Chapter 1: From the Earth to Over the Moon, Via the Back Deck
Shawn and Carlton examine their inner thoughts and the next step in their relationship while having a drink and enjoying the night sky. It's an unusual postscript to an evening that started with sex and naturally included discussions about food.
"I spent a lot of nights on the run
And I think oh, like I'm lost and can't be found
I'm just waiting for my day to come
And I think oh, I don't wanna let you down
'Cause something inside has changed
And maybe we don't wanna stay the same"
- The Strumbellas, "Spirits and Guns"
Carlton slowly, reluctantly, pulls out of his partner, rolls onto his back on the damp, tangled sheets. The afterglow was wonderful but movement had become necessary. Shawn lets a soft “oh” escape from his lips. He’s very conscious of the empty space in his body, but something is missing from his heart and mind, too…maybe it’s his “psychic” curse of noticing and sensing everything. When Lassie is there, inside him, everything is perfect; the world is perfect. The whole world shrinks down to just the two of them: the bed shaking, the way Lassie clasps Shawn’s hand in his and burns through him with those gorgeous blue eyes as he climaxes. And Shawn knows, feels, deep in his heart, deep in his body, that Carlton cares, that he is there and he will stay. But the separation part always gives him pause. Even if they laugh about it; as one or the other gets a cramp and has to move, or has screamed himself hoarse and desperately needs the bottle of water on the nightstand, he can’t shake the slightly nagging feeling. Nothing can be this great forever. Happiness doesn’t last.
Shawn licks his lips, they feel swollen and chapped from all the kissing, heavy breathing, and…yeah, there’s that taste; undeniably Lassie…sweat and sternbush, a hint of gunpowder and leather. He realizes he’s a sticky mess and looks over at Carlton, lying next to him. His eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out, a satisfied smile on his face. He can’t sleep through the night like that, Shawn thinks, he will be stuck to the bedding with sweat and semen. Both of them could use some cleaning up…the better the sex, the more cleanup is necessary, in his opinion. At least this time there wasn’t any whipped cream involved; so it wasn’t their stickiest session ever. He heads to the en suite bathroom and runs the warm water in the sink, finds some bath cloths and towels in the linen closet, and grimaces at his hair in the mirror. Only bad thing about crazy, sloppy man sex…the hair cannot stay perfect. But it’s a small sacrifice.
Prettied up as well as he can be with the minimal supplies in Lassiter’s bathroom, he heads back to the bed and kisses Carlton softly while wiping him up with the warm cloth. He gets a moan and sigh in response and the blue eyes open, light and contented now but no less beautiful. “Hey you,” Carlton smiles. He stares at the window, trying to gauge the time by the filtered light peeking through the blinds. “How long was I out?”
“Not too long, Lassie…the night is still young!” Shawn throws the washcloth and towel towards the laundry basket in the corner; they bounce off the wall with a thwack and land in the bin of Lassiter’s gym clothes and dress shirts. “Can I interest you in another round?” He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
Lassiter sits up and smacks him in the arm. “No offense, Spencer, but I’m going to need a drink first. Maybe two.”
Shawn huffs and acts offended. “Nice, Lassie-ass; way to make a guy feel special”.
In spite of, or maybe because of, their intimacy, they still maintained the level of banter and fake annoyances in their private life as they did at the station. It was just the way they were. Lassiter thought Shawn would be freaked out if he went all lovey-dovey on him. He had been that way in his relationships with women; he felt like they expected it. But in the end, all the sugary floweriness had gotten him nowhere. They all dumped him anyway, no matter how sweet he was. So he still occasionally called Shawn by his last name, and Shawn responded by continuously thinking up new and ridiculous nicknames to tease his boyfriend with. The practice was familiar, comfortable.
Spencer was right, it was only 8:30. Too early to go to sleep; especially on a Friday night. He hadn’t expected to find Shawn at his house that evening, lounging and watching a movie, his body draped casually and invitingly across the couch. “Hey Lassie! Welcome home.” He stretched during the greeting and Carlton had noticed the way his T-shirt clung across his chest; the strip of tan skin above the waistband of his jeans. It was too much of a temptation after a stressful week. What started on the couch quickly required more square footage, and it wasn’t long before they ended up in the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes, shoes, and weapons in the hallway.
Carlton dressed in a t-shirt and gym shorts; no need for the boxers; just in case Spencer was serious about another round. Shawn threw on his plaid button down, ignoring the buttons, and pulled on his jeans. He reached into the fridge for a pineapple IPA, a special summer release from a local microbrewery, while Carlton pulled the bottle of Jameson from the liquor cabinet and dropped ice cubes into a highball glass. Shawn opened the back door that lead to the deck; eyeing the fire pit and Adirondack chairs. He turns towards Carlton with an excited grin. “Hey Lassie, let’s make a fire and make S’mores.”
Carlton gives him a confused look and raised eyebrow. “What are we, girl scouts?”
Shawn winks. “I can pretend, if you’re into that.” He sticks his hip out in a suggestive pose. “Gus’s sister still has her uniform, I’m sure she’ll let me borrow it.”
“What? Jesus, Spencer, you don’t have the legs for it! Besides, I don’t have any marshmallows”.
Shawn looks disappointed. “I’ll bring them next time I come over. Write them on the shopping list”. He points to the magnetized notepad attached to the fridge. Carlton squints at it. He recognizes his own handwriting: milk, eggs, detergent…below the standard supplies are a long list of strange items written in purple ink. “Lucky Charms, Skittles, Hot Pockets, Creamsicles…the fuck, Spencer; how do you live on this crap?”
“Mock if you must, Lassie, but that diet has contributed to Thisssss…” He makes circular motions around his chest and abs as he draws out the ssss’s for effect. “Besides, if you are what you eat; you know you wouldn’t mind if I was a giant Creamsicle. “ He sidles up to Lassiter in a walk reminiscent of his dazzle and stretch routine and whispers into his ear. “You know you would lick me up and down until you got to that cream.” He licks Lassiter’s cheek, darkened with a five o’clock shadow, and gives his ass a solid squeeze.
Carlton blushes and breaks out into a rare wide and genuine smile. He raises his glass to his boyfriend. “Okay, Shawn, you got me there. Now let’s go enjoy that sunset.”
The men head out to the deck with their drinks, extra beer and ice in a small cooler and a bag of pretzels (Snyder’s of Hanover, naturally) Shawn pulled from the cabinet. Lassiter brings the Jameson bottle along; it’s half empty anyway. For a while, the two men sit in relative silence (aside from the crunching of pretzels), watching the waning sun give way to darkness over their beloved Santa Babs.
Contrary to appearances, Shawn is thoughtful; mindful may be a better word…well, he can be thoughtful, too, as evidenced by his earlier treatment of messy Lassie. But he thinks a lot, sometimes too much, most of the time too much for his own good. It can be a curse; it would be easier if he really were psychic; maybe he would have more faith in himself and believe in better outcomes and happy endings…fairy tale type happy endings; not the kind they busted the cheap west side massage parlors for. It was his doubts and fears that sent him running in the wind on his Norton years ago. Doubts that he would find happiness; fears that if he did, he would somehow destroy it. He could not, would not, repeat the mistakes his parents had made. So he kept it light, kept it casual, forcing himself to run every time he found himself becoming attached to something…woman, man, city, job, whatever…until something pulled him back here, back home. Maybe he was just tired of running. Maybe it was Gus. Yes, it was Gus. The one reliable constant in his life; his absolute best friend ever. And once they started Psych, he forced himself to stay. They were living their childhood dream; sharing adventures, solving crimes, making a little money. He was even reaching a strained equilibrium with his dad…Henry was kinda fucked up and his fucked-up-ness had kinda trickled down to Shawn. But his experiences on the road made him realize he could not run forever. So he came back home, confronted his past and family history; vowed to make it an example of what not to do; instead of repeating it. The detective work and daddy issues were relatively easy to deal with. The success of the Psych agency served several purposes…it proved he could utilize the strange lessons of his childhood in a positive way. He could show up Henry; piss him off, and make him proud, all at the same time. It was fun, and for the first time since his mom left long ago; he felt happy here in Santa Barbara, and began to appreciate the sentiment, “there’s no place like home”.
He looks over at Lassiter, who seems lost in his own thoughts too; his glass drained of whiskey with only a few melting ice cubes left. Carlton’s sapphire gaze is fixed on the sky; a peaceful, content stare. Shawn leans over and whispers, “There are over four…hundred stars in the galaxy.” Carlton turns and looks at him quizzically. “But none of them shine as brightly as your smile,” he concludes; raising his beer bottle and offering a smile of his own. Shawn’s smiles are just as bright, but they appear more often than Lassiter’s do. Shawn realizes just how much he appreciates those rare smiles, how they warm his heart (and he can’t lie, sometimes other organs, too). He knows Lassiter’s smiles are a gift, and a reward. Carlton doesn’t often speak of his childhood; but the rare glimpses Shawn has gleaned through cases and the occasional heartfelt talk painted a picture of a repressed spirit, someone who, like Shawn, became driven by his fears. Where Shawn took flight, Carlton opted for fight. His success as a police officer, and later as a detective, was driven by a desire to protect and fight for what he had. The stockpile of guns he had hidden around the house guaranteed he was always prepared against any dangers, and Shawn’s observant eyes had picked up traces of Lassiter’s possessive vigilance in situations where he, Jules, Gus, and even Henry were in danger. Carlton protects what he loves; it’s what he tried to do as a child, for his mom and Lulu, and he does it now, for his community and city and “family”. Shawn and O’Hara were absolutely his family; his partners in love, life and work…Gus and Henry were family by default; because they were important to Shawn; and anything that was important to Shawn was now important to him.
Carlton pulls more ice from the cooler and hands Shawn another pineapple IPA. More Jameson. He will need it because a scary thought has been on his mind, and he may finally have the balls to say it. He had no idea how he ended up here, in this situation, with this person. It perplexed him, and sometimes frustrated him with its mystery. He could not tie it up and summarize it neatly like a crime report; so he finally resigned it to be some sort of cold case he could never figure out. In spite of all the differences and annoying habits and the fact that he was now an accomplice to lying to the chief about his boyfriend’s “psychic” abilities, he had never felt more at peace than when he was with Shawn. Even when he was married to Victoria, he never felt comfortable, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it finally did; he can’t say he wasn’t surprised. But Shawn…Shawn was easy. Okay, especially in THAT way, which certainly made life more pleasant overall, but just in general. He took things in stride; didn’t seem to freak out or be disturbed over Lassiter’s weird habits and obsessions, accepted him as he was and didn’t try to change him. But strangely, Carlton found himself changing, because of Shawn’s presence. He laughed and smiled more; tried not to get sooo stressed out that he was forced to calm himself with target practice on the neighborhood squirrels…in fact he even accepted Shawn sharing his popcorn with them at the far side of the backyard. A few months ago those squirrels would have been systematically executed, but now he found himself watching them and smiling; because he thought of Shawn when he saw them.
He gulped the remnants in his glass; whiskey, and partially melted ice cubes whole. The sound distracts Shawn from his examination of the night sky. “Geez, Lassie, don’t choke! At least not on ice cubes…now, I have something else in mind you can try to swallow whole later on…”
“Dammit, Spencer. Be serious for a moment; will you?” Shawn is puzzled by the change in tone. Carlton empties what’s left in the bottle into his glass; remembering that night not too long ago at Tom Blair’s Pub, when he first admitted to himself, and Shawn, that he didn’t hate him, that in fact, he was astounded by him. Since that day he has continued to be astounded, amazed, aroused, impressed…still annoyed sometimes, occasionally aggravated, but rarely livid. Everything one would expect in a normal relationship. The liquid courage loosens his tongue again, and before he knows it; the words spill out. “Shawn, would you like to move in with me?”
Shawn laughs; a nervous habit he has that he sometimes despises. It is his way to deflect intense feelings with humor. But Lassiter remains quiet and the blue eyes turn earnest and hopeful. “Um, Lassie…are you sure? Because I’m kind of a messy roommate; I mean; you’ve seen the kitchen in the Psych office…” he trails off at the realization that his boyfriend is serious. He peels at the label on his IPA as a distraction. “Like, really? Live together?”
“Yeah, live together.” Lassiter purses his lips and taps his fingers on the arm of his chair; he’s come to a conclusion but he’s not quite sure how to express it. “Look, I know this…thing…we have may not last forever. I’m obviously not good at relationships and you don’t seem to have any sense of commitment towards anyone but Guster…so our track records aren’t the greatest.” He sighs and grabs a handful of pretzels, then looks over at Shawn again, who still looks stunned. “I never thought I would say this, Shawn, but you make me happy. And in a world where I can get shot or you can get shot on any given day; why not just take all the happiness we can get? I mean, what the hell are we waiting for?” He shoves a few pretzels in his mouth as if they would dam up the feelings and sentiment pouring out of it.
Shawn hides it well, but his heart is soaring. He doesn’t want to seem overly enthusiastic. After all, casual is his thing and if he suddenly gushes forth all the hearts and flowers and singing birds that are taking over his soul right now, not to mention the butterflies in his stomach; it would blow his whole cover. He could never play that game with Lassiter again. The cat would be out of the barn door or whatever (yes, he’s heard it both ways). His feelings would be out there; real and live and evident. But fuck, yes; he has wanted this moment. For a long time. He knew Carlton would have to be the one to initiate it, because as much as Shawn wanted it, he couldn’t say it. Then it might be jinxed and doomed and the whole enchilada might just be destroyed and the magic between them might never happen again. “Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, I will move in with you so we can be luvvaahhs in the night and day and all the time!” He opens his arms wide in triumph, waiting for a hug.
Carlton rubs his brow and lowers his head. What the actual fuck has he done?
“If you ever…refer to us like that again, Spencer; I swear to God I will shoot you!”
*Note...Lassiter shoots at squirrels with a pellet gun or his old Daisy Red Ryder that Hank from Old Sonora bought for him. I don't want anyone to think he's firing heavy ammunition in a residential area!
Chapter 2: Tropical Paradise: Pop! Goes the Psychic
Carlton introduces some "cool" things in the bedroom. Shawn gets all warm and fuzzy.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Against all odds and expectations, the “luvaahs” had continued their path, without gunfire or other bodily harm to either of them. It had been several months down the road; a road Carlton had never, ever expected to travel. Maybe that wasn’t entirely true; he’d always imagined a certain amount of normalcy and continuity in his life. But really, who was he kidding? Nothing about life together with Shawn Spencer was normal. But the two men had managed to cohabitate in what some people (mostly O’Hara) would consider to be domestic bliss, for much longer than anyone could ever have believed.
It was ridiculous, it was crazy, but it was working. How and why it did was beyond his comprehension. But he still hadn’t regretted the decision he made, that warm summer evening on the deck, when he offered to share his life and home with the flamboyant faux psychic.
Sure, they had to make some adjustments. Shawn was used to staying up late, waking whenever, eating whatever he felt like without concern for the time of day, calorie count or sugar content involved. Carlton had his routines and structure, certain times and places for specific things or activities. Somehow the two men worked around each other and met in the middle. The fact that both of them had great detective skills helped them read and navigate the other’s moods and needs. And then, there was the sex. That on its own overshadowed many frustrations and annoyances they might have experienced with each other.
It was really a very interesting ride, so to speak, for Carlton. Aside from that theatre chick (and her bi male friend) in college; he hadn’t had such adventurous and frequent sex before. It was just so much fun, a great stress reliever, and one of the things he truly appreciated about Shawn. And there were so many other unexpected talents that man possessed. He was a great cook, for one. Carlton never would have guessed that by his love for junk food and how often he dined from food trucks and beachside carts. And a stint as a groundskeeping assistant at a country club had obviously taught him a lot. Carlton’s lawn had never looked so beautiful. Henry Spencer refused to believe his son could have cultivated such thick, lush grass. When he finally got over his shock that a sensible man like Lassiter would actually invite his irresponsible son to move in, he accepted their invitation to an afternoon barbecue. The two men watched him from the deck as he shed his flip flops and wandered barefoot through the backyard, plucking a blade or two and staring at it as if it would admit guilt somehow. Shawn danced a little happy dance around Lassiter, sing-songing, “I made him green with envy, I made him green with envy, about our perfect lawn!” Carlton just grinned and planted a kiss on Shawn’s cheek.
So the universe had decided to smile on him for a while. Things even slowed down a bit at work. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing, because less crime is good, right? Normally he would have been itching for action, opportunities for high-speed chases or shootouts. But the lull was fine now. Now that he had a reason to go home on time. Home – to Shawn.
One particularly boring day at the station, his mind wandered back to his life, before Shawn had become so intimately involved. He recalled all the crazy antics he had seen Spencer pull during his “psychic” episodes. Now he knew what most of that was about…Shawn was flirting and testing him. He remembered watching him “dazzle and stretch” around the Chief’s office, finally ending up in his lap. Several times Shawn had covered his eyes, heightening his other senses to help him find non-visual clues. During the whole Drimmer ordeal, Spencer had removed his tie at the Psych office (which was thrilling enough alone), and blindfolded him with it, all while eating a popsicle. The memory gave him an interesting idea and he decided to try it over the weekend.
Back when Shawn had accepted his invitation, Carlton realized they would need new bedroom furniture. One dresser and a queen size bed wasn’t going to cut it for both of them. He still planned on keeping a neat and orderly abode and wasn’t going to let a lack of drawer space be an excuse for Spencer to pile his clothes up on the floor. And he slept like a damn octopus, limbs strewn around the bed or wound haphazardly around Carlton. He needed to be well rested and alert to do his job and wasn’t going to allow Shawn’s invasion to disrupt his sleep. He hadn’t realized the younger man would thoroughly tire him out nearly every evening, so he rarely had a problem falling into a peaceful slumber.
Shawn seemed particularly interested in a Mission style bedroom set, and Carlton agreed with its clean lines and simple style. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him that what appealed the most to his partner were the heavy wooden slats that made up the headboard. He quirked an eyebrow up in the store as Shawn shook it and examined the thickness of the wood. Briefly he considered that maybe his boyfriend had a knowledge of carpentry too – he hadn’t heard the dog house story from Henry yet – then turned pink to his ears when Shawn turned around with a lascivious smile. “Strong enough to withstand handcuffs, Lassie. We can have some fun in this baby.”
So the bed was tested, repeatedly. With handcuffs, ties, strong pounding and strenuous bouncing. That last test, of course, had just been Shawn screwing around. And it was pretty comfortable to sleep on too. Carlton’s latest idea involved the headboard and some of his ties. And a totally new thing they had never done before outside of solving crime.
Once Carlton had realized that Shawn’s “visions” actually involved his vision, he never considered the idea of blindfolding the other man. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His possessive side wanted Shawn to see everything, wanted every last detail burned into his brain; that it was Carlton’s hand wrapped tightly around his dick, Carlton’s mouth swallowing him down, Carlton fucking him into the mattress. But the element of surprise was crucial to this new scenario. Spencer might not see it happening, but he would sure as hell feel it.
Shawn had gone to the movies with Gus that Saturday afternoon. Lassiter claimed he had some work to do for the Civil War re-enactment committee, studying battles to see what they should act out next. “Boring!” Shawn said loudly as he walked out the door. “Have fun with your musty old books, Lassie! I’ll bring home some Pad Thai for dinner!”
As soon as the Norton Commando was out of earshot; Lassiter jumped in his car and headed to the Albertson’s. He stood in the freezer section, confused. This should not be so damn hard, he thought. Who knew they had one entire aisle devoted to ice pops? Different shapes, sizes, flavors, sugar free, fat free…it’s frozen liquid, for God’s sake, why is it so complicated? Flavor was a given…it had to be pineapple. Not only because Spencer loved the fruit beyond nearly anything else on earth, but the light color wouldn’t stain their sheets and towels. They couldn’t be the square type, not for this application, not the double pops stuck together…If he only knew exactly what brand Shawn had that day at the Psych office…
A woman stocking Cool Whip across the aisle noticed his exasperation. “Can I help you find something, sir?” she smiled politely. Carlton turned red and stammered…what could he say, please help me find the sexiest popsicles you have so I can stick them up my boyfriend’s ass? “Um, I’m…ah…pineapple?”
“Of course…”she motioned for him to follow, and pointed towards a brightly colored box labeled, “Tropical Paradise.” Okay, so that sounded fun. They were exactly the right shape; long and slender. “These are new; there’s other flavors included…”
Carlton grabbed the box quickly. “This is great, thank you.” He ran towards the self-checkout, too embarrassed to face another store employee.
At home he stowed the box in the back of the freezer, behind bags of frozen vegetables. Shawn said he would bring home dinner, but that still might not stop him from snooping around for snacks. He pulled the ice bucket from the top cabinet and rinsed it out, filled it up and stowed it inconspicuously in a small cooler inside the bedroom closet, behind his shoes. All this prep and secrecy might sound foolish, but he couldn’t be too careful. Spencer’s powers of observation could pick up anything out of place or different and he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. In the closet he also rummaged through his tie rack, selecting a wider, solid black, silk one, soft enough to not irritate his lover’s skin. He wrapped it around his hand, testing the seams, and his cock twitched at the thought of it sliding over Shawn’s eyes, making him vulnerable.
Spencer arrived back home with take-out, as promised. He chatted on about the movie during dinner, listened to Carlton’s ideas about the next re-enactment battle…he actually had to do a little reading about it to calm himself down. Shawn cleared the table and was loading the dishwasher when Carlton snuck up behind him and snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. “Meet me in the bedroom,” he whispered, and Shawn felt a shiver of anticipation.
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Shawn entered the room they shared. Carlton was sitting on the bed, several of his ties draped across his lap, his fingers stroking the silky material. “Oooh, kinky, Lassie…what’s all this?” Shawn was impressed. His boyfriend was becoming more daring and inventive during sex. Perhaps his Lassie was a sly dog after all.
“Patience, Shawn, you’ll see.” Or maybe you won’t, Carlton thought, his pants suddenly very confining.
Shawn’s initial thought as he entered the bedroom and took in the scene was a Caddyshack quote: “Would you like to tie me up with some of your ties, Ty?” But then he saw the way Carlton touched the black silk one; his fingers tracing reverently over the material. Normally they used some of Lassie’s older, worn, less expensive ties for this game. But this one looked newer, well made and from a very nice material; the type one would wear to a formal affair. The way Lassiter held it made him think it would have a special purpose in tonight’s events, and he had a hopeful idea about what that might be. He was not about to ruin the mood with some goofy 80’s movie reference Carlton probably wouldn’t get anyway.
“Get undressed, Shawn,” Lassiter instructed firmly, still fondling the elegant necktie.
“Fifty shades of Lassie,” Shawn quipped, but followed his boyfriend’s orders. Carlton watched hungrily as his lover stripped. Shawn disrobed slowly, teasing Lassiter as the hem of his t-shirt skimmed over his belly, and purposely turning around to wiggle his jeans down over his ass. He had to fight the urge to tear off his clothes quickly and hop onto the bed, but he knew that Lassie had something special planned and he wanted to make it last as long as possible. The anticipation was half the fun. Besides, Carlton appreciated patience and he felt sure he would be well rewarded.
When Shawn stood before him in only his boxer briefs, Carlton finally released the tie from his grasp and unbuttoned his own shirt. The white V-neck tee underneath highlighted the contours of his strong torso and shoulders and was a nice contrast to the mat of dark curls that covered his chest, which Shawn fondly referred to as his “sternum bush.” Soon the men were locked in a rough embrace, the only thing between them the thin material of their underwear. Carlton tangled his fingers in his lover's thick brown hair, holding him in place as he kissed him deeply, and Shawn rutted against him. “Mmmm…” Lassiter forced himself to break the kiss so he could continue with the plan. “On the bed,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling Shawn’s ear, urging him to quickly comply. His head hit the pillows with force and he instinctively reached back with his hands, grasping at the headboard. Carlton straddled him and grabbed his wrists, smiling wickedly, his blue eyes flashing with devious intent. He took his time wrapping each of Shawn’s wrists with the neckties, careful not to fasten them too tightly, kissing his palms, running his tongue lightly over the underside of his forearms and briefly sucking an index finger into his mouth as he worked.
Shawn writhed beneath Carlton, beside himself with desire. He had trouble keeping still in normal situations, but with Lassie on top of him, with some sexy, dirty plan in mind; he was nearly uncontrollable. Once Carlton had fastened the ties to the headboard, he stretched out on top of Shawn’s body and kissed him eagerly again, bringing the last tie up to his face and sliding the silk across his cheek. “What’s that for, Lass?” The soft material felt cool against Shawn’s flushed skin, and he leaned into the caress. “Do I need a safe word?” He needed to distract himself a little, so he could calm down and be still. “If I do, it’s guacamole,” he said, in an exaggerated Spanish accent, and Carlton chuckled, temporarily breaking his dominant persona. Typical Spencer. Sweet, sexy, funny…and always thinking about food. He took one last look into the sparkling hazel eyes, before covering them with the black silk tie and gently knotting it at the side of his lover’s head.
He leaned back to inspect his handiwork. His knots were secure – though when he learned them in Boy Scouts he never imagined they would be used in this way. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of Shawn’s briefs and pulled them down and off, releasing his erection. Then he went to retrieve the rest of the supplies required to complete the plan.
Shawn remembered the exercises meant to heighten his other senses, when sight was removed from the equation. He knew Lassie left the bed from the weight shift, knew he left the room, even though Carlton had tiptoed quietly across the carpet. Thought he heard the fridge open; wondered if Carlton would have a drink and sit in the bedroom chair, making him wait for attention, stroking himself while watching his bound and blindfolded boyfriend, unable to do anything but thrust his hips up towards the breeze from the ceiling fan. Which at this point was feeling awfully good since it was the only stimulation his body was receiving. He shivered involuntarily as the air from the fan cooled the pre-cum that had dripped onto his belly. Damn Lassie and his slow deliberateness.
He heard the light footsteps again; noises in the closet. Felt the bed dip on his left side indicating Carlton’s return. Shuddered as he felt fingers ghosting over his nipples, rosy and pebbled from the ceiling fan – Lassiter had to have cranked it up when he left the room. He had never been so affected by just air before…maybe it really was the uber-focus of his other senses.
Carlton was really enjoying this. Shawn was being quiet, which was rare. He was patient and still, focused on what was happening around him, waiting for Carlton’s next move. And he was such a pretty picture on their bed, strong arms restrained but mouth pink and open, expectant. As if Shawn sensed Carlton’s eyes focused there, he ran his tongue over his lips and whispered. “Lassie?”
“Right here, babe.” Carlton’s fingers traced lines down Shawn’s sides, his nails scratching just a little, earning another shiver and moan. He could sit and do this for a long time, teasing Shawn with intermittent kisses and light touches, watching his body tense and his cock jerk against his stomach, but he remembered the main point of the whole exercise was the popsicles and they would be much less effective if they melted.
Shawn heard what he thought was the tearing of a wrapper, cellophane or paper being ripped. They rarely used condoms anymore, only for quickies when they didn’t have much time to clean up. And even the quickies weren’t this quick; Carlton always took the time to make sure Shawn was prepped and open enough to take his ample length. His ass hadn’t even been touched yet, so he was confused by the sound, until another sense provided him with a clue. He smelled the faint scent of his favorite fruit…then nearly levitated off the bed as something ice cold rolled over his left nipple, already extra sensitive from the ceiling fan. The ice was followed by the hot mouth of his boyfriend, whose teeth nipped at the straining bud. Shawn’s eyes were wide open in surprise, unseeing under the silk tie. “Fuck, Lassie…” he moaned, as the sequence was repeated on his right side. Cold circles, hot tongue, teeth gently biting, more pleasure than pain. The sweet ice cylinder was traced over his lips and his tongue stretched out to taste it, then warm, soft lips covered his, then the icy sweetness was gently pushed into his mouth again and he sucked it, hollowing his cheeks around it as if it was Lassie’s cock, releasing it with a pop as Lassie slid it back out, then replaced it with his tongue, which Shawn sucked just as eagerly. Carlton let him have a few more licks of frozen pineapple and then sampled it again himself, the popsicle sliding out from between their mouths, leaving them both sticky and cool.
Carlton leaned back again to take in the view. Shawn’s lips were pinker than before, slick from the icy treat, and he had never seen his nipples so hard. And speaking of hard…this was getting better by the minute. Carlton slid the popsicle into his mouth, catching the melting ice, ran it thoroughly over his tongue, then sucked Shawn down all at once, deep into the back of his throat.
Shawn was over the moon and reduced to mumbling nonsense, overwhelmed by the sensations. The head of his cock felt the heat of his lover’s throat, way in the back where the ice hadn’t touched, but the shaft was encased in an exotic mixture of hot and cold, caressed by Carlton’s tongue while his sticky lips were firmly around the base. Occasionally he slid the rapidly melting popsicle into his mouth alongside his lover’s cock, or ran it over his tight balls and down to his ass as he sucked and stroked him. With nothing to see all of Shawn’s focus was centered on feeling - he vaguely registered the sounds Carlton was making, but he felt those too, hums and moans that vibrated against his dick, and then the feelings were tight, tighter, low in his belly and up through his balls, bursting into Carlton’s mouth in a hot, sweet flood. He felt the contractions of his lover's throat as he swallowed every drop, sensed more than felt the smug smile on his face as he gently let Shawn slip from his mouth.
Shawn panted, allowed the bliss to wash over his trembling body. He was sated, elated; way beyond just physically satisfied. He never would have guessed the stern detective was such a cum slut – his cum slut. Only for me. He smiled and blinked beneath the blindfold as he caught his breath. He knew what was coming next.
It wound Lassiter up to no end, to make Shawn come apart like that. And when he was that turned on, there was only one thing he could do, and that was fuck Shawn until the mattress was begging for mercy. He tore off the blindfold to reveal his lover’s glazed eyes, quickly undid the knots from the headboard so he could gain some leverage. He wanted, needed, all of him to be involved now, eyes and hands on Lassiter as Shawn was thoroughly pounded.
Shawn had a tendency to go slightly boneless after an intense orgasm, and he willingly allowed Carlton to slide a pillow under his hips and hoist one leg into the crook of his arm. Carlton lubed himself up first, his heavy erection sliding along Shawn’s thigh, then he gently worked his slick fingers into his lover’s pliant body. Shawn closed his eyes and moaned in appreciation. “Love your magic fingers, Lassie.”
The devious look returned to the detective’s blue eyes. “Got something else even more magical for you,” he purred, dragging over Shawn’s sweet spot and prompting more moans and one of Spencer’s typical obscure references. “What are you waiting for, Lassie? Hit me with your rhythm stick!”
Carlton had learned to ignore or play along with some of the strange comments that came out of his partner's mouth. “If that’s what you want,” he teased, drawings his fingers back out slowly and pushing the head of his cock in. Shawn only gasped and swallowed hard, adjusting to the pressure as Carlton eased himself in, trying to take it slow, when really all he wanted to do was slam into that tight, delicious heat. In his relaxed state, Shawn quickly felt comfortable with Carlton’s length and squeezed his ass as the signal to start moving.
Often Shawn would harden again, as Lassiter worked in and out of him, but he had come with such force he was literally drained. Instead he just focused on the feelings – physical and emotional – he experienced as he watched Carlton. This was something he enjoyed so much; it was heavenly, so beautiful it nearly made him cry; the way Carlton took him completely, possessed him, body and soul. He watched his lithe form, tense muscles, beads of sweat on his brow, the fierce intensity in his eyes as he pistoned into Shawn, whose heart felt as full as some other parts. He felt Carlton’s rhythm become unsteady, his hips hitching, his breath uneven. Shawn knew he was close so he tightened and squeezed around his dick, relishing the spasms he felt so deeply inside as Carlton exploded into him.
Shawn woke a little later, his boyfriend draped across him, no longer inside him but still lying between his legs. He was grateful for the cozy Lassie-blanket, the room was chilly, the ceiling fan still churning up a whirlwind above their bed. Lassiter snored softly and Shawn stroked and kissed his hair, noticing the gray interspersed with the blackish-brown. He wondered if aggravation really gave people gray hair; it couldn’t really be true or Lassiter should have much, much more than just a touch at his temples. If it was true, Shawn guessed he was responsible for about 90% of it. Maybe he’d have to sneak some of that “Just For Men” stuff into his shampoo bottle, before Lassie figured out what caused it. And anyway, gray hair was better than no hair; like Henry. Henry went bald after the divorce and Shawn wondered if it wouldn’t have happened so quickly had his mom stayed around. Shawn’s mind went down a strange path; the science of hair and relationships and if they affected each other. That led him to thinking about people going gray together as they got older, and that was a seriously long term commitment. He had never thought of any such thing before Lassiter. He kissed his grey temple again and weaseled out from under him. Carlton grunted in acknowledgement at the movement but didn’t wake up. Shawn turned off the ceiling fan and was pulling on some shorts when he noticed the cooler and ice bucket next to the bed. Most of the cubes had melted, but there was still one wrapped, slushy popsicle left. Why not give Lassie a few more gray hairs, he thought. If I’m in this for the long run – and he had to admit, he was – he’ll just have to deal with some aggravation. Besides, what’s good for the goose is fair play and all that…he unwrapped the popsicle and let a few icy drops fall onto Carlton’s ear. “Wow, you’re really out,” he laughed when they went unnoticed. A few more drips trailed down his back caused a few twitches, but not the reaction Shawn had hoped for. “I tried to do this gently, but you asked for it, Lass,” he stated, and then quickly smushed the melting ice pop right between Carlton’s ass cheeks.
Lassiter flew off the bed in a confused rage, and Shawn noticed his eyes go towards the nightstand drawer where he kept his gun. “Oh shit!” he shrieked, running for cover to the master bath. “Dammit, Spencer! I swear I will kick your ass!” Carlton grabbed the ice bucket and chased Shawn into the bathroom with it, dumping the frigid water over his head. Shawn was laughing so hard he didn’t even care, his heart held enough warmth that moment to melt an iceberg; that Elsa from Frozen was no match for him now, he thought. He grabbed Lassie and pulled him close; fingers reaching down to check if the popsicle stick was still embedded in his crack, because splinters there would just not do. “Fucking jackass,” Carlton growled, but softened as Shawn held him and laughed, rubbing his butt cheeks vigorously to warm them back up. Lassiter sighed. He should have known, right? This was part of the deal when loving Shawn Spencer – along with every tender moment came juvenile antics and pranks; but then again his life was no longer drab and boring. An occasional ice pop up the ass was a small price to pay. He pried Shawn’s arms from around his waist and turned the hot water on in the bathtub. “Get in the shower, Shawn.” The faux psychic paused and aimed puppy dog eyes at the detective, who groaned and acted put upon, though he was secretly pleased to be invited. “Yes, I’ll join you and scrub your back. Give me a minute so I can change the sheets; otherwise we’ll get into bed and be right back in here.” Shawn kicked off his shorts and happily ducked under the warm spray. His best ideas always came to him in the shower. Time to think about giving Lassie more gray hairs. He had a lot of plotting to do, if he wanted to aggravate him for the rest of his life.
I believe in research so a lot of popsicles were consumed during this story's creation! I found the actual "Tropical Paradise" collection at Target. Also please forgive my song reference; Ian Drury and the Blockhead's biggest hit was released in '78 but I thought it had that 80's punk feel and a title that Shawn would find appealing as a silly double entendre.
Also, Shawn's happy lawn-victory dance was inspired by the "Chocolate Room" dance, and when he says "Me!" I hear it in the emphatic voice he sometimes uses with that word.