The Case of the Friendly Indians

Russell cornered Lassiter on his way back from the bathroom.

“Carlton. Step into my office for a minute, will you? We need to talk.” Russell's office was a dark room done in wood panelling, filled with bookshelves and filing cabinets. A large computer desk occupied the far corner and two armchairs sat by the bookshelves. It was a good room. Lassiter took a seat in one of the chairs and noticed that several of the books on the shelf next to him were on ornithology.

“You’re into birds?” he asked Russell.

“What?" Russell sat in the chair opposite him and glanced at the bookshelf then back to Lassiter. " Oh yeah. You know, all the years I spent on stakeouts, I needed something to occupy myself. So I learned to identify birds.” Russell looked at Lassiter with a serious expression. “Listen, I have to ask. What are you think you're doing with Shawn?”

“I’m sorry?” Lassiter frowned, unsure where Russell was going with this.

“I mean, neither one of you is really gay.”

“What are you, the gay police?”

"I figured you'd come here with some boy toy--someone it was obvious you were just getting your rocks off with. But I like Shawn. He's funny, he seems bright, and he holds his ground under fire. I just don't see a future for the two of you."

"Thanks, Russ. That's really nice." Lassiter started to rise from the chair and Russell grabbed his arm.

"Sit. I'm not done. I need to know where your mind is at on this. Are you gay now or what?"

“Shawn and I are bisexual, if you must know.” Lassiter hated feeling like he needed a label, but if he had to pick one he'd go for accuracy over social acceptance.

Russell made a sharp intake of air whistle through his teeth.

“Carlton, I say this as a friend. Don't do this to yourself. Bisexuals make terrible long-term partners. They’re tourists. With both of you calling yourselves bisexual… it’s just… doomed.”

Lassiter narrowed his eyes at Russell. “Eric's bisexual, and you’ve been together for what, ten years now?”

“Don’t say that." Russell shook his head. "Eric is not bisexual. He just dated some women. In the past.”

Lassiter leaned back and laced his fingers together, contemplating Russell's discomfort. He began to wonder if this argument was about him and Shawn at all.

“I seem to remember him saying that he’d lived with a woman," Lassiter went on. "And I’m pretty sure that he still finds women attractive in the present. That’s bisexual.”

“Eric might be technically bisexual,” Russell had trouble spitting the word out, “But culturally and politically, he’s as gay as I am.”

“Have it your way, Russ. But don’t pretend you can predict where my love life is headed. I can only handle one psychic at a time.”

“There’s no future for the kind of a relationship you’re talking about,” Russell said. “And I think you know that. I mean, you haven't even introduced him to your family. You can sense it's a short-term thing. Some kind of mid-life crisis."

"Sweet Justice, Russ. I gave up on being police chief so I could be with Shawn. How much more do you want? Do I have to give my Catholic mother a heart attack? Do I have to make it so I never see my nephew again? Is that what it takes?"

"All I'm saying is that one of you is bound to get hurt, and frankly, now that I’ve seen Shawn, I’m afraid that person is going to be you.”

“You want to shut up now, Russell.” Lassiter clenched his jaw and sat on his hands to he wouldn't curl them into fists. Russell was way out of line, but socking his host would bring a swift and shameful end to their weekend visit. Plus Shawn had promised to help Mejias on that Indian case and would be disappointed if he couldn't follow through.

“Don't get me wrong," Russell said. "Shawn's a nice guy. But the man’s a player. He said it himself, he doesn't usually make it to a second date. Even by gay standards, that's not normal. And I know you, Carlton. You’re like a blue jay. You mate for life. Shawn’s a tomcat. And he’s going to toy with you for a while and then he’s going to tear you apart."

Lassiter stood. “Russell, you’re a good cop and I respect you. But you are seriously pissing me off. Now are you going to let this go or do Shawn and I go check into a hotel? It’s your choice.”

“Of course you stay here," Russell said. "Jesus, Carlton, I’m not trying to drive you out. I think of you as a friend.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

***

Lassiter usually considered it disrespectful to have sex in someone else's house, but after his argument with Russell he didn't feel much like keeping to that rule. In fact, given what Russell had said he felt like he needed to be close to Shawn if only to reassure himself that Russell was wrong.

When he entered their bedroom Shawn was already undressed.

"Hey Lassie," Shawn said. " I assume you want to keep the same side of the---" the rest of his question was lost as Lassiter claimed his mouth in a desperate kiss, opening his lips and surging forward with his tongue. Shawn moaned in surprise and then in interest and began to unbutton Lassiter's shirt. Lassiter moved his mouth to Shawn's neck so he could see better to undress him. His shirt fell to the floor, followed quickly by his pants.

"Bed," Lassiter whispered into Shawn's ear.

Shawn looked at him from under half-lowered lids. "What happened to your rule about no sex in Russell's house?" he asked, teasingly.

Lassiter doffed the remainder of his clothing and resumed the kissing, working his way across Shawn's chest then down his stomach and along his hip. "Screw Russell's house," he mumbled in between kisses. "Russell's an asshole."

"I assume there's a backstory to this that I'll hear all about tomorrow," Shawn said. "But for now I'm just glad you changed your mind." He bounced energetically off the bed, flung open his suitcase, and pulled a condom and two tiny packs of lube from an inside pocket. "I was a boyscout. We like to be prepared."

"Somehow I don't think this is what Robert Baden-Powell had in mind," Lassiter said.

"I wouldn't be so sure. He---" Whatever Shawn might have added was lost in a sharp intake of breath as Lassiter wrapped his lips around his hardened cock. "Oooh Lassie," he moaned, tangling his fingers into Lassiter's hair.

Lassiter raised his head just long enough to add, "But let's keep the noise level down anyway." Lassiter returned his mouth to Shawn's cock and soon had him gripping the sheets. After 176 days of blow jobs (give or take a day), Lassiter had gotten to know what Shawn liked. But as much as he enjoyed it, this wasn't what he needed tonight. He pulled away and Shawn made a subdued whimper of protest. The whimper was quickly replaced by a low gasp as Lassiter smoothed the lube along Shawn's cock and then down to his ass.

His mouth descended upon Shawn's lips again, partly because he wasn't sure that Shawn would remember to be quiet, and partly because what he needed tonight wasn't just sex. He needed to surrender himself to the idea that he and Shawn were more than a mid-life crisis or a fling or some kind of experiment. He needed to believe that what he felt with Shawn was, if not One True Love, then at least something real and lasting.

Shawn stifled a moan as Lassiter entered him, and then wrapped his legs around his hips, meeting him at every thrust. Lassiter wrapped his lube-slick hand around Shawn's cock and pumped it as best he could in the tight space between their bodies. Denied the outlet of speech, Shawn resorted to communicating with his lips, tongue, and hands, kissing, licking, and biting Lassiter's neck and raking his nails along every accessible inch of his skin. Although he wasn't saying the outrageously obscene things he usually did, Shawn's arousal was clear in the panting gasps and groans he tried to muffle against Lassiter's neck. Lassiter pumped his fist faster, and felt the muscles respond beneath his fingers. Shawn latched his lips onto Lassiter's neck and sucked hard as he came, spraying between their two stomachs. Slowing his thrusts until the sensation held him on the edge of his own orgasm, Lassiter ran a finger along Shawn's cheek, enjoying the roughness of his stubble.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Shawn said, not bothering to whisper. "Which is why I know you'll forgive me for this." He grabbed Lassiter's nipples tightly between his thumb and forefingers and pulled and twisted them, hard. The combination of the heat, the friction, and the intense, almost painful, sensation in his nipples was too much for Lassiter. He swore, louder than he'd intended to, and drove his hips forward as his orgasm overtook him.

Lassiter often had trouble adjusting to sleeping in a strange bed, and this night was no exception. Long after Shawn had dropped into a guileless slumber Lassiter lay staring at the ceiling and thinking.

By the six-month point with Victoria he’d been picking out the ring. Why were things different with Shawn? To be fair, he wasn’t a love-struck twenty-something anymore. With a failed marriage under his belt he was more cautious. But was he approaching things with Shawn differently because he’d lost his illusions about love, or did he see his relationship with Shawn as temporary? Maybe as some kind of mid-life crisis he’d eventually outgrow? Was Russell right? Is that why he wasn’t making long-term plans?

As long as they were just dating he didn't feel the need to tell his family about Shawn. But if they were contemplating marriage, or even a civil union or domestic partnership, then he'd have to make some uncomfortable telephone calls. For that kind of a step, his mother and sister, at the very least, deserved to be told. Were his concerns about scaring Shawn off just an excuse for his own cowardice?

He stretched and yawned. What he had with Shawn felt real. If he was honest with himself, it felt just as real as the first six months with Victoria had. But he was a cop, and a cop needed to trust his gut feelings. While his gut told him that he was in love, it also warned him that Shawn might not feel the same way. He turned on his side and watched Shawn’s chest rise and fall as he slept. He hated the uncertainty, but if he pushed for too much too fast he suspected that Shawn would panic and bolt. And at the moment he’d rather live with uncertainty than live without him.

He closed his eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.
***