Title Close Encounters 5/?
Author![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
janedavitt
Web page Jane's Stories
Pairing Shawn/Lassiter
Rating R
Length 2500 words
Spoilers/Warnings None
Previous parts are here.
Carlton hadn't come to this bar to get drunk. He still planned on driving home, just not yet. Home was an empty house, silently pointing up his single status; one toothbrush in the holder, every hair stuck to the tub a former resident on his head.
Quiet.
Oh, he could turn on the TV -- yes, he owned one, no matter what certain people said about him being out of touch with anything post I Love Lucy-- or some music, but like air freshener when a skunk had passed through, it wouldn't do much more than ineffectively mask the silence, not destroy it.
Only the presence of another person would do that.
Ten minutes in the bar taught him that real live voices weren't that effective at breaking through the cone of silence he was sitting in when none of the people talking were speaking to him. Or even aware that he existed. He sat tucked away in a corner, nursing his scotch, and thought about Shawn, who talked endlessly and said so little with those words, so much with his body.
Carlton wasn't sure why he'd left Shawn after getting him off. It'd felt as if, that accomplished, they were done, but there'd been surprise and even hurt in Shawn's eyes when he'd gotten dressed and headed for the door. Had Spencer expected…was there something that Carlton had left undone?
He chewed his lip. Shawn didn't strike him as the romantic type and his seduction technique was one step up from the stereotypical caveman approach. Maybe, though, he'd wanted to…talk? Carlton shuddered and took a sip of his drink. He hated talking about relationships. What was there to talk about?
He'd just decided that maybe on the way back to his car he'd glance into the Psych office and see if Shawn was still there when Spencer walked into the bar.
It sounded like the start of a joke. A fake psychic walks into a bar and asks for… What? What was Spencer doing here? Carlton narrowed his eyes as Spencer went directly to the long, well-polished bar without looking around and immediately got the bartender's attention.
That bartender was young, hot, flirty. He'd winked at Carlton when he'd passed over Carlton's drink and he was smiling warmly at Spencer, who was leaning in, his jeans pulled tightly across his ass.
Carlton breathed out, long and slow. So. If Spencer had followed him, he'd have arrived earlier. If Spencer was looking for him, he was doing a good job of hiding it; his attention was all on the pretty boy mixing him up a complicated drink, all yellow froth and cherries with a jaunty paper parasol to top it off.
It wasn't a drink for a man, but Carlton found himself wondering about how Shawn's mouth would taste after he'd drunk it. Sticky-sweet with a kick, probably…those frou-frou drinks always had plenty of alcohol hidden under the juice and mixers. He imagined that mouth on him, leaving a trail of kisses from his throat to his rapidly hardening dick, kisses that would leave his skin tacky to the touch, itching until Shawn rinsed his mouth clean and came back to lay fresh, cool lips against every single one.
Carlton swallowed nothing but spit and longing and glared across the room. If Spencer thought that he could come out to pick someone up still glowing from what he'd gotten from another man, Carlton was prepared to show him the error of his ways. If that involved marching him out of the bar in cuffs, like any filthy, despicable perp, then so be it.
Come to think of it, that sounded really appealing. Carlton could almost hear Spencer's breathy babble as he protested his innocence, feel the grind of Spencer's ass against him as Spencer tried to flirt his way free from being manhandled into Carlton's car, like the shameless slut he was.
Maybe Spencer would offer to blow him, still cuffed, using his teeth to open Carlton's pants and --
Carlton winced. Okay, maybe that fantasy would have more punch if he didn't know firsthand that Spencer's teeth could inflict a lot of damage.
He shook his head, impatient with himself. Why was he surprised to see Spencer behaving true to form? Spencer had been curious about him, God alone knew why, and he'd indulged himself in a day of pursuit until Carlton, like a fool, had walked into his trap. Fun over.
He still had a few sips of scotch left, but his gut was churning. He needed to leave. Now. Before he gave into the urge to punch Spencer so fucking hard that he'd get a genuine glimpse of the future when Carlton's fist propelled him into the middle of next week.
"You know, Lassie, darkly brooding looks good on you. Not everyone could carry it off, but you nail it."
Carlton stared up at the face he'd been planning to punch and realized that he wasn't off Spencer's hook yet.
"I was just leaving."
Spencer frowned and sat down anyway, placing his drink -- untouched -- on the table where its gaudy brightness mocked the sad dregs of Carlton's whiskey. "Did I miss something? Is it winter? Because I just felt a chill."
"I'm sure if you asked him nicely, the barman would warm you up," Carlton said, fully aware of how pathetic he was being.
Shawn leaned back in his chair, a tolerant, world-weary smile curving his lips. "Oh, Lassie. Sweet, deluded, charmingly jealous Lassie. Did you think I was flirting with Tony? Really?"
"Yes," Carlton said flatly and watched the smile slip off Shawn's face. "I watched you. You walked in, went up to him, wriggled your ass…"
Dropping the affectations, Shawn got closer, his face inches away from Carlton's, unnervingly close. "Seriously? For real? Dude! We had a deal. Exclusive. You. Me. Hearts entwined. Not to mention the fact that Tony's dating a guy who could roll me up and smoke me without breaking a sweat. I was wriggling my ass because I knew you were staring at it."
"Oh, save the crap," Carlton said, disgusted with them both. "You didn't even know I was here."
"Hell-oooo, psychic?" Shawn said in the weird, high-pitched singsong that always left Carlton's ears feeling abraded. "Of course I knew."
"Did not," Carlton said automatically and began to see how Guster, who was, when all was said and done, a man with gainful employment and a decent work ethic, could descend to the level of a six-year-old around Shawn.
"Did," Shawn said. He hesitated, then shrugged. "You're reflected in the mirrors. The one behind the bar covers all of this part of the room and anyway, I knew you were here. Everything else this way is closed for the night apart from the restaurants and you've already eaten." He looked wary for some reason that Carlton couldn't fathom, caution clouding his eyes. "I was asking Tony what you were drinking and how many you'd had. He says you're a lousy tipper but your eyes are divine."
Carlton cleared his throat nervously. "Really?"
"No, I made that last part up, but I'm sure he thinks so, deep down. I know I do."
"What are you doing here?" Carlton asked bluntly. "I thought we were done for the night." The last three words came out before he had time to censor them, born of wishful thinking that this wasn't just a one-off. Shawn had implied that he was interested in more, but trusting him didn't come easy.
Shawn widened his eyes. "Done? Lassie, can it be possible that you're only after one thing? I'm shocked. Appalled. I feel so used, so dirty." He closed his eyes and smiled, his hands laced across his stomach. "God, it feels good being someone's boy toy again. Use me some more. Tell me I'm your bad Shawn and you're going to teach me a lesson."
"Spencer," Carlton hissed, the tips of his ears getting hot. Shawn wasn't keeping his voice down at all. "A little discretion?"
"Doesn't go with this shirt," Shawn said, opening his eyes and studying Carlton with frank interest. "I'd need to be wearing one of yours."
Carlton discovered that he had the ability to conjure a fantasy between one breath and the next, sparked by Shawn's throwaway comments. This one -- stripping Shawn naked, then dressing him in the shirt he'd worn all day, warm, creased, sweaty, and fucking him in it, then putting it back on -- didn't help him to regain his composure at all. It was possible. It was doable. They could meet at lunch somewhere --
He shook his head, and tried to jar the disturbingly erotic thoughts out at the same time. It didn't work, but he put that down to the fact that Shawn was still staring at him, all green-eyed and insightful.
"Someone's thinking naughty thoughts again," Shawn observed smugly. He took a sip of his drink through the green, striped straw and sighed. "Mm. Nice. Want some?"
"It's too sweet for me," Carlton said.
"Says the man who pours sugar into his coffee by the cup."
"Coffee's different," Carlton said defensively. "Alcohol shouldn't taste like candy."
"Try it," Shawn said and held his glass out, a cherry bobbing up and down enticingly. "Then we'll taste the same."
"That only works for garlic and onions," Carlton grumbled, but he took a sip, pursing his lips around the straw that Shawn had sucked on with a tug of arousal. Shawn's mouth...unskilled, yes, but so fucking hot, so...welcoming.
The cocktail slid down his throat in an icy shiver, the alcohol in it producing an interesting afterglow. It was tangy and sweet, but Carlton took another sip before pushing the glass silently back.
"You didn't like it?" Shawn slid the straw between his lips and hollowed his cheeks, sucking noisily. It should've looked comical but it made Carlton want to grab him and push him to his knees. He knew clubs where he could've given into that impulse without raising a single eyebrow. He'd helped shut some of them down, but there were always new ones popping up.
Carlton picked up his drink and took a mouthful to wash away the taste of juice. It didn't. He could still taste tropical sugar on his lips and now the scotch tasted like mouthwash, harsh and medicinal.
"It was okay."
"You loved it," Shawn said with a fist pump that made Carlton want to slap his hand down hard. "Were you really just going to go home after one drink?"
"Yes," Carlton said and then, because Shawn looked crushed, added, "but I was going to -- if you were still in the office, I might have --"
"Dropped in for round two?"
"No! Just...said hi. Maybe."
"I didn't like you going," Shawn said and there was a genuine pout showing. "I thought we'd get to hang out."
"You really don't like being alone, do you?" Carlton said. He'd heard Guster complain about Shawn tagging along on dates, popping up unexpectedly and muscling in.
Shawn shrugged. "Sometimes yes, mostly no. I'm a people person."
"You mean you like an audience."
Shawn spread his arms wide, narrowly missing a man walking by who gave him a dirty look. Carlton caught the man's eye and glared at him, projecting a message of 'back off, he's mine'. Shawn never even noticed the by-play, too busy yammering on about being a showman, an entertainer.
"Yeah, I'm sure you can pull bunnies out of your ass on demand," Carlton said to shut him up. "Save it, Spencer. I know just what you are and it isn't entertaining unless they've redefined the word." He hesitated. "You really want to... hang out?"
"Lassie-babe, I want it all," Shawn said and snapped his teeth. "Big bites. It's the only way to taste life."
Carlton resisted the urge to cover his cock protectively and stood. "Fine. You can come back to my place, which unlike yours doesn't require monthly fumigation."
"I haven't finished my drink," Shawn protested.
Carlton glanced at it and then back at Shawn. "Yes, you have," he said and watched Shawn go quiet and still for a moment, his tongue flicking out to touch his lips. Annoyed, turned on? Carlton couldn't tell. He knew that Spencer hated getting bossed around by his dad, but giving orders came naturally to Carlton. He was about to compromise and tell Shawn that he had thirty seconds, no more, when Shawn jumped up, a wide, fake smile on his face.
"So I have."
For that small obedience, Carlton kissed Shawn in the first alleyway they walked past, dragging him sideways into it and shoving him roughly up against the wall. He'd done this before to Shawn and told himself that was in pursuit of his duty as a police officer, but he'd lied. He'd done it, each and every time, because he couldn't keep his hands off Shawn and now he could admit that openly, not with words, but his mouth.
Shawn let him do it, not struggling, not fighting back. Part of Carlton missed the struggle, but he'd already subdued Shawn once that evening and there was something sweet about the way Shawn took the hard wall behind him and the littered ground at his feet without complaint just to get Carlton's mouth on his.
The sidewalk was quiet, but they couldn't stay in the friendly shadows for long. Carlton made every second count, grinding against Shawn shamelessly, half-hard already and feeling every inch of Shawn's matching interest in the proceedings. He kissed Shawn without a shred of consideration, the same way that Shawn had teased him so often, licking deep inside Shawn's mouth, invading it, biting hard at Shawn's lips until they swelled hot against his, bruised and tender.
"Gonna do me here, Lassie, up against this wall?" Shawn whispered, inflicting some damage of his own, sharp teeth digging into Carlton's neck. "Then arrest us both later?"
"You make me want to," Carlton said, honesty the best and only gift he had. "God, I do want to, but I can't."
"I know, Lassie," Shawn said and patted his cheek, pushing Carlton back with a reluctant hand. "Doesn't matter. Your place has walls, doesn't it?"
Carlton grinned, already picturing Shawn against the one in his bedroom. "Yeah, it does. Let's get moving, Spencer. Now."
He'd only had one scotch and two sips of whatever hell brew Spencer had ordered, but he felt drunk and reckless. If this was how Spencer felt all the time, it was no wonder the man was always smiling.
Part Six
Author
janedavittWeb page Jane's Stories
Pairing Shawn/Lassiter
Rating R
Length 2500 words
Spoilers/Warnings None
Previous parts are here.
Carlton hadn't come to this bar to get drunk. He still planned on driving home, just not yet. Home was an empty house, silently pointing up his single status; one toothbrush in the holder, every hair stuck to the tub a former resident on his head.
Quiet.
Oh, he could turn on the TV -- yes, he owned one, no matter what certain people said about him being out of touch with anything post I Love Lucy-- or some music, but like air freshener when a skunk had passed through, it wouldn't do much more than ineffectively mask the silence, not destroy it.
Only the presence of another person would do that.
Ten minutes in the bar taught him that real live voices weren't that effective at breaking through the cone of silence he was sitting in when none of the people talking were speaking to him. Or even aware that he existed. He sat tucked away in a corner, nursing his scotch, and thought about Shawn, who talked endlessly and said so little with those words, so much with his body.
Carlton wasn't sure why he'd left Shawn after getting him off. It'd felt as if, that accomplished, they were done, but there'd been surprise and even hurt in Shawn's eyes when he'd gotten dressed and headed for the door. Had Spencer expected…was there something that Carlton had left undone?
He chewed his lip. Shawn didn't strike him as the romantic type and his seduction technique was one step up from the stereotypical caveman approach. Maybe, though, he'd wanted to…talk? Carlton shuddered and took a sip of his drink. He hated talking about relationships. What was there to talk about?
He'd just decided that maybe on the way back to his car he'd glance into the Psych office and see if Shawn was still there when Spencer walked into the bar.
It sounded like the start of a joke. A fake psychic walks into a bar and asks for… What? What was Spencer doing here? Carlton narrowed his eyes as Spencer went directly to the long, well-polished bar without looking around and immediately got the bartender's attention.
That bartender was young, hot, flirty. He'd winked at Carlton when he'd passed over Carlton's drink and he was smiling warmly at Spencer, who was leaning in, his jeans pulled tightly across his ass.
Carlton breathed out, long and slow. So. If Spencer had followed him, he'd have arrived earlier. If Spencer was looking for him, he was doing a good job of hiding it; his attention was all on the pretty boy mixing him up a complicated drink, all yellow froth and cherries with a jaunty paper parasol to top it off.
It wasn't a drink for a man, but Carlton found himself wondering about how Shawn's mouth would taste after he'd drunk it. Sticky-sweet with a kick, probably…those frou-frou drinks always had plenty of alcohol hidden under the juice and mixers. He imagined that mouth on him, leaving a trail of kisses from his throat to his rapidly hardening dick, kisses that would leave his skin tacky to the touch, itching until Shawn rinsed his mouth clean and came back to lay fresh, cool lips against every single one.
Carlton swallowed nothing but spit and longing and glared across the room. If Spencer thought that he could come out to pick someone up still glowing from what he'd gotten from another man, Carlton was prepared to show him the error of his ways. If that involved marching him out of the bar in cuffs, like any filthy, despicable perp, then so be it.
Come to think of it, that sounded really appealing. Carlton could almost hear Spencer's breathy babble as he protested his innocence, feel the grind of Spencer's ass against him as Spencer tried to flirt his way free from being manhandled into Carlton's car, like the shameless slut he was.
Maybe Spencer would offer to blow him, still cuffed, using his teeth to open Carlton's pants and --
Carlton winced. Okay, maybe that fantasy would have more punch if he didn't know firsthand that Spencer's teeth could inflict a lot of damage.
He shook his head, impatient with himself. Why was he surprised to see Spencer behaving true to form? Spencer had been curious about him, God alone knew why, and he'd indulged himself in a day of pursuit until Carlton, like a fool, had walked into his trap. Fun over.
He still had a few sips of scotch left, but his gut was churning. He needed to leave. Now. Before he gave into the urge to punch Spencer so fucking hard that he'd get a genuine glimpse of the future when Carlton's fist propelled him into the middle of next week.
"You know, Lassie, darkly brooding looks good on you. Not everyone could carry it off, but you nail it."
Carlton stared up at the face he'd been planning to punch and realized that he wasn't off Spencer's hook yet.
"I was just leaving."
Spencer frowned and sat down anyway, placing his drink -- untouched -- on the table where its gaudy brightness mocked the sad dregs of Carlton's whiskey. "Did I miss something? Is it winter? Because I just felt a chill."
"I'm sure if you asked him nicely, the barman would warm you up," Carlton said, fully aware of how pathetic he was being.
Shawn leaned back in his chair, a tolerant, world-weary smile curving his lips. "Oh, Lassie. Sweet, deluded, charmingly jealous Lassie. Did you think I was flirting with Tony? Really?"
"Yes," Carlton said flatly and watched the smile slip off Shawn's face. "I watched you. You walked in, went up to him, wriggled your ass…"
Dropping the affectations, Shawn got closer, his face inches away from Carlton's, unnervingly close. "Seriously? For real? Dude! We had a deal. Exclusive. You. Me. Hearts entwined. Not to mention the fact that Tony's dating a guy who could roll me up and smoke me without breaking a sweat. I was wriggling my ass because I knew you were staring at it."
"Oh, save the crap," Carlton said, disgusted with them both. "You didn't even know I was here."
"Hell-oooo, psychic?" Shawn said in the weird, high-pitched singsong that always left Carlton's ears feeling abraded. "Of course I knew."
"Did not," Carlton said automatically and began to see how Guster, who was, when all was said and done, a man with gainful employment and a decent work ethic, could descend to the level of a six-year-old around Shawn.
"Did," Shawn said. He hesitated, then shrugged. "You're reflected in the mirrors. The one behind the bar covers all of this part of the room and anyway, I knew you were here. Everything else this way is closed for the night apart from the restaurants and you've already eaten." He looked wary for some reason that Carlton couldn't fathom, caution clouding his eyes. "I was asking Tony what you were drinking and how many you'd had. He says you're a lousy tipper but your eyes are divine."
Carlton cleared his throat nervously. "Really?"
"No, I made that last part up, but I'm sure he thinks so, deep down. I know I do."
"What are you doing here?" Carlton asked bluntly. "I thought we were done for the night." The last three words came out before he had time to censor them, born of wishful thinking that this wasn't just a one-off. Shawn had implied that he was interested in more, but trusting him didn't come easy.
Shawn widened his eyes. "Done? Lassie, can it be possible that you're only after one thing? I'm shocked. Appalled. I feel so used, so dirty." He closed his eyes and smiled, his hands laced across his stomach. "God, it feels good being someone's boy toy again. Use me some more. Tell me I'm your bad Shawn and you're going to teach me a lesson."
"Spencer," Carlton hissed, the tips of his ears getting hot. Shawn wasn't keeping his voice down at all. "A little discretion?"
"Doesn't go with this shirt," Shawn said, opening his eyes and studying Carlton with frank interest. "I'd need to be wearing one of yours."
Carlton discovered that he had the ability to conjure a fantasy between one breath and the next, sparked by Shawn's throwaway comments. This one -- stripping Shawn naked, then dressing him in the shirt he'd worn all day, warm, creased, sweaty, and fucking him in it, then putting it back on -- didn't help him to regain his composure at all. It was possible. It was doable. They could meet at lunch somewhere --
He shook his head, and tried to jar the disturbingly erotic thoughts out at the same time. It didn't work, but he put that down to the fact that Shawn was still staring at him, all green-eyed and insightful.
"Someone's thinking naughty thoughts again," Shawn observed smugly. He took a sip of his drink through the green, striped straw and sighed. "Mm. Nice. Want some?"
"It's too sweet for me," Carlton said.
"Says the man who pours sugar into his coffee by the cup."
"Coffee's different," Carlton said defensively. "Alcohol shouldn't taste like candy."
"Try it," Shawn said and held his glass out, a cherry bobbing up and down enticingly. "Then we'll taste the same."
"That only works for garlic and onions," Carlton grumbled, but he took a sip, pursing his lips around the straw that Shawn had sucked on with a tug of arousal. Shawn's mouth...unskilled, yes, but so fucking hot, so...welcoming.
The cocktail slid down his throat in an icy shiver, the alcohol in it producing an interesting afterglow. It was tangy and sweet, but Carlton took another sip before pushing the glass silently back.
"You didn't like it?" Shawn slid the straw between his lips and hollowed his cheeks, sucking noisily. It should've looked comical but it made Carlton want to grab him and push him to his knees. He knew clubs where he could've given into that impulse without raising a single eyebrow. He'd helped shut some of them down, but there were always new ones popping up.
Carlton picked up his drink and took a mouthful to wash away the taste of juice. It didn't. He could still taste tropical sugar on his lips and now the scotch tasted like mouthwash, harsh and medicinal.
"It was okay."
"You loved it," Shawn said with a fist pump that made Carlton want to slap his hand down hard. "Were you really just going to go home after one drink?"
"Yes," Carlton said and then, because Shawn looked crushed, added, "but I was going to -- if you were still in the office, I might have --"
"Dropped in for round two?"
"No! Just...said hi. Maybe."
"I didn't like you going," Shawn said and there was a genuine pout showing. "I thought we'd get to hang out."
"You really don't like being alone, do you?" Carlton said. He'd heard Guster complain about Shawn tagging along on dates, popping up unexpectedly and muscling in.
Shawn shrugged. "Sometimes yes, mostly no. I'm a people person."
"You mean you like an audience."
Shawn spread his arms wide, narrowly missing a man walking by who gave him a dirty look. Carlton caught the man's eye and glared at him, projecting a message of 'back off, he's mine'. Shawn never even noticed the by-play, too busy yammering on about being a showman, an entertainer.
"Yeah, I'm sure you can pull bunnies out of your ass on demand," Carlton said to shut him up. "Save it, Spencer. I know just what you are and it isn't entertaining unless they've redefined the word." He hesitated. "You really want to... hang out?"
"Lassie-babe, I want it all," Shawn said and snapped his teeth. "Big bites. It's the only way to taste life."
Carlton resisted the urge to cover his cock protectively and stood. "Fine. You can come back to my place, which unlike yours doesn't require monthly fumigation."
"I haven't finished my drink," Shawn protested.
Carlton glanced at it and then back at Shawn. "Yes, you have," he said and watched Shawn go quiet and still for a moment, his tongue flicking out to touch his lips. Annoyed, turned on? Carlton couldn't tell. He knew that Spencer hated getting bossed around by his dad, but giving orders came naturally to Carlton. He was about to compromise and tell Shawn that he had thirty seconds, no more, when Shawn jumped up, a wide, fake smile on his face.
"So I have."
For that small obedience, Carlton kissed Shawn in the first alleyway they walked past, dragging him sideways into it and shoving him roughly up against the wall. He'd done this before to Shawn and told himself that was in pursuit of his duty as a police officer, but he'd lied. He'd done it, each and every time, because he couldn't keep his hands off Shawn and now he could admit that openly, not with words, but his mouth.
Shawn let him do it, not struggling, not fighting back. Part of Carlton missed the struggle, but he'd already subdued Shawn once that evening and there was something sweet about the way Shawn took the hard wall behind him and the littered ground at his feet without complaint just to get Carlton's mouth on his.
The sidewalk was quiet, but they couldn't stay in the friendly shadows for long. Carlton made every second count, grinding against Shawn shamelessly, half-hard already and feeling every inch of Shawn's matching interest in the proceedings. He kissed Shawn without a shred of consideration, the same way that Shawn had teased him so often, licking deep inside Shawn's mouth, invading it, biting hard at Shawn's lips until they swelled hot against his, bruised and tender.
"Gonna do me here, Lassie, up against this wall?" Shawn whispered, inflicting some damage of his own, sharp teeth digging into Carlton's neck. "Then arrest us both later?"
"You make me want to," Carlton said, honesty the best and only gift he had. "God, I do want to, but I can't."
"I know, Lassie," Shawn said and patted his cheek, pushing Carlton back with a reluctant hand. "Doesn't matter. Your place has walls, doesn't it?"
Carlton grinned, already picturing Shawn against the one in his bedroom. "Yeah, it does. Let's get moving, Spencer. Now."
He'd only had one scotch and two sips of whatever hell brew Spencer had ordered, but he felt drunk and reckless. If this was how Spencer felt all the time, it was no wonder the man was always smiling.
Part Six
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