Rating: S for smut! NC-17.
Word Count 2600 words.
Notes: Shawn/Lassiter/Gus threesome PWP, with minor spoilers for episodes 3.10 and 3.11.
Summary: When he glances back down, Spencer and Guster are giving each other knowing looks. It’s unnerving.
It’s a mistake, of course, because it turns out everything Carlton’s done recently would mark a great big X in the ‘failure’ box he keeps asking the Chief to eliminate from the standard report format. Efficiency goes in the place of morale, and normally he wouldn’t mind, but he’s so sick of seeing the crosses. Error after error after error, and this is just another in a long line.
Carlton sighs and tries to ignore the weight of the arm against his chest, choosing to pretend it isn’t through his own actions that it rests there. There’s heat on his left, winding around the trunk of his body like a ferret with a ball. He tilts his head to the right and closes his eyes against the vision of full relaxed lips and delicate bone structure. Seduce one, get one free. You just don’t have Spencer without Guster, and he should have seen that one coming, but he was too drunk from his single victory to pay much attention.
Spencer coos in his sleep. Ordinarily he’d call it snoring, but these are not ordinary times, and it’s a soft, high sound that echoes throughout his bedroom. Guster, on the other hand; he’s low and rhythmic, the kind of noise new-age hippies use to help meditate. It lulls Carlton into a false sense of calm, when really he knows he should be pushing these two out of his bed and his life. Except that it’s really comfortable here, wedged between warmth and companionship; it’s something he hasn’t had for a long time, and he might almost thank Drimmer, if the guy weren’t a murdering, corrupt waste of space. Not that Drimmer’s charming suicide note put the idea into his head, more that it gave it form and substance, throwing it into the open and expressing a truth he’d known for a while and shielded the only way he knew how.
Spencer awakens. Carlton registers the change in his breathing, the play of his hand against his own leg.
“Are you staring at me, Lassilicious?” Spencer asks with sleep-thick tones that endear him to Carlton more than they should.
“No, I have my eyes firmly shut,” Carlton says. It’s what he would have said regardless, even if it wasn’t true.
“That’s a shame, you’re missing out. I’ve been likened to a Greek God in repose. Poseidon, or Apollo, or Iolaus or someone of that nature.”
“Maybe I mean Autolycus.”
Guster stirs, his hip bone rubbing against Carlton’s leg. “I do not remember asking to be woken up with discussions of mythology, Shawn. I have to be at work in --- Lassiter, what time is it?”
Carlton opens his eyes and turns to the clock on his side-table. “Five thirteen.”
When he glances back down, Spencer and Guster are giving each other knowing looks. It’s unnerving.
“You’re wrong, Lassie,” Shawn says authoritatively. “Those numbers mean nothing. My vibes are telling me that it’s happy fun time.”
“Happy, sexy, fun time,” Guster adds, nodding, lips parted with a flash of teeth showing.
“With a little wild n’ crazy on the side.”
“And something primal. Like the Cheetah.”
“Happy, sexy, wild n’ crazy, primal fun time, oh, with a dash of wet!”
To punctuate this sentence, Spencer licks a broad, intoxicating stripe over Carlton’s ribs. He arches faintly into it, about to say something when Guster repeats the action, but on his neck. He’s going to speak again, but Spencer places a finger over his lips.
“Hush, my little cashew. Your salted goodness must be devoured.”
Carlton has the strongest urge to giggle. He hasn’t giggled in over thirty years. If sharing his king-sized bed with two other men wasn’t hint enough, this would surely indicate there’s something wrong with him.
He’s initially unsure as to whose hand it is that wraps around his cock, but a quick check of the logistics reminds him it must be Spencer. The grip is firm and frenetic, quickly making him hard and bucking for release. Spencer stops before he can come, and slides onto his front, reaching into one of Carlton’s drawers. Guster takes over with slow, teasing strokes, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Is this what you wanted it to be?” he asks, the innocence of the delivery belying his actions.
No. This isn’t what he wanted. He had only ever intended to finally find out what it’s like to kiss and touch Spencer, after all this time of watching him writhe and wriggle in front of him with sensuous, shameless displays of flexibility. He had only wanted to see how Spencer would react to his advances in real life as opposed to fictional meanderings. He had never expected that Spencer would explain he and Guster were together, but had been entertaining ‘sexlexia laden thoughts’ involving Carlton for the past two weeks. This is so much better than anything he’s ever wanted.
“Times nine thousand,” Spencer answers for him. “Right, Lasstastic?”
Too dazed to say anything, Carlton nods slowly.
“I knew it,” Spencer continues in triumph. “I always knew you wanted a creamy Shawncicle. And a chocolatey Gus Bar. Your lips said no, but your hips said yes, yes, yes. I am --- wait, no --- we are gonna rock your tiny little world.” He gives a high-pitched holler. “Again.”
At this, Carlton has to protest. “It’s not that tiny!”
“Oh, believe me, he isn’t referring to this,” Guster says with a reassuring flick of his thumb. Shawn hands him a condom and he rolls it onto Carlton’s cock with practiced competence. Spencer gives his trademark smirk, eyebrow raised.
“Gus, lay a little sugar on me. My sparkle motion’s in overload. I need to wind down.”
Carlton watches, his stomach muscles tightening as the two share a long and passionate kiss in front of him. He realises halfway through that Spencer is preparing himself with the lubricant he extracted from the side-table. It’s so hot it’s obscene, delicate and careful where usually Carlton would expect exaggeration. Spencer and Guster kiss as if they never have before, and Carlton remembers his surprise when earlier Spencer had said that the sexual element in their relationship is a new thing, brought about by being trapped together ‘under the peril of death, or worse, drowning!’ He’s always envied their closeness, coveted that type of belonging, and subconsciously assumed they were lovers on the sly. A strand of saliva bridges the gap between their mouths as they pull apart, but snaps as Spencer turns an intense, questioning gaze towards him.
“Lassie, are you ready for this jelly?”
Guster smooths a hand into his hair, gripping and pulling back so that he can kiss over his collarbone. He speaks between licks and nips. “Are you crazy in love?”
“Do we need to work it out?”
“Are you alone at a crossroads?”
“Dude, you manage one and then you run out? Alone at a crossroads? You could at least have asked if he’s a survivor.”
Guster stops. “It’s from Dreamgirls, Shawn. I told you to Netflix it. I can’t help it if your wilful ignorance gets in the way of my skilful Beyoncé referencing.”
Carlton thinks he might die before he gets to the great part of the early morning shenanigans. “Do I need to finish this off myself as you both squabble like eight year olds?”
“Yeah, Shawn, keep your eyes on the prize.”
“That’s no way to refer to the Lassmeister, Gus, have some sensitivity. He’s in a vulnerable place right now, he needs our support, not our hero worship, even if he can totally go Van Damme. Hey, Lassie, say, ‘Look for something hard’.”
“I am fairly sure Lassiter is only too happy with our hero worship, and I was thinking he was more like Robert Downey Jr in Iron Man --- you’re not sure if you should like him, but you do anyway, because he is bangin’.”
“Bangin’, Gus, really? And the only reason you think that is because you have no appreciation of the classics.”
Carlton hisses with impatience, his hips canting upwards. He wishes they’d stop talking about him and start doing something to him. Now that he’s made this decision, found himself in this place, he may as well enjoy it. He should have fun, shouldn’t he? He deserves to be a winner. Even if it is one of the most insane things he’s ever done and could potentially blow up in his face like a puffer fish.
“I think we’re taking away Lassie’s bone, Gus,” Spencer says with a mock-pout.
“You did not just say that,” Gus replies with an unimpressed scowl.
“I think we may need to help him out.”
Spencer gyrates, rotating to the left and then the right, a predatory smile on his lips. It shouldn’t be sexy, because it’s ridiculous, but somehow it is. Spencer’s always had the horrible habit of being idiotically erotic, and it’s worse that he knows it. He arches forward and kisses Carlton, all teeth and tongue for a short minute, before Carlton’s aware he’s settling over him.
Suddenly Carlton’s enveloped by heat and friction, involuntarily thrusting his hips upwards again as Spencer works down onto his cock.
“Wait for it,” Spencer sighs. “Wait for it.”
And God, this has to be the best kind of crazy Carlton’s ever gotten wrapped up in.
Carlton rests back against the headboard, peering down lazily as Guster bends down and takes Spencer’s cock in his mouth. He thinks for a moment about resting his hand on Guster’s head, but he’s still wary about coming in between the two. So far, he’s been a spectator more than a participant when it comes to inter-Psych-agency contact, and frankly, he likes that just fine.
“Oh man, I bet this is how Orville Redenbacher felt when he first wore a dress on TV.”
Guster rises for air. “Or Burgess Meredith when he first appeared as The Penguin.”
“Or someone else with an excellent name doing anything ever!”
“And you were complaining about Guster. Is that the best you can do?” Carlton interjects, the last syllable going high as Spencer drives down with a little twist.
“You can’t chastise me for being distracted, although I wouldn’t complain if you decided to use the handcuffs. Mirandarize me, if it’s absolutely necessary. Say something like, ‘you, Sir, have the right to remain naked and awesome’.”
There’s going to be the suggestion of a gag when Guster quietens Spencer successfully with a kiss. Carlton’s so close now, his blood pumping steadily, the sound of it rushing through his ears. He can feel muscles he barely uses tensing, the tingle in the soles of his feet escalating. He doesn’t quite realise what’s happening as he feels two fingers push into his mouth, hands on his shoulders insisting he settle lower down the bed. Two pairs of hands jostle him from side to side.
“This isn’t going to work, Shawn. I may be lithe like a puma, but even I can’t contort that much.”
“Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right. Roll over, Lassie.”
Carlton frowns. “Huh?”
Spencer climbs off, grips his thigh and tips him onto his side with a rapidity that should be outlawed. Carlton starts when there’s the shock of pressure against his hole, a thumb sliding in and around. He’s loosened open with the lube and Guster’s fingers, and he feels he should be protesting, hasn’t had this kind of sexual relationship since college and his tattooed peg-happy girlfriend Shannon, but this feels too good. Spencer has wiggled back into position in front of him, one leg arched, foot against the bedsheet. Carlton tentatively guides back in, his mouth opening to speak, although he doesn’t know what he’ll say.
Before Carlton can do anything, he’s being filled by Guster and thrusting within Spencer at the same time, and it’s astounding. He thinks he should probably be feeling privileged that Spencer and Guster like and want him enough to let him be here, but he’s too out of it to really feel anything conceptual as opposed to tangible.
Guster sets the rhythm, and it’s slow and exact; strong, steady thrusts that seem to shake Carlton to the bone. Spencer rolls with it, making high huffing noises that Carlton might have considered fake, if he didn’t know the sounds he made whilst sleeping.
The thrusts get shorter and quicker, Carlton slides a slick hand up Spencer’s arm. His chest-hair brushes against the back in front of him, as Guster’s body rubs warm and solid behind him, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s truly part of something. He could get used to this, he wants it to last, but fears he’s reaching his climax now, his skin tightening and his mind clouding over. All that exists in the world are his senses, each one being stimulated, from the salt against his tongue, to the deep breaths of the three of them in the room, to the smell of sex and sweat.
He comes just after Spencer does, the pressure too much. His voice is ragged as he mutters, incomprehensible words spilling from his lips about how amazing this is. He wraps his arm tight against Spencer as Guster continues to rock into him, and grins when Guster ceases movement, digging his fingers into his hip. Carlton closes his eyes and begins to doze.
“You know, if I were black, we’d totally look like a sexed up Oreo round about now,” Spencer says sleepily. Guster reaches over Carlton’s waist and punches him, thankfully ignoring Carlton’s own muffled chuckle.
“Ow. You know I have tender triceps, Gus. That’s below the belt.”
“No, this is below the belt,” Carlton says, playing along by tugging lightly on Spencer’s cock and eliciting a high keening sound. “Shh, keep it down. Some of us need to be up in an hour to go to work and would appreciate more sleep.”
Guster stretches. “That’s not the best idea, unless you look forward to the idea of us being stuck together all day.”
“Shower shotgun,” Spencer exclaims hurriedly and loudly. He flails around in a bid to extract himself from the bed. He finally stands, assuming a guarding stance, arms and legs outstretched. He looks ludicrous, but clearly doesn’t care.
Guster glowers. “You can’t do that.”
“Too late. Just did. But because I’m made of fabulosity, I’ll share if you can name three Oingo Boingo songs.”
“You know that’s impossible, Shawn. No one but you ever listened to them.”
Carlton wracks his brain. “Uh, what was that one from that film? Something school related. With the goofy kid from that stupid psychic show.” He thinks some more. “Weird Science?”
Spencer raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips quirking. “I’m impressed, but you still need two more.”
“I’ll come up with them as I’m getting ready for the day --- that suit you, Spencer?”
“You really need to start using our first names, Lass. Well, my first name. Part of Gus’ last name. Maybe I should’ve said given names, but that still kind of doesn’t apply.”
Carlton rolls out of bed and sneaks past Spencer by pretending to take clothes from his dresser. It’s a quick duck and dive to the bathroom, and only takes a moment to lock the door. He laughs as water cascades and drowns out the combined complaints of his two very annoying, but strangely enticing companions.
Okay, he thinks. It’s a mistake. But it’s the best damn error he has ever made, and one he doesn’t particularly want to learn to avoid.