the warm wet muscle sliding against the ridge of his dick. His hips carted forward of their own accord, and Shawn swirled his tongue like the cop was made of his favorite flavor ice-cream and he just couldn't get enough. Like Carlton was his very own delectable dripping Lassie-cicle.
"Do it, then."
A pause. Nerves cast by the wayside, Lassie's voice turned stern – that same sexy sound he used to break criminals down.
"If you know, then do it."
Shawn beamed, never more glad to be ordered around in his life, the rasp of Lassiter's demand thrilling him. Making him yearn for more.
"Lift your legs," he breathed, and Lassie did, wordlessly shifting in place like he was steeling himself for something he wanted but was still uncertain of. But it was okay, and it was expected. Lassie was new to this – Shawn could practically guarantee it – and while blowjobs would come and blowjobs would go, this was an act of trust unprecedented. Not only in that he wanted it, but that he had asked for it, trusting Shawn enough with his pleasure.
It was also really fucking hot.
"Shhhh," Shawn whispered, rubbing at Carlton's hip as he moved into position, feeling the cop relax.
He peppered kisses against a knee while he inched his way forward, remembering from last time that Lassie had liked that. That it had soothed him. Made him more pliant, willing and ready for what was to come. Lassie twitched under Shawn's lips as Shawn crept toward his goal and Shawn infused each kiss with more affection than he'd ever poured into anything, needing Lassie to know this was about far more than just sex to him. His body practically vibrating in response, Shawn was sure Lassie felt it, and he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to make the cop feel this way for as long as he possibly could.
When he reached Lassie's balls, mouth meeting flesh where Carlton's body split in two, he lapped without hesitation, the fine hair beneath his tongue dampening, the skin tightening at his touch. Shawn took a moment to breathe in the scent, his lips working around one testicle then another just long enough to suck – just long enough for Lassiter to buck.
"Spencer –"
His name was husky, threaded through with need, the sound of it electric. It made Shawn nearly come in his pants completely untouched and he knew that if he lifted his head to stare into the gaze boring into him, he would. So, he didn't, choosing to ignore the desire pulsing through his groin to lavish all his attention on Lassie instead.
As he dipped back down, long toned legs slipped over Shawn's shoulders and the hand in his hair fervently urged him to continue. Lassie pulled Shawn close and, tongue pressed against taint, Shawn heard him groan, the sound coming from deep inside the cop's chest.
"Spencer –"
As Shawn's tongue drifted back to reach its target, his name turned into a moan. He brushed against Carlton, briefly at first then more intently, long slow swipes against trembling flesh. The tip of his tongue circled and swirled and flicked at Lassie's hole, and his heels dug into Shawn's back and he loved it. Loved knowing it took so little to drive his lover crazy.
So little from him. Lassie was his lover.
Had there not been such a delectable task in front of him, Shawn might have wept with joy. But with something much better to do than cry readily available, he took his time, tracing every ridge of the crevice as slow as he could. He wanted Lassie to feel him there – feel him licking and sucking and swiping and probing, using his lips as much as he used his tongue – knowing that every nerve would be super-sensitized, every part of him hyper-aware.
"Shawn –" Lassie whimpered, and fuck, he never tired of hearing his name in the deep dulcet tones of his favorite detective, overjoyed by the fact that he'd reduced Lassie to a single syllable and that syllable was Shawn. The need behind his name as it spilled from Lassie's lips made him feel as naked and vulnerable as the man bared beneath him, and he grabbed hold with both hands to spread Carlton wide, his tongue slipping inside – the soft, wet, supple muscle spearing into the detective and fucking him ever so slowly.
Lassie's body shuddered around the welcome intrusion.
"Sp – Spencer –" he stuttered, one hand clamped onto Shawn's shoulder, the other on the back of the psychic's head, his knuckles white as he struggled to hold on.
Shawn smiled but didn't let up. His fingers moved back to Lassie's dick, stroking down every time his tongue slid deeper, and Carlton arched up in response, ass sliding into Shawn's face. The psychic's nose pressed against perineum and it caused the cop to mewl – fucking mewl – Shawn's grin growing wide as his mind raced. Ever the opportunist, he took the movement as a sign straight from Eros. The Greek god of lusty feelings clearly wanted him to sink his teeth into the well-toned flesh before him, proving that Lassie did, in fact, have the most biteable butt ever, just as Shawn had said all along. And prove it he did, his teeth nipping not-quite gently before he pulled away to see the man's face flush and chest heaving.
"Dammit, Spencer," Lassie warned, and Shawn laughed, knowing the warning was a hollow one.
He just smirked harder, his smile splitting ear-to-ear as he held Lassie's gaze. Drawing his hand to his mouth, he coated it in saliva before wrapping it back around the detective's dick. Eyebrow arched, he asked, "You want me to stop?" and Lassie stilled, shaking his head when he found himself unable to speak.
"Want me to keep going?"
Dark and dangerous, he dared Carlton to deny his need, knowing, just knowing , he wouldn't.
"You want my hand on your cock and my tongue up your ass, Lass?"
Lassie turned red at that, but his eyes shone – just fucking scorched – and he nodded, swallowing the words so obviously stuck in his throat.
With a quick lick of the lips, Shawn moved to oblige. His free hand brushed along Lassie's jaw and moved down his neck, carding through thick chest hair as it drifted south. The other worked the man's dick, lackadaisically at first, then building up speed. When it was clear he was driving Lassie the right kind of crazy, Shawn caressed his hip-bone both lovingly and lazily before moving to circle the center of the man, the soft pad of his middle finger rubbing against the quivering muscle. Rubbing, but never dipping in.
"God," Lassie breathed, body shaking with anticipation, tiny tremors sending shivers up his spine.
Looking at him, Shawn chuckled, making it his mission to take in everything. Memorizing the moment, he seared the image of Lassie splayed out on the mattress into his mind – Lassie writhing and begging and pleading for more, so open and free from whatever had bound him into misery. It was perfection, and Shawn loved him all the more for it.
Shawn loved him.
Shawn loved him, and Lassie felt it and it was obvious – so obvious – that he loved Shawn back. And Shawn wanted to remember every ticking second of it. The sight and sound and smell of it. The feeling – the never-before had feeling – in his heart and in his mind and in his flesh and chest and touch, knowing he would wrap himself in it like a cozy blanket and bask when the bad days inevitably came.
"Maybe next time, Lassie," he teased.
Lassie nodded again in agreement, looking like he wasn't really there – like any semblance of cognizant thought had left his mind. But he had nodded, which meant that he wasn't objecting to a next time, maybe many next times, and the thought warmed Shawn's heart.
"Will you fuck me next time?"
Shawn stilled, the question unexpected and ball-tightening and really fucking hard to respond logically to, spoken so soft and low it took him a moment to realize it hadn't been imagined.
"Please? If not now then –"
Lassie stopped.
Breathed.
Looked at Shawn from beneath heavily lidded eyes.
"Soon?"
"Lassie – I – "
Shawn didn't know what to say. How to tell him no when all he wanted to do was dive in and do him right there. He couldn't believe his ears, sure the words had been pulled straight from of his daydreams and night dreams and pretty much any moment he hadn't been actively paying attention, his mind constantly wandering to fantasies of doing exactly that. But he couldn't – wouldn't – claim Lassie that way.
He wouldn't.
Not now.
Not like this.
Shawn needed to make sure that their first time fucking – really fucking, where both gave as good as they got – wasn't just because one was comforting the other. He needed to make sure it wasn't a half-drunk decision that might come back to bite them in the ass like he'd just bitten Lassie. And it wasn't even that he minded the comforting part; in fact, he found that he was coming to love comforting Carlton and he was sure Carlton was coming to love it in return.
The problem – and the reason he wasn't going to give the detective the good dicking he desired – was that he wanted Lassie sober. Needed to make sure the man was one-hundred and fifty-three percent behind this idea and not just asking because he was a little drunk and a little overwhelmed and latching onto the person offering him affection and assurance. Everything up until that point had been consensual, yes, but even though they were very obviously into each other, Shawn knew that sex – anal sex, as in popping Lassie's booty cherry, stretching the chocolate starfish, becoming butt buddies, packing all sorts of fudge – was an entirely different story. He just couldn't chance burying himself balls deep in the detective and having him feel like it was a mistake come morning, no matter how much they might enjoy it right now.
"Have you ever -?" Shawn asked, trying to clear his head and bring himself back to his senses, the mixture of fear and desire radiating from Lassiter nearly knocking him senseless.
"No," Lassie said, sounding shaky. Sounding like it was killing him to admit but he was willing to do it anyway if it meant he could get Shawn to agree. "But I want you. Want you to, need you to. I need you to make me feel –"
Shawn's mouth crushed against the cop's with frightening speed, the knowledge that Lassie wanted him that much, needed him that much sending the air straight out of him. He still wouldn't do it now no matter how badly he wanted to, but maybe, just maybe he could still give Lassie something.
"Lassie –"
Panting, he broke away and tried to calm himself, his body pressed into the detective's so hard you'd think they were glued together.
"Lassie…" he moaned. "I want to say yes. I want to say yes so bad and just screw you into the mattress right now. But I can't. I won't."
Lassie's eyes dimmed. When the detective dropped his head in shame, Shawn kicked himself, never wanting to put that look on the Lassiter's face again. Not wanting it to be there in the first place. The need to touch him almost painful, he captured Carlton's chin, lifting it in hopes the man would look him in the face.
"Lassie," he began, desperate to ensure what he was trying to say was understood beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was the furthest thing from what he felt, but Shawn kept steady as he shot Carlton a look, his hazel eyes locking onto Lassie's blue ones.
"I would give anything to be buried deep inside you right now. Anything –"
The words came slowly, each syllable suffused with purpose.
With need.
With truth.
"– to hear you scream my name and feel you claw at my back as I fucked you into oblivion. Don't think for a second that I wouldn't."
The weight and pain on Lassie's face faded as Shawn spoke, replaced by a barely-there glimmer of heat and hope as he very clearly pictured what the psychic had just described.
"But now is not the time."
Shawn dropped his hand to Lassie's chest and his fingers twisted in stern-bush as they made their way to the man's hip, curling around its curve to hold him there.
"I can't even guarantee there will be a time, Lass," he said. "And it kills me – it fucking kills me – to think that you might wake up tomorrow and hate yourself for everything we did tonight. I mean, I hope not; I really fucking hope not. But I can't take that chance. I can't let being half-drunk and upset be your first time, Lassie. And I can't promise that I'll fuck you silly next time because we don't even know if there will be a next time. Not for sure. Not really."
Lassiter's eyes flashed with ire at that, and his voice stiffened as his hard-on wilted, the blood slowly draining from his dick and rushing back to his head.
"I know what I want, Spencer. Don't insult me by suggesting I don't."
"Lassifrass, I'm not," Shawn said, stroking small circles on Lassie's hip to soothe his unleashed beast. "I know you want me. I wouldn't be here if you didn't."
And it was true. Carlton Lassiter was a man who would rather shoot himself in the face than do something he didn't want to, and nothing Shawn could have said nor done would have gotten him here if it Lassie hadn't wanted it. But there was more to it than that, and because he only ever played dumb, Shawn knew it.
"My tongue wouldn't have been butt-spelunking if you didn't."
He took a deep breath, then dropped the bomb as gently as he could.
"I wouldn't have woken up with you crying on my chest if you didn't. Cause that's what this is about, isn't it, Carlycue? You want me, yeah, but you're also trying to prove something to yourself."
Lassiter dropped his gaze again, face paling like Shawn had hit the nail on the head and he was ashamed of the answer.
Sliding down to curl into the side of Lassiter's body, Shawn draped his arm around the man's midsection. He gave him a moment, and silence in the room seemed deafening until Shawn spoke yet again.
"You don't have anything to prove, you know," he told Lassie. "Not to me, not to your mom, not to yourself –"
At the mention of his mother, Carlton cocked his head, confusion evident on his face. Shawn carried on, choosing to ignore it.
"This isn't about being gay or straight or bi or pan or whatever," he insisted. "It's not about what will happen to your job or your relationship with Jules or even anything past the two of us in this room right now. I just wanted to make you feel good, Lass – fresh sheets, full tank of gas, found a fifty in your pocket, dancing on sunshine, high on life feel good."
When he heard what the psychic had to say, Lassie loosened up a little. His hand moved to cover Shawn's, their fingers tangling together as they rested on his stomach.
"If there's nothing but right now –" he started, slow and sly.
"I'm still not gonna fuck you, dude. And I'm not gonna promise, either," Shawn said firmly, running his thumb along the long line of Lassiter's index finger as he reveled in the small intimacy of his head resting on Lassie's chest. He felt his human pillow's heart beating steady and he continued, "Not until we're both lame-kid-at-the-party-who-agreed-to-be-the-designated-driver sober. We're gonna be responsible and wait until we're both clear-headed so we can really talk about this. I told you I love you and I meant it, Lassie. And I'm pretty sure this is how I get to prove it – by making smart, adult decisions for what might be the first time in my life."
"But –"
"And if you love me," he interrupted, talking over what was likely the detective's attempt at persuasion, " – which, BTdubz, I'm pretty sure you do, and not just cuz you said so before you ruined my shoes – you're gonna accept it and let me. I mean, you've been on my case to act like a big boy for years now, right? Guess you get your wish after all."
He grinned and poked Lassie in the chest to emphasize the point.
"Check me out, all growed-up!"
Lassiter pulled away at the statement; rolling his eyes at the implication that this was somehow his doing, his head hit his pillow with a sigh.
"You choose now to listen to me, Spencer? Of all the possible…" he shook his head in disbelief. "You know you suck, right?"
Slipping his hand free, Shawn grinned in response. He dragged his fingers through the fur of Lassie's treasure trail, stopping to rest just above his half-hard cock, feeling the skin of the man's lower stomach flush with heat.
"Sure do, Lassie," Shawn said, placing a kiss at the hollow of Carlton's throat before pulling away, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I suck real well. And I might not be willing to fuck you, but I never said this –"
His hand drifted lower and his short nails skimmed across the detective's dick. Shawn heard the hitch in Lassie's breath return and knew he'd gotten back on the right track. proud of himself for doing so quickly and easily.
" – had to stop."
Lassie's skin tightened. The fine hair all over his body rose at the touch or the insinuation or maybe both, and Shawn swung himself over Lassie's legs to straddle him, raising a brow as he asked his next question.
"Now," he said, lazily circling Lassie's belly-button, fingers tip-toeing around the divot in the cop's flesh. "Do you want me to keep sucking you off? Or did you want to bury your dick deep down my throat all by your lonesome?" Shawn drawled it out like a caricature of an Old West Sherriff would, knowing it would rankle Lassie in all the right ways. "Because the spirits tell me you've been dying to fuck my face-hole for a while there now, partner, and I am super-de-duper okay with that. Y'know, if that's what you want."
He blinked at Lassiter, the look on his face innocent though they both knew his thoughts were downright devilish. What was once half-mast raised to full and Shawn grinned wildly at the rock-hard cock pressed against his thigh, Lassie obviously loving the suggestion. But the grin lasted for only a moment as Carlton reached out to slide two fingers past the psychic's slick lips, eyes blazing behind hooded lids as Shawn sucked them through his reply.
"Yes."
It was open and honest, laced with more need than Shawn thought could be poured into a single word and he almost laughed, the one answer to two inquiries tickling his funny bone. Lassie was far too turned on to differentiate between questions, but he didn't have to when Shawn had a trick or three he was happy to use to give him something he clearly wanted but couldn't properly ask for.
Biting at fingertips before he pulled away, his head tilted into Lassiter's touch, and the man swiped the wetness onto the psychic's mouth in retaliation as he continued to speak, rough and ragged and impatient.
"Put your mouth back on me, boy."
Oh god was that the hottest thing Shawn had ever heard, the shift in dynamic giving him chills. He'd had Lassie order him around before but never like this, and as he moved to do as requested, the cop's hands followed, clutching him by his hair as he guided him back down. Eyes closed, Shawn licked at the tip before being tugged back, Lassie's mouth twisted in a grin of his own.
"I said your mouth, Spencer, not your tongue," he rasped, guttural and growly and so fucking sexy. "I want to be buried so deep inside you I leave an imprint. You want me to feel good? Fucking suck me already."
Shawn nodded.
Shuddered.
Was glad he was already on his knees because there was no way his legs were going to work after that, every ounce of strength they possessed rushing out of them the second the statement hit his ears.
Bending forward, he placed his hands on Lassie's hips, the head of the man's dick hitting his lips as he opened wide to let him in. Lassie hissed at the sensation, Shawn's tongue swirling as he applied suction, working his way down until his face was pressed against the soft curls he'd just been playing with.
The skin against the back of his throat throbbed and he constricted the muscles around Lassie's cock, broken moans ringing through the air in response. Carlton's grip tightened and, fingers digging what felt like furrows into Shawn's scalp, he reacted to the insistent pressure that said Shawn belonged to him and only him, the psychic putting his notoriously big mouth to good use and making the most important promises he could manage without ever uttering a word.
Big hands cupped the sides of his jaw, Lassie's long fingers sliding from the nape of Shawn's neck to his face and Shawn kept himself still and focused on the feel – the way his pulse picked up pace and the smell of musk and the slightly sharp taste; the blood pumping through the palms of the detective's hands as he held him in place; how he began to thrust up, his hips lifting off the mattress propelled by lust, dropping back down in time with the rise and fall of Shawn's chest; the wrong yet erotic feeling of fabric against his skin as he finally realized that he was still fully dressed.
Shawn wanted to scramble out of his clothes as quickly as he scrambled for coherent thought but both remained elusive, Lassie doing to him what he had planned on doing to Lassie – shrinking his world from expansive down to nothing but a pinprick of desire, the effect he was having on the psychic's body and brain and heart and soul the only thing left in Shawn's pretty little head. He heard a strangled groan as the detective slid deeper and while it was the noise the psychic felt like making himself, he knew it had come from Lassiter. That it had been Lassie's need, Lassie's desire, Lassie's approval. Shawn wrapped his fingers around Carlton's wrists, holding on to the man holding onto him as if to say "Yes, this is what I want. You are what I want. Who I want. Who I need. Use me. Make me yours. I'm yours", and knew that Carlton somehow knew, his movements gaining speed, sweet but naughty nothings spilling from his lips and cutting straight through to Shawn's core.
But they weren't nothings. They weren't nothings because they were everything.
Shawn wished he could see himself – aware of how it must look and how they must look together – and he glanced up at Carlton from the submissive position, taken aback by the look of reverence on Lassie's face, adoration flaring from his eyes as Shawn swallowed him whole. Their combined passion bypassed Shawn's sometimes finicky gag-reflex and the psychic delighted in the drag and slide of Lassie's dick so deep inside of him. If he could, he would have smiled, knowing that even if Lassie's actions didn't leave an imprint on his flesh, they were marking him in other ways. Far more important ways. Irrevocable, inconceivable, erotic, heart-changing, brain-melting ways.
After this, there would be no other. And Shawn didn't want there to be, already picturing the terrifying yet oh so satisfying possibility of forever.
"Fuck. Yes, just like that," Lassiter practically purred, and Shawn couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop himself. Struggled to remember if he'd ever been this horny for someone else before, not only for their body but for their brain and their happiness and pleasure, both in and out of the sack.
He didn't think so. He didn't think anyone had ever affected him this way.
There was just something about it – something about the detective and what he did to Shawn that made his world go topsy-turvy. Made it taste sweeter than nectar and hotter than hell. Made it feel so right, like a bombshell of love dropped down in the night to obliterate his unimportant and unsuspecting past. To raze his worries to the ground and give him something to last. Lassie's words wrapped around his libido, dousing it with gasoline and setting it ablaze, quickly turning his desire from flickering flame to wildfire. He stroked himself through his pants, barely pawing as he hummed in appreciation, cock throbbing for a touch that wasn't his though his would do just fine. Shawn's brain quieted, his ears picking up on the sounds of a body nearing its edge, and when Lassie pistoned forward, three times in quick succession, he swallowed on the fourth, just to be a bastard.
The cop's hips shot forward so hard Shawn thought he might be embedded in detective forever, his face pressed into the man's pubic bone as he struggled for air. Lassie pulled him off then, a "Jesus, Spencer…" slipping from his lips in a whisper, apology written all over his face.
Shawn gasped for air, Lassie's hands still in his hair, and he looked at the man with faked contrition as his eyes watered, knowing it was worth it just for the reaction.
"I'm good. Is good," he choked. He took a breath to be sure, pressing the heel of his palm into the crotch of his pants to distract himself, transmuting the pain into pleasure. "Lemme finish. Is good. Make it good for you, too."
Carlton raised an eyebrow, the man looking like he was questioning the intelligence of it in the split second it took his primal side to veto any objection he might have had. But veto it did, and he slid Shawn and his waiting mouth back against his body, burying himself balls-deep. When Shawn went to move his tongue again, Lassie stopped him, the request just as mind-numbingly amazing as the last had been.
"Just open up and swallow, okay?" Lassie said, sensual and sexy and slightly demanding, all of which Shawn suddenly loved and wanted to hear every day for the rest of his damn life. "Now I know you're doing it, I'll be prepared. Let me do the work, okay?"
It wasn't work.
It couldn't ever be work when he was doing what he loved.
Still, Shawn did as asked, opening wide and swallowing hard every time the cop slid down his throat. He gripped Lassie's thigh to ground himself, his other hand rubbing against his clothed dick, no thought to the potential chafing he'd have to deal with come morning. How could there be when the sensation of being used so perfectly negated rational thought of any kind?
Lassie guided himself forward slowly at first, but slow wasn't where they had left off at and it wasn't what Shawn wanted. The idea of the cop riding his face too hot to pass up, he slid the hand that was on the man's thigh to his ass at the next upward motion. When Lassie tried to pull away, he shoved him closer yet again, sealing his mouth around the cop's cock as best he could, determined to have his way.
Lassie looked at him and sighed, resigned to giving Shawn what he wanted, only this time without the usual argument about it.
"Fine, Spencer." His fingers ran down the side of Shawn's face, the touch tender and tentative, a hint of warning behind it. "Just remember you wanted this when you can't talk tomorrow."
He had barely a second to prepare himself when Lassie's hips snapped, the force more powerful than the psychic could have ever imagined. Then it happened again. And again, Lassie's hands keeping him still as he picked up speed, the momentum of his body bouncing off the mattress making Shawn shake. It was bliss. Nirvana-esque. The closest thing to earthbound heaven he had ever experienced, the knowledge that he was making Lassie lose control combined with the pressure of his hand stroking through his jeans causing him to teeter on the edge of his own precipice.
Shawn did his best to keep his tongue flat. He breathed through his nose, inhaling the scent of the man – the sweat and heat and hunger of the man – as he railed into him. The cop's hips stuttered as he neared completion and the psychic hollowed his cheeks, savoring the flavor of the precome beading on the tip of Lassie's dick and gliding down his throat with every thrust.
"Shawn. Fuck. Fuck, Spencer. Christ... Shawn. Shawn. Fuck, Sha-"
The tempo of the movement was almost magical, the sound of Lassie trying to hold on almost musical, and as his name filled Carlton's mouth, Shawn found it finally washed the questions out - the sound of pleasure ringing in his ears louder and louder and louder and louder until there was nothing but the two of them there.
No future, no past.
No sorrow, no fear.
No troubles, no doubt.
Just love.
Just Lassie.
The cop's voice rose. Fell. Faded into nothingness, then exploded out of him as he screamed Shawn's name – echoed against the walls as his orgasm came, ripping through his body to leave him weak and tremor-wracked. A fine sheen of sweat coated his chest and his back and his arms and his legs and Shawn didn't care, swallowing greedily and sliding up to press them together, both gasping for air as he wrapped his arms around his lover and waited for him to come down from on high.
"Jesus, Shawn –" Lassie sighed.
"Nope, not him either."
Shawn laughed and knew by the look in Lassie's eyes that he would have been smacked had the man any strength. Instead, Lassie pushed his hands back through the strands of Shawn's hair, affectionately messing it up simply cause he knew he could. Shawn beamed at him, the act the closest thing to play he had ever seen from Carlton. He still had the problem of his own erection to contend with, but it wasn't nearly as important as the glow radiating off the man who'd just come so hard the neighbors had probably called the cops.
Hilarious as it would be, Shawn really hoped they hadn't. The last thing they needed was Dobson at the door.
"I told you I could make you feel like I was holy, though, didn't I?" he said smugly, curling up next to Lassie and pressing a kiss to his brow.
Placated and pleasured and obviously at ease, Lassie responded with a laugh of his own, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight as his fingers crawled down the soft slope of the psychic's stomach to rest on Shawn's bulge with a squeeze.
"I'm not giving your ego that boost, Spencer," he said, teasing with both action and words as he shifted in place, propping himself on an elbow to look down at the brat beside him. "Your head might explode if I do."
The jab was delivered into the flesh of Shawn's neck, Lassie dragging him down and slithering over him as he spoke, the man sucking a clear sign of possession into his skin. Shawn felt it not just there but everywhere, and he sobbed when the man's teeth sank into his throat without warning, the scrape of incisors sending electricity sparking through his veins. A strangled sound broke free and the detective's tongue slid out to soothe the sore spot on his jugular, leaving the psychic shuddering in a haze, only able to feel, Shawn's hands wrapping around sweat-dampened shoulders, desperate to prove to himself everything about this night had been real. He clawed into Carlton's back, clutching him near and holding on for what felt like dear life as Lassie licked long swaths, the little nips interspersed with open-mouthed kisses spinning Shawn's head, all the blood left in it flowing directly to his dick.
"That's – that's not the one you should worry about exploding right now."
"It's not?" Lassie asked sweetly, turning his false innocence on Shawn like Shawn had on him, popping the psychic's fly open to release him from his prison. His fingers fluttered down his shaft and wrapped around him in a loose circle – not to pleasure but to fluster, the dry friction on Shawn's oversensitive skin almost excruciating but still driving him wild.
The devil.
Lassie was the goddamn motherfucking insert long line of expletives here devil.
"Is this the one I should worry about?"
Canting his hips forward as he tried to form a better connection, Shawn keened in disbelief, failing when Lassie pulled away from his efforts. He rested back on the bed, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he tried to control himself, his breath heavy and eyes narrowed as Lassie's thumb glided up the underside and pressed into the space just below his cock-head, rubbing at the groove.
"Lassssssssssie..."
Shawn wasn't normally one to whine, not in general and definitely not in bed, but the cop brought it out in him, his need obvious and incessant. If whining gave him what he wanted, Shawn would do it. Hell, he'd do twice as much for Lassie's hand on his cock than he'd do for a Klondike bar, and nobody wanted to know what he'd get up to for one of those.
"Lassie… pleaaaaaaaaaase? Please please please please please please please?"
With a wry smile, the man brought his fingers up to Shawn's spit-slicked and swollen lips, tracing the lower one briefly before he leaned in with another task, a hard humor in his eyes as he made his demand.
"Lick."
Lassie's eyes pierced the psychic like stilettos in the dark and he found himself obeying, no noise in the room but the beat of his heart and the sound of his blood as it rushed from brain to dick, Shawn opening his mouth wide to acquiesce quick. His tongue snaked around Lassie's index first, then his middle, lapping at the ring finger, followed by the palm, performing his task with a single-minded purpose.
"Enough," Lassie said.
Shawn's jaw snapped shut and with hand back on his cock, Carlton ordered him to move, voice sounding like whisky soaked gravel.
"Buck."
Lassiter stroked down as Shawn's hips tilted up, and though he would have done so gleefully, Shawn was glad he didn't have to make his own waves to get some motion in his ocean. He didn't know if Lassie had done this before or if he was just that good at jacking himself off, but the sensation was exactly what he needed, soft grunts tumbling from his mouth as Lassie manipulated him artfully, like he was Van Gogh and Shawn his starry masterpiece.
It was quick and dirty.
Hard and fast.
It was heaven.
Better than heaven – the feel of Lassie's hand so firmly wrapped around him everything he'd never known he'd always wanted.
He came in hot heavy spurts after just a few strokes more, the rub and tug too much to bear, semen soaking his shirt and Lassie's hand as he blissfully came undone. Trying to breathe, Shawn could only heave, the air knocked out of him by the intensity of his orgasm and the slow, languid smile Lassie shot his way. Chagrined, he smiled back, finding himself nearly shocked out of his socks when Lassie raised his come-drenched fingers to his face, tongue darting out to take a tentative taste of what Shawn had left behind. Then a less tentative taste, his hazel eyes widening, and a soft "oh" slipping from his lips as he watched Lassie lick himself clean, turning into a memory from his spank bank he planned to visit often.
So so very often.
"Kind of tastes like pineapple."
A grin burst from Shawn's face as the psychic laughed his ever-loving ass off, Lassie's response unexpected and also maybe the best thing Shawn had ever heard.
"Are y – are you really surprised, Lassie?" he chuckled, his hand falling to the soft swell of his belly and the mess he had made. He wrinkled his nose as his fingers met the wet spot and Lassie laughed back at him, helping him sit up so he could pull his shirt off.
"I shouldn't be, should I?" he asked, eyeing Shawn's freshly bared chest, saliva dampened fingers reaching out to caress the long thin scar scored in between Shawn's pecs.
Shawn stiffened a little at the inquisitive touch, but he let Lassie continue, keeping his answer as light as he could. His scar was a touchy topic for him, a thing that made him feel more vulnerable than his dick flapping in the breeze; something he let people touch even less than his magnificent hair. But this was Lassie and Shawn had decided somewhere in the midst of getting his face fucked – somewhere around the time his world broke open, his hands on Lassie's wrists as his body begged to be taken – that he wasn't going to hold anything back anymore.
Nothing but that one thing, which he knew would come out in due time.
"Not if you want me to think you're a good detective, no," he quipped, only the smallest amount of snark in his remark as he replied.
Carlton pulled his eyes up to Shawn's face and watched the psychic nearly tip ass over teakettle as he struggled to pull himself from his jeans. He reached out to steady the man and Shawn smiled at him and continued, the feeling of Lassie's big hands on his shoulders more comforting than it should be.
"Been part of the Zipper Club since I was 22, Lass," he said with a shrug, nonchalant over what was once the biggest deal in his short life. "That's what almost dying does to you. Gives you a flashy new accessory you can never leave home without." He tugged at the pant-leg stuck on his ankle and leaned back against the man's pillow, giving up and wiggling his foot in Lassie's direction. "Can't take my swag off even if I tried. But you help me with this and I promise you can play with it some more."
"That's… that's why you live life so hard, isn't it?"
The question came out of nowhere and Shawn blinked, surprised that Lassie hadn't asked whether he'd meant his scar or his dick. His scar was, in fact, part of the reason he lived like he did – a reminder of a collapsed valve and a near death experience at an age where he should have been at the top of his game; a year out of commission in between his stints working constituent relations in El Paso and concessions in Atlanta as he ran from a past that caught up with him at the worst possible time. But he wasn't sure how to tell Lassie that, so he lowered his leg and let it swing over the edge of the bed as he considered instead.
Lassie just looked at him and waited with patience, finally leaning over and capturing Shawn's fallen foot after a few moments of silence.
Shawn decided to answer as the man pried the pants off his leg, a gentle swat to Lassie's exposed ass to punctuate.
"Damn straight it is, Lassmaster."
Lassie glared back at him, half sprawled across Shawn's naked lap, the smack having caught him off guard as he balanced on one knee. He opened his mouth to protest but Shawn continued, skimming a hand across the knots in Lassie's spine and stopping at the small of his back to stroke his name into Carlton's skin with his fingertips.
"I live hard because I never know if tomorrow will come, Lassie."
He paused long enough to take a steadying breath, then continued.
"But you're gonna teach me to love even harder than I live and give me a reason to keep hoping it does," he insisted, pulling Lassiter from his lap into his embrace. The cop nodded, wrapping himself around Shawn with a kiss pressed to his forehead, and they settled into each other with what seemed like practiced ease, two mated puzzle pieces finally finding their home. "Cause I want us to have all sorts of tomorrows together."
Lassie glanced over at him, the look so full of affection Shawn thought his damaged heart had burst. His grip spouting sonnets of silent love, the cop laced their fingers back together again and Shawn sank into the touch, hoping to hold on to it and its giver for eternity. And if he was lucky, Lassie just might let him.
"Now – I dunno about you," he said, suddenly exhausted, the enormity of his orgasm and emotions leaving him wiped, "but I'm tired. Sleepy time?"
Lassie nodded at him, eyes shining with mirth at the juvenility of Shawn's words. "Yeah, I can sleep. Do you want to be the big spoon or the little one?"
He tugged the blankets up around them, grabbing his second pillow from where it had been knocked against the headboard and shoving it under his head. Shawn shifted to get comfortable and kicked his feet beneath the sheets, aiming for snuggly. His legs slid against Lassie's, their toes touching when Carlton tucked his legs up, and he responded, a little surprised.
"Really? I actually get a choice?"
"Not even a little bit," Lassie sighed, wrapping an arm around him and pulling Shawn in. The sound was contentment vocalized and as he reached over to run a hand across Shawn's face, gently feeling his features as if he was trying to memorize them by touch, Shawn sighed, feeling the same way. "Shut up and roll over, Spencer."
Shawn smiled. And strong arms holding him tight, Shawn did.
"G'night, Lassie. I love you, too."
