Title Close Encounters Part Six
Author![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
janedavitt
Web page Jane's Stories
Pairing Shawn/Lassiter
Rating NC17
Length 4,700 words
Spoilers/Warnings None
Previous parts are here.
Carlton walked into his apartment with Spencer close at his heels. The place wasn't as spotless as usual -- it'd been a busy nightmare of a week, with no time to do dishes or put away the scatter of incidental objects that even an organized man accumulated -- but he didn't apologize.
Victoria always had. She could spend hours preparing for visitors and then usher them into their house saying things like, "Please excuse the mess." It had never made sense to him. When it came to Spencer, a cardboard box next to a Dumpster was a step up from the chaos he lived in and Carlton wasn't about to get self-conscious over cereal dried to a bowl in the sink and a half-empty cup of coffee on the table, long since cooled and skinned over.
It was his place. His. He'd regretted the loss of her company bitterly when Victoria left, but at the same time, living alone had brought with it some small satisfactions to offset his sense of failure.
Like being able to do just what the hell he wanted with the place. If he wanted to paper a wall with mug shots, he could do it. If he wanted to leave the walls the bland, nondescript beige they were when he moved in, he would.
The only feature he'd been unable to tolerate was the floral wallpaper in the small bathroom. As a child, his bedroom had been the former spare room and his mother had refused to redecorate until the flower-bedecked wallpaper had faded. Carlton had gotten so used to waking to bunches of roses that when he'd made a friend in second grade and invited him over to play, he hadn't bothered to explain that the pink comforter and matching walls weren't his choice. The play date had gone well, or so he'd thought, but at school on Monday he discovered that Judas, formerly known as Charlie, had spread the word. He'd spent recess surrounded by young boys chanting, 'Carlton's a guh-hurl' at him until a teacher had sent his tormentors running away to find new ways to amuse themselves.
That night, he'd sat on the edge of his bed, filled with a mute, uncomprehending bewilderment, the echo of their jeering voices loud in his head. Cruelty was new to him, even if loneliness wasn't.
He'd taken matters into his own hands, painting over the walls as high as he could reach using the remnants of three cans of paint that he'd found in the garage. His mother had screamed at him and dragged him over her knee, applying a hairbrush with the same grim determination Carlton had felt as he painted, but the wallpaper was history.
Until he'd come home from school two days later to find his room repapered, this time with pansies and daisies in a violent clash of purple and yellow.
A therapist would've paid him to discuss the effect it'd had on his character, but Carlton had never bothered to share the memory. He liked flowers just fine, real ones anyway, with soft petals and sharp thorns, but they didn't belong on walls.
"Want a drink?" he said, flinging the words back at Spencer ungraciously as he walked to the sink to run some water over the dishes. He didn't want to play the host. He wanted to strip Spencer bare again and this time get to know him better.
"Nope," Spencer said. There was a muffled, quiet slither and thud, barely audible over the brief rush of water. Carlton turned around to see Spencer's jeans around his ankles, with Spencer fighting to kick them off without bothering to remove his sneakers first.
Typical.
"Not like that," Carlton snapped and walked over to him, dropping to his knees without thought and grabbing Spencer's foot. "Here, let me --"
He froze, his hand half on skin, half on a grubby white sock that needed bleaching. It was probably clean, but it didn't look it. Carlton didn't care. He only had to tilt his head back a little to be able to mouth at the swelling length of Spencer's cock because Shawn still wasn't wearing anything under his jeans. Carlton could see the marks the button and zipper had made against Shawn's stomach, reddened skin, indented, chafed. The marks would fade soon, but Carlton didn't care. He hadn't made them, after all.
Without speaking, he eased Shawn's sneakers off and worked the tangle of denim free of Shawn's ankles.
"Take off your shirt," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want you naked."
"You're not," Shawn pointed out.
"I will be," Carlton promised, rocking back onto his heels. He didn't feel a supplicant, even on his knees. Spencer -- Shawn -- was already peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside. He put his hand on Shawn's thigh, high up, and spread his fingers wide, enjoying the convulsive shiver from Shawn, the helpless thrust of his hips.
Shawn wanted this, was as greedy for it as if he hadn't already come once tonight, bucking and jerking in Carlton's grip, his eyes wide and startled and so very fucking grateful.
Carlton kept his hand where it was, even when dragging it just a few inches would let him grasp Shawn's cock again and own it completely.
"This -- this works better when you touch me." Shawn sounded gratifyingly desperate already. Talk about a hair-trigger. Carlton was hard -- each breath brought him the scent of Shawn's skin, sweat and spunk combining to make Shawn smell like the dirtiest kind of sex, the kind you paid for.
Carlton had never paid for sex. Not with money, anyway, but he would have paid for Shawn, shoving dollar bills down the back of his tight jeans and rubbing them over Shawn's tight, sweet ass until they smelled like him, were as creased and used as him. He'd wrap a bill around Shawn's cock and bring him off like that -- a twenty maybe -- working the thick hardness through the crinkled paper until Shawn came, a rush, a gush, soaking the money until it shredded to the touch.
It could be his tip.
"I am touching you," he said. "Just not where you want me to."
"That was kinda my point, yes."
"Are you whining, Spencer?" Carlton moved his hand around to Spencer's ass and slapped it, just once, just hard enough to make some noise and leave a sting. "Don't."
Shawn gasped, his hands flexing as if they wanted something to hold but hadn't been given permission to touch. "Not whining. More pointing out something --"
"That I'm already aware of," Carlton said. He found that he liked being on his knees. The view from here wasn't trying to deceive him, the way Shawn's face and talkative, lying mouth often did. Face to face with the one honest bone in Shawn's body was illuminating. That slap had gotten a reaction, a tightening of Shawn's balls, a drop of clear fluid pearling at the tip of his cock. Carlton filed that discovery away for later. "You like touching people, but you don't like being touched back all that much."
He'd seen Shawn eel away from a friendly hand aimed at his shoulder, go out of his way to avoid a hug. Some people got inside his barriers, but not many. Mostly, when it came to touch, Shawn was a one-way street.
"I don't mind if it's Gus," Shawn said, sounding defensive, "and I hug my dad on his birthday."
"But Gus doesn't do it often." Carlton put both hands on Shawn's thighs and dragged them down slowly. "I will. You've used my body as your own personal playground and I figure it's time I returned the favor. If you've got a problem with that, better tell me now."
"I just asked you to touch me, remember?"
Was that an irritated snap? Carlton smiled. "No, you just said it worked better if I did and I pointed out that I was. If you want to be more specific, Shawn, go right ahead."
Interesting; using Shawn's first name got almost the same reaction as spanking him.
"Specific?" Shawn laughed. "You mean you want me to beg."
"Do I?" Carlton wondered. "Maybe I do."
"'Fess up, Lassie. You're going to use this thing we've got going, this tango for two, as a way to get your revenge on me for, oh, just about everything I've ever done to you."
Carlton stood and began to unbutton his shirt. "Did the spirits tell you that? Because for once, they're spot-on." He shrugged out of his jacket and shirt at the same time and let the floor be his hanger. This suit was heading to the dry cleaners so it didn't really matter what happened to it.
He pointed at his bedroom door. "Get your ass in there, Shawn. Something tells me that we're going to have a really long conversation."
Shawn raised his eyebrows. "And here I thought you were going to fuck me."
Carlton raised his eyebrows right back. "Isn't that what I just said?"
He watched Shawn walk away and saw the faint smudge of pink on the cheek he'd struck, barely visible. God, he'd do just about anything Spencer wanted if Shawn would just let him put a mark on him that would last a few days. He could handle any amount of Spencer's sass in public if he knew that under the scruffy clothes that golden skin was darkly bruised from his mouth.
He touched the pocket of his pants, where the small bottle of lube and the strip of condoms had ended up, and followed Shawn into his bedroom. By the time he got there, Shawn was already on the bed, lying back against pillows he'd disarranged to suit himself, totally at ease. With any other man, Carlton would have looked for the signs that the ease was pure bravado, but with Spencer, most often it wasn't. He really didn't care what people thought of him -- most people -- and it was virtually impossible to embarrass him when he did such a good job of that himself.
Sourly, but with a reluctant admiration, Carlton decided that Shawn would've been able to pull off a bedroom decorated with My Little Pony wallpaper at the age of sixteen. He was just that indifferent to what he was supposed to do and be. Once, Carlton would've seen that as cool and edgy. Now, not so much. Shawn's world was an eternal visit to Disneyland and that place was Carlton's idea of hell.
Shawn had flicked the light on, bathing the room in too much brightness for Carlton's liking. He turned it off, walked over to the bedside table and switched on the lamp there, illuminating the bed and Shawn. That was all that Carlton needed, or wanted, to see.
Shawn had been quiet for a full thirty seconds; unheard of. Before he could speak, Carlton dropped the lube and condoms next to the lamp and began to undress, never looking away from Shawn's flushed face.
"You work out," Shawn said as Carlton, naked, his skin craving what was to come, thirsty for a touch, got onto the bed beside him. "Nice abs."
Carlton examined the sentence for an insult, then decided that it didn't contain one. "It's part of my job to be fit."
"Well, I'll give you a shiny gold star, Detective," Shawn told him.
The longer Shawn was allowed to talk, the more likely it was that he'd say something to piss Carlton off. With that in mind, Carlton reached out and ran a finger over the head of Shawn's dick, working the gloss of pre-come around until Shawn was biting his lip. Curious, he brought his finger to his mouth and tasted. It'd been a long time since he'd had that particular taste in his mouth and he savored it almost as much as the reaction it got from Shawn.
"God, Lassie, you're like something out of a porn movie. Tell me your handcuffs are nearby."
"Always," Carlton said and licked his finger clean before putting it back on Shawn's dick to tease him some more.
"Does it -- do I taste good?" Shawn asked as curious as Carlton had been.
By way of an answer, Carlton just swiped his finger through the wetness again and held it up to Shawn's mouth, far enough away that Shawn would have had to move his head or stick out his tongue to get a taste. Shawn hesitated and Carlton rolled his eyes and took the decision away from him, rubbing his damp finger across Shawn's lips, then, when they parted for him, pushing it inside.
Shawn showed what a quick learner he was, using his teeth carefully this time, when it didn't matter as much, sucking Carlton's finger with an assiduous, praiseworthy attempt to recreate a blow job.
Carlton played along, sliding his finger in and out slowly, grinning at the sparkle in Shawn's eyes, but aware of just how much this was turning him on. His cock was throbbing, envious, demanding, but it would be its turn soon enough.
Carlton drew his finger out. "Well?"
Shawn shrugged. "You taste better. Or maybe I'm just not that into me."
"I sincerely doubt that." Carlton looked Shawn over, taking his time. Naked, Shawn had more muscle tone than a man who lived on junk food and smoothies deserved, but Carlton suspected that Shawn exercised more than he let on. He'd been driving home once, so late that it was early, and seen Spencer jogging, his T-shirt dark with sweat, his pace unfaltering. It figured that Spencer would hide his virtues and flaunt his faults.
Shawn let him look his fill and then, without being told, rolled over to his stomach. "This always was your favorite view of me, right?"
Carlton stroked Shawn's back, long, unhurried strokes that ended at the base of his spine. He wasn't sure where his self-restraint was coming from, but Shawn's impatience was dying down, along with any nerves he might have had. Carlton could feel it seep away, leaving room for arousal and need. He waited until Shawn's ass was rising off the bed, instinctively pushing up into a touch Carlton wasn't giving it, and then curved his hand around air, waiting for Shawn to fill the emptiness.
When Shawn felt Carlton's hand, he sighed, an exhalation that was as eloquent as anything he'd ever said.
"Good boy," Carlton said softly, sincerely. Shawn tensed up and then sighed again, his hands easy against the sheets.
"Are you going to fuck me now?"
Carlton bit his lip. Knowing that this was new made him want to let Shawn be the one in charge, but God, he wasn't sure his ass could take it. He genuinely didn't care if he was the one getting fucked or doing the fucking, but it'd been years for him and even if his mind knew exactly what it felt like, his body had forgotten.
"If you want me to, I will. Or…you could do me."
Shawn turned his head, rolling onto his side, surprise vivid and bright on his face. "Lassie, you're a toppy cop. No way you're going to let me do that."
Carlton frowned. "Why not?"
"Because!"
"I like it," Carlton said. He considered that. "Well, I did. It's been a while for me, remember?"
"And I'm not Lucy. I get it."
"Don't call him that," Carlton said automatically. "Fine, I'll show you what it's like. If you enjoy it, that's good, if you don't, you tell me, understand? I don't want to hurt you."
Shawn reached out and patted Carlton's chest. "You're probably not going to believe me, but I don't think you could if you tried. You're a marshmallow. Soft and sweet."
"Not all of me," Carlton said and drew Shawn's hand down. "See?"
Shawn smiled at him, his eyes hazy, his hand exploring. "God, I could get used to you like this."
"Don't," Carlton said and meant it. "Outside here, it's not going to change. I can't let it. This gets out and I'm --"
"I get it," Shawn said. "Don't think it doesn't work both ways. Gus is going to freak out. Or he would if I told him, which I'm not going to," he added hastily.
Carlton groaned. "Can we talk about this later?" he begged, giving into his need and pulling Shawn close, touching him without restraint. Shawn muttered something that sounded like agreement and fitted his mouth to Carlton's with all the finesse of a barnacle on a rock.
They lay tangled and wrapped around each other, kissing until Carlton's face was burning from the scrape of stubble over it, his lips numb and spit-slick. He couldn't decide what was more fun to play with, Shawn's dick, which fitted so well into the circle of his fingers, or Shawn's ass. Shawn was pressing close, shivering when Carlton's fingers skated along the crease of his ass, delving deeper each time, mewling out a startled yelp when Carlton grabbed the lube.
"Tell me how this feels," Carlton said, without letting go of Shawn. He flipped the bottle lid, one -handed and got some on his fingers, dripping plenty on the bed, too. With a kiss as a distraction -- and because he couldn't seem to stop kissing Shawn -- he circled a finger around Shawn's hole and slid it home with the help of a lot of lube and Shawn's assistance.
"Feels -- God…" Shawn's eyes closed and he looked like a man tasting an oyster for the first time, unsure if he liked it or not. "More," he said.
"Like this?" Carlton said and began to finger-fuck him, aware of the need to monitor Shawn carefully. He didn't want Shawn to come from this. It might relax him, but it could also leave him not interested in more, his itch scratched enough for one night.
Shawn's skin was damp with sweat, his hands tight on Carlton as he bucked and writhed against him. Carlton couldn't wait to feel all that restless movement around his dick. He'd have to hold Shawn down, pin him to the bed….
"I want you," he said, abruptly aware that Shawn wasn't the only one who might blow early. "Now."
"All yours," Shawn said. "Do what you want, Lassie, just don't get dressed and walk out on me while I'm still hard."
"I live here," Carlton reminded him, wondering who'd done that to Shawn. It'd sounded like a memory, not a theoretical situation. He thought back. His first time, he'd been on his hands and knees to begin with. It'd helped knowing that his face was hidden and he could screw it up and grimace silently through the pain -- and it had hurt, more than it ever had again because neither of them had anything but hard dicks to guide them. Did he want to give Shawn that privacy, or did he want to see exactly what Shawn was feeling?
"On your back," he said, not giving Shawn any choices. Kinder that way and look at that, Spencer was doing just as he was told.
Getting the condom on was difficult. His fingers were slippery and shaking and he made a mess of it and cursed, tossing the ruined rubber aside and grabbing another.
"Let me do it," Shawn said, coming to his knees in a languid roll.
Carlton handed the condom to him reluctantly, embarrassed by his ineptitude. He half expected Shawn to come up with a flourish, like putting it on using his mouth, no hands, like a prostitute, but Shawn just eased it over Carlton's erection and smoothed it down, before placing the lube in Carlton's hand.
"I don't know how much you need."
"Plenty," Carlton said. He put it beside him and gave Shawn another kiss, his hands roaming over Shawn's stomach and the jut of his hips. "Tell me to stop and I will. I don't care if I'm about to come, I will, understand me?"
"Will you stop talking and just do me if I ask for that?" Shawn said with an eye roll.
Carlton slapped Shawn's ass lightly, just to see the knowing, anticipatory glint in Shawn's eyes -- oh, yeah, they were going to go there, they really were, assuming this lasted more than this one crowded, busy day -- and pushed Shawn to his back again.
He got Shawn slicked up deeper and tried not to let himself think about what he was doing because the hot cling and squeeze of Shawn's ass was eroding his ability to hold on as much as that stunned, blissed-out look on Shawn's face.
Shawn was helping him out, instinctively pushing and breathing just right, encouraging the thrust and press of Carlton's fingers, two now, which was more than enough.
"You've done this before," he said.
Shawn blinked up at him. "Told you I hadn't."
"To yourself, I mean," Carlton clarified, and smiled, all teeth, when Shawn blushed. "Thought so."
"Yeah, well, accept no substitutes, you know?" Shawn said, rallying. "I can take you. You're easily an inch shorter than the Orgasmatron and I ride that bad baby like a rodeo clown."
"You made that name up," Carlton said with certainty, "but fine, you think you can take me, Spencer? Let's test that theory."
It wasn't easy, but after a brief moment when Carlton saw stars and Shawn's hands were everywhere trying to help out, which was touching in a way, annoying in plenty of others, Carlton was an inch or two in and heading for home.
Everything soon began to blur. Slow, sweet rocks of his hips, gaining more ground each time, Shawn's gabble of words assuring Carlton that he was fine giving way to a language Carlton understood, all gasps and groans, with his name scattered around next to 'God' and 'fuck', a blasphemous linking that the rebellious choirboy in Carlton got off on.
When he was in as deep as he could go, Shawn's legs high, resting on Carlton's shoulders, though that probably wouldn't last long once they really started moving, Carlton paused.
"If you ask me if I'm okay, I'll clench every muscle I have and break your dick like a dry twig," Shawn said levelly.
"Ouch," Carlton said, wincing at the image. He pulled back far enough to make Shawn's eyes roll up when he slammed back in. It might have hurt, just a little, but Shawn went wild, his hands slapping and clawing at Carlton's back and hips, trying to make Carlton move at his pace, which wasn't going to happen.
"When it's your turn to drive, I'll let you break the speed limit all you want," Carlton said between his teeth. Sweat was cool on his back and his balls were tight enough to be throbbing with every thrust. "Now it's my turn, so shut the fuck up and stop scratching my back."
"Go to hell," Shawn snarled at him and managed, God alone knows how, to arch up and bite Carlton's shoulder. "Make me come, Lassie."
Carlton shoved Shawn back down and leaned over him at the cost of a few inches of penetration. "Do that again and I'll make you wait for hours," he said. Sex had never been a fight before. With Victoria, if they were arguing, sex was never a way forward to peace, just something she could withhold until he behaved.
It was oddly exhilarating. He didn't mean his threats, and Spencer wasn't really causing much damage with his nails, but it was all adding a spice to what was mouth-burningly hot already.
Shawn bared his teeth and reached down to grab his dick, defiant and desperate.
"Oh, no. Not like that," Carlton growled and knocked Shawn's hand away before it could do more than grip and jerk once. "You can come when you're begging for it and you're not there yet."
Shawn's mouth closed tightly and Carlton smiled at him. "Yeah, like you can ever keep it zipped for long."
"You want to hear me beg?" Shawn asked, proving Carlton's point. "Fuck me harder. I can take it."
Carlton remembered that certainty, that craving -- and he remembered regretting it the next day, too.
"It's your first time. I don't want it to be your last." He reached out and stroked Shawn's damp hair back off his forehead, his legs trembling with the effort it took to move deep and slow. "Let me do this my way, Shawn. Please."
"I thought you wanted me to beg," Shawn said and that was nearly all it took, but Carlton had spent months being goaded by Spencer and he'd learned how to count to ten in seven different languages.
He settled into a rhythm, maybe a little faster and harder than before, but not much, and ignored everything Shawn flung at him, because none of it sounded like 'stop'. Shawn broke eventually, as Carlton had hoped he would.
"God, okay! I'm begging. Please, Detective Lassiter, please, Lassie, please, please, please --" Shawn took a deep breath, his eyes screwed shut. "Carlton. Please. Let me come."
Carlton grabbed Shawn's hand, put it on Shawn's dick and covered it with his hand, for the few strokes it took to send Shawn over. He hung on for long enough to miss nothing of the show Shawn put on for him, howling at the moon and coming in messy, thick spurts that went abso-fucking-lutely everywhere, and then gave himself the treat of nailing Shawn's ass to the bed, hard and fast and merciless, just the way Shawn had wanted it. From the way he was sprawled out, panting, he was past caring that he was getting his wish.
Carlton's climax was intense enough to leave him incapable of movement, speech, or the ability to remember his own name, but Shawn was saying it to him, over and over, punctuating it with kisses so that was okay.
It was still early, but all Carlton wanted to do after he'd eased his way out of Shawn's tender, raw ass and cleaned them both up with a handful of tissues, was sleep.
"You've got popcorn, right?" Shawn said brightly. "And something we can watch on TV?"
Carlton groaned and waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes closed. "Help yourself. I'm going to take a shower once my legs work again."
"You're not throwing me out?"
Carlton forced his eyes to open. "What? No. Of course not. Unless there's somewhere you need to be, in which case I'll call you a cab."
"You walked out on me before," Shawn said. "Just walked out the door. Just turned around now, because you weren't welcome any more."
Carlton sat up, which took a real effort of will. "Yeah, well, sometimes I'm an idiot. And stop humming that song."
"My lips are sealed," Shawn said solemnly. "Now tell me where you keep the popcorn."
Carlton sighed. "Cupboard to the left of the sink. Don't burn it."
"You can burn popcorn?"
"I can."
"Tragic, but no longer a problem for you," Shawn said. "Anytime you feel like popcorn, night or day, just call and I'll come and make it for you."
"Thanks," Carlton said dryly. "Appreciate the thought."
He heard the microwave signal the end of the popcorn cycle just before he turned on the shower, but when he emerged from the bathroom, damp and wearing a towel because he'd forgotten to take a change of clothes in with him, the popcorn was in a bowl on the table, fluffy, golden white, perfect, and Shawn had left.
Carlton looked around for a note, checked his phone for a message, even peered out of the window, ducking back when a neighbor walking her dog spotted him and shook her head reprovingly because he was still only wearing a towel.
Nothing.
A burn of anger replaced his bewilderment. He tossed the popcorn in the trash without tasting it and went to strip his bed and clean up the mess Spencer had left behind, refusing to think about what it was going to be like the next time they met.
Part Seven
Author
janedavittWeb page Jane's Stories
Pairing Shawn/Lassiter
Rating NC17
Length 4,700 words
Spoilers/Warnings None
Previous parts are here.
Carlton walked into his apartment with Spencer close at his heels. The place wasn't as spotless as usual -- it'd been a busy nightmare of a week, with no time to do dishes or put away the scatter of incidental objects that even an organized man accumulated -- but he didn't apologize.
Victoria always had. She could spend hours preparing for visitors and then usher them into their house saying things like, "Please excuse the mess." It had never made sense to him. When it came to Spencer, a cardboard box next to a Dumpster was a step up from the chaos he lived in and Carlton wasn't about to get self-conscious over cereal dried to a bowl in the sink and a half-empty cup of coffee on the table, long since cooled and skinned over.
It was his place. His. He'd regretted the loss of her company bitterly when Victoria left, but at the same time, living alone had brought with it some small satisfactions to offset his sense of failure.
Like being able to do just what the hell he wanted with the place. If he wanted to paper a wall with mug shots, he could do it. If he wanted to leave the walls the bland, nondescript beige they were when he moved in, he would.
The only feature he'd been unable to tolerate was the floral wallpaper in the small bathroom. As a child, his bedroom had been the former spare room and his mother had refused to redecorate until the flower-bedecked wallpaper had faded. Carlton had gotten so used to waking to bunches of roses that when he'd made a friend in second grade and invited him over to play, he hadn't bothered to explain that the pink comforter and matching walls weren't his choice. The play date had gone well, or so he'd thought, but at school on Monday he discovered that Judas, formerly known as Charlie, had spread the word. He'd spent recess surrounded by young boys chanting, 'Carlton's a guh-hurl' at him until a teacher had sent his tormentors running away to find new ways to amuse themselves.
That night, he'd sat on the edge of his bed, filled with a mute, uncomprehending bewilderment, the echo of their jeering voices loud in his head. Cruelty was new to him, even if loneliness wasn't.
He'd taken matters into his own hands, painting over the walls as high as he could reach using the remnants of three cans of paint that he'd found in the garage. His mother had screamed at him and dragged him over her knee, applying a hairbrush with the same grim determination Carlton had felt as he painted, but the wallpaper was history.
Until he'd come home from school two days later to find his room repapered, this time with pansies and daisies in a violent clash of purple and yellow.
A therapist would've paid him to discuss the effect it'd had on his character, but Carlton had never bothered to share the memory. He liked flowers just fine, real ones anyway, with soft petals and sharp thorns, but they didn't belong on walls.
"Want a drink?" he said, flinging the words back at Spencer ungraciously as he walked to the sink to run some water over the dishes. He didn't want to play the host. He wanted to strip Spencer bare again and this time get to know him better.
"Nope," Spencer said. There was a muffled, quiet slither and thud, barely audible over the brief rush of water. Carlton turned around to see Spencer's jeans around his ankles, with Spencer fighting to kick them off without bothering to remove his sneakers first.
Typical.
"Not like that," Carlton snapped and walked over to him, dropping to his knees without thought and grabbing Spencer's foot. "Here, let me --"
He froze, his hand half on skin, half on a grubby white sock that needed bleaching. It was probably clean, but it didn't look it. Carlton didn't care. He only had to tilt his head back a little to be able to mouth at the swelling length of Spencer's cock because Shawn still wasn't wearing anything under his jeans. Carlton could see the marks the button and zipper had made against Shawn's stomach, reddened skin, indented, chafed. The marks would fade soon, but Carlton didn't care. He hadn't made them, after all.
Without speaking, he eased Shawn's sneakers off and worked the tangle of denim free of Shawn's ankles.
"Take off your shirt," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want you naked."
"You're not," Shawn pointed out.
"I will be," Carlton promised, rocking back onto his heels. He didn't feel a supplicant, even on his knees. Spencer -- Shawn -- was already peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside. He put his hand on Shawn's thigh, high up, and spread his fingers wide, enjoying the convulsive shiver from Shawn, the helpless thrust of his hips.
Shawn wanted this, was as greedy for it as if he hadn't already come once tonight, bucking and jerking in Carlton's grip, his eyes wide and startled and so very fucking grateful.
Carlton kept his hand where it was, even when dragging it just a few inches would let him grasp Shawn's cock again and own it completely.
"This -- this works better when you touch me." Shawn sounded gratifyingly desperate already. Talk about a hair-trigger. Carlton was hard -- each breath brought him the scent of Shawn's skin, sweat and spunk combining to make Shawn smell like the dirtiest kind of sex, the kind you paid for.
Carlton had never paid for sex. Not with money, anyway, but he would have paid for Shawn, shoving dollar bills down the back of his tight jeans and rubbing them over Shawn's tight, sweet ass until they smelled like him, were as creased and used as him. He'd wrap a bill around Shawn's cock and bring him off like that -- a twenty maybe -- working the thick hardness through the crinkled paper until Shawn came, a rush, a gush, soaking the money until it shredded to the touch.
It could be his tip.
"I am touching you," he said. "Just not where you want me to."
"That was kinda my point, yes."
"Are you whining, Spencer?" Carlton moved his hand around to Spencer's ass and slapped it, just once, just hard enough to make some noise and leave a sting. "Don't."
Shawn gasped, his hands flexing as if they wanted something to hold but hadn't been given permission to touch. "Not whining. More pointing out something --"
"That I'm already aware of," Carlton said. He found that he liked being on his knees. The view from here wasn't trying to deceive him, the way Shawn's face and talkative, lying mouth often did. Face to face with the one honest bone in Shawn's body was illuminating. That slap had gotten a reaction, a tightening of Shawn's balls, a drop of clear fluid pearling at the tip of his cock. Carlton filed that discovery away for later. "You like touching people, but you don't like being touched back all that much."
He'd seen Shawn eel away from a friendly hand aimed at his shoulder, go out of his way to avoid a hug. Some people got inside his barriers, but not many. Mostly, when it came to touch, Shawn was a one-way street.
"I don't mind if it's Gus," Shawn said, sounding defensive, "and I hug my dad on his birthday."
"But Gus doesn't do it often." Carlton put both hands on Shawn's thighs and dragged them down slowly. "I will. You've used my body as your own personal playground and I figure it's time I returned the favor. If you've got a problem with that, better tell me now."
"I just asked you to touch me, remember?"
Was that an irritated snap? Carlton smiled. "No, you just said it worked better if I did and I pointed out that I was. If you want to be more specific, Shawn, go right ahead."
Interesting; using Shawn's first name got almost the same reaction as spanking him.
"Specific?" Shawn laughed. "You mean you want me to beg."
"Do I?" Carlton wondered. "Maybe I do."
"'Fess up, Lassie. You're going to use this thing we've got going, this tango for two, as a way to get your revenge on me for, oh, just about everything I've ever done to you."
Carlton stood and began to unbutton his shirt. "Did the spirits tell you that? Because for once, they're spot-on." He shrugged out of his jacket and shirt at the same time and let the floor be his hanger. This suit was heading to the dry cleaners so it didn't really matter what happened to it.
He pointed at his bedroom door. "Get your ass in there, Shawn. Something tells me that we're going to have a really long conversation."
Shawn raised his eyebrows. "And here I thought you were going to fuck me."
Carlton raised his eyebrows right back. "Isn't that what I just said?"
He watched Shawn walk away and saw the faint smudge of pink on the cheek he'd struck, barely visible. God, he'd do just about anything Spencer wanted if Shawn would just let him put a mark on him that would last a few days. He could handle any amount of Spencer's sass in public if he knew that under the scruffy clothes that golden skin was darkly bruised from his mouth.
He touched the pocket of his pants, where the small bottle of lube and the strip of condoms had ended up, and followed Shawn into his bedroom. By the time he got there, Shawn was already on the bed, lying back against pillows he'd disarranged to suit himself, totally at ease. With any other man, Carlton would have looked for the signs that the ease was pure bravado, but with Spencer, most often it wasn't. He really didn't care what people thought of him -- most people -- and it was virtually impossible to embarrass him when he did such a good job of that himself.
Sourly, but with a reluctant admiration, Carlton decided that Shawn would've been able to pull off a bedroom decorated with My Little Pony wallpaper at the age of sixteen. He was just that indifferent to what he was supposed to do and be. Once, Carlton would've seen that as cool and edgy. Now, not so much. Shawn's world was an eternal visit to Disneyland and that place was Carlton's idea of hell.
Shawn had flicked the light on, bathing the room in too much brightness for Carlton's liking. He turned it off, walked over to the bedside table and switched on the lamp there, illuminating the bed and Shawn. That was all that Carlton needed, or wanted, to see.
Shawn had been quiet for a full thirty seconds; unheard of. Before he could speak, Carlton dropped the lube and condoms next to the lamp and began to undress, never looking away from Shawn's flushed face.
"You work out," Shawn said as Carlton, naked, his skin craving what was to come, thirsty for a touch, got onto the bed beside him. "Nice abs."
Carlton examined the sentence for an insult, then decided that it didn't contain one. "It's part of my job to be fit."
"Well, I'll give you a shiny gold star, Detective," Shawn told him.
The longer Shawn was allowed to talk, the more likely it was that he'd say something to piss Carlton off. With that in mind, Carlton reached out and ran a finger over the head of Shawn's dick, working the gloss of pre-come around until Shawn was biting his lip. Curious, he brought his finger to his mouth and tasted. It'd been a long time since he'd had that particular taste in his mouth and he savored it almost as much as the reaction it got from Shawn.
"God, Lassie, you're like something out of a porn movie. Tell me your handcuffs are nearby."
"Always," Carlton said and licked his finger clean before putting it back on Shawn's dick to tease him some more.
"Does it -- do I taste good?" Shawn asked as curious as Carlton had been.
By way of an answer, Carlton just swiped his finger through the wetness again and held it up to Shawn's mouth, far enough away that Shawn would have had to move his head or stick out his tongue to get a taste. Shawn hesitated and Carlton rolled his eyes and took the decision away from him, rubbing his damp finger across Shawn's lips, then, when they parted for him, pushing it inside.
Shawn showed what a quick learner he was, using his teeth carefully this time, when it didn't matter as much, sucking Carlton's finger with an assiduous, praiseworthy attempt to recreate a blow job.
Carlton played along, sliding his finger in and out slowly, grinning at the sparkle in Shawn's eyes, but aware of just how much this was turning him on. His cock was throbbing, envious, demanding, but it would be its turn soon enough.
Carlton drew his finger out. "Well?"
Shawn shrugged. "You taste better. Or maybe I'm just not that into me."
"I sincerely doubt that." Carlton looked Shawn over, taking his time. Naked, Shawn had more muscle tone than a man who lived on junk food and smoothies deserved, but Carlton suspected that Shawn exercised more than he let on. He'd been driving home once, so late that it was early, and seen Spencer jogging, his T-shirt dark with sweat, his pace unfaltering. It figured that Spencer would hide his virtues and flaunt his faults.
Shawn let him look his fill and then, without being told, rolled over to his stomach. "This always was your favorite view of me, right?"
Carlton stroked Shawn's back, long, unhurried strokes that ended at the base of his spine. He wasn't sure where his self-restraint was coming from, but Shawn's impatience was dying down, along with any nerves he might have had. Carlton could feel it seep away, leaving room for arousal and need. He waited until Shawn's ass was rising off the bed, instinctively pushing up into a touch Carlton wasn't giving it, and then curved his hand around air, waiting for Shawn to fill the emptiness.
When Shawn felt Carlton's hand, he sighed, an exhalation that was as eloquent as anything he'd ever said.
"Good boy," Carlton said softly, sincerely. Shawn tensed up and then sighed again, his hands easy against the sheets.
"Are you going to fuck me now?"
Carlton bit his lip. Knowing that this was new made him want to let Shawn be the one in charge, but God, he wasn't sure his ass could take it. He genuinely didn't care if he was the one getting fucked or doing the fucking, but it'd been years for him and even if his mind knew exactly what it felt like, his body had forgotten.
"If you want me to, I will. Or…you could do me."
Shawn turned his head, rolling onto his side, surprise vivid and bright on his face. "Lassie, you're a toppy cop. No way you're going to let me do that."
Carlton frowned. "Why not?"
"Because!"
"I like it," Carlton said. He considered that. "Well, I did. It's been a while for me, remember?"
"And I'm not Lucy. I get it."
"Don't call him that," Carlton said automatically. "Fine, I'll show you what it's like. If you enjoy it, that's good, if you don't, you tell me, understand? I don't want to hurt you."
Shawn reached out and patted Carlton's chest. "You're probably not going to believe me, but I don't think you could if you tried. You're a marshmallow. Soft and sweet."
"Not all of me," Carlton said and drew Shawn's hand down. "See?"
Shawn smiled at him, his eyes hazy, his hand exploring. "God, I could get used to you like this."
"Don't," Carlton said and meant it. "Outside here, it's not going to change. I can't let it. This gets out and I'm --"
"I get it," Shawn said. "Don't think it doesn't work both ways. Gus is going to freak out. Or he would if I told him, which I'm not going to," he added hastily.
Carlton groaned. "Can we talk about this later?" he begged, giving into his need and pulling Shawn close, touching him without restraint. Shawn muttered something that sounded like agreement and fitted his mouth to Carlton's with all the finesse of a barnacle on a rock.
They lay tangled and wrapped around each other, kissing until Carlton's face was burning from the scrape of stubble over it, his lips numb and spit-slick. He couldn't decide what was more fun to play with, Shawn's dick, which fitted so well into the circle of his fingers, or Shawn's ass. Shawn was pressing close, shivering when Carlton's fingers skated along the crease of his ass, delving deeper each time, mewling out a startled yelp when Carlton grabbed the lube.
"Tell me how this feels," Carlton said, without letting go of Shawn. He flipped the bottle lid, one -handed and got some on his fingers, dripping plenty on the bed, too. With a kiss as a distraction -- and because he couldn't seem to stop kissing Shawn -- he circled a finger around Shawn's hole and slid it home with the help of a lot of lube and Shawn's assistance.
"Feels -- God…" Shawn's eyes closed and he looked like a man tasting an oyster for the first time, unsure if he liked it or not. "More," he said.
"Like this?" Carlton said and began to finger-fuck him, aware of the need to monitor Shawn carefully. He didn't want Shawn to come from this. It might relax him, but it could also leave him not interested in more, his itch scratched enough for one night.
Shawn's skin was damp with sweat, his hands tight on Carlton as he bucked and writhed against him. Carlton couldn't wait to feel all that restless movement around his dick. He'd have to hold Shawn down, pin him to the bed….
"I want you," he said, abruptly aware that Shawn wasn't the only one who might blow early. "Now."
"All yours," Shawn said. "Do what you want, Lassie, just don't get dressed and walk out on me while I'm still hard."
"I live here," Carlton reminded him, wondering who'd done that to Shawn. It'd sounded like a memory, not a theoretical situation. He thought back. His first time, he'd been on his hands and knees to begin with. It'd helped knowing that his face was hidden and he could screw it up and grimace silently through the pain -- and it had hurt, more than it ever had again because neither of them had anything but hard dicks to guide them. Did he want to give Shawn that privacy, or did he want to see exactly what Shawn was feeling?
"On your back," he said, not giving Shawn any choices. Kinder that way and look at that, Spencer was doing just as he was told.
Getting the condom on was difficult. His fingers were slippery and shaking and he made a mess of it and cursed, tossing the ruined rubber aside and grabbing another.
"Let me do it," Shawn said, coming to his knees in a languid roll.
Carlton handed the condom to him reluctantly, embarrassed by his ineptitude. He half expected Shawn to come up with a flourish, like putting it on using his mouth, no hands, like a prostitute, but Shawn just eased it over Carlton's erection and smoothed it down, before placing the lube in Carlton's hand.
"I don't know how much you need."
"Plenty," Carlton said. He put it beside him and gave Shawn another kiss, his hands roaming over Shawn's stomach and the jut of his hips. "Tell me to stop and I will. I don't care if I'm about to come, I will, understand me?"
"Will you stop talking and just do me if I ask for that?" Shawn said with an eye roll.
Carlton slapped Shawn's ass lightly, just to see the knowing, anticipatory glint in Shawn's eyes -- oh, yeah, they were going to go there, they really were, assuming this lasted more than this one crowded, busy day -- and pushed Shawn to his back again.
He got Shawn slicked up deeper and tried not to let himself think about what he was doing because the hot cling and squeeze of Shawn's ass was eroding his ability to hold on as much as that stunned, blissed-out look on Shawn's face.
Shawn was helping him out, instinctively pushing and breathing just right, encouraging the thrust and press of Carlton's fingers, two now, which was more than enough.
"You've done this before," he said.
Shawn blinked up at him. "Told you I hadn't."
"To yourself, I mean," Carlton clarified, and smiled, all teeth, when Shawn blushed. "Thought so."
"Yeah, well, accept no substitutes, you know?" Shawn said, rallying. "I can take you. You're easily an inch shorter than the Orgasmatron and I ride that bad baby like a rodeo clown."
"You made that name up," Carlton said with certainty, "but fine, you think you can take me, Spencer? Let's test that theory."
It wasn't easy, but after a brief moment when Carlton saw stars and Shawn's hands were everywhere trying to help out, which was touching in a way, annoying in plenty of others, Carlton was an inch or two in and heading for home.
Everything soon began to blur. Slow, sweet rocks of his hips, gaining more ground each time, Shawn's gabble of words assuring Carlton that he was fine giving way to a language Carlton understood, all gasps and groans, with his name scattered around next to 'God' and 'fuck', a blasphemous linking that the rebellious choirboy in Carlton got off on.
When he was in as deep as he could go, Shawn's legs high, resting on Carlton's shoulders, though that probably wouldn't last long once they really started moving, Carlton paused.
"If you ask me if I'm okay, I'll clench every muscle I have and break your dick like a dry twig," Shawn said levelly.
"Ouch," Carlton said, wincing at the image. He pulled back far enough to make Shawn's eyes roll up when he slammed back in. It might have hurt, just a little, but Shawn went wild, his hands slapping and clawing at Carlton's back and hips, trying to make Carlton move at his pace, which wasn't going to happen.
"When it's your turn to drive, I'll let you break the speed limit all you want," Carlton said between his teeth. Sweat was cool on his back and his balls were tight enough to be throbbing with every thrust. "Now it's my turn, so shut the fuck up and stop scratching my back."
"Go to hell," Shawn snarled at him and managed, God alone knows how, to arch up and bite Carlton's shoulder. "Make me come, Lassie."
Carlton shoved Shawn back down and leaned over him at the cost of a few inches of penetration. "Do that again and I'll make you wait for hours," he said. Sex had never been a fight before. With Victoria, if they were arguing, sex was never a way forward to peace, just something she could withhold until he behaved.
It was oddly exhilarating. He didn't mean his threats, and Spencer wasn't really causing much damage with his nails, but it was all adding a spice to what was mouth-burningly hot already.
Shawn bared his teeth and reached down to grab his dick, defiant and desperate.
"Oh, no. Not like that," Carlton growled and knocked Shawn's hand away before it could do more than grip and jerk once. "You can come when you're begging for it and you're not there yet."
Shawn's mouth closed tightly and Carlton smiled at him. "Yeah, like you can ever keep it zipped for long."
"You want to hear me beg?" Shawn asked, proving Carlton's point. "Fuck me harder. I can take it."
Carlton remembered that certainty, that craving -- and he remembered regretting it the next day, too.
"It's your first time. I don't want it to be your last." He reached out and stroked Shawn's damp hair back off his forehead, his legs trembling with the effort it took to move deep and slow. "Let me do this my way, Shawn. Please."
"I thought you wanted me to beg," Shawn said and that was nearly all it took, but Carlton had spent months being goaded by Spencer and he'd learned how to count to ten in seven different languages.
He settled into a rhythm, maybe a little faster and harder than before, but not much, and ignored everything Shawn flung at him, because none of it sounded like 'stop'. Shawn broke eventually, as Carlton had hoped he would.
"God, okay! I'm begging. Please, Detective Lassiter, please, Lassie, please, please, please --" Shawn took a deep breath, his eyes screwed shut. "Carlton. Please. Let me come."
Carlton grabbed Shawn's hand, put it on Shawn's dick and covered it with his hand, for the few strokes it took to send Shawn over. He hung on for long enough to miss nothing of the show Shawn put on for him, howling at the moon and coming in messy, thick spurts that went abso-fucking-lutely everywhere, and then gave himself the treat of nailing Shawn's ass to the bed, hard and fast and merciless, just the way Shawn had wanted it. From the way he was sprawled out, panting, he was past caring that he was getting his wish.
Carlton's climax was intense enough to leave him incapable of movement, speech, or the ability to remember his own name, but Shawn was saying it to him, over and over, punctuating it with kisses so that was okay.
It was still early, but all Carlton wanted to do after he'd eased his way out of Shawn's tender, raw ass and cleaned them both up with a handful of tissues, was sleep.
"You've got popcorn, right?" Shawn said brightly. "And something we can watch on TV?"
Carlton groaned and waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes closed. "Help yourself. I'm going to take a shower once my legs work again."
"You're not throwing me out?"
Carlton forced his eyes to open. "What? No. Of course not. Unless there's somewhere you need to be, in which case I'll call you a cab."
"You walked out on me before," Shawn said. "Just walked out the door. Just turned around now, because you weren't welcome any more."
Carlton sat up, which took a real effort of will. "Yeah, well, sometimes I'm an idiot. And stop humming that song."
"My lips are sealed," Shawn said solemnly. "Now tell me where you keep the popcorn."
Carlton sighed. "Cupboard to the left of the sink. Don't burn it."
"You can burn popcorn?"
"I can."
"Tragic, but no longer a problem for you," Shawn said. "Anytime you feel like popcorn, night or day, just call and I'll come and make it for you."
"Thanks," Carlton said dryly. "Appreciate the thought."
He heard the microwave signal the end of the popcorn cycle just before he turned on the shower, but when he emerged from the bathroom, damp and wearing a towel because he'd forgotten to take a change of clothes in with him, the popcorn was in a bowl on the table, fluffy, golden white, perfect, and Shawn had left.
Carlton looked around for a note, checked his phone for a message, even peered out of the window, ducking back when a neighbor walking her dog spotted him and shook her head reprovingly because he was still only wearing a towel.
Nothing.
A burn of anger replaced his bewilderment. He tossed the popcorn in the trash without tasting it and went to strip his bed and clean up the mess Spencer had left behind, refusing to think about what it was going to be like the next time they met.
Part Seven
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