When Lassiter had come to Shawn that morning, eyes dark and voice low, muttering proclamations in Shawn’s ear, Shawn hadn’t put up much of a fight. t wasn’t the first time Lassie had tried to pay Shawn back for all the public groping, caressing, and occasional grinding Shawn’s ‘visions’ allowed him to get away with, and Shawn had learned from experience that Lassiter’s punishments were usually just as enjoyable as his rewards.
The way Shawn had imagined it, it had been pretty simple. Wearing the egg would make the boring day of errands and private cases he had planned a little more interesting. Despite what Lassiter had claimed Shawn doubted that the remote had more than a hundred feet of range, it wasn't likely Lassie'd be able to set it off from the station. Even if he managed, how bad could it be? He'd tested it after he'd pushed it into Shawn that morning. The vibrations were low, arousing - but not unbearably so. Shawn could endure.
Funny how things never worked out quite the way Shawn planned.
Lassie'd dropped Shawn off at the Psych offices, a little too early in the morning for Shawn's taste, but a few extra minutes with Lassiter usually beat out an extra hour of sleep. While they sat in the idling car Lassiter had gone over the rules one last time. Shawn was to keep the egg inside him as long as he could bear to - he could take it out whenever he wanted but he had to call Lassiter as soon as he did, telling him he'd had enough (which in Shawn's mind was so akin to admitting defeat that he thought he'd rather come in his jeans than give Lassie the satisfaction). Shawn wasn't allowed to touch himself below the waist except to use the bathroom, nor was he to rub against anything to give himself relief, but he could play with his nipples or suck on his own fingers as much as he wanted to. That one had made Shawn laugh, Lassie didn't seriously think Shawn sat around all day with his fingers in his mouth, did he? Lassiter had only smiled at him and continued his recitation. Shawn was not to come to the station; if he did the game would be over. Similarly, if either of them got a case that required serious attention they'd call it off. Finally, no matter what, Shawn was not allowed to tell anyone what was happening to him - a superfluous rule, but Shawn agreed to it anyway.
Lassiter made Shawn repeat the terms of their agreement to make sure he'd understood them, then given Shawn a gentle, coffee flavored kiss, whispered promises of rewards if he made it through the day, and sent him on his way. Shawn had watched the car drive away, shifting a little as the egg rubbed pleasantly against his prostate, before taking off down the boardwalk on his morning jog.
He hardly noticed it on his run, or while he dropped off a packet of photos of Mr. Hendricks and his nubile secretary to his grateful soon-to-be ex-wife, or when he grabbed a quick greasy lunch at a beachfront burger stand and shared his fries with a seagull while they both watched the tanned sunbathers shorten their life expectancy with each layer of oil they applied. By the time he was browsing the snack aisle at the shop-n-go he’d almost forgotten it was there. The sudden pulse reminded him. He jumped and dropped the bag of chips in his hand on the floor, startling the woman next to him.
“Sorry,” Shawn mumbled as he bent over to retrieve them.
Pulse. God. The thing hadn’t pulsed that morning, and what it had done wasn’t half as strong as this. It felt a little like he was being tapped on the prostate. Like Lassiter was tapping him, he was the one with the remote, after all. The thought, along with the sensation, made Shawn shudder in pleasure. He craned his neck, looking over the shelf and around the store but couldn’t see Lassie anywhere. He guessed he’d had been telling the truth when he said it had the range of a high powered walkie-talkie. He pictured Lassie at his desk in the station, flipping the remote’s switch, imagining what it would do to Shawn when he did. Uhm. Lassie. Shawn needed to get somewhere private, fast.
He quickly gathered the last few things on his list (dip, beer, pineapple), then put the beer back so he’d be able to use the eight-or-less express check out. He didn’t fancy waiting in line behind the grey haired grandma with a fistful of coupons in his current state. If the check out girl noticed the way Shawn stammered through his usual flirty banter, or the way his hand shook when he handed her his $20 bill, she didn’t say anything. hawn bolted for the door the moment he had his change in hand, only half hearing her call that he’d forgotten his receipt as he left.
On the way back to his office the pulse had upgraded, either on its own or through Lassiter’s ministrations, to a steady hum of a vibration. Shawn paced the floor a few times, but it did no good, there was no way he could focus on anything other than what was going on inside him. He sat at his desk and leaned over, laying his head down and, spreading his arms out in front of him. Lassiter was a maniacal genius, that’s all there was to it. He was half considering giving in and just getting himself off when the front door opened. Shawn’s head snapped up, “Lassie?”
“No, it’s me,” Gus answered.
“Try not to get too excited.”
“I didn’t think you were coming in today,” Shawn stammered.
“I wasn’t going to, but Chief Vick called me while I was on my rounds and said our check was ready.” Gus waved the envelope in his hand at Shawn, “I took it to the bank already, just came by to file the deposit slip.”
“Oh, uh, thanks buddy.”
“No problem. I’m surprised she didn’t call you to get it, she said Lassiter told her you were busy?”
“I went to the grocery store,” Shawn answered lamely.
“Great, so you spent the afternoon watching TV and snacking on whatever junk you picked up while I was stuck in Dr. Morrison’s waiting room for three hours.”
“Morrison?” Shawn squeaked.
“Yeah. The guy’s got this new practice, tons of patients already, but he’s a complete ass. I had an appointment and everything!”
"I mean, I'm a pretty patient guy - more than pretty patient, I put up with you, after all..."
"But three hours, that's just, beyond inconsiderate, that's just rude."
"Guh, uhm, yeah."
Gus frowned, "Are you okay?"
"Ahhh!" Shawn jumped out of his seat at the vibrations kicked up again, coming so hard and fast against him that it was all he could feel. His pupils were so wide that he could hardly focus, the whole room was tinted green. Shawn gripped the collar of his t-shirt with one hand, drawing a deep breath as his mouth fell open.
"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, "What is it? You gonna be sick?"
"I... I... Ayeee..." Shawn stammered, "I'm haaa.... having a vison!"
The concern dropped instantly out of Gus's face. "You're having a vision," he repeated flatly.
"Oh yeah! It's a... it's a big, big, really... ugh, good vision."
"Seriously? You couldn't even pretend to be interested in my day?" asked Gus.
"What, no Gus, that's not... I, oh god." Shawn pounded his fist on his desk, "I can see that, uhm, the spirits... telling me, not worth your time to, muh! To spend energy thinking about... some... jerk doctor!"
The vibrations stopped suddenly and Shawn collapsed back into his seat. He tipped his head back and let out a whimper, whether in despair or relief Shawn couldn't say.
"Okay," said Gus. "Yeah, you've got a point. But what's with 'the spirits'?"
"Just trying something new," Shawn answered, willing his breath to slow. "It takes a lot of practice to make what I do look natural."
"Well it was a little over the top. You looked like you were passing a kidney stone."
Shawn snorted, “No Gus, this is what I look like when I’m passing a kidney stone.” He made a face.
“You did not just blue steel me,” said Gus.
“What if I dii…diii…did?”
Gus asked, “Is your phone vibrating?”
Shawn turned instantly red. Sure, he could hear the damned thing echoing through his skull, but he hadn’t considered Gus would be able to.
“Closet! The spirits are drawing me to the closet!” Shawn sprung from his chair and ran into the small storage space in the back of the office. He slammed the door behind him. “Aaaaah!”
“Still over the top,” Gus called at him through the door.
In an act of desperation Shawn shoved two fingers in his mouth to muffle his own cries. He sucked, hard, only vaguely aware of the irony. He gripped his shirt in his other hand, tugging at the fabric. He leaned against the closet door and slid to the floor. With his legs out in front of him he thrust his hips helplessly into the air, the hint of friction he got from his jeans brushing his painfully restricted erection only making things worse.
Again, the vibration stopped, just as suddenly as before. Half a moment later his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled his wet hand out of his mouth as he answered the call.
"I hate you so much," Shawn said into the phone. Lassiter only laughed in response.
"It's not funny!" Shawn protested, "I swear to god Lassie, I just about swallowed my own hand."
"Oh, so you tried that, did you?" Lassiter asked, the slight hitch in his breath betraying his attempts at callousness, "How many fingers? You suck on them? Use your tongue? Must've felt nice, I know how good that tongue can be. What else have you been doing to yourself Shawn? Touching your chest? Rubbing your nipples? Did you pinch them? Try a little pain to take the edge off?"
"Hate you," Shawn repeated.
"Is that anyway to talk after I get you such nice things? It was expensive, but I think the choices in settings make it worth it, don't you?"
"Go to hell."
"Here. Let me show you my favorite..."
Shawn yelped as the egg went off in strong, short bursts. They came fast, one after the other, barely allowing for a breath in between.
"Pay attention to that rhythm Shawn. That's how I'm going to take you when I get you home tonight."
Shawn groaned, low and long. The pulse stopped.
"Don't want you enjoying that too much now," Lassiter told him.
"Did I mention I hate you?"
"Talking like a petulant child will only get you punished like one, you know that." said Lassiter, "But considering the circumstances I'll let it slide. Now come out of that closet, we have a dinner to get to."
"Talking like a petulant child will only get you punished like one, you know that," said Lassiter. "But considering the circumstances I'll let it slide. Now come out of that closet, we have a dinner to get to."
“How do you know…?” Shawn hung up the phone before he finished his sentence. He stood and opened the door, poking his head out, “Where is he?”
“Who?” asked Gus.
The front door opened and Lassiter strolled in, all easy nonchalance.
“That was pretty good Shawn.” said Gus.
“What was good?” asked Lassiter.
“Shawn’s trying a more casual approach to channeling.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, “Great. So, we ready to go?”
Shawn blinked, “We?”
“I ran into Lassiter at the station,” Gus explained. “He invited me to dinner with you guys and Detective O’Hara.”
“Jules is coming.” said Shawn blankly.
“Actually, she’s already there,” said Lassiter. “So we should get a move on. Guster, do you want to ride with us? They overcharge for parking as it is, no reason to pay for two cars. I asked O’Hara, she said she’d drop you back here on her way home.”
“Wow, really?” said Gus. “Thanks Lassiter, that was really considerate of you.”
Lassiter shrugged, “I’m a considerate guy.”
Shawn laughed bitterly. Brilliant Lassie - with Gus in the car there’d be no chance Shawn could beg or seduce his way into a reprieve; he’d have to keep the egg in through dinner. Gus frowned at Shawn in confusion. Lassiter smiled and clapped his hands together, “Let’s go?”
Lassiter turned and walked towards the door, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket as he did. The egg pulsed. Shawn swore and followed after him. Gus frowned again and trailed behind.
The drive to the restaurant was blessedly vibration-free, Shawn didn’t think he’d have been able to keep it together if it wasn’t with Lassiter just a stick shift away, and he didn’t want to imagine the kind of trauma jumping Lassie in front of Gus would have visited on him. Lassiter tormented Shawn by asking him questions about his day, pressing for the most mundane details. How many people in line at the grocery store, how long did Shawn have to wait, what did the cashier look like, how did Shawn pay, how much change did he get back? All innocent, if odd, questions on the surface, but Shawn knew exactly what Lassiter was doing – he was triggering Shawn’s memories, knowing that visualizing the scene would call up the tactile responses Shawn had felt when he was there. Shawn supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Lassiter had figured out how Shawn worked after living with him for what, almost a year now, he was a detective after all, but a part of Shawn always seemed to forget he was such a good one.
They parked in Don Polo’s admittedly overpriced lot, although Shawn wasn’t buying Lassie’s cover story for bringing Gus in their car for a minute, and walked towards the entrance. Shawn sidled up to Lassiter and brushed the back of his hand against his. Lassiter took it absentmindedly and twined their fingers together, either not noticing or not caring that after a day of torment Shawn was sensitive enough that even Lassiter’s most casual touch almost sent him over the edge.
Lassiter dropped Shawn’s hand when they reached the front entrance and held the door open for him and Gus. Such a gentleman. Shawn’s lips twisted into a smile. It used to bother him, the way Lassiter sometimes treated him like a woman, but he’d come to accept it was just the way Lassie was. Old habits from a lifetime of dating girls were bound to be hard to shake, and anyway, if Lassie wasn’t familiar enough with Shawn’s anatomy by now to know he was a man, well, there was something seriously wrong with him. He snuck out a hand and swiped it across Lassiter’s chest as he passed him, grazing his fingers over his belt buckle. Lassiter arched an eyebrow at him. Shawn counted it as a victory until Lassie shoved his hand in his pocket again. The low thrum started in Shawn immediately.
It was the subtlest sensation Shawn had felt all day, barely noticeable at first. He managed to greet Juliet and follow the hostess to their table without so much as a twitch to give himself away. He’d expected to sit next to Lassiter, but Lassie took the chair by Juliet, kitty corner to Shawn. Clever. He was just out of Shawn’s reach and the solid metal support under the table kept Shawn from getting to him with a foot. The thrum continued. Sitting had amplified it a little, angling the egg so it hit right against just the wrong spot to encourage polite dinner conversation, but Shawn found with a little concentration he could ignore the feeling, at first anyway. Shawn had half expected Lassie to kick up the vibrations as the waitress brought water and took their drink orders, but his hands were folded neatly on the table. Shawn wondered if Lassie was going to keep it on low the whole meal and that’s when he realized what had started as a niggling little feeling had amplified to something like an itch. Shawn shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a long drink of water. Lassie wasn’t going to keep it on all night, was he? It would be too cruel. Blood pooled between his legs at the thought and he felt the half erection he’d lost on the drive over returning. Shawn tried to catch Lassiter’s eye, signal him that he didn’t think he could last through two courses like this, and god help him if Jules ordered a desert, but Lassie was pointedly ignoring him. His apparent indifference was infuriating and hot and Shawn bit at his lower lip.
“Shawn?” said Jules.
“What?” Shawn answered, a little too loudly, drawing the attention of some of the nearby tables.
“How did you know?” she asked. It didn’t make sense, not unless. Right. She was repeating something. Shawn had been so focused on Lassiter he hadn’t even noticed she’d been talking to him.
“I… sensed it?” Shawn answered.
Jules drew her head back in surprise, “You sensed they had two-for-one margaritas?”
Damn it. “Uh, yeah.”
“Wow, that’s…” Jules considered, “Surprisingly mundane, as far as psychic information goes.”
Shawn shrugged, “Sometimes that’s how it works. I don’t control what I glean from the spirits; I’m just a sponge running along their greasy cosmic dishes.”
“Oh my god…” muttered Gus, making Juliet giggle. Lassiter remained unfazed, examining the menu intently.
Shawn stood, “Uh, excuse me, I need to go, um, piss.”
Shawn just about knocked over two waiters on his rush to get to the bathroom, but he didn’t have time to hesitate. He needed some kind of relief, even if it was just a moment or two away from the sight of Lassiter.
The restroom was empty when he walked in, he used the opportunity of being alone to groan aloud in frustration. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his cheeks were flushed and his lips were so swollen it seemed impossible that anyone could look at him and not tell how aroused he was. On the plus side, his time rolling around on the closet floor hadn’t mussed his hair.
He ran a little water in the sink and splashed it on his face, trying to pull himself together. The door opened behind him and he stood, but kept his eyes closed, not sure what he hoped for more – that Lassiter had followed him, or that he hadn’t. He pushed back the moment he felt the familiar arms circling his waist, arching himself against Lassiter's chest. He opened his eyes and found Lassiter's in the reflection, blue, blazing with intensity.
"Please." Shawn muttered, "Please, please, please, please."
"Please let me come."
Lassiter chuckled, "What, here? Not unless you want me to arrest you for public indecency afterwards."
"Hush," Lassiter whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Shawn's ear. "So good Shawn, you're doing so good for me. You can take more, can't you?" He kissed the stubbled corner of Shawn's jaw, "Just a little more."
"Just a little more," Lassiter repeated, pushing Shawn's shirt up to run his hands over his stomach. "I need you to. Need you to know what it feels like every time you're there when I'm working, every time you touch me when you know I can't touch back. You think I’d put you through this if you hadn’t done worse to me first? My Shawn. So, so sweet. You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you. Or maybe you do. You do, don’t you, you little tease? You do know, but it doesn’t stop you, does it? How many times have you sat in my lap and ground on me in front of my boss for god’s sake, hmm? How many? You know you’ve earned this. You deserve this. Come on, honey, tell me you can take it for me. Tell me." Lassiter traced the top edge of Shawn's jeans with his fingertips.
"Okay," Shawn gasped.
Lassiter nudged his hips forward, letting Shawn feel his arousal. "Good boy." Lassiter told him, "Good, good boy. Love you." His head dropped down and he bit at Shawn's neck. Shawn watched the little red marks form on his skin as Lassiter pulled away.
"I'm giving you a break while we eat," Lassiter told him. "I don't want you choking on your dinner."
Shawn nodded in agreement.
"But as soon as you're finished, you're mine again," Lassiter said as he stepped back. Shawn sighed unhappily at the loss.
"Always yours," Shawn muttered.
Lassiter's hands twitched and he gave a little start like he was going to pull Shawn into his arms and take him against the sink, public nudity laws be damned, but his feet didn't move.
"That's right you are," said Lassiter. "Mine." He turned to the door of the restroom, his hand on the doorknob, "When the bill comes, Shawn, I'm starting it up and it's not turning off until we're home."
Shawn gave an involuntary moan. He searched Lassiter's reflection for a sign of mercy, but all he found was a calculating smirk.
"I was thinking we'd take the scenic route," said Lassiter, and then he was gone.
Shawn leaned forward against the sink basin and let the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding out in a loud huff. He seriously considered sticking his head under the faucet and running cold water over it, hair be damned. Lassiter. Fuck. Shawn looked at himself in the mirror. If he lived to solve a million mysteries he'd never figure out how in the hell he got so lucky.
Lassiter gripped the wheel firmly, hands at ten and two, his attention fixed forwards. This stretch of Via Gaitero wasn’t an easy drive during the day; at night the twists and turns were more than enough to require a driver’s full attention. He was a conscientious man and had no intentions of taking his eyes off the road, no matter how difficult Shawn was making it.
“Urgh, I’m gonna kill him!” Shawn exclaimed.
“That’s not the kind of thing you should tell a homicide detective ahead of the fact,” Lassiter answered.
“It’s justifiable Lassie. There’s not a…” Shawn paused to take a deep breath, “Not a jury in the world that’d convict me.” Shawn punctuated his sentence with a small, involuntary moan.
Lassiter swallowed. No, Shawn was not making it easy. He silently cursed himself - if he had stayed on 154 he could have had Shawn home and stripped by now - but he’d wanted to push Shawn as far as he could before he gave him relief. He hadn’t considered how much harder it would be to keep his own needs in check once he’d gotten Shawn alone. With O’Hara and Guster to buffer them Shawn had behaved himself, now that it was just the two of them he wasn’t holding back. Lassiter suspected he was doing it on purpose, payback of a sort. He supposed he couldn’t blame him, by Lassiter’s calculations he’d kept Shawn been somewhere between half-hard and coming for over four hours now.
“Oh, fuuu…” Shawn groaned, “Oh, god Lass it’s too much...”
Yeah, he was definitely doing it on purpose. Lassiter could see him arching his back against his seatbelt out of the corner of his eye. Traffic wasn’t heavy this time of night, but they weren’t the only car on the road by any means. Lassiter wondered what Shawn must look like to the cars they passed. Probably just like what he was; a wonton little… Damn it. Lassiter forced the thought out of his head. He was not going to die by plowing into oncoming traffic because he was too hot to keep his hands steady. For one thing, it would ruin his perfect driver’s records. For another, there was no way that Woody would keep quiet after finding the little string dangling out of Shawn during the autopsy. Lassiter would prefer not to be remembered postmortem for his sexual practices, thank you very much. He needed a distraction. The tolerable kind of distraction. What had Shawn been talking about? Right.
“Who?” asked Lassiter.
“Who’re you going to kill?”
“Oh.” Shawn said, “Professor Johnson, obviously.”
“And who is that?”
“He is ‘the creator and purveyor of quality adult toys for over 30 years’,” Shawn read. He’d dug the egg’s box out of Lassiter’s glove box a few minutes into their drive home. His car and the evidence room were just about the only two places Lassiter had left to hide gifts without Shawn finding them. As it was, Shawn still guessed what Lassiter’d gotten him nine times out of ten. It was annoying, and astounding, and more than a little sexy.
“What it doesn’t say here…” Shawn continued, managing to dissolve into incoherent groans only a few times, “Is that Professor Johnson, nugh, is also an evil maniac who, ehm… mmh, Lassie… lives alone in a spooky old house on a hill and spends his eva… even… evenings creating torturous implements for sadists to use on their innocent, hem, unsuspecting boyfriends.”
“As a clam.”
“Lamb.” Lassiter corrected.
“I’ve, mmpfh, heard it both ways.”
Lassiter smirked, “Of course you have.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lassiter. “What was that?”
“I refuse to repeat myself!” Shawn exclaimed, “If you can’t, ehmmuh, understand me it’s your own - fudgesicles! – fault for being such a dah… damned freak.”
Lassiter smiled to himself. Freak? Hardly. Before Shawn Lassiter had been conservative to the point where he would have classified anything beyond the missionary position as downright exotic. Shawn, on the other hand, saw sex the way he saw everything else - as a game with constantly shifting rules; something to examine and prod at and with and play at until every possibility was exhausted. Lassiter had known that Shawn would push him to extremes when they'd started - he did in every other aspect of their lives together, there was no reason sex should be any different - but even so he’d been caught off guard the first time Shawn announced to him that he'd been a 'very very bad boy', and needed correcting as soon as possible. He’d obliged him, of course – there wasn’t much he’d deny Shawn in the privacy of their own bedroom – and while Shawn’s enthusiastically verbal reaction to being put over Lassiter’s knee to be expected, his own response had taken him by surprise. He always liked getting his hands on Shawn - he’d know that from the first time he’d cuffed him and pushed him against his car door, silently praying that Shawn would never stop resisting arrest - but bringing his palm down on Shawn… making him feel the force of the constant frustrations Shawn put him through, Lassiter had more than liked that. He had loved that.
Ever since then Lassiter had been much more open to trying new things, even implementing the occasional role-play or introducing a toy or two, like the egg, into their exchanges. Shawn had taken everything Lassiter had asked of him in stride, his appetite for sex only fueled by his appetite for variety. Variety. That was key. Shawn was smart, too smart, and too easily bored. Lassiter would not have Shawn grow bored with him. He’d lost one of the loves of his life already, he wasn’t losing another one. He’d spend the rest of his life throwing curveballs at Shawn if that’s what it took. Keep the boy interested, keep the boy.
Lassiter’s shoulders relaxed a little as he turned onto the 192. It wouldn’t be long now. He let himself sneak a quick glance at Shawn. He was glaring at the box like it was that jockey who used to steal his lunch money. “I understand the impulse,” Lassiter said. “But I doubt ‘Professor Johnson’ is a real person. He’s like ‘Mr. Clean’ or the Carl’s Jr. Star, I don’t think you’ll have much success tracking him down.”
Shawn pursed his lips, “So… you’re saying the Carl’s Jr. Star isn’t a real person?”
Lassiter chuffed, “Alright, bad example. Like the ‘Bounty’ guy, then.”
“Mr. Clean, the Bounty Guy… you’ve really got a thing for the, guh, man’s man mascots, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” said Lassiter. “You know that’s not my type.”
“You know. Too masculine, too built, too many muscles.”
“Hey!” Shawn exclaimed.
Shawn pushed up his shirt to his neck and stared down at his own chest, “Are you trying to tell me you think ‘Mr. Clean’ has a better six-pack than I do?”
Lassiter laughed. He reached over and spread his hand over Shawn’s “six-pack”. Shawn pressed up eagerly against him. God but Shawn felt good. He pulled his hand away and put it back on the wheel, Shawn gave a little groan of protest.
“Want you, Lassie.”
Lassiter clenched his teeth together. He gripped the wheel tight enough that his knuckles turned white. “Soon, Shawn,” he hissed.
Shawn whimpered, “Not soon enough… Oooh! Put on the siren!”
“But then we could…”
“You know Lass, mlehm, your rules don’t make any sense.”
“They’re not my rules,” Lassiter countered. “They’re department regulations. The siren is for official police business…”
“So are the handcuffs,” said Shawn, cutting him off. “And that’s never stopped you.”
True enough, but the likelihood of another officer seeing Shawn cuffed to his bed was much less than the likelihood of someone spotting him speeding down a busy street with his lights flashing. Lassiter didn’t want to begin to imagine what it would be like to explain to Chief Vick why he was in such a rush to get home. The point was moot anyway. Lassiter turned into the driveway and killed the ignition. Shawn was out of the car in a bolt.
By the time Lassiter reached the front door Shawn was already inside, his shirt on the floor, his shoes and socks kicked off, and his fly undone. He pulled Lassiter into the house and attacked his mouth. Lassiter opened his lips to Shawn’s tongue as he let Shawn push off his jacket. He only had a moment to savor the lingering Margareta taste of Shawn’s lips before Shawn was pulling back, clawing at the buttons of Lassiter’s shirt, trying to open them and drag Lassiter towards the bedroom at the same time.
Lassiter gripped Shawn by the shoulders, taking control of him. He leaned forward and bit at Shawn’s neck as he walked him backwards, sucking on the soft dip of flesh above his collar bone until a bright red bruise formed on his skin. Lassiter felt a rush of heat at seeing his mark on Shawn, he always did. It was such a clear show of ownership. He needed that. In his more sex addled moments he’d even considered marching Shawn to a tattoo parlor and having his badge number printed on Shawn’s ass in a permanent show of who Shawn belonged to. He always dropped the idea in the morning, of course, but he never let go of the impulse behind it. Make Shawn his.
Shawn had managed to get Lassiter’s shirt halfway open and was raking his blunt nails over his chest. Lassiter groaned as Shawn’s hands raked over his nipples. He maneuvered Shawn into the bedroom and kissed him firmly before dropping him down onto the mattress. e stepped back and Shawn started to roll up after him, trying to keep the contact, but Lassiter pushed him back down again.
"Stay!" Lassiter snapped, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Stay," he repeated, this time in a low growl. He held Shawn there for a moment, pinning him by his shoulders and staring into him, willing Shawn to do as he was told. Stay. Stay here. Stay with me. Stay. "You're going to stay."
"Yes," Shawn answered, even though it wasn't a question. Lassiter couldn't risk it being a question. Even so…
"Say it again," Lassiter instructed.
Lassiter growled a warning before lifting his hands off Shawn, clearing back enough to slip out of his holster and quickly peel off the rest of his clothes. Shawn watched his every move, licking his lips in appreciation as Lassiter freed his half erect cock and stroked it to its full length. He stared at Shawn for a moment, sprawled out so perfectly, wiggling his ass against the mattress, no doubt trying to curb the persistent stimulation of the egg. Or heighten it, maybe. Lassiter felt almost sorry for what he’d made Shawn suffer. He would have apologized if it hadn’t been for the distinct wet spot showing on Shawn’s boxers, proving how much he’d enjoyed it. Still, enough was enough. He looked around the bedroom for his jacket before remembering he’d left it, and the remote in its pocket, in the hall. He had no intention of leaving Shawn for even the few seconds it would take to go get it.
“Let’s get that out of you, shall we?” Lassiter asked.
“Oh god, yes please,” Shawn answered, shifting himself so that his legs hung off the edge of the mattress and lifting his hips in invitation.
Lassiter pulled Shawn’s jeans and boxers off, purposefully ignoring Shawn’s erection as it sprung free, then knelt down on one knee between Shawn’s thighs. This close he could hear the little hum of the egg inside him. Lassiter found the ring at the end of the string and hooked his finger through it, giving it a little tug. Shawn moaned loudly in response. Lassiter smiled and tugged at it again. He could see the curved base of it pushing out of Shawn from the inside, almost like Shawn was giving birth to it. Lassiter ignored the obscenity of the thought and gave one last tug until the egg finally pulled free with an extremely audible 'pop'. Lassiter stood and drew his head back and his mouth fell open in shock until he realized the sound had come not from the egg, but from Shawn hooking his thumb on the inside of his cheek. Shawn was leering at him, his eyes sparkling with mischievous triumph. Lassiter determined to wipe the smug grin off his face as efficiently as possible.
He tossed the egg onto the bed then gripped Shawn's ankles and pulled them up to his shoulders, half lifting Shawn off the blankets as he did and thrust himself in to the hilt. As predicted, Shawn's teasing smile gave over to a silent 'O' of surprise and pleasure and maybe just a little pain before Lassiter had finished the motion. Lassiter held Shawn there for a moment, the strain of supporting half Shawn’s weight by calves more than made up for by the way Shawn was wiggling below him, trying to get enough purchase by propping himself on his elbows to get Lassiter to move.
"Lassie..." Shawn pleaded.
Lassiter ignored him, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation of being so completely and perfectly engulfed. Tight. Tight and hot and still wet from the slick he'd encouraged the egg in with that morning. Hot and alive and his. Lassiter's pulse raced with as much pride as it did lust. It should have been an impossible feat, animate and elusive as Shawn was, but Lassiter had caught him. Caught him and made him his. His Shawn. The last man or woman Lassiter would ever need to catch.
"No one else," said Lassiter.
"No Lassie," Shawn agreed, clenching down on Lassiter in encouragement. "Only you. I'm yours."
Not what he'd meant, but hell if he wouldn't take it. He dropped Shawn's feet to his waist and Shawn instantly wrapped his legs around him, locking him in place. Lassiter leaned down, slowly and carefully, so he could lie across Shawn without pulling out or damaging anything important in the process. He braced his arms on either side of Shawn, his fingers digging into the blankets as he felt the thrill of Shawn's erection grazing against his stomach. Shawn was watching him with needy eyes, his mouth red and wet and too fucking tempting. Lassiter kissed him firmly. Shawn whimpered, half pleased, but too far gone to be satisfied by anything less than friction. Lassiter hummed sympathetically, he knew exactly how Shawn felt. He pulled back enough to mutter against Shawn's mouth.
"Drop your legs," Lassiter instructed. Shawn obeyed immediately, drawing his knees to Lassiter's sides so that Lassiter was at just the right angle. Lassiter growled his approval.
"Shawn.” Lassiter hissed, “I'm gonna make you feel this for days." He let himself go, pulling nearly all the way out only to push back home again, taking what he needed. Shawn bucked against him, babbling up the usual ridiculous nonsense that rough sex always inspired in him. This time it was something about Saturday mornings and ‘long odds’ and someone named Lon Mchearn. Lassiter only half listened, trying to follow Shawn’s stream of consciousness would only make him crazy. Still, he didn’t like hearing another man’s name on Shawn’s lips, even though he knew that what Shawn was saying and what he was thinking were rarely the same things.
“Mine!” Lassiter barked at him, forcing Shawn’s attention. He punctuated each syllable with a thrust, “You. Are. Fuck. Ing. Mine.” He dropped a hand to Shawn’s cock, circling it in his hand and pulling it in time to make sure Shawn understood him. Shawn was his, his, and he’d take whatever liberties with his body he wanted to. His, and he’d make him love it. “Mine,” Lassiter repeated. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Shawn had given up on words, but he gave a sharp cry of agreement at Lassiter’s every word. It was pushing Lassiter over the edge fast, too fast. He wasn’t about to give Shawn the satisfaction of finishing before he did.
“Come on Shawn,” Lassiter encouraged, working his hand faster. “Come on.”
“Lass…” Shawn gasped, “Yes. Like that Lassie… just like that. God!”
“That’s right. Come on boy. Now. Now.”
Shawn arched and came over Lassiter’s hand, shaking and moaning enough as he did that Lassiter quickly joined him. The release flooded through him as he filled Shawn. He threw his head back took deep, gasping breaths as he finished with a few, sporadic thrusts. Suddenly exhausted, he collapsed onto Shawn’s chest. Shawn wrapped his arms around him and sighed happily against his ear.
“Mine.” Shawn whispered, “Mine, mine, mine.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Nope,” Shawn answered. “Just reminding you it goes both ways. You’re mine Carlton.”
Lassiter chuckled, “Don’t I know it.” Lassiter let Shawn support his weight until Shawn squirmed in discomfort and took his arms off Lassiter’s back. He rolled over, lying next to Shawn and sighing at the sudden rush of cool air against his bare skin. He closed his eyes and felt out Shawn’s hand with his, linking them together in a loose hold. e closed his eyes and felt out Shawn’s hand with his, linking them together in a loose hold. He listened to last whining hums of the egg as its battery finally ran down before the room fell into silence.
Shawn asked, “So, Lassie?”
“What else does Professor Johnson make?”