Shawn peeled Lassiter off of the floor of Tom Blair's Pub, after having his date bail on him for a new fiancé, his night was kind of blown. After Lassiter had confided in him, he felt somewhat responsible for getting him home to sleep it off. He had taken his motorcycle and didn't want to risk being murdered for driving the detective's car, so he pulled his phone out to call for a cab.
They rode to Lassiter's house in silence, mostly due to the older man being unconscious for much of the trip. Shawn pulled the wallet out of the drunk man's suit jacket, flipping through for money to pay the driver. "Oh, come on, Lassie…" When he found it empty, he put it back and reached for his own. He barely had enough money to get them to where they were, not enough to get himself home or back to the bar.
He paid the driver and dragged his friend through the front door, kicking it shut behind him. He headed in the direction he assumed would take him to the bedroom and he was right. He flopped Carlton onto one side of the bed before moving to the other side, pulling the covers back. He removed the jacket and holster before pausing, considering how much more he could remove before it became inappropriate. He settled on removing his belt and shoes before scooting him over and covering him up.
It didn't take long to find a spare blanket and he grabbed a pillow from the detective's bed, heading for the couch.
-A few Zs later-
A couple of hours into one of the best night's sleep of his life, Carlton was woken up by a thud from down the hallway. Even drunk, he bolted up, searching blindly for a weapon, kept between the mattresses under his pillow.
He crept down the hall, gun drawn, ready to fire at an intruder and ask questions later. His head was swimming, obviously still very intoxicated from early, he wondered if he should be using a gun. He shrugged it off.
Just as he was about to lower the gun and go back to his room, the bathroom door opened and he charged the intruder, pinning him to the wall, gun against his head.
"Jesus, Lassie, it's me! It's just Shawn!" He panicked, but calmed when he realized that Carlton had listened and was lowering his weapon, placing it on a small table next to them.
"Spencer?" He looked like he was trying too hard to concentrate and getting nowhere. "This must be a dream..."
Shawn arched an eyebrow, wondering how exactly he'd drawn that conclusion, but decided that it may be fun to play it out. He needed some ammo to use against Lassie next time he wouldn't let Psych on a case.
"Well, of course it's a dream. In what reality would you ever invite me over in the middle of the night?" This could be very fun...
"Hmmmmm, that's true..." He changed the position of his left hand, so instead of resting as a weight against Shawn to hold him down, it was feeling him. "You feel real." Shawn held his ground, waiting to see where he was going with this.
He leaned his face in close against the crook on Shawn's neck and breathed in. "You smell real." Shawn swallowed, wondering if this was going where he thought he was going.
Lassiter's tongue darted out and his lips pressed against Shawn's skin for a moment before pulling back to look him in the eye. "You taste real."
A shiver ran down his spine. Lassie was, for all intents and purposes, having a naughty dream about him. Was that normal for the detective? It must be, you don't just suddenly start groping people when you think you're in a dream just for the hell of it, you've got to be attracted to them at least a little and the way that the detective was going with the flow made him think that this wasn't his first wet Spencer dream.
He knew that he shouldn't take advantage of the older man's inebriation in this way, but truth be told, he'd had a few drinks as well and wasn't thinking his straightest. "You have no idea." No sooner than the words left his mouth, he was leaning forward, kissing the detective. His lips were met with fervor, as Carlton pressed back, pinning Shawn to the wall and their lips and bodies collided.
Carlton was older, but was in excellent physical condition, so it wasn't all that surprising when he lifted Shawn off of his feet, wrapping the psychic's legs around his waist. He held them up with the help of the wall, the angle aligned their bodies in the most electric way. Shawn used the grip around the detective's waist to rock himself up and down, enjoying the feeling of the detective's hands digging into his hips in satisfying surprise.
There would definitely be bruises on his hips for days, but he couldn't care less. He was currently pressed against the wall, being ravaged by an unyielding, incredibly good looking, though drunk man. He wouldn't be making any complaints any time soon.
He felt like a teenage boy again, maybe it was the alcohol or the randomness of the situation, but he wasn't going to last much longer at this rate. He mingled his fingers in the short salt and pepper hair of the man that was currently driving him up the wall, literally.
They both were panting too heavily to continue kissing, but their lips stayed loosely connected, straying only to place smaller kisses and nips nearby. They breathed each other in, both mumbling names and pleas to the other, most unintelligible.
As Shawn reached his climax, his fingers tightened their grip and he leaned his head forward to rest on his partner's shoulder. As he felt Lassiter's teeth digging into the soft skin of his shoulder, through his t-shirt, he couldn't hold back any longer.
He tried to stifle the sound, pressing his mouth against the detective's shoulder as he screamed. The heat of his mouth and vibration from the vocalization of his orgasm sent a shudder down the drunk man's spine, sending him following over the edge.
He dropped Shawn's legs and they leaned heavily against one another, almost able to fall asleep right there. Instead, Shawn pressed gently and led him down the hallway, guiding him to the bed.
After he settled in, Shawn thought it would be best not to be there when the detective woke up, so he called another cab, charging it to his best friend's credit card. He cleaned up while waiting for his ride and put everything in the apartment back to the way it was before.
- At the Station -
Lassiter spent the entire day avoiding Shawn, not wanting any more of a headache than he already had and not wanting anymore flashbacks of his dream last night. It was less than half an hour until he was going home and so far, he had succeeded.
On his way out the door, he heard familiar commotion before Shawn an Gus popped out of the Cheif's office, dancing. Gus was bobbing around and Shawn had his hands in the air in victory, apparently they had solved another case.
As he was rolling his eyes, having to walk around them to get out of the building, the detective's keen eye couldn't help noticing a set of bruises on Shawn's hips and another mark on his neck. "Get yourself a little roughed up on that case, Spencer?" He smirked as he walked past.
Shawn stopped dancing and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. "You have no idea."
The detective stopped in his tracks and looked back, disbelief on his face as Shawn held his hand to his head in an I-know-your-secret kind of way, smiling from ear to ear.