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Aug. 22nd, 2009 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
michalsOkay, putting this back up after I yanked it down because I couldn't even believe I wrote it, but it's been a while and I'm not so embarrassed anymore, hopefully it stays that way, haha.
Shawn/Lassiter smut, rimming, written by a complete amateur who's never written smut before, and all the warnings that implies, and again, it's just a weird snippet of a fic that doesn't exist so it doesn't make much sense, it's just...smut.
"Spencer..." Lassi says warningly, the sound slightly muffled by the pillow.
"Relax Lass." Shawn says quietly, running a hand down Lassiter's back, listening to soft hiss of the shiny suit fabric.
He begins with rubbing gentle circles into the space between Lassiter's shoulder blades which earns an immediate hum of appreciation from Lassiter, who then stiffens and shifts as if he hadn't meant to let this feel good. Shawn moves his hands to stroking full along the sides of his spine, which unstiffens him again.
Lassiter makes to get up when Shawn starts pulling up his suit jacket but Shawn hushes him again, which earns him an indignant huff but Lassiter settles back down. Shawn pushes the jacket up out of the way and presses the heel of his hands into the small of Lassiter's back. He smirks when Lassiter lets out a low groan at that, not even trying to hide it.
He continues that way for a few minutes, stroking and kneading the knots in Lassiter's back, Lassi supine on the bed, head pillowed in his arms, eyes closed, occasionally letting out little sounds indicating when Shawn hits a particularly tough or sensitive spot. The sight and sounds slowly undo Shawn, he feels bits of his brain unfurling as Lassi becomes more relaxed, more uninhibited under Shawn's hands.
And it's only in Shawn's nature, Shawn's spontaneous, mercurial nature that doesn't think ahead to consequences to lean down and press his lips to the space right below Lassiter's neck, still covered by his shirt and jacket but only a centimeter or two from bare skin. Lassi inhales sharply at this, and Shawn watches carefully as his eyes twitch and scrunch tighter, but doesn't open, and his mouth open and close without having said a word.
Shawn takes it further, presses his luck farther than he ever has, presses his face into Lassiter's back, breathes in the smell of his cologne, the smell of the suit and somewhere beneath all that, raw skin. Lassiter doesn’t stop him. Shawn moves his lips down across his back, feeling the coarseness of the suit fabric, only getting small indications of the way Lassiter’s body lays underneath, but from those small hints, he maps out Lassiter’s back in his head, remembering every dip and contour for later, for in case Lassiter stops this whole thing any minute.
But he doesn’t stop it, not even when Shawn moves down to the dip of his lower back, breathes out and makes Lassiter twitch. He mouths the along the place where a belt would be if Lassiter hadn’t taken it off and placed it neatly over the back of the chair, where Shawn could see it out of the corner of his eye if he looked.
Shawn hesitates then, on the border of as relatively safe as kissing along the Chief Detective’s back through his clothes can be, and completely crossing over into “dangerous”. He looks up to the head of the bed, where he can see Lassiter’s profile, his eyebrows knitted, eyes closed tightly, mouth open and breath coming in sharp little pants. Then Shawn makes the decision to push this, figuring he’s never held back in doing insane things before, and with a chance like this laid out before him, literally, he’s not about to let it pass him by.
He noses down to the crease of Lassiter’s ass, holding tightly to Lassi’s hips. When Lassiter doesn’t immediately jump for his gun to hold to Shawn’s head, he rubs his face deeper, presses his mouth close. When Lassiter whimpers at that, Shawn opens his mouth and breathes hot air through the fabric and Lassi’s hips jerk but Shawn presses him down again, mouthing kisses into the crease, feeling Lassi shiver and tremble behind him.
When Lassiter’s breathing so hard and fast that Shawn can hear every gasp – and to be fair, Shawn’s heart is racing, his blood having gone south long ago – Shawn looks to Lassiter’s face and asks, “Can I?”
Lassiter gathers himself enough to nod, and opens his eyes partly and lifts his hips just enough and his and Shawn’s hands fumble over each other to unbutton and unzip his pants, somehow both in a languid, turned-on haze and as quickly as they can. Lassi finally gets his zipper down and moves his hands back to the pillow, on either side of his head, eyes closing again as Shawn watches him while pulling his pants and boxer-briefs past his hips.
Shawn finally tears his eyes away from Lassi’s face to take in the pale skin that’s been revealed. He gingerly runs a hand along Lassi’s side, reveling in the feel of actual skin instead of a Kmart suit. Then he returns to his early ministrations, pressing a kiss to the top of Lassiter’s ass, then mouthing down the crease, one hand on each thigh, pulling them as far apart as the still present suit pants will let him.
It’s not Shawn’s first time doing this, he’s had his share of men – and some more adventurous woman – who have whined and shuddered and fallen apart under his tongue in this way. He knows this is usually the go to move to make anyone crumple underneath him and beg for mercy. Lassiter’s not the begging type, but there are obviously some kinkier things the Chief Detective enjoys that he doesn’t hint at in daily life. Lassiter muffles something that could be a yelp by biting at the pillow when Shawn first pulls him apart and licks at his asshole. And when Shawn prods his tongue in deeper, Lassi hums and bucks his hips, fingers clenching at the down pillow, surely embedding permanent wrinkles into the fabric.
Shawn then fully turns his attention to mouthing at Lassiter’s ass, holding him open with two fingers and pressing his tongue between the ‘V’ that they create. When Lassiter starts pressing his ass up to meet Shawn’s mouth, Shawn slowly presses a finger in, easily slipping it past the loosed muscle to the first digit. He slides his tongue alongside it, opening him up to slip the finger in deeper until he’s knuckle deep. He adds the second finger slowly, pulling his fingers apart in little movements until he can slip his tongue in between them. Lassiter does cry out at that and Shawn’s guessing that the man’s massive self control is the only thing keeping him from bucking his hips and sending Shawn to the floor.
“Shawn,” is the first coherent word Lassiter has managed this whole time and Shawn actually starts at hearing it so suddenly. He looks up, but keeps his fingers in, moving them in and out of the clenching heat. Lassiter pants with each little thrust in and manages to look over his shoulder at Shawn.
“Will you just…please…” He huffs out as best he can, eyes shiny and hyper focused on Shawn. Shawn stares him down for a second, doing a little happy dance in his head that he’s made the rigid Carlton Lassiter come as close to begging as Shawn will probably ever hear. He wiggles his fingers a little bit, making Lassiter flop back down on the bed and clench his eyes shut again, then gets up and practically runs to his jacket and frantically checking every one of suddenly gazillion pockets until finding a condom in the inside breast pocket. He makes to return to the bed, then rethinks and checks the other breast pocket and finds a tube of KY.
He returns to Lassiter’s side and finally unzips his jeans. He practically groans now that his cock isn’t pressing against his zipper and after he pulls his pants and boxers he spares a few seconds to stroke himself, enjoying the moment. He repositions himself on top of Lassiter, running a hand down one side of his ass, then bringing it down in a light smack that Lassiter gives a little indignant noise at. Shawn pulls off Lassiter’s jacket then, tugging it off his shoulders and chucking it gratefully to the floor, glad to see it go. He pulls at Lassiter’s hips, urging him up on his knees. Lassiter complies, bringing his arms up and supporting himself on his forearms, pressing his face into the crook of an elbow.
Shawn admires his handiwork, Lassiter is still open and wet from his mouth and Shawn presses his face close and flutters his tongue across his hole briefly just to feel Lassiter jolt and whimper. He pulls back and reaches for the condom. He fumbles a bit with the foil package as he tries to tear it open but he doesn’t open it with his teeth, harkening back to a very, very awkward conversation his 20 year old self had with his father.
When he finally gets the condom open, he slips it on and goes through the same thing with the lube (though that mostly has to do with the taste of KY and thankfully nothing to do with his dad) until he’s got that open and slicks up his cock. He sidles up to line himself with Lassiter’s ass, holding on firmly with one hand to Lassiter’s hip. He runs the head between Lassiter’s ass, spreading around the slickness of spit and lube until Lassiter makes a noise that could possibly be interpreted as the words “Hurry up” were his face not pressed into a pillow and he wasn’t just about to get fucked.
Shawn presses in with a groan and he has to stop himself from just shoving in all the way. Lassiter is so hot and tight and God, Shawn wonders when the last time he got fucked. He doesn’t bother to ask – of all the mood killers Shawn can think of at this moment, that’s pretty close to the top considering the answer might have something to do with Victoria, were she indeed that kinky – so he just goes slow, holding Lassi’s hip in a death grip, inching inside ‘til his hips are flush with Lassiter’s ass.
He has to stop himself there and breath to keep himself from just coming right there. From beneath him Lassiter growls out “Move.” And there’s no mistaking that so Shawn starts to move shallowly and they groan in tandem as Shawn’s cock moves in and out of Lassiter in small movements. Shawn feels like his skins on fire as he thrusts, moving to place a hand on Lassiter’s back, feeling Lassiter’s skin is just as hot under his shirt. He starts to pound in faster and harder, pulling out until just the head is still in and then slamming forward in one long thrust.
Lassiter’s practically ripping the pillow with his fingers as he holds on to it, gasping whenever Shawn settles back in all the way. Shawn enjoys watching him like this for a little while, through the haze of arousal he’s mentally cataloguing this whole thing for any future lonely nights, before reaching down for Lassiter’s shoulders.
He pulls Lassi up until they’re both on their knees, still almost fully clothed, Shawn yanking Lassi’s hips back to meet his. Without a pillow to hold onto Lassi digs his fingers into Shawn’s thighs, his head falling back onto Shawn’s shoulder, eyes closed, his mouth open and breathing heavily. Shawn watches him from the weird angle before pressing his mouth to Lassi’s neck and just fucking him like he’s always wanted to.
When he feels close he moves his hand to Lassiter’s cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Lassi must have been close because at the first few strokes, he’s groaning and snapping his hips back to meet Shawn’s cock and coming all over Shawn’s hand. Shawn keeps thrusting into Lassiter’s clenching ass and then he’s coming too, letting himself go after such a long build up.
Shawn/Lassiter smut, rimming, written by a complete amateur who's never written smut before, and all the warnings that implies, and again, it's just a weird snippet of a fic that doesn't exist so it doesn't make much sense, it's just...smut.
"Spencer..." Lassi says warningly, the sound slightly muffled by the pillow.
"Relax Lass." Shawn says quietly, running a hand down Lassiter's back, listening to soft hiss of the shiny suit fabric.
He begins with rubbing gentle circles into the space between Lassiter's shoulder blades which earns an immediate hum of appreciation from Lassiter, who then stiffens and shifts as if he hadn't meant to let this feel good. Shawn moves his hands to stroking full along the sides of his spine, which unstiffens him again.
Lassiter makes to get up when Shawn starts pulling up his suit jacket but Shawn hushes him again, which earns him an indignant huff but Lassiter settles back down. Shawn pushes the jacket up out of the way and presses the heel of his hands into the small of Lassiter's back. He smirks when Lassiter lets out a low groan at that, not even trying to hide it.
He continues that way for a few minutes, stroking and kneading the knots in Lassiter's back, Lassi supine on the bed, head pillowed in his arms, eyes closed, occasionally letting out little sounds indicating when Shawn hits a particularly tough or sensitive spot. The sight and sounds slowly undo Shawn, he feels bits of his brain unfurling as Lassi becomes more relaxed, more uninhibited under Shawn's hands.
And it's only in Shawn's nature, Shawn's spontaneous, mercurial nature that doesn't think ahead to consequences to lean down and press his lips to the space right below Lassiter's neck, still covered by his shirt and jacket but only a centimeter or two from bare skin. Lassi inhales sharply at this, and Shawn watches carefully as his eyes twitch and scrunch tighter, but doesn't open, and his mouth open and close without having said a word.
Shawn takes it further, presses his luck farther than he ever has, presses his face into Lassiter's back, breathes in the smell of his cologne, the smell of the suit and somewhere beneath all that, raw skin. Lassiter doesn’t stop him. Shawn moves his lips down across his back, feeling the coarseness of the suit fabric, only getting small indications of the way Lassiter’s body lays underneath, but from those small hints, he maps out Lassiter’s back in his head, remembering every dip and contour for later, for in case Lassiter stops this whole thing any minute.
But he doesn’t stop it, not even when Shawn moves down to the dip of his lower back, breathes out and makes Lassiter twitch. He mouths the along the place where a belt would be if Lassiter hadn’t taken it off and placed it neatly over the back of the chair, where Shawn could see it out of the corner of his eye if he looked.
Shawn hesitates then, on the border of as relatively safe as kissing along the Chief Detective’s back through his clothes can be, and completely crossing over into “dangerous”. He looks up to the head of the bed, where he can see Lassiter’s profile, his eyebrows knitted, eyes closed tightly, mouth open and breath coming in sharp little pants. Then Shawn makes the decision to push this, figuring he’s never held back in doing insane things before, and with a chance like this laid out before him, literally, he’s not about to let it pass him by.
He noses down to the crease of Lassiter’s ass, holding tightly to Lassi’s hips. When Lassiter doesn’t immediately jump for his gun to hold to Shawn’s head, he rubs his face deeper, presses his mouth close. When Lassiter whimpers at that, Shawn opens his mouth and breathes hot air through the fabric and Lassi’s hips jerk but Shawn presses him down again, mouthing kisses into the crease, feeling Lassi shiver and tremble behind him.
When Lassiter’s breathing so hard and fast that Shawn can hear every gasp – and to be fair, Shawn’s heart is racing, his blood having gone south long ago – Shawn looks to Lassiter’s face and asks, “Can I?”
Lassiter gathers himself enough to nod, and opens his eyes partly and lifts his hips just enough and his and Shawn’s hands fumble over each other to unbutton and unzip his pants, somehow both in a languid, turned-on haze and as quickly as they can. Lassi finally gets his zipper down and moves his hands back to the pillow, on either side of his head, eyes closing again as Shawn watches him while pulling his pants and boxer-briefs past his hips.
Shawn finally tears his eyes away from Lassi’s face to take in the pale skin that’s been revealed. He gingerly runs a hand along Lassi’s side, reveling in the feel of actual skin instead of a Kmart suit. Then he returns to his early ministrations, pressing a kiss to the top of Lassiter’s ass, then mouthing down the crease, one hand on each thigh, pulling them as far apart as the still present suit pants will let him.
It’s not Shawn’s first time doing this, he’s had his share of men – and some more adventurous woman – who have whined and shuddered and fallen apart under his tongue in this way. He knows this is usually the go to move to make anyone crumple underneath him and beg for mercy. Lassiter’s not the begging type, but there are obviously some kinkier things the Chief Detective enjoys that he doesn’t hint at in daily life. Lassiter muffles something that could be a yelp by biting at the pillow when Shawn first pulls him apart and licks at his asshole. And when Shawn prods his tongue in deeper, Lassi hums and bucks his hips, fingers clenching at the down pillow, surely embedding permanent wrinkles into the fabric.
Shawn then fully turns his attention to mouthing at Lassiter’s ass, holding him open with two fingers and pressing his tongue between the ‘V’ that they create. When Lassiter starts pressing his ass up to meet Shawn’s mouth, Shawn slowly presses a finger in, easily slipping it past the loosed muscle to the first digit. He slides his tongue alongside it, opening him up to slip the finger in deeper until he’s knuckle deep. He adds the second finger slowly, pulling his fingers apart in little movements until he can slip his tongue in between them. Lassiter does cry out at that and Shawn’s guessing that the man’s massive self control is the only thing keeping him from bucking his hips and sending Shawn to the floor.
“Shawn,” is the first coherent word Lassiter has managed this whole time and Shawn actually starts at hearing it so suddenly. He looks up, but keeps his fingers in, moving them in and out of the clenching heat. Lassiter pants with each little thrust in and manages to look over his shoulder at Shawn.
“Will you just…please…” He huffs out as best he can, eyes shiny and hyper focused on Shawn. Shawn stares him down for a second, doing a little happy dance in his head that he’s made the rigid Carlton Lassiter come as close to begging as Shawn will probably ever hear. He wiggles his fingers a little bit, making Lassiter flop back down on the bed and clench his eyes shut again, then gets up and practically runs to his jacket and frantically checking every one of suddenly gazillion pockets until finding a condom in the inside breast pocket. He makes to return to the bed, then rethinks and checks the other breast pocket and finds a tube of KY.
He returns to Lassiter’s side and finally unzips his jeans. He practically groans now that his cock isn’t pressing against his zipper and after he pulls his pants and boxers he spares a few seconds to stroke himself, enjoying the moment. He repositions himself on top of Lassiter, running a hand down one side of his ass, then bringing it down in a light smack that Lassiter gives a little indignant noise at. Shawn pulls off Lassiter’s jacket then, tugging it off his shoulders and chucking it gratefully to the floor, glad to see it go. He pulls at Lassiter’s hips, urging him up on his knees. Lassiter complies, bringing his arms up and supporting himself on his forearms, pressing his face into the crook of an elbow.
Shawn admires his handiwork, Lassiter is still open and wet from his mouth and Shawn presses his face close and flutters his tongue across his hole briefly just to feel Lassiter jolt and whimper. He pulls back and reaches for the condom. He fumbles a bit with the foil package as he tries to tear it open but he doesn’t open it with his teeth, harkening back to a very, very awkward conversation his 20 year old self had with his father.
When he finally gets the condom open, he slips it on and goes through the same thing with the lube (though that mostly has to do with the taste of KY and thankfully nothing to do with his dad) until he’s got that open and slicks up his cock. He sidles up to line himself with Lassiter’s ass, holding on firmly with one hand to Lassiter’s hip. He runs the head between Lassiter’s ass, spreading around the slickness of spit and lube until Lassiter makes a noise that could possibly be interpreted as the words “Hurry up” were his face not pressed into a pillow and he wasn’t just about to get fucked.
Shawn presses in with a groan and he has to stop himself from just shoving in all the way. Lassiter is so hot and tight and God, Shawn wonders when the last time he got fucked. He doesn’t bother to ask – of all the mood killers Shawn can think of at this moment, that’s pretty close to the top considering the answer might have something to do with Victoria, were she indeed that kinky – so he just goes slow, holding Lassi’s hip in a death grip, inching inside ‘til his hips are flush with Lassiter’s ass.
He has to stop himself there and breath to keep himself from just coming right there. From beneath him Lassiter growls out “Move.” And there’s no mistaking that so Shawn starts to move shallowly and they groan in tandem as Shawn’s cock moves in and out of Lassiter in small movements. Shawn feels like his skins on fire as he thrusts, moving to place a hand on Lassiter’s back, feeling Lassiter’s skin is just as hot under his shirt. He starts to pound in faster and harder, pulling out until just the head is still in and then slamming forward in one long thrust.
Lassiter’s practically ripping the pillow with his fingers as he holds on to it, gasping whenever Shawn settles back in all the way. Shawn enjoys watching him like this for a little while, through the haze of arousal he’s mentally cataloguing this whole thing for any future lonely nights, before reaching down for Lassiter’s shoulders.
He pulls Lassi up until they’re both on their knees, still almost fully clothed, Shawn yanking Lassi’s hips back to meet his. Without a pillow to hold onto Lassi digs his fingers into Shawn’s thighs, his head falling back onto Shawn’s shoulder, eyes closed, his mouth open and breathing heavily. Shawn watches him from the weird angle before pressing his mouth to Lassi’s neck and just fucking him like he’s always wanted to.
When he feels close he moves his hand to Lassiter’s cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Lassi must have been close because at the first few strokes, he’s groaning and snapping his hips back to meet Shawn’s cock and coming all over Shawn’s hand. Shawn keeps thrusting into Lassiter’s clenching ass and then he’s coming too, letting himself go after such a long build up.
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Date: 2009-08-23 12:10 am (UTC)THIS SHIT IS FUCKING ON FIRE, FLAMES--FLAMES FROM
the side of my faceMY BOTTOM, HOT, THAT WHAT THIS SHIT IS.LIKE, MY PANTS BE WOULD TIGHT IF I COULD GET A CHUBBO.
LIKE, I'LL BE IN MY BUNK.
LIKE, DON'T EVER, EVER, EVER SECOND GUESS YOURSELF AGAIN.
GOD DAMN. I GOT THE RUTTING TINGLY PANTS. THERE'S A FUNNY FEELING IN MY BOTTOM.
SHIT. I GOTTA...GO...SOMEWHERE...ALONE...FOR A LITTLE BIT.
IF THIS INTERNET'S A ROCKIN', DON'T COME A KNOCKIN'
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 01:42 am (UTC)Aww, I wish Madeline Kahn was still alive and in every movie ever.
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Date: 2009-08-23 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 03:19 pm (UTC)This made my day :D Not only because you even remembered this enough to ask about it, but this comment too. Thanks very much.
I'm glad you like the details, I usually straddle the border between too many little details and too many, but I thought this snippet had the right amount.