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Carlton's Worst Inhibitions	By : MsTeragram Category: M through R > Psych Views: 2179 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
The Drimmer case came to
trial just as it began to get really warm outside. Lassiter wore the suit and
tie he always wore when he had to appear in court. He sat in the hall until
called to the stand. Shawn had testified earlier and was now in the gallery
with Guster, Henry, and O'Hara. On the other side of the gallery were Garcia and
Miles (judiciously avoiding eye contact with him), and Drimmer's mother who
glared at him from her wheelchair as he took the stand. The woman was in her
late 60s, and had already lost a leg to diabetes, and now her only son was
going to jail. He almost felt guilty until he remembered how Drimmer had hit
Shawn in the head and tried to kill them both.
He sat rigidly in the
witness chair and prepared himself for the worst. He had spent all night
imagining how the defence attorney might bring up his relationship with Shawn.
His favourite dreaded scenario involved the lawyer holding up an envelope that
had arrived anonymously in the mail and saying he'd like to submit these
photographs as evidence. "Exactly when did Detective Drimmer find out
about your secret homosexual affair?" the dream attorney would ask. He'd
never lied under oath, and he wasn't about to start now.
If they ask me a direct question, I'll just tell the truth, he
decided. Still, he was glad it wasn't his mother glaring at him from the
gallery.
But none of his fears
were realized. The questions from both attorneys were straightforward and he
answered them as clearly and concisely as possible. When the court recessed for
lunch he joined O'Hara, Henry, Guster and Shawn at a nearby restaurant. He should
have been feeling relief, and he was in a way. But he also felt like a heel
because O'Hara was the only person at the table who didn't know he was dating
Shawn. She was his partner, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to tell her.
It wasn't that he didn't think she'd be supportive; he was pretty certain that
she would. But he knew it would change their dynamic if he was suddenly someone
who needed support. He didn't want his junior detective looking at him with
pity in those big blue eyes. He was sure she was going to pick up on some of
the looks that were flashing back and forth between Henry, Guster and Shawn.
Shawn in particular kept looking at him and motioning toward O'Hara with a look
that had 'tell her, already!' written all over it. He
probably would tell her, he thought, but
not here at lunch with everyone looking at him. Just
as they were finishing Lassiter got a phone call. It was the prosecutor.
Drimmer's lawyer had cut a deal. He was pleading guilty. Lassiter's headache
lifted.
An hour later Shawn and
Lassiter were in the Crown Vic, headed for a destination Shawn refused to
reveal. He simply yelled out driving directions whenever he happened to look up
from his copy of Out Magazine.
"Give me a
hint," Lassiter said. "At least enough of a hint to know if I should
be looking for an exit sign."
"I'll give you two
hints. Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin will be there."
"Is it a cemetery?
Because they're both dead."
"Only physically
dead. In spirit, and through the magic of impersonation, they're at the club
we're going to."
"Interesting. It has
to be better than that—what the hell is this idiot doing?" An SUV
had hove into view behind them and was tailgating them dangerously.
"Are you impeding
the flow of traffic with your ridiculous adherence to the posted speed
limit?" Shawn asked.
"I'm driving under
the legal 45 mph for this area if that's what you mean."
"I thought so. Just
let him pass."
"He's not
passing."
"Then pull over or
something."
Lassiter motioned for the
SUV to pass and pulled closer to the shoulder. The other vehicle sped up. Just
as it was abreast of the Crown Vic, it smashed heavily into the side of the
car. Lassiter swore, swerved onto the shoulder and grazed the guardrail before
he pulled back onto the tarmac.
"What the
hell?" Shawn looked up from his magazine in time to glimpse the grey Ford
Explorer. "Oh. It's our stalker!" This time Shawn noticed the
disability symbol on the California licence plate.
"The crazy bastard's
trying to kill us." Lassiter said.
The Explorer slowed until
it was even with the car again and then turned sharply into their lane,
smashing into the wheel well and cutting them off. Lassiter swerved and the
Crown Vic did a doughnut. Shawn watched in shock as the car hit the guardrail
and crashed through. The last thing he remembered was seeing rocks and sand
approaching them from far away at an extremely rapid pace.
When Shawn regained
consciousness he was dangling forward in his seat belt and covered in white
powder from the airbag. Through the smashed windshield he could see nothing but
sand and rocks.
"Carlton, are you
okay? Speak to me, buddy." He reached over and put his hand on Lassiter's
chest. He was breathing. Shawn felt for a pulse. Carlton was alive, but he had
some cuts to his face and Shawn didn't like the angle of his left arm. He
pulled his cell out of the glove compartment and called 911.
"Hang in
there," he said to the unconscious man, "They're going to come get
us."
It occurred to Shawn that
whoever had been driving the Explorer might be sticking around to finish the
job. He reached over to Lassiter's body and manoeuvred the gun out of his
holster. Now he needed to see outside. The door on his side of the car wouldn't
open, but the rear window on the driver's side was completely smashed from
where the SUV had hit it. He unlatched his seatbelt and crawled up into the
back seat and out the window. As he did so he noticed that his right ankle hurt
like crazy.
Hopping on his good foot
and hanging onto car for support, Shawn examined the scene of the crash. The
Crown Vic had fallen down the 150 ft cliff face and now lay propped on her nose
in the sand and rocks. Only the slight angle of the drop-off had prevented the
vehicle from tumbling over. Holding the gun with his finger on the safety, he
scanned the top of the cliff; nobody was lurking about. Whoever had tried to
kill them had assumed the job was done and fled the scene. Shawn moved to the
driver's door and pulled. It didn't budge. He hopped to a nearby outcrop and
sat, waiting for the ambulance. As the adrenaline in his body began to
dissipate the pain in his ankle increased. The sun was setting into the ocean
like a melting Creamsicle and birds were flying across the water, but the most
beautiful sight for Shawn that evening was the ambulance crew working their way
down the cliff face.
***
Lassiter awoke in the
hospital, lying in a bed, with O'Hara peering over him, making her serious
face.
"Carlton, it's me.
You're okay; you're in the hospital."
"I'm not blind,
O'Hara. I can see that. Where's Shawn?"
"He's in
x-ray."
"Is he okay?"
"He's fine."
"If he's fine then
why is he in x-ray?"
"He might have a
fractured ankle. Might. How are you feeling?"
"My hip and my
shoulder hurt. Am I injured?"
"You're mostly just
bruised. Your shoulder popped out of joint. The doctor fixed that while you
were unconscious. They've got you on painkillers, but if it hurts too much let
me know and I'll got get someone to up the dosage."
"I don't need any
more drugs." What he really needed was to see Shawn. He didn't think
O'Hara would lie to him, but he really needed to see for himself that Shawn was
okay.
She walked over and
closed the door then returned to Lassiter's bedside.
"Look, I don't want
to overstep the boundaries here, but�" she leaned in and spoke quickly,
"You're the boyfriend Shawn was talking about, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I'm the
boyfriend." There. She knew. She wasn't good with secrets,
but she was his partner, and she deserved to know. Especially since she had
finally worked it out on her own.
"I knew it!"
She smiled wide and did a celebratory fist pump with both hands. Her eyes were
shining and she was looking at Lassiter like she'd just solved a homicide.
"The photos, and the two of you in the car, and I heard you had a scene
with Miles at work about Shawn coming out. I thought, 'no it can't be him, he's
too prim and proper,' but then I thought about how freaked out you were by
Drimmer's suicide letter plan and it just all made sense." She
was babbling, the way she tended to do when she got excited. But she wasn't
wrong.
"Who else
knows?" She asked.
"Vick knows, and
Shawn told Guster and Henry."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Although
Miles could probably figure it out if he wasn't thick as a post. My fist to his
gut should have been a hint." Lassiter motioned her to come closer and she
leaned in.
'What is it? Are you in
pain?" She looked over his tubes and wires for something amiss.
"Nothing's wrong.
But if it's possible, can you bring Shawn here before he leaves? I hate to ask,
but I'd just like to see for myself that he's okay."
"Aw, Lassiter.
That's really sweet." Great. She's looking at me
like I've just stepped off the cover of Romance Comics. This! This is why I
didn't want to tell her.
The door opened and Henry
Spencer popped his head inside.
"Henry,"
Lassiter said. "Join the party."
Henry stood by Lassiter's
bedside with his hands in his pockets. Juliet excused herself and left them
alone.
"Hey Carlton. How
are you?"
"Fine. How's Shawn's
ankle?"
"It's sprained. He's
fine. He's checking himself out, against his doctor's recommendation. They want
to keep him overnight for observation.
"Bring him in here
and I'll try to talk some sense into him," Lassiter said. He
was pretty sure Henry would see right through him but it was worth a shot.
"He wants to see you
too," Henry assured him. "I heard he made a big scene at the station
a while back."
"Yeah. He came out
to everyone. Very loudly." Now that Lassiter thought back on the scene it
didn't seem as hellish In fact he found himself laughing at the way Shawn had
dealt with Miles.
"And how about
you?"
"The anonymous
photographer pretty much took care of that. O'Hara knows. Vick knows. Garcia
and Miles in the gang unit probably know. Shawn's right. I may as well just put
his picture up on my desk."
"What does Shawn
know about coming out at work?" Henry asked rhetorically. "He runs a
fake detective agency. He's one step away from living in a tree fort with a
sign that says 'no girls allowed.'"
"He knows what he's
talking about when it comes to being open about who he's with. That puts him
ahead of me." It felt pretty weird to think of Shawn as the
brave one between the two of them.
"Don't let the kid
snow you, Carlton. Watching a few episodes of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
doesn't make him Harvey Milk."
"Well he has got a
big head-start on me in the whole dating men thing."
"If you believe that
you're not the detective I thought you were." Henry looked at him with
that police stare of his.
"Are you saying that
Shawn hasn't dated other men?" Oh God, Lassiter
thought. Could I have gotten this whole thing completely
wrong?
"That's exactly what
I'm saying."
"Are you sure?"
Lassiter's mind was grasping at straws, Maybe Henry just didn't know.
Maybe Shawn hadn't said anything to him until recently.
"Shawn has been
throwing his behaviour in my face since highschool. Do you really think he
wouldn't have told me if he'd been sleeping with guys? Trust me on this. You're
it. Don't let it go to your head."
"But we talked about
it. Why would he say that if it wasn't true?" Even as he asked the
question, he knew the answer. Shawn lied about it because I
didn't believe him when he told me the truth. Lassiter
felt like a complete asshole.
"Listen, "Henry
said, "if there's one thing Shawn is an expert on, it's bullshitting.
Whenever he doesn't feel in control he makes up some outrageous story. If this
thing between you lasts you'll either learn to ignore it or see right through
it."
***
In another room of the
hospital, Shawn was solving the case. He was sitting on the edge of the bed
while a nurse took his blood pressure. O'Hara and Gus were listening
attentively.
"I'm having a
vision. I see St. Elmo's Fire...no, it's Rick Hansen. No, sorry, it's not a Man
in Motion, it's a woman. A woman in a wheelchair." In fact, it was the
woman in the courtroom whose look had said she was trying to kill him, Scanners
style. The woman whose amputated leg enabled her to get disability parking
plates on her grey Ford Explorer.
The nurse wrote something
on her clipboard and left the room. She's probably reporting that
I'm having hallucinations, Shawn thought. I'll
be lucky if I get out of here without a visit to the psychologist.
"She's only got one
leg. She's driving the grey Ford Explorer that tried to run us off the road.
She's one angry mother—"
"Shut your
mouth!" Gus glared at him warningly. He had a rule about swearing in front
of women, especially Juliet.
"No, seriously,
Gus," Shawn said, "She's somebody's mother."
"Drimmer's mother
only has one leg!" O'Hara jumped on the clue. "She had to have the
other one amputated. And she was in court today. She could have followed you
when you left."
"I'm sensing she
blames us for destroying her son's career and sending him to jail," Shawn
said. "Also, she may believe we cancelled Matlock." Gus and Juliet
looked at him sceptically. "Come on! Old people love Matlock."
"I'll have McNab run
a check on her." O'Hara pulled out her cell phone and talked for a few
minutes.
"Dude, you've got to
help me convince them I'm good to go," Shawn said to Gus. "I've got
to see Lassie and make sure he's okay."
"The doctor thinks
you should stay in bed with rest, ice, compression and elevation. They call it
RICE. Take your RICE, Shawn."
"I don't want any
rice. It's just a sprain. I'm fine."
"Shawn, an ankle
sprain can lead to damaged ligaments and tendons, or even osteoarthritis. You
should stay here."
"But Juliet said he
wants to see me!" Shawn pouted and looked at Gus with his saddest face.
"Do not make puppy
dog eyes at me, Shawn," Gus warned. "It will not work this
time."
O'Hara finished her phone
call and rejoined them.
"Guess who drives a
grey Ford Explorer with a disability plate?"
"Professor X?
Barbara Gordon? Stephen Hawking? Are they real or fictional?"
"It's registered to
Mrs. Joan Drimmer, Detective Drimmer's mother."
"That was my next
guess." Shawn put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. "Wait! I
see her stalking Lassie and me and taking pictures from her SUV. She's our
mystery paparazzi!"
O'Hara looked at Shawn
with amazement. "Yes. She's a retired photojournalist living in Santa
Paula."
Shawn could have simply said
he'd seen the plate. He could have even claimed to have seen Drimmer's mother
at the wheel. But this was way more fun. Besides, the SUV would be damaged, and
the techs could match the paint from it to the trace left on Lassiter's Crown
Vic. The Chief would have her hard evidence. Plus, he was pretty sure that once
they arrested her she'd be only too happy to tell her version of events to
anyone who'd listen. She would probably include her photographic stakeouts,
too. It was all part of her deluded fantasy about how he and Lassiter had
framed her poor innocent boy. She probably still had the negatives of the
pictures.
Shawn looked at Gus and
O'Hara expectantly.
"So. Can one of you
please help me hop out of here so I can see my boyfriend?"
***
Lassiter left the
doctor's office with a triumphant smile. He'd spent six aggravating weeks
wearing a sling to stabilize his shoulder. His final check-up had revealed no
permanent damage to the muscles. He had full mobility, and the doctor had
cleared him for return to active duty. While his injury healed he'd been
limited to working his desk. Although it was humiliating and annoying, it also
gave him a lot of time to think.
His conversation in the
hospital with Henry had changed how he viewed what was going on with Shawn.
This was a first for both of them. Shawn was just adjusting to it easier than
he was. That should be no surprise, Lassiter
thought. He's usually a few steps ahead of me on every case
we work, too.
Lassiter had also given
some serious thought to his ambitions. His career had always taken precedence
over his relationships. He'd tried to explain to Victoria that the long hours,
missed dinners, and forgotten anniversaries were just part of the job. But the
truth was that he'd chosen to put work first, again and again. It was part of
The Plan that would culminate in becoming Chief. In the end, that was why
Victoria had left—she'd just gotten tired of always taking a back seat to
The Plan. Lucinda's departure had just been a taste of his own medicine. Sick
mother, my ass!
However progressive
California might seem to the rest of the country, being open about dating Shawn
would pretty much torpedo The Plan. The mayor had canned Raymond Sauter because
the guy had been caught having an affair. Or to be fair,
Lassiter thought, it might have been the fact that the affair
was spread all over the front page of the newspaper that bothered the Mayor
most. Vick had a lot of support at City Hall. She didn't seem the type to cash
in her chips for early retirement. She'd have kids to put through college. By
the time she reached mandatory retirement age Lassiter wouldn't be that far
behind her. Was it really worth sacrificing his personal life for a job title
he might never have—might never even have a chance of having?
Lassiter realized that while he still wanted to be Chief, he no longer wanted
it at the cost of everything else. This new insight slowly led him to another
deduction. He was in love with Shawn Spencer. It was the only logical reason he
didn't feel particularly upset about letting go of the dream of following in
Chief Fenich's footsteps.
His first week back to
work he'd framed the surveillance photo of him and Shawn at Judy's cafe and put
it on his desk. Coming out announcements weren't his style, but he'd given
O'Hara the okay to discuss it if people asked. I give it a
week before everyone knows, he figured. He even called
Russell Santos and collected on that fifty-dollar bet. Eric has insisted that
he bring Shawn to their place for dinner. He'd promised to get back to them.
Shawn had been playing
Florence Nightingale since the collision, helping him shower, cooking dinner,
and driving him to and from work. While they watched television Shawn had
gently massaged his muscles and helped him do the exercises the doctor had
recommended. Initially he had been overwhelmed by embarrassment at being so
reliant upon another person. Gradually, he realized that Shawn's consideration
and attentiveness told him something very important. Shawn actually cared. It
wasn't just about the badge, or the gun (although the gun was still pretty
sexy) or the power that being head detective gave him. Maybe Shawn would still
love him if he raised meercats—whatever those were.
Over the past two weeks
Lassiter had demanded more time to himself. He claimed that he wanted to
readjust to doing things on his own, and that he felt guilty about monopolizing
Shawn's time. Shawn had agreed, noting that he did need some quality time with
Gus, but Lassiter could tell that his Spidey-sense had been on high alert. Well,
Lassiter thought, Shawn would find out tonight what all that
alone time had been about.
Lassiter left work early
and went home. He pulled the covers off the bed, dimmed the lights, and put
some Sinatra on the stereo. He poured himself a scotch on ice and sat waiting
for Shawn to arrive. He felt as nervous as he had on their first date. They'd
continued to have sex despite Lassiter's injury, but it had been a softer,
gentler, more tentative sex. While great in its own way, Lassiter had had his
fill of being treated like a delicate flower. Now that he had the green light
on his arm, he wanted to cut loose. And tonight was the night. He was finally
ready to show Shawn how he felt in the only way he hadn't thus far.
The sound of a key in the
lock pulled him from his reverie and he went to the door.
"Lassie!" Shawn
said. "The sling's off, I see."
Lassiter pulled him
inside, pinned him against the wall with the length of his body and began to
suck and bite his neck, overwhelmed by the desire to mark him as his own. Shawn
gasped and arched against him. Lassiter ground his erection against Shawn's
hip, feeling Shawn stiffen against his thigh.
"So I guess this
means it's good news about your arm?" Shawn whispered hoarsely into
Lassiter's neck.
"What do you
think?" He crushed his mouth against Spencer's soft lips and invaded him
with his tongue. He dragged his lips across to Shawn's bristly cheek and down
to his shoulder, gently biting the muscles of his neck as he went.
"So, no operation
then?" Shawn asked.
"Nope."
"That's too bad. I
was hoping we could have a comparison of scars, Lethal Weapon-style."
"They stole that
from Jaws." Even with his mounting excitement, Lassiter couldn't help
getting pulled into Shawn's weird pop culture tangents.
"But it wasn't
nearly as sexy in Jaws."
Enough talk,
Lassiter thought, more sex.
Lassiter grabbed Shawn by
the wrist and shoulder and flipped him around, pressed him against the wall and
leaned hard against him from behind.
"I think you're
going to give me a fetish for walls if you keep this up," Shawn said.
"Would that be such
a bad thing?" Lassiter mumbled.
"It might be if
these low gloss walls absorb stains like I think they would. You'd never get
your damage deposit back."
Taking Shawn in a basic
arm hold, Lassiter pushed him into the bedroom. He threw him onto the mattress,
already stripped bare of blankets.
"Get naked,
Spencer."
"Oooh. Yes
Sir!" Shawn quickly kicked off his sneakers and socks and sloughed the
t-shirt, jeans and underwear. He hurried forward to help Lassiter with the
buttons of his dress shirt but he pushed him forcefully back onto the bed.
"I got it,
thanks." Lassiter slowly removed his clothes, watching Shawn as he lay
naked, writing with lust and impatience. Once naked, Lassiter climbed on top of
Shawn and allowed his hands to wander over his body drinking in every aspect of
it. Shawn did have some interesting scars, Lassiter
noted. Maybe they should do a show and tell sometime.
Shawn rolled on top of
him and worked his way down his body, kissing, licking and sucking, leaving a
trail of hickeys across his hip bone. Lassiter didn't mind; he liked having
reminders of their encounters on his skin. Shawn licked the underside of
Lassiter's cock and enveloped him in his mouth. He groaned at the heat, the
moist pressure and the amazing dexterity of Shawn's tongue. The pleasure was
mounting quickly, spreading out into the rest of his body. If this continued
the evening could come to a quick and explosive end right here. But that wasn't
his plan. He placed an open palm on Shawn's forehead and firmly pushed him back
and off his straining hard-on.
"Was I doing it
wrong?" Shawn asked breathlessly.
"You were doing it
perfectly," he said. "Too much so. Get up here. I want your mouth
back."
Shawn moved up the bed
and Lassiter held him firmly to his chest as they kissed. Lassiter pulled back
and met Shawn's gaze. His pupils were enormously dilated, the irises only a
halo of dazzling blue.
"I want you,
Shawn." Lassiter couldn't remember having been this aroused before.
"I'm all yours,
Lassie."
"I meant that
sexually. Let's do it." He licked his lips nervously. "Let's go all
the way."
"Oh Lassie, you Sly
Fox."
Oh well, Lassiter
thought, I walked right into that.
"I mean it, Shawn.
I've been doing some reading." He leaned over and pulled a book from a
drawer of his nightstand and handed it to Shawn.
"Anal Pleasure and
Health," Shawn read. "This is easily one of the least
sexiest titles I've ever heard."
"I've looked at a
lot of websites, too. I bookmarked some in case you want to refer to
them."
"I think I've got
the basic mechanics worked out for myself," Shawn said. "Although can
I just say, the idea of you looking at gay porn online is incredibly hot."
"It was
research."
"Sure it was."
Shawn grinned.
"I've been giving it
a lot of thought," Lassiter said, "and I think it only fair that I
should go first. I believe they call it bottoming."
"Really?" Shawn
looked surprised. "Cause I just assumed you'd be McGarrett and I'd be
Danno in this scenario."
"I wouldn't expect
my officers to go into a situation I wouldn't go into myself. Why would this be
any different?"
"Please tell me
you're not expecting me to sleep with McNab or Dobson?"
"Don't even think
about it." Lassiter continued, "I've got condoms and lube and I've
been practicing with some toys I bought."
Shawn laughed.
"What, no poppers or leather sling?"
Lassiter pulled a bottle
of Astroglide and a package of condoms out of the dresser. Buying condoms had
stopped being embarrassing once he was out of his teens, but buying condoms and
lube at the same time was a whole different ballgame. That said 'anal sex.'
He'd bought the condoms at a nearby drugstore but had gone across town to an
adult store for the lube and toys. He'd paid in cash. It had taken all his
self-control not to wear a false moustache or a prosthetic nose.
"Be serious a
minute, Shawn. Is this something you want to do? Or are you only interested in
it the other way around?" It hadn't occurred to him until that moment that
Shawn might be a bottom. The websites he'd read suggested that expectations of
that kind were mostly a myth.
"Not at all. No, I'm
interested in all of it." Shawn grinned at him, but there was anxiety
behind his eyes.
"Are you sure?"
Lassiter asked. He'd been preparing for this evening for weeks, but it wasn't
going ahead unless they were both certain they wanted it.
"I'm sure—if
you're sure," Shawn reached up and touched his face, running his hand
across the five-o'clock shadow of his jaw.
It suddenly occurred to
Lassiter that Shawn wasn't reluctant to have sex with him. He was reluctant to
hurt him.
"Don't worry,"
Lassiter said. "I trust you."
Shawn applied a generous
amount of lube to his hands and rubbed them together to warm it. He gently ran
his slick hand over Lassiter's cock, giving it a few strokes, then slid the
hand over his tightened balls and down to his ass. Lassiter spread his legs
slightly to give him better access. Shawn slowly inserted a finger and waited
for him to adjust to the new sensation.
"How are you
doing?" he asked anxiously.
"Fine."
Lassiter had been practicing in private with the butt plug he'd bought, so
Shawn's finger wasn't a challenge physically. What he hadn't prepared for was
how intimate the experience felt. He couldn't imagine feeling closer to Shawn
than he did that that moment.
"Are you ready for
two?" Shawn asked.
Lassiter nodded. Shawn
slowly added a second digit. and grazed them lightly over the prostate. With
his free hand he grasped Lassiter's cock and began to jerk him off. The
combination was intense. It took all of Lassiter's willpower not to let the
sensations overtake him and come from this alone.
"How about we go for
three?" Shawn asked.
"We can skip three.
I'm ready now." And by ready I mean I can't stop thinking about
having you inside me and we have to do this right now.
"Are you sure? We
have all night. There's no need to rush this."
"So help me Shawn,
if you don't fuck me soon I will handcuff you to this bed and have my way with
you." Using the cop voice is more dignified than
begging for it. Lassiter thought, but I'll beg
for it if I have to.
"How about we save
that scenario for later so I have something to look forward to?" Shawn
laughed.
He grabbed one of the
condoms off the bedspread and fumbled, trying to open it one-handed. Lassiter
intervened and opened the package.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention
it."
Shawn rolled the condom
onto his cock and brought his hips forward, leaning over Lassiter. He pressed
his erection against his fingers, entering as he removed his hand. Lassiter
breathed deeply and relaxed as much as possible, bearing down onto Shawn's
cock, which now felt enormous inside him. He gasped sharply as Shawn buried his
entire length inside, part in pleasure and part in surprise at the sudden sense
of fullness. Shawn, concerned, started to pull back but Lassiter wrapped his
legs around Shawn's hips, locking him in place.
"Relax, Spencer.
We're good." Good didn't even begin to describe it.
"Are you sure,
Lassie?" Shawn's voice was husky and breathless. He closed his eyes and
licked his lips. Lassiter could tell he was enjoying himself, but was touched
that his concern overrode his pleasure.
Lassiter dug his fingers
into Shawn's hair, pulled him forward and kissed him hard, trying to pour all
of the feelings he was having into the embrace.
"Trust me, I'm
sure."
"I'm not going to
move until you say so," Shawn assured him.
"Go ahead and
move." And by that I mean fuck me hard, right now.
Shawn slowly began to
thrust, pumping Lassiter's erection in his lube-slick hand as he did so.
"Lassie, you feel
incredible," Shawn whispered. He tilted his hips and grazed over
Lassiter's prostate. Lassiter groaned and his hands clenched the sheet above
his head. His breathing became ragged and heavy and he could feel the orgasm building
like a wave in his balls. This wasn't going to last
long.
"Harder?"
Lassiter asked, his tone almost pleading.
Shawn began harder faster
strokes in tandem with the movements of his hand on Lassiter's cock. The
sensations were more intense than anything Lassiter had felt before. It was
like having sex from the inside out. He cried hoarsely as he came into Shawn's
fist. His muscle spasms pushed Shawn over the edge and he clung to Lassiter's
hips as he thrust forward. Exhausted and soaked in sweat, Shawn fell on top of
him. Lassiter could feel Shawn's heart beat pounding against his chest.
"Oh God
Lassie," Shawn gasped, "I just....wow!" He rolled onto the bed and
lay gasping beside him. Lassiter's eyes were leaking, but he didn't feel sad. This
was the extreme opposite of sad.
Once he could move again
Shawn sat up, removed the condom and threw it into the garbage can. He leaned
in a kissed Lassiter long and softly.
Shawn pulled back and
looked into Lassiter's blue eyes. "I vote we take a break, order a pizza,
watch some CSI and then do this again but with you on top this time."
Lassiter looked at Shawn,
feeling giddy and light-headed. Thank God he didn't have to work in the
morning.
"Sounds good. What
do you want on your pizza?" Other than the obvious pineapple?
The End
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Carlton's Worst Inhibitions