Undercover and Overwhelmed

It was after midnight and Lassiter was lying on his bed, fully dressed. The only light was coming from the bedside reading lamp. His body was tired, but his mind was still wide awake. He was having regrets. Sometimes his life seemed like it all took place under a glaring spotlight. He was tired of feeling as if his personal life had to be vetted by his co-workers, his boss, his mother, or the nebulous entity of public opinion. If anything were going to happen between him and Spencer, Casa de Orgullo was the ideal location for it. It was secluded, and gay was the norm here. If it didn’t go well the whole thing could be left at Cachuma Lake and written off as an isolated incident. And if it went well…. He didn’t know what that would mean. Dancing with Spencer had felt right. And it had been a long time since he’d had sex.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened the drawer of the nightstand, where his Glock rested in its vault, just in case.

“It’s open,” he called.

Shawn entered, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief, then felt a new surge of anxiety. “What do you want, Spencer?”

Shawn didn’t answer. He just stood there, with his back against the door, looking at him. His silence was a little unnerving. When was Spencer ever silent? He didn’t even need to be asked questions. He just went on and on, regardless of whether people could even follow the thread of his tangled thoughts. Spencer’s only answer to his question was to lock the door.

Shawn was 80% sure he’d made the right decision. This thing between him and Lassiter wasn’t logical, which was why he couldn’t reason Lassiter into bed. What they had was chemical, and, though he was hesitant to admit it, emotional. He needed to just keep quiet and let their sexual chemistry do the work. He was used to talking and charming his way into people’s pants. Trust Lassiter to be the exception.

Lassiter rose from the bed and walked over slowly, noting that Spencer’s eyes never left his own. He thought of a dozen things to say to make him leave. But found himself simply repeating his original question, sure that he already knew the answer.

“What do you want?”

Shawn couldn’t tell if his plan was working for Lassiter, but it was certainly driving him crazy. He could feel the blood rushing through his body as he stood under the full force of Lassiter’s ice blue gaze. He was half hard just thinking about what might happen if Lassiter let it. The detective was standing so close now, Shawn could smell his aftershave. He was so tempted to speak that he forced his teeth down onto his tongue, holding it still.

Wait for it, he told himself. Wait for it….

Lassiter was intrigued. He could tell that Shawn was struggling against his own nature not to tease, joke, wheedle and plead. Part of him wondered how long Shawn could go without speaking, and part of him wished he would break now, say anything to release him from the spell their shared gaze seemed to put on him. But whereas his rational voice was normally the dominant one, his emotional voice was suddenly more insistent.

I don’t want to die wondering what this might have been.

He stepped forward, placed a hand on the door behind Shawn’s head, and leaned in, smelling the warmth of his skin and the scent of whatever it was he put in his hair. He moved within inches of Spencer’s mouth, and just hung there, leaving it to Spencer to make the next move. Despite all his flirtation, Lassiter had never been sure how far Spencer was prepared to take their attraction. But at least now he knew how far he was willing to go.

Shawn pulled Lassiter forward, letting his kiss speak for him. Lassiter responded, and Shawn pushed firmly against the small of his back, anxious to move past the part where Lassiter usually put a stop to things. He felt a surge of panic and disappointment as Lassiter leaned back again, just far enough to break the kiss. Shawn’s breath was coming in pants and the urge to speak was almost overwhelming, but he bit his lip and stuck to the plan.

“Relax Spencer,” Lassiter said. “I’m not going anywhere this time.” He grabbed Shawn’s shoulders and flipped him around, and pushed him chest-first against the door. He leaned into him, enjoying the feeling of Shawn’s body against his. Shawn moaned as Lassiter’s lips descended upon him, licking, kissing, then sucking his neck, bruising the skin.

He grasped Shawn’s erection through the denim of his jeans. His breath was coming in shallow gasps. Lassiter unbuttoned the jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. He slid his hand inside, beneath the band of underwear and was momentarily taken aback. Shawn’s pubic hair had been trimmed down to stubble. It felt clean, exposed, and brazen. He ran his fingers over the length of Shawn’s cock, which swelled in response. He grabbed Shawn’s hand and pulled it behind him, almost in an arm lock, then pushed the hand against his own cock, now straining at his pants.

“Is this what you want, Spencer?” he asked, his voice low and fierce.

Shawn could only whimper his assent. His legs felt like Jell-o and he clung to the wall trying to remain upright.

“Then I want you on the bed. Now.” Before I change my mind.

Lassiter stepped back, releasing Shawn, who quickly scampered to the bed, doffed his shoes and socks and pulled off his t-shirt. He’d never seen Shawn this compliant before. He felt a surge of triumph, yet it was also a little unnerving.

“It’s okay to speak,” he said. “I need to know if you’re…you’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” he asked. He wiped a sweaty palm on his pants as he approached the bed.

“If you’re cool with that.” Shawn, kneeling on the bed, plunged his hands into his pockets and began pulling out condoms and tiny tubes of lube.

Lassiter’s eyes widened. “Did you bring all that with you?” What kind of a weekend had Spencer been expecting?

“No. Of course not. Timmy’s got baskets of them at reception. Also,” he pulled out a small handful of wrapped candies, “mints!”

Lassiter knelt on the bed and they resumed their kiss. Shawn’s hands fumbled with the buttons of Lassiter’s shirt, finally pulling it free. He ran his hand across his chest, feeling the rough hairs under his fingertips. He pulled back from Lassiter’s mouth and descended upon his nipple, licking it into a tight point. He grasped it in his teeth and gently pulled, then released. Lassiter groaned then swore.

“Bad?” Shawn asked.

“No,” Lassiter growled. “Good. Very good.” He kissed Shawn again, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of stubble against his lips.

Shawn, feeling fairly sure now that Lassiter wasn’t backing down, felt free to speak.

“Where’s your gun?” he asked breathlessly.

“Why?”

“I want you to wear it. The holster, the gun, the whole thing.”

“Really?” Lassiter’s heart pounded harder against his ribcage. “I mean, I’ve always wanted…do you mean it?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

You don’t have to ask me twice.

Lassiter pulled the drawer of his nightstand open all the way, spun the combination on the gun vault, and pulled out his Glock 17. He removed the clip and checked the chamber before putting it into his holster. If this was why Shawn was here, fine. Lassiter didn’t care. At least, he didn’t care enough to stop. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d worn his holster without a shirt on under it.

Shawn straddled him and licked the leather holster. It was one of the sexiest things Lassiter had ever seen. Shawn reached down and unbuttoned Lassiter’s pants.

“No,” Lassiter said, grabbing his wrist. Then, seeing the disappointment cross Shawn’s face, he added. “Not yet.” He pushed Shawn onto the mattress, and held him there.

“Strip.” Lassiter was used to giving orders, but his experience in that regard didn’t extend to the bedroom. Telling Spencer what to do felt reassuringly familiar; having him actually do it was new territory. Shawn pulled his jeans and underwear off and lay there panting, flushed, and stiff. Lassiter looked down at him. The tables were turned now that Shawn was the one naked and he was mostly clothed. He marvelled at how young, effortlessly athletic, and relaxed Shawn looked. He didn’t exhibit any of the vulnerability or nervousness Lassiter had felt.

Of course he’s not high as a kite and terrified of losing his job, he reasoned.

He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers gently down Shawn’s cheek and across the planes of his jaw. Shawn turned his head and kissed his hand. It was unexpectedly sweet. His touch trailed across his smooth chest and down his stomach to where his cock lay exposed and firm, trailing wetness across his abs.

Lassiter grabbed one of the packages of lube and tore the end off it with his teeth. He pushed the thick liquid out into his palm and then ran his slick hand down Shawn’s cock. He moaned and thrust his hips forward. Lassiter tightened his fist and began pumping slowly. With his other hand he pushed the lubricant lower, across Shawn’s balls and down. He felt his body yield to him, and he pressed forward, forcing him open. Shawn gasped as the fingers entered him. Lassiter marvelled at the feeling of the muscles clamped around him. Shawn felt soft, hot, and impossibly tight. For the first time since Shawn had entered the bedroom, he began to have second thoughts.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Lassiter asked.

“With you? Nope. Unless dreams count. But if this were a dream we’d be doing this on Space Mountain.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve had sex with a man before, right?”

“A couple of times. Why? Does that bother you?”

“No. I was just worried. Wondering.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t done this before,” Shawn said.

“No. But I can figure out the basics. Just let me know if things are moving too fast for you.”

“Actually, Shawn said, “if we could switch gears for a minute,” He sat up and gently pushed Lassiter back against the pillows. “There is something I wanted to do first.” He opened Lassiter’s pants and pulled the band of his shorts down past his balls. Shawn glided his tongue along the underside of Lassiter’s cock. Lassiter groaned and ran his fingers into Shawn’s hair. He was torn between wanting to close his eyes and submit to the sensation and wanting to watch Shawn’s every move. His mouth was warm, wet, and talented, and he could feel the tension building in his balls. He pushed back on Spencer’s head with the palm of his hand.

“Enough.” He stripped off the remainder of his clothes. Spencer opened the condom and rolled it down over Lassiter’s firm erection. He opened another package of lube and rubbed it over the condom, slicking it from end to tip. “Get on your back.” Shawn threw himself back onto the mattress and Lassiter shifted, pressing down against him. He kissed along the roughness of his stubbled neck to his swollen lips. This was what he wanted. Spencer—alive, passionate, and willingly surrendering to him.

Shawn grasped Lassiter’s cock and slowly guided it into him. They both gasped as he entered him—Shawn because of the intensity of being stretched so far, and Lassiter because of the hot tightness enveloping him. Lassiter hesitated, afraid to push too hard, too fast.

“I appreciate the concern,” Shawn said. “But I’m not a delicate flower. Rough is good.” He wrapped his legs around Lassiter’s waist, pulling him forward.

Lassiter had never had what he would describe as rough sex. The sex he’d had before he got married had been hesitant and conventional. Making love to Victoria, he had always been gentle, and romantic. Sex with Berry had been more athletic and experimental, but still tender. None of this experience seemed to fit the current situation.

“What I really need right now,” Shawn whispered in his ear, “is the sexual equivalent of you slamming me into the station wall.”

“No problem.” Lassiter smiled. That, I can do.

He drove his hips forward, thinking of all the times Spencer had pranced around the station like he owned the place, flirting with anything with a pulse, flashing his stomach and hips every time he went into one of his ‘visions,’ and constantly touching him in inappropriate ways. He gathered the frustration and pushed it all into every thrust. It felt angry, and brutal, yet liberating and amazingly hot. Shawn, writhing beneath him, looked debauched and beautiful. He realized that he had been wrong about his attraction to Spencer. He hadn’t wanted to make love to him. He’d wanted to possess him, like this.

No wonder I couldn’t figure out where this thing with Spencer was going, he thought. This is a place I’ve never been.

Lassiter’s strokes were deep, determined, and relentless. Shawn struggled to stave off the inevitable. But the rhythm, the heat from Lassiter’s rigid cock, and the aggression of their sex was pushing him quickly over the edge. His legs were shaking with the effort. Lassiter clamped a mouth to one of Shawn’s nipples, sucking and biting at it. Shawn groaned and arched his back. He could feel the orgasm building, threatening to overtake him at every thrust.

“Oh God, Lassie,” Shawn said, “You’re killing me here. I can’t hold back much longer.”

Lassiter leaned in and kissed his neck.

“Then don’t,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He wrapped a fist around Shawn’s cock, stiff and wet between them, and pumped it hard and fast. Shawn came, spaying across his stomach and chest. Lassiter surrendered to the sensations of Shawn’s muscles clamping around him.

“Shawn,” Lassiter growled, using his first name as a swear word. He surged forward, burying himself deeply as he came. Shawn clung to his back, sobbing and gasping. Lassiter rolled off and collapsed beside him, helplessly awash in waves of aftershock. He reached out and held Shawn’s hand, their intertwined fingers their only contact. It was a few minutes before either of them could speak again.

“Remember before, when you asked what I wanted from you?” Shawn raised their hands and squeezed Lassiter’s hand firmly. “This,” he said. “This is what I want.”

***

The sound of someone talking roused Shawn from a dream about golfing with Chevy Chase and Scott Howard, Michael J. Fox’s character from Teen Wolf. He had expected to awake to an empty bed—possibly an empty room. At the very least, he expected to encounter a Lassiter who was embarrassed, coldly distant, and in the first throws of a heterosexual freak out. So it was a surprise to awaken to find the detective still in bed, sitting up, with his arm wrapped possessively around his shoulder.

“Hey,” Shawn said, smiling tentatively. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“You were using me as a pillow,” Lassiter said, smiling back. “Where could I go?”

“Seriously, Lassie. I figured you’d have bolted from the room the moment you woke up. I pictured you running through the woods by now, screaming ‘I’m not gay.’”

“I’m not gay,” Lassiter took a sip from the bottle of water he kept on the nightstand. “Well, maybe sort of gay. Gayish. We can talk about all that later.”

“Will there be a later?” Shawn asked.

“Why wouldn’t there be?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want a repeat. I figured once you’d got me out of your system I’d be getting the ‘like you as a friend’ speech.”

“I don’t do one night stands, Shawn.” Lassiter’s brow wrinkled. “Unless that’s all you were looking for.” It was a question.

“And give up all this?” Shawn ran a hand over Lassiter’s chest and down across his abs. “Not a chance. “That weightlifting and swimming has really paid off. You’re totally buff.”

“How do you know I’ve been—” He cut himself off and turned to look at Shawn. Sex or no sex, he refused to play into Spencer’s psychic game. “Forget it. I’ve still got work to do. Level with me,” he said, making his serious face. “You don’t think this theft case is closed, do you?”

“If closed means buying into the theory that Rebecca Martin killed herself, then no, I don’t.”

“You still suspect Becker.”

“Because she did it. I can’t prove it, but I know I’m right.” Shawn wondered if he should just tell Lassiter about her ransacking his wallet. Her prints would be all over it. At the time it had just seemed like so many other clues he used to support his psychic visions. It was suggestive, certainly, but it didn’t connect her with the missing watch. Technically, they still couldn’t prove she’d ever had it. Shawn still felt a nagging sense of guilt. If I’d told him about her searching my wallet, he wondered, would Rebecca Martin still be alive?

“You might not have to prove it,” Lassiter said. “The coroner just called. You’ll never guess what he found.”

Shawn put two fingers to his temple and furrowed his brow.

“Ummm… Rebecca Martin was killed first, and then strung up in the closet.”

“That was a lucky guess.” Lassiter got out of bed and went into the bathroom. “Becker’s on duty at the spa until 4:00p.m.,” he called back to Shawn. “I’m going to search her room. I want you and O’Hara to keep her busy. Be careful. If she’s our guy then she’s already killed once.”

“No problem.” Shawn left the comfortable sheets behind and followed Lassiter. “Of course this whole case could have been solved yesterday if you’d taken my advice.” He regretted it as soon as he’d spoken. He didn’t want to foist his own guilt onto Lassie. When had the detective ever done what Spencer suggested anyway—at least on a case? “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.”

Lassiter frowned. Shawn was right. He should have searched Backer’s cabin yesterday. If he was honest about it, he’d resisted suspecting her because he hated the idea of Spencer being so damn right all the time.

“You’re right, Spencer.” He ran a hand across Shawn’s cheek then leaned in and kissed him. “It would have been much better if we’d solved the case yesterday and gone home, avoiding all of …this.”

“I didn’t say that,” Spencer said, grinning. “I’d hate to have missed that amazing dance last night.”