Carlton's Worst Inhibitions
Rating: MA for M/M oral, anal. Mild bdsm overtones.
Warning: Shassie Slash. Takes place after Lassie Did A Bad Bad Thing. Contains spoilers for that episode and also for Shawn and Gus of The Dead. Also contains spoilers for Season 2 of The Shield. Sequel to Lassiter Learns How to Bend. Contains homophobic slurs.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: With their one-night-stand stretching into its second month, Lassiter tries to juggle his anxieties about Shawn's sexual history, coming out at work, and his own identity. Anonymous photos of Shawn and Lassiter begin arriving in the mail. Who is stalking them and what connection, if any, do they have to the upcoming Drimmer trial?
"What is this?" Hara sat at her desk looking at the contents of an envelope.
"What's what?" Lassiter asked absently. His arrest reports weren't going to write themselves.
"These just came in the mail. They're pictures of you and Shawn."
Lassiter dropped the reports and grabbed the photos. They were surveillance shots of him and Shawn at a gay coffee shop in Ventura.
I knew that trip was a bad idea, he thought.
Coffee was coffee to Lassiter. Driving for half an hour to drink it in a gay café didn't make him feel any different. Shawn, on the other hand seemed to enjoy dragging him to such places and talking about things like whether Carlton fit the definition of an otter. In Lassiter's opinion some manly chest hair did not make him a marine mammal. Luckily, even in a gay venue in another city Lassiter wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection. The photos were odd, but not incriminating. The photographer hadn't even got the café's big rainbow flag in the shot.
Oh hell, he thought, was this Spencer's way of prodding him to come out at work?
O'Hara looked at the envelope. It was addressed to the Police Department and postmarked in Santa Barbara the day before.
"That's weird. Why are we getting photos of you and Shawn?"
As if it had been timed, Shawn walked into the station carrying a cup of coffee and a box of croissants. He was wearing a lime green shirt and tight black jeans.
He's been home to change, Lassiter noted. Shawn had been staying over several nights a week lately, leaving when Lassiter went to work. He was considering asking him if he wanted to leave some clothes at his place. Maybe giving him a bureau drawer. It wasn't like moving in together; it was purely practical. Of course if Shawn had pulled this little stunt with the photos, maybe the offer was premature.
"Photos of me?" Shawn asked. "Am I holding a tub of ice cream? Because I was in a short-lived Ben & Jerry's campaign." Shawn set the box of croissants on O'Hara's desk. "Delicious flaky pastry? Anyone?"
Lassiter handed him the photos and glared at him, looking for any sign that he'd been anticipating their arrival. Shawn looked at them briefly and then passed them back. "Oh, these. Lassie's helping me out on a case. It's payback for our helping him on the Drimmer thing." He sipped his coffee as if nothing out of the ordinary had really happened. His face betrayed no indication of surprise or concern.
Either he sent them himself, Lassiter thought, or he's the best liar I've ever met.
"Oh. That's nice." O'Hara smiled at Lassiter. "I was worried your only thank-you was going to be those ridiculous coupons."
"Nobody could be that cheap," Shawn said, catching Lassiter's eye and grinning.
"So what's the case?" O'Hara asked as she pulled a chocolate croissant from the box.
"Petnapping." Shawn and Lassiter spoke at the same time.
"A cheating spouse has taken the client's pet," Shawn said smoothly. "And these photos are evidence." He pointed to a small white dog visible in the corner of the picture.
"Why did you have them sent here?" she asked.
Her tone was innocent enough, Lassiter thought. She wasn't suspicious, only curious.
"They're for Lassiter. I need him to borrow an identical dog for when we go undercover at the pet psychiatrist."
As soon as O'Hara was occupied Lassiter pulled Shawn into the file room and slapped the photos on the table.
"Is this your idea of respecting my timeline, Shawn? Cause it doesn't feel like it." It had been a month and a half since the San Francisco trip. Their arrangement was business as usual during working hours, and what Shawn insisted on calling "risky business" after work. Lassiter knew Shawn would rather be upfront about them at the station but he'd promised to defer to Lassiter's comfort level. Thus far he was nowhere near comfortable.
"You think I did this?" Shawn looked at Lassiter with shock. "How? I'm in the pictures."
"You talked Guster into taking them." Lassiter wasn't so sure of himself now. If these pictures were an attempt to provoke him to come out, why had Shawn covered for them with O'Hara?
"Strike two, Lassie. How about the old benefit of the doubt? Innocent until proven guilty? Remember that old chestnut?"
"If you didn't take them, then who did?" Lassiter shifted gears. Looking for a suspect together was something he was much more familiar with. He preferred it when he and Shawn were on the same side.
"Good question. If I remember correctly, it's between a blue Sunfire and a grey Ford Explorer. They were both parked across the street at the approximate angle to have taken these."
"You remember the cars that were parked across the street?"
"Do you not recall out little talk at Crab Shack Willy's?" Shawn asked. "I thought we went over this. Maybe I dreamed it. No…I was wearing pants, so I'm pretty sure I was awake."
"I remember. But that Ventura trip was a week ago."
"Would it make you feel better if I pretend I'm having a psychic flashback?" Shawn put a hand to his head dramatically, grabbed Lassiter's shoulder and trembled. "I see two cars…"
"It's still useless without something more to go on. There must be thousands of Sunfires and Explorers in Santa Barbara. It's not even worth doing a printout of registered owners."
"I'm not sure we want evidence to start accumulating in this case, Lassie. Who knows what the next batch might show."
That evening Lassiter answered a knock at his door. Shawn stood on the stoop holding a takeout bag from Kingston's and a DVD box set.
"Hey Lassie. I come bearing jerk chicken and Dragnet."
Lassiter let Shawn inside and then peered into the street looking for either of their suspect vehicles. The street was clear. Of course the culprit could have switched cars. In fact, if I were him that's exactly what I'd do.
When he came back inside Shawn was sitting on the sofa and unpacking the food. He smiled at Lassiter and jerked his head toward the windows.
"I suggest we draw the blinds unless you want to get a photo delivery tomorrow with you, me and Sergeant Joe Friday in a compromising position."
"Already on it," Lassiter said. He pulled the curtains for good measure then joined Shawn on the sofa.
When their one-night-stand had first stretched into a long weekend Lassiter told himself he was doing it for the sex. It had been almost three years since he'd had sex regularly. Then their long weekend had turned into a week, then a month. We are not dating, he thought, we're just letting off some long pent-up sexual tension. It was only logical to have dinner together beforehand. They had to eat sometime. And they both enjoyed classic police drama, so why not watch Law and Order, NYPD Blue, and Streets of San Francisco? It would be rude to just kick Spencer out after sex. Maybe there were some men who could do that, but Lassiter wasn't one of them. So it made sense for Shawn to sleep over. It hadn't taken too many evenings of cuddling in front of the television and falling asleep next to him before Lassiter acknowledged that he had been kidding himself. He was dating a man.
Now, as they sat together on the sofa and watched Sergeant Friday and Officer Frank Smith collecting the facts, Lassiter reflected how unexpectedly happy his off-duty time had become since he started spending it with Shawn. Of course his recent dating experiences hadn't raised the bar very high. He'd arrested one date for prescription drug fraud, another had gone to the restaurant bathroom and never returned, and a third had turned out to be a hooker. Since seeing Shawn, he'd actually started looking forward to going home, which was an unusual experience. He was definitely having feelings for him that originated above the waistline. And with that realization came the anxiety he always felt, that he would lose the people he cared about. He'd tried to convince himself this fear was irrational, but his relationship history suggested otherwise.
The latest mental torment he'd come up with was the possibility that Shawn was simply hot for cops. It wasn't completely far fetched. Hell, he admitted, even I think the gun is hot.
"So level with me, Shawn," he said. "Do you find any of these television cops attractive? Friday, McGarrett, Keller?"
"Nope. I only have eyes for you, Lassypants. Well, you and Val Kilmer, and he's not returning my phone calls. Although I have been getting letters from his lawyer. How far away is 150 yards?"
"I meant this seriously, Shawn. Are you sure this isn't just about the badge and the gun for you?"
"I don't have a cop fetish, if that's what you're getting at. Although if this is your roundabout way of asking if I'd like to do some roleplaying, the answer is yes. Or should I say, yes, Officer?" He looked at Lassiter and raised an eyebrow. When Lassiter didn't respond he continued.
"Seriously, Lassie, I'd like you even if you decided to quit the force and raise meerkats." Lassiter wasn't wasn't sure he knew what a meerkat was, but like so many things Shawn said, it wasn't really relevant to the issue at hand.
"I'm not saying I'd have a problem with it if you did," he said, "I'd just like to know. Have you dated a cop before?"
"Well, I dated O'Hara and McNab and Dobson and Martinez, and Drimmer and I lived together last summer…." Lassiter's stomach knotted, then gradually uncoiled as he realized Shawn was joking.
"Don't mess around here Spencer."
"Less than ten percent of cops are women, Lassie. Many of those women bear a closer resemblance to Malden's Lieutenant Stone than they do to our Detective O'Hara. So that's a negative."
"What about male cops?" Lassiter persisted.
"Sure, I've liked the occasional Y chromosome in blue, but it always ended in rejection and tears. At least I'm pretty sure it would have if I'd said anything to them about it."
"So the men you've dated have all been civilians."
"Surprisingly, I've been too busy fighting crime to explore the limpness of my wrists before now. Well, fighting crime and learning to bungee jump. You think it's just falling with an elastic cord attached, but there's much more to it."
"Fine Shawn. Forget I asked." I should have known we couldn't just have this discussion like normal people.
"I was stuck in an elevator with one of the guys from N-Sync, but I doubt that counts as a homosexual experience. Besides, I don't think it was the gay one."
"The gay one was Lance Bass." Even Lassiter knew this. He'd seen it on the cover of People in the checkout line.
"Wasn't he the cyclist that had cancer?"
"You're thinking of Lance Armstrong."
"No, I'm pretty sure he's an astronaut."
"That's Neil Armstrong."
"An astronaut and a musician too? I love his rendition of Cracklin' Rosie."
Lassiter leaned forward and shut Shawn up the only way he'd found effective.
A few minutes later Shawn and Lassiter were in the hall en route to Lassiter's bedroom. His tie was askew and his shirt was unbuttoned. Shawn was topless and his hair was finger raked into spiky abandon.
Shawn began to tease Lassiter's nipples with his tongue while gazing up at him mischievously. "How about stepping it up a notch tonight?" he asked.
"What did you have in mind?" Lassiter's voice was throaty and deep, carried along by the lust of the moment.
"I want you in me." Shawn's eyes met Lassiter's in an unwavering lock. They were hazel tonight.
Lassiter stepped back and took a few slow deep breaths. During their seven weeks of dating they'd been having plenty of sex. They'd been trading blowjobs and handjobs and engaged in some frottage so energetic it had given them both bruises. But that was as far as they'd gone. Shawn hadn't been pushy, but Lassiter knew it was only a matter of time before the issue came up. He'd steered clear of raising it himself, but now it was unavoidable.
"I'm not ready for that yet, Shawn," he said, all trace of arousal gone from his tone.
"Oh." Shawn tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Are you sure? Cause I feel pretty ready." He stepped closer to Lassiter, who was slowly moving back toward the living room.
"That's good to know. I'm just not there yet. Are you okay with that?"
"Sure. Whatever. That's totally cool," he said with studied nonchalance. "But just so you know, you already have boy cooties, if that's what you're concerned about."
"There's just a lot to work out between us before I'm ready to take things to that level."
"What kind of things?" Shawn looked concerned.
"Could we not talk about it now?" He wished Shawn was psychic. Maybe then he'd know that if he hadn't initiated the discussion, he wasn't ready to have it yet.
"Sure. No problemo. Let me know when you're ready." Shawn had switched on his enthusiasm again, but Lassiter suspected it was just a façade. "We'll have a codeword. The code word is Oz."
"As in the movie musical or the television series?"
"Whichever you find hotter, Lassie." He motioned toward the bedroom. "Are we still going in there?"
"Do you still want to, now?"
"Hell yes. Although my ability to give great head may be diminished by the heartbreak of rejection."
Lassiter wasn't completely sure Shawn was kidding.
Henry was in the kitchen setting a steak into marinade when Shawn walked in.
"Okay, what's so important that I had to hurry over?" Shawn asked.
Things with Henry had been strained since Shawn and Carlton had started dating. Henry had made it clear that while he liked Carlton and loved Shawn, he resented being party to a secret he hadn't wanted to be in on. Also, he still felt convinced that Shawn's relationship was going to cut the legs off Carlton's career. Shawn wasn't entirely certain that Henry was wrong about that. Unfortunately, there was no way to tell until the cat was out of the bag, or the worms were opened, or whatever metaphor one wanted to go with.
"Hey there," Henry greeted him. "I got some interesting mail this morning. Thought you might like to see it."
"Is it Publisher's Clearing House? Are you already possibly a winner?"
"It's pictures. Of you and Carlton."
"Oh." The evidence was accumulating.
"Is this your childish way of taunting me, Shawn? Cause I don't care. Date whomever you want. Really. At least Carlton's a nice guy." Henry washed his hands and began to peel potatoes.
"Why does everyone think I'm sending these photos?" Shawn threw himself onto the sofa in exasperation. "They got one at the station, too."
"If it's not you then who is it?" Henry paused mid-peel.
"That's the 50 thousand dollar question."
"Actually, it's the sixty-four thousand dollar question."
"I've heard it both ways."
"No you haven't. Trust me, I saw the show."
"Interesting…." Shawn said as he picked up the envelope and looked at the photos Henry had received.
"What's so interesting?"
"These aren't the same photos that Jules got. Hers were of us at Judy's Café in Ventura last week. These were taken at Willy's Crab Shack seven weeks ago." Seven weeks. How long had this psycho shutterbug been following them? Shawn ran over all the things in his mind that he and Carlton had done in public that might look bad in a photograph. Luckily, Carlton had said no to his suggestion of hand jobs at the drive-in.
"Then they're additional evidence," Henry said, wiping his hands on a towel and coming to lean over Shawn's shoulder. "So what do these photos tell you?"
"The first set narrowed our paparazzi vehicle down to a Sunfire or an Explorer."
"Great. Did you see either of those type of vehicles at Willy's?"
"Just the Explorer."
"Bingo! There's your stalker."
"But we have no suspects and no more clues. Everyone and their dog owns an Explorer."
"Well then you'd better ask yourself who you've pissed off this much."
"So you're saying it isn't you?" Shawn looked at his father with mock seriousness. He hadn't really thought it was Henry. He'd never do anything that might out Lassie at work.
"Very funny, Shawn. No, it isn't me. I have a life. I don't have time to be running all over town hoping that you and your boyfriend do something incriminating."
"Good point." Shawn threw the photos onto the coffee table. The suspect would be someone with a lot of time on his hands. Unemployed or retired, maybe. There weren't any pictures of Shawn or Carlton alone. Whoever it was knew they were a couple, and didn't mind revealing their secret to the SBPD.
"Listen, Shawn, there's something I've been meaning to ask."
"Is it which of the characters on The Facts of Life lost their virginity first? Because the answer is Natalie. Very progressive of them, letting the chunky girl get her groove on."
"Can't you be serious for one minute?"
"Sure." Shawn removed all trace of smile from his face and furrowed his brow. "This is my serious face."
"You and Carlton have been dating for what, a month and a half?"
"Forty-five days. Not that we're counting."
"Well I was wondering if you'd like to bring him over for dinner. I can grill up some steaks and we can get to know each other."
"You already know him. You've been fishing together."
"Get to know him as your boyfriend. That's a whole different ballgame."
"Maybe." Shawn could think of a dozen very good reasons not to expose Carlton to a dinner with Henry. At the top of the list was his suspicion that Henry might somehow talk Lassiter out of seeing him anymore. "I'll talk it over with him about it and get back to you."
The next evening Lassiter pulled the Crown Vic into Henry's driveway and he and Shawn sat contemplating the ordeal ahead. Shawn had made it perfectly obvious that he was passing the invitation along purely as a formality. He expected Lassiter to back out, ideally citing work as an excuse. Lassiter had thought it his responsibility to accept Henry's invitation. It was a father's job to protect his kid and meeting whomever his kid was dating was part of the job description. Of course, Lassiter admitted, all of his experience with meeting fathers had come about when he was dating their daughters. He was used to being the clean-cut career-oriented boy that parents liked more than their daughters did. As he turned off the engine it occurred to him that this dynamic might be radically different now. Henry had been a cop in the 70s and that wasn't exactly a notoriously gay-friendly time for the service. Not that it's all rainbows and parades now, he thought.
"Come on, Lassie. Last chance to pretend we're sick and go home with a really nice bottle of wine," Shawn said, holding up the Pinot Noir Lassiter had bought.
Lassiter unlatched his seatbelt and opened the car door.
"Let me point out that none of this would be happening if you hadn't told Henry about us." Lassiter stepped out of the car.
"Oh…I see," Shawn said, his voice heavy in sarcasm, "It's my fault."
"Yes, Shawn. Yes it is." He shut the door, smoothed the wrinkles out of his suit and adjusted his tie. Time to face the firing squad.
Henry greeted them at the door.
"Hey Shawn. Carlton, nice to see you."
"Mr. Spencer." Lassiter naturally reverted to the formality that had seen him through similar situations before.
"Henry is fine. There's no need for this to be any more awkward than it already is." Henry led them inside to the living room. Shawn and Lassiter sat on the sofa and Henry went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with beers. Lassiter took his gratefully. Drinking would give him something to do other than sweat under the glare of Henry, the human lie detector.
Henry took a swig of beer. He asked Lassiter a few harmless questions about work, congratulated him on his recent arrest of some car thieves, and asked if he'd been doing any fishing lately. They made pleasant chitchat for fifteen minutes and Lassiter finished his drink. Thus far, it was like all his previous visits to the Spencer house. Maybe I've gotten all worked up for nothing,he thought. Just as he began to relax, Henry broached a new subject.
"So Shawn tells me he came clean to you about his psychic gift."
"Yes he did," He glanced over at Shawn, who had finished his beer and was now slouching into the sofa. "He told me about his memory and about the…special training you gave him growing up." And I'm not sure whether to shake your hand or punch you in the stomach, Lassiter thought. But I'll keep that to myself.
"Then do you mind my asking why he's still walking around free?" Henry asked. "If I were you I'd have charged him with fraud by now."
"Thanks Dad," Shawn said. "That would put a bit of a crimp in the romance, don't you think?"
"So this is a romance for you, is it Shawn?" Henry asked. "Would you agree with that Carlton?"
"Uh, I guess so. Yes." Lassiter was beginning to feel flustered. He did not want to get into a discussion about his feelings for Shawn or the direction this relationship was headed. He hadn't worked that out in his own head yet, let alone even broached the subject with Shawn. He certainly wasn't ready for a 'what are your intentions toward my son' talk with Henry.
"It's not just about sex, if that's what you're getting at with your usual complete lack of subtlety." Shawn stood and walked to the fridge for another round of beer.
It suddenly dawned on Lassiter that he was being interrogated. It was classic: the first few minutes of chit-chat on their shared interests to establish a rapport, and now the confrontation in which Henry states his guilt and waits for him to confirm or deny it. Well if that's how it was going to be, fine, he thought. Henry's not the only detective in the room.
"It was nice of you to invite us over for dinner," Lassiter said, shifting the focus of the conversation. He stood up and walked over to Shawn, accepted one of the beers, then circled around to stand behind Henry and leaned slightly into his personal space. "I know that Shawn means a lot to you, and it's natural for you to be concerned about him and interested in his relationships." Lassiter developed his theme: Henry as the concerned parent, replacing Henry's own theme of himself as the police interrogator.
"Look, I stopped trying to protect—," Henry began, craning his neck awkwardly to look at Lassiter,
"—No, really, Henry," Lassiter interrupted Henry's denial and prevented him from shifting the subject. "I respect your desire to protect him. I would do the same thing in your place." He patted Henry's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie and walked around to the front of the sofa again, keeping Henry shifting in his seat. Now he offered the suspect two possible motives, one more attractive than the other.
"You know, Henry, some people might think you invited me here to dissuade me from seeing Shawn. A lot of fathers would be disappointed if their son brought a boyfriend home." Lassiter looked down at Henry, who was sitting back, arms crossed. That was option one, Henry the insecure homophobe. He continued, moving into option two.
"But I think you invited us here to show that you're not one of those guys whose masculinity is tied up in his son. I don't think you're threatened by anything Shawn does. And I don't think you're so insecure that you're going to be freaked out by the mere fact of us dating."
"Okay detective, I confess!" Henry raised his hands in mock surrender. He grabbed his beer and stood up. "Let's quit the playacting and eat before you get to the part where I give you both my blessing and help you pick out china patterns."
As they went into the kitchen Shawn leaned over to Lassiter.
"That was fun. You didn't tell me you guys were going to do Spy vs. Spy."
As they ate Henry broached a new topic.
"Did Shawn tell you I got some pictures of the two of you in the mail?" He gestured to them with his fork.
Lassiter finished the bite of steak he was chewing and took a drink of beer. "Yes. That's the second batch we know about."
"Well if you ask me—and I don't know why Shawn hasn't—the perp is probably another cop."
"Really?" Lassiter furrowed his brow and glanced over at Shawn then back to Henry. "Why do you say that?"
"Well for starters, you put a fellow cop behind bars. I hear that internal affairs is putting the gang unit under a microscope because of you two."
"To be accurate," Shawn said, "they're doing that because of Drimmer."
"The other guys in the gang unit, not to mention the rest of the department, might not see it that way. When I was on the force cops stuck together. And Shawn is an outsider who put away a cop and brought IA down on all their heads."
"Thanks a lot," Shawn said.
"I'm just telling you how I think they might see it in the gang unit."
"I'm glad IA is investigating them," Shawn said. "They're probably all crooked."
"What are you basing that on?" Lassiter asked. However much he liked Shawn he still felt a surge of defensiveness when he criticized the force.
"Come on! I've watched The Shield. If Drimmer was dirty then maybe the whole gang unit is."
"Real life isn't like The Shield, Shawn." Lassiter said. "At least not in Santa Barbara."
"A cop doesn't have to be dirty to resent one of his team getting dragged through court and thrown in jail, Shawn. Prison isn't a great place for an ex-cop. Any one of those gang unit guys might be pissed about it."
"Henry's right," Lassiter said. "The photos could be some kind of a payback for Drimmer designed to make us sweat, or dissuade us from testifying against him at the trial." If it was someone in the gang unit that narrowed it down to detectives Garcia, Miles or Connors. Miles was just obnoxious enough to pull something like this, but Lassiter suspected he lacked the self-control to engage in a war of nerves involving anonymous pictures. Garcia or Connors, then.
"Or since one of the packages you know about was sent to the station it could be intended to turn potential witnesses in the Drimmer case against the two of you.'
Lassiter felt his stomach drop. Henry's theory was pretty sound. Also, the idea that there might be more photos out there that he didn't know about yet made him want to vomit.
"Outing you two before the trial would be a nice distraction," Henry continued. "Since it was part of Drimmer's story that the two of you were dating it might make people question how much of his other statements were true."
"We wouldn't have to worry about being outed if we just told everyone," Shawn said.
"If I were you," Henry addressed Lassiter. "Well let's be honest here, if I were you I wouldn't have considered dating Shawn in the first place. But if I did, I wouldn't even think about letting anyone at work know."
"Luckily dad, things have changed since the 50s. Cops spend less time beating people with rubber hoses and trying to keep schools from integrating. I hear you're even required to read suspects their rights now."
"I wouldn't be making jokes in your position, Shawn." Henry pointed his fork at Lassiter. "You can sure as hell bet this isn't funny to Carlton."
At Lassiter's place that night Lassiter turned to Shawn as they settled down to sleep.
"I don't want you to think that there's anything about us that I'm ashamed of here," he began. "That's not why I don't want to tell people at work."
"Then what is it?" Shawn asked.
"I still…" Lassiter struggled to find words that didn't sound so stupid in his head, but came up empty. "I don't feel gay. Coming out seems pretty stupid when I don't feel any different."
"I'm cool with however you want to define yourself, Lassie," Shawn said. "You can be the Anne to my Ellen—although given the way that relationship ended maybe it's not such a good example. If you ask me to call you Celestia I'll have to send you back to the mothership." He tilted his head thoughtfully for a minute. "But just so you know, this—" he motioned to the two of them and to the bed they were in, and laughed. "This is pretty gay."
"I don't dispute that what we're doing is gay, but I don't feel gay."
"What do you think gay feels like?"
"Well I still like women. That doesn't feel very gay."
"I like women too Lassie. O'Hara had this green blouse on today that really—well you get the idea. Does bisexual feel like a better label? Or do you want to go with queer? I didn't think you'd like bent, because 'bent cop' means something different in cop-speak."
"The whole label thing just feels weird. I'm exactly the same as I was before. Just because we're together doesn't mean I suddenly fit into a subculture."
"You're right, Lassie. You're the only guy in history who's dating another guy but has no urge to watch musical theatre or redecorate his apartment."
"Forget it." He sighed. "Maybe it's a time release thing."
Shawn moved over to press his body against Lassiter's.
"The tingle tells you it's working."