OH, YOU, NATHAN.

Your prompts are adorable.

"Spencer? Guster? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Relax, Lassie," Shawn said casually as he loosened Lassiter's necktie and removed it, seemingly unaffected by the situation.

'The situation' being a very naked Lassiter, whom Gus and Shawn were busy tying to the bed. Lassiter wasn't exactly making it a simple task, either.

Shawn stuffed the tie into Lassiter's mouth, smiling brightly when Lassiter made a disgruntled noise and glowered.

"Shawn, maybe this isn't such a good idea..." Gus said, his voice tentative, but his hands never faltering in their knot tying. (Gus would be proud to tell Lassiter all about his Knot Tying Merit Badge, but Shawn would be less-than impressed. And possibly leave to go buy a pineapple smoothie out of boredom.)

"Don't be ridiculous!" Shawn scolded, finishing up the last knot around Lassiter's wrist. "This is an excellent idea! You're just jealous you didn't come up with it first."

Gus's face went flat and his tone screamed sarcasm. "Yes, exactly, Shawn. I am so jealous that I didn't come up with the plan that is going to lead to our deaths."

"Lassie isn't going to kill us," Shawn laughed, walking on his knees over Lassiter's prone form to reach Gus. He ignored the muffled yeff, I am! from the gagged mouth and proceeded to unbutton Gus's dress shirt.

"Why do you always come to these parties so overdressed?" he mumbled half to himself.

Gus sighed impatiently and pushed Shawn's hands away. "Take your own clothes off. It'll be quicker if I do this myself."

"But distinctly less sexy!" Shawn cried. Still, he leaned back a little and, mindful of his audience, shimmied his way out of his tee-shirt, allowing both of the other men a good view of his performance. Next went the jeans, but Gus didn't seem to care too much as he was removing his own clothing and- of course- carefully folding it and setting it aside, where they wouldn't get mussed.

Shawn didn't know where his shirt had even gone, but chances were good that someone was going to end up using it to wipe up bodily fluids some time in the next hour or two.

The prices he paid for being an artiste in the bedroom.

Shawn leered when he saw Gus undressed at last, and leaned forward to press his lips to a nipple, tongue slipping out to lick at it before he latched on, sucking softly. His hands slid to Gus's waist, holding himself up while his mouth showered attention to his best friend's chest.

Gus, unprepared for the assault, but at the same time, unsurprised, slid a hand through Shawn's hair gently, before tugging at it to pull him off.

"Lassiter," he said, speaking to Shawn, not the man currently tied to the bed. Shawn made a noise, starting with displeasure at being pulled away from his task, and eagerness at the thought of getting back to his favorite detective to fuck with.

In more ways than one.

The mental image is killing me! <3 Someone please write this!

That’s the thing that no one has ever really gotten about Shawn.

It’s not that he doesn’t have any discipline -- it’s that he has way too fucking much.

So when Abigail quirks an eyebrow and Juliet lays out the rules (slowly, carefully), Shawn’s body falls easily into place.

Hands resting out in plain sight, the textured plastic of the arm rests rough against his wrists.

Shawn would have thought Jules would’ve been more of a face-toucher, but when she kisses Abigail, she splays her fingers wide over Abigail’s ribcage, drawing their bodies in closer together. Abigail tips her head back to meet Juliet’s mouth with her own, and Shawn knows that precise angle, could have drawn it without a protractor even though he is now seeing it for the very first time.

Feet planted flatly against the floor, thigh muscles locked up tight. The chair is a cast-off from one of Gus’ office mates at the pharmaceutical company. It has a jammed wheel, and if Shawn were to move a centimeter in any direction, it would make a hideous grating sound.

At work, Juliet tends to wear her hair pulled up into a manner Shawn assumes is meant to pass for professionalism. It’s not even as long as it used to be, but it’s long enough that Abigail reaches out to brush it back. It’s probably just simple economy of movement that she slides the strap of Jules’ bra off her shoulder while her hand is hovering in the vicinity. Abigail’s light touch must tickle, because Juliet laughs, bright and loud, and Shawn knows that Abigail should be able to feel the reverberations of the laughter beneath her fingertips.

Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth -- probably a good thing, because talking is on the list of things Not Allowed.

Jules is apparently way more of an overachiever than Shawn would have imagined her to be (okay, had imagined -- many, many times), because she’s already reaching into the waistband of Abigail’s underwear, finding the correct spot with freakishly superhuman accuracy. Abigail makes that hushed sighing sound that only escapes her throat when she’s particularly pleased, and leans forward to suck on the skin of Juliet’s bare shoulder.

Spine held so straight that the back of the chair doesn’t even provide any support. Normally it would start to ache under the strain, but Shawn’s blood has started to pound through his arteries so hard that he can feel his pulse in unusual places: his wrists (still laying in place on the armrests of the chair), his tongue (still stuck to the roof of his mouth), his dick (sadly, still within the confines of both his boxers and his jeans); the endorphin rush is starting to kick in.

Abigail is peeling away the rest of Juliet’s bra, and she proceeds to cup Juliet’s breasts in each of her hands. Her thumbs skate over the swell of Juliet’s breasts. But Shawn can still see Juliet’s hand moving between Abigail’s legs, inside Abigail’s underwear, and he has memorized with loving detail the same hot slickness Juliet is feeling, the smell of Abigail, the taste of her.

Pelvis planted firmly in the seat of the chair, thighs practically shaking from the effort of not thrusting up into his jeans. His dick is uncomfortably hard, and slick with more than just sweat, but Shawn holds his body still, breathes shallowly. Waits patiently.

I SO second this!XD

ooh, don't know why but I really like this one. someone please write it!

Second. That sounds wonderfully amusing.

God, I'm a sucker for first-time-gay-sex-jitters. Second this.

"Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?" Carlton scowled as the fugitive smirked at him, thumbs hooked in the waist of his pants, happy-as-you-please. Carlton suspected that's why they called him the No-Frown Kid, but it still didn't sit right. He was an imposing figure of a lawman, feared by outlaws states over. That this one had ridden into his town and now dared smile at Carlton while being arrested...

"Put on the cuffs," Carlton growled, angry that the kid was getting to him like this.

"Why sheriff, I knew you were hard on outlaws, but I didn't know you were hard on outlaws." That infuriating smirk was back. Carlton made a show of cocking his gun, satisfied at how the outlaw hurried through snapping the handcuffs around his wrists. "No need for violence. Unless that's what you're into." The leer thrown his way broke Carlton's carefully cultivated calm. He had the Kid pressed against a post in the blink of an eye, one arm pressed against his windpipe. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"You've reached the end of the road," Carlton hissed in his ear. "You're done. No more cons, no more thieving. You're mine now."

"I don't think," the outlaw gasped, struggling for breath against the pressure of Carlton's forearm, "I'm as disappointed as you hope." He arched up against Carlton and...that definitely wasn't his gun belt pressing into the sheriff's thigh.

Carlton glanced up and was arrested by glazed hazel eyes, hooded and enticing. Something stirred in him that he hadn't felt in an age.

"Maybe we can work out...an arrangement?" the outlaw offered. This time Carlton found his smirk more inviting than irritating. Carlton could feel the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

Without a word Carlton grabbed the kid's wrists and hooked them over a hook on the post so he was straining up, stretched out and waiting. Helpless. At Carlton's mercy.

Carlton pressed the heel of his hand against the bulge in the outlaw's pants at the same time he increased the pressure against the Kid's throat. A low, choked moan and a jerk of his hips caused a wicked, satisfied smile to cross Carlton's face.

"Say you're sorry," Carlton instructed, reaching into the Kid's pants. His captive jerked, eyes wide, both at the order and the feeling of Carlton's hand on his erection.

"Wha--what?" he gasped, eyes rolling as Carlton slid his hand from root to tip.

"Apologize." Carlton leaned forward and bit down on the sensitive skin at the outlaw's jaw, hard enough to bruise.

IDK WHO YOU ARE BUT ILU.

Erm, more like ALL the love in this fandom is for Shawn/Juliet.

=/

Oh yes! Someone needs to write this pairing. I've been looking all over for it and haven't found anything.