Carlton's Worst Inhibitions

Rating: MA for M/M oral, anal. Mild bdsm overtones.

Pairings: Lassiter/Shawn

Warning: Shassie Slash. Takes place after Lassie Did A Bad Bad Thing. Contains spoilers for that episode and also for Shawn and Gus of The Dead. Also contains spoilers for Season 2 of The Shield. Sequel to Lassiter Learns How to Bend. Contains homophobic slurs.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: With their one-night-stand stretching into its second month, Lassiter tries to juggle his anxieties about Shawn's sexual history, coming out at work, and his own identity. Anonymous photos of Shawn and Lassiter begin arriving in the mail. Who is stalking them and what connection, if any, do they have to the upcoming Drimmer trial?

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 café 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 meerkats—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