Word Count: 1,680 words.
Notes: Shawn/Lassiter, a follow on from Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me (10 in the music meme) and No Hope, No Harm. Title from that same song. There are some deliberately used movie quotes and references in this fic. This is pretty much entirely PWP.
Summary: Lassiter's actually grinning now, and Shawn's not sure he likes being on the receiving end of the mockery that spans between them every day. He's about to take another step back when Lassiter stands and closes into his personal space; all cocky grin and grabby hands.
Shawn tries to even out all the squeaks in his voice, but doesn't exactly succeed. "So, uh, did you wanna go back to my place and grab some coffee? And by coffee I mean wild monkey sex the likes of which hasn't been seen on the Discovery Channel because it's just too explicit?"
Lassiter bends his head and licks a stripe down Shawn's neck, placing a kiss on his collarbone before asking, "Why do we have to go anywhere?"
Shawn bites his tongue to prevent himself from screaming out, 'no reason, oh God, no reason at all', and effects a cool, calm and collected demeanour instead, standing and placing one hand on his hip whilst the other scratches at the back of his head.
"I suppose we could stay here," he says slowly, knowing it's not his best performance but slightly constrained by his rapidly beating heart and damp palms.
Lassiter eases back in the recliner and drags the knuckle of his thumb over his teeth, and really that should be illegal; Shawn knows exactly what he's doing and why he's doing it, and then Lassiter ups the stakes and sticks his thumb in for a bite. Shawn's reminded that he was fifteen when he stopped having the ability to come without direct physical contact and he swallows thickly, because he kind of feels like it might just be a returning superpower. There's the barest hint of a smile on Lassiter's face; slight upturn at the corners of his lips, a tiny twitch in his cheek. He's enjoying Shawn's discomfort, which is par for the course.
"Surely you'd be all sexy striptease and lewd gesturing by now?"
"I assure you, that may still come, but I'm not used to my partner-to-be being the aggressor," Shawn admits.
"Partner-to-be? That's almost saccharine in its prudishness. I never pegged you as the prim and proper type when it comes to... what was it you called it a second ago? Ah, yes. Wild monkey sex."
Lassiter's actually grinning now, and Shawn's not sure he likes being on the receiving end of the mockery that spans between them every day. He's about to take another step back when Lassiter stands and closes into his personal space; all cocky grin and grabby hands. Shawn makes a big show of looking down at where Lassiter's hands rest on his forearms, resorting to theatrics when he doesn't want to show his real shock.
"Mr. Lassiter, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?"
Lassiter inches them together until their lips are almost touching. "Would you like me to seduce you?"
Shawn leans back and jolts his head from side-to-side, nearly swiping Lassiter's nose. "Hee! Okay, now let's do something more SF. Ooh, ooh, how about "Please, please we're looking for the naval base in Alameda. Can you tell us where the nuclear wessels are?""
"No. How about we stop playing games?"
"I don't know that one."
Lassiter unbuckles Shawn's belt. "Spencer, you're such a tease."
"I prefer to think of myself as mysterious."
"I'd prefer to think of you naked. But my imagination is not that great. On the other hand, I do have a truly excellent visual memory."
Shawn licks his too-dry lips. "Hey, me too! I can recreate whole scenes and vistas in my head after seeing them for a couple of seconds."
"Stop exaggerating and help me get you out of your clothes."
Shawn clasps his hands over Lassiter's and for a second he thinks he's going to push him away, but he quells all of his apprehension and moves until he's working on his jeans button as Lassiter's brushing against his crotch. Next should come the zip, but Shawn signals to Lassiter to undo his shirt first. He twists his body when Lassiter pushes it off his shoulders and pulls his T-shirt up and over his head as quickly as he can. Placing a hand on Lassiter's shoulder, he kicks off his footwear and then he unzips and wiggles out of his jeans and boxers. He is now gloriously, deliciously naked, and whilst he was born that way and has spent a fair amount of time that way, still feels a touch uncomfortable as Lassiter's expression turns hungry.
He fumbles with Lassiter's buttons and about falls over with laughter when Lassiter stops him and rips the shirt right off.
"I've always wanted to do that," Lassiter says with a self-derisive tilt of his head.
"It was hot. If not a little melodramatic."
"You would know." Each word is punctuated with Lassiter taking off an item of clothing and Shawn watches his confident movements with a mixture of surprise and fascination.
All of his fantasies have had Lassiter as an awkward and nervous 'partner-to-be', needing to be gently coaxed with soft words and soothing touches. This new, improved Lassiter is awesome; super confident, totally in charge, and kind of terrifying.
Shawn catalogues every feature of Lassiter's body; from his lean, muscular legs, to his broad shoulders. He has an appendectomy scar. There are freckles on the top of his right arm and a bruise near his elbow. He's not ridiculously toned, but he's not a slob either, and Shawn wonders whether he runs as part of his work out, since he has a blister at the back of his ankle.
"If you're done eating me with your eyes, I'd be amenable to you touching me," Lassiter says and Shawn gives him one final sweep before he lunges forward and barrels him into the chair.
He straddles his thighs, knees against the upholstery, head bowed down to kiss, claiming a height advantage he couldn't get whilst standing.
"This is more like the Spencer I know," Lassiter says, reaching up and tangling into Shawn's hair as they kiss.
Shawn lets his hands wander over smooth skin, brushing his fingers through Lassiter's chest-hair before he rubs over his nipples. Shawn concentrates on this action for a minute, content with soft murmurs, before reaching down for the chair's handle. He leans all of his weight forward so that the backrest clicks as far back as it can and they're virtually horizontal. He can feel Lassiter's hardening erection against his thigh and shifts until their cocks are aligned. But Lassiter has other plans and is just as aggressive as he was when they were making out. He turns them until they're on their sides and the chair is nowhere near big enough for them, but neither of them seem to care. Shawn, especially, is too busy wondering what Lassiter's going to do next.
Lassiter hooks his leg up and over Shawn's until their lower bodies are pressed closely together, and begins grinding forward in a rhythm that feels like it's in perfect ¾ time.
Shawn breaks their kiss. "Lassie, have you been taking dancing lessons?"
"Why on earth would you think that this is an appropriate time to ask?"
"Sorry. It's just... it kinda feels like our dicks are waltzing."
Lassiter raises his eyebrows and his mouth is wide open before he closes it with a snap. He frowns before he speaks again. "Are you actively trying to ruin the moment, or are you simply that dense?"
Shawn considers the options. "I'd go with dense. Maybe more opaque? Perhaps impenetrable?"
"I sincerely hope it's not that last one."
Lassiter kisses Shawn again, now thrusting quicker and Shawn finds himself compelled to join the movement, pushing closer to Lassiter with sweat-slicked limbs. He rubs in sideways motions, his chest tightening as he increases pace. The friction is intoxicating, and Shawn's tempted to take them both in hand, but doesn't, because he loves what's happening just as it is. It's just so amazingly good, like being asked to be a roadie for the New Kids on the Block reunion tour, or finding a vintage Back to the Future style DeLorean with retrofitted flux capacitor. Lassiter's breathing erratically, jets of air brushing past Shawn's neck, heightening his enjoyment.
Lassiter twists until Shawn is now on his back and pinned, but in an awesome way. Lassiter's lips kiss a journey from Shawn's collarbone to his nipple and Shawn starts to moan and babble incoherently as he's licked and thrust against at the same time, every part of him that matters excited and on the edge. He's decidedly light-headed and definitely close to ecstasy, gritting his teeth in pleasure that looks like pain. And then Lassiter shifts until he's nibbling his earlobe and Shawn comes with a high-pitched moan. He trembles through the aftershocks, resting his head back and grinning as Lassiter continues sliding against him. It takes another minute for Lassiter to come, and in that time, Shawn lets his hands glide up and down his buttocks, stroking firm, taut muscles.
"This was so much better than Wii Sports," Shawn says with a ragged voice after giving Lassiter a few moments to recover.
"I think I've officially vanquished your claim I don't know how to have a good time," Lassiter agrees with a sleepy nod that knocks their foreheads together.
"You know we can't sleep here, right? I mean, we both need to shower. And then there's the vision of Gus' reaction if he finds us curled up in his chair covered in sweat and other, stickier substances. Plus, I have this morning routine of waking up to my Huey Lewis alarm clock."
Lassiter cracks open an eye. "You want me to go?"
"No, come to my place. I'll make you pop-tarts. I've been told I make the best in Santa Barbara."
"Who told you that?"
"Me. But I'm a pop-tart aficionado."
Lassiter climbs up and off, stretching in a way that Shawn finds extremely attractive. "Spencer, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
"I know that one! The Maltese Falcon."
Shawn struggles with flailing arms, but eventually makes it out of the chair. "Stuart Little?"
Lassiter sighs and goes to put on Shawn's T-shirt. "Here's looking at you, kid."
Shawn pulls on his boxers and jeans. "I'm not that much younger than you."
"I give up."
"The Cell, but, unfair advantage, because I saw it last week."
"I'm not playing anymore," Lassiter states assertively as he finishes dressing and watches Shawn as he ties his shoelaces, eyes trained on the curve of his ass.
"But I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."
"Please, can we just go?"
"All right. I guess we'll always have Paris."
Lassiter swivels on his heel and gives Shawn one last, lingering kiss, and they leave the office arm in arm.