Lassiter watched Shawn eating mushroom fusilli and chatting with Russell and Eric. He'd tuned out their conversation, which was about some television show Lassiter had never even heard of. Instead he found himself wondering about the assumptions he'd made about his relationship with Shawn.

Thus far, he felt like he was barely batting .100. He'd assumed they were just going to be a one-night experiment, and he'd been wrong. He'd assumed they were just going to have sex until they worked the erotic tension out of their work dynamic, and he had been wrong. He'd assumed that Shawn had slept with enough men to populate an Atlantis Cruise ship, and he'd been really wrong about that. So why did he feel so sure that Shawn wouldn't be interested in marriage or having a family?

As he chewed his pasta, Lassiter reflected that he'd been making the same mistake with Shawn that he'd made with Victoria. He'd never enjoyed having serious discussions. They led to hurt feelings, crying wives, and evening jaunts to the gun range. So he'd gone through much of his marriage assuming that they were on the same page unless he was told otherwise. As his separation and divorce proved, this system was not working.

How much could have been salvaged if we'd only talked sooner? he wondered.

He took a sip of Shiraz and looked at Russell. Here, at least, was proof that not every cop's love life was a mess. He and Eric had been together for years. They were clearly crazy about each other. Eric, at least, had to be crazy about Russell to put up with some of his personality traits. They each had a job they loved, and they'd built a life and a home together.

Lassiter had always found work easier than relationships. He'd never been afraid to question a suspect, or to follow the evidence, no matter what direction it led him. He needed to take the same approach with Shawn. As he watched him laughing at something Eric had said, he decided that awkward as it would be, they needed to talk about their future if they were going to have one.

That evening Lassiter sat on a chair in the guest bedroom, wearing his blue pajamas and his most serious expression. His wiped the sweat from his hands as Shawn came in from the hall and began to undress.

"Bathroom's free," Shawn said. He sprawled himself on the bedspread and stared at him in a way that removed any interest Lassiter might have had in leaving the room.

"Thanks." Think of it like an interrogation, he reminded himself. Just a few questions, and then we'll know everything we need to know. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Shawn, we need to talk."

"Is this about the holes in that hideous shirt you packed? Because those were made by moths, I swear." Shawn raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"No, it's not about the shirt." There are holes in my vacation shirt? "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. Relationship-wise."

"I get it," Shawn sat up and leaned against the pillows. "This is about The Book of Luuuve. I don't know who wrote it, but I have had it out of the library several times. I've paid serious fines on the Book of Love."

Lassiter stood, put his hands on his hips and stared down at Shawn. "What's your view on monogamy?"

"It's my second favourite hardwood after teak and my third favourite Billy Dee Wlliams movie. Why?"

"It's a serious question." Lassiter frowned. What if Shawn had itchy feet, or cold feet or whatever it was called. What if he was resentful that he hadn't gotten to sow his queer oats? Oh God. What if Shawn wanted an open relationship?

"Seriously?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter nodded solemnly.

"You know that expression 'I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers?'" Shawn asked.

"I know it," Lassiter said. He held his breath, awaiting Shawn's response. Despite the heavy pasta they'd eaten earlier, his gut ached as if it were empty.

"Well I wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating anybody," Shawn said. "Sexually speaking." He waved a hand. "If you became a brain-eating zombie, of course I'd have to take you out. I think you'd want it that way. But sex-wise, just don't come home bragging about it. And I don't want to meet any of your dates."

Lassiter sighed heavily. "Not me. I meant how do you feel about it for you. For us?"

"I'm fine with it." Shawn spead his arms out across the pillows. He looked very inviting, but Lassiter knew he had to push ahead if he was going to come out of this conversation with the answers he needed.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," he said hesitantly.

A lascivious look passing across Shawn's face. "Come closer and I'll demonstrate some enthusiasm."

"So you don't want an open relationship?" Lassiter asked.

"I was just kidding about the hookers and the all-cop orgies," Shawn said. "Unless you want that, in which case I'm not kidding at all." He made an obscene gesture with his mouth. "I'll need a uniform, though. With a big nightstick."

First hurdle down, now on to the second question. Lassiter wished he'd brought his notebook along. It would have helped to have made some reference notes.

"Do you see this as a long-term relationship?" He swallowed anxiously.

"Yes." Shawn smiled. "These questions are getting easier. I can't wait for Final Jeopardy."

"How do you define long-term?" Lassiter paced back and forth across the room, his bare feet feeling every fibre of the carpet. Part of him feared that Shawn's idea of a long-term relationship was buying a large box of Corn Pops.

"About the length of time it takes to go through a crate of Kangaroo Paste," Shawn said. He was smiling, which suggested he saw this as good news.

Lassiter furrowed his brow. "How long is that?" And what the hell is Kangaroo Paste?

"Years and years," Shawn said, "during which my hair will be deliciously ginger scented."

Lassiter wasn't sure how he felt about being measured in units of hair product, but at least the answer seemed promising.

Time to bring out the big guns.

He stopped pacing and leaned with his back against the bureau, facing Shawn. The ache in his stomach moved higher, into his chest.

"What's your view on marriage?" he asked. "And so help me, if you mention voodoo I'll..." He made vague threatening gestures with his hands.

"Are we talking church wedding, civil union, Canadian vacation, or game show hooking me up with a millionaire?"

"Any of them," Lassiter said. "Except the last one."

Shawn shrugged. "I'd never planned that far in the future. Although to be fair, my plans for the future usually included Doc Brown and a flying Delorean."

"But you don't have any objections to marriage as an institution?" Lassiter asked.

"Given how my parents marriage worked out, I can see why you're concerned," Shawn said. "But Gus' parents have been married for years, and they seem happy. So no, I'm not soured on the concept, if that's what you mean."

Lassiter ran his fingers pensively across his lips. Time to show all the cards in my hand.

"Children?"

Shawn laughed. "If you're worried about one of us getting accidentally knocked up, my recollection of high school biology class assures me that isn't possible."

"You know what I mean," Lassiter's voice took on a sharper tone.

Shawn laughed, completely unintimidated. "Children are messy, immature and illogical. They've got no sense of responsibility or respect for other people's property. I always thought we'd get along well."

"So you'd consider being a parent?" Looking at Shawn now, Lassiter had to admit that raising a family was pretty far from his mind, but at least this way he'd know what he was committing himself to.

"I'm not ready to sign a lease on one right now," Shawn said. "But if you're thinking about adoption down the road, I'd be willing to flip through some catalogues with you. Just to see what's available."

"What about other options?"

"Are we talking surrogacy, like in Baby Mama?" Shawn asked. "If so, I want to cross Jules with Gus so I can have my own Gules." Shawn smiled. "I'd name him Julius."

"There's no way in Hell I am asking O'Hara to carry Guster's baby for you," Lassiter said. "You can forget it."

"Well I'm not going to carry it," Shawn said emphatically. "Arnold Schwarzenegger might bounce back from something like that, but he's got a personal trainer and his own chef." Shawn ran a hand down his abdomen and then looked up at him with hooded eyes. "I'd hate to ruin my figure."

"So to be clear then," Lassiter said, counting off on his fingers to be sure he'd covered everything, "you're fine with monogamy, long-term relationships, and open to marriage and children."

"I'd also be up for a Multiplicity scenario where we clone you and I spend the rest of my days with a harem of tall pasty-skinned detectives," Shawn said. "Although if we go that route I may have to cut back on my crime-solving to avoid exhaustion."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and picked up his toothbrush and towel. "I'm glad we talked," he said, the relief evident in his voice. Shawn's use of the words "the rest of my days" felt especially reassuring.

"You know," Shawn said. "We should probably try making a baby the regular way for a few years first. My biology teacher could be wrong."

On their last full day in San Francisco, Lassiter and Shawn decided to spend some time taking in the sites. They were walking along 24th Street, toward Castro, when Lassiter spotted a jewellery store nestled between a place selling t-shirts and a computer outlet store.

"I've got an errand to run," he said to Shawn. "It shouldn't take more than fifteen or twenty minutes." He nodded toward a nearby sports bar. "Why don't you go have a drink and I'll meet up with you when I'm done?"

"That sounds suspicious," Shawn said. He looked Lassiter in the eye for a few moments, studying him. Lassiter tried not to look as guilty as he felt.

"You're getting me a present, aren't you?"

"No. Maybe." Lassiter's poker face crumbled under Shawn's gaze. "Okay, yes. Yes. Happy now? Can you please kill some time so I can shop?"

"You go look at whatever it is you're going to look at," Shawn said, "but just FYI, I wear a men's small and I'm partial to 100% cotton or a cotton spandex blend." He jabbed a thumb toward a convenience store called Sal's Grab N' Go. "I'll get my souvenirs for Gus and meet you in the bar."

"What kind of souvenirs are you going to get at a corner store?" Lassiter asked.

"Duh! Rice-A-Roni. The San Francisco treat."

Lassiter frowned. "They sell that in Santa Barbara."

"Yes," Shawn said, his voice pitched as if he were speaking to a child, "but then it wouldn't be a souvenir of San Francisco. It would just be regular Rice-A-Roni."

Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes to block out the nonsense, then sighed out his frustration. There was no changing Shawn. "Fine. I'll only be a few minutes."

Shawn was emerging from Sal's when two men stepped out of the sportsbar and collided roughly with him. Boxes of Rice-A-Roni flew across the sidewalk.

"Ow! Dude," Shawn rubbed his bruised arm and glared at them. "Three minutes for roughing." He began to gather his scattered boxes.

"Did you say something, fag boy?" Shawn looked up to see the two men looming over him with drunken aggression stamped on their faces. They were both broad, and smelled strongly of beer. Shawn dropped the boxes, stood as tall as his spine enabled him, and smiled a friendly greeting at the loudmouths.

"Actually, Fag Boy is my crime-fighting name," he said. "When I'm in my civies I go by Mr. Spencer. It's a secret identity thing. I'm sure you understand."

Shawn quickly took in their appearance, from the mouthy one's bushy sideburns to the quieter one's receding hairline, in case he ended up describing them to a police officer from a hospital bed. Then he began to scan the street wondering how long Lassiter's errand would take him.

Lassiter walked into the jewellery store and began to browse through the items beneath the glass countertops.

"Can I help you find something?" the clerk asked. He resembled a cross between John Waters and Evil Spock.

"I'm interested in rings," Lassiter said. "Something for," he paused, "my boyfriend."

"We've got an assortment of masculine rings," the clerk said, not missing a beat. "Anniversary rings, engagement rings, wedding bands, pride rings." He pulled a black ring with a rainbow strip from under the counter. "This is a popular model. It's our pride series in black titanium."

"I'm looking for something less…" Lassiter searched for a word that wouldn't make him come across as the gayest homophobe ever. "…less rainbow."

"Engagement?" The clerk asked, indicating a row of heavy diamond rings. Seeing Lassiter's hesitation, he added, "All our diamonds are ethical and conflict-free."

"Less…Dynasty," Lassiter said. Shawn was enough of a diva now. He didn't want to reinforce it by presenting him with a big sparkly rock. Besides, diamonds always seemed feminine to Lassiter, and he didn't want Shawn to think that he saw him as a wife substitute.

"Tell me about the occasion and the recipient," the clerk prodded. "I'm sure we have something suitable."

"It's complicated," Lassiter said. "We've only been dating for six months. I want something that says 'I take this seriously,' without frightening him into getting on his motorcycle and leaving town."

"Motorcycle…" The clerk put a finger to his lip, thinking. "You know, there are lots of pieces that don't bring up images of marriage but that communicate belonging and commitment." He pulled a tray from beneath the counter. "These are surgical steel, and available in a number of gauges. We have a piercing specialist who comes in by appointment."

"Are these earrings?" Lassiter picked up one of the heavy metal fittings. They reminded him of lugnuts.

"They could be worn there," the clerk said. "But some people prefer to wear them in a more…intimate area."

"Oh." Lassiter suddenly realized what the clerk was hinting at and dropped the ring back onto its velvet tray. "Oh! No. That's not…." He swallowed. "I want something traditional." More traditional than a ring through my cock, at any rate, he thought. "Something that says boyfriend, but doesn't quite say husband."

The clerk smiled. "You're looking for a promise ring." He brought out a tray of solid bands. "This is our commitment series. They're available in white or yellow gold, titanium, stainless steel, and tungsten."

"Yes," Lassiter said, relaxing. He removed a silver titanium ring with a black band around it. "This is nice."

"I love that one," the clerk agreed. "It's sleek and sexy. It's 8mm wide. Do you know the ring size you need?"

"I don't," Lassiter said. Was that something people were supposed to know? He'd always been terrible at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. Were ring sizes on the list as well now?

"Not a problem," the clerk assured him. "There's a thirty day warranty. You can bring it back for a different size in the same style. And once it's fitted we can do custom engraving if you like."

"Sounds good," Lassiter said, pulling out his wallet. "I'll take two." If Shawn's didn't fit, they could swing by the store on their way home tomorrow. Providing, of course, he got up the nerve to give it to him.

Lassiter stepped out of the jewellery store to see Shawn being held against a wall by two men in their late twenties. One was about 5'11 and 190 lbs, had brown hair with unkempt sideburns and was wearing a varsity jacket with jeans and a dark shirt. His friend was an inch shorter, ten pounds heavier, balding, and red-faced with alcohol. He was wearing cammo cargo pants and some kind of band-related shirt under a black leather jacket.

"Lassie!" Shawn called to him, "You're just in time. This is Sideburns McPushy and his friend, Drinky. They're offering free nosejobs."

"What's going on here, Shawn?" Lassiter asked, slipping the box with their rings into his pants pocket.

"Who's this, your boyfriend?" Sideburns asked.

"Yeah, I am," Lassiter said sharply. "What's it to you?" The drunken man took one look at Lassiter's lanky frame and grinned confidently. "This fag smacked into me," he said, jabbing a thumb toward Shawn. "Someone disrespects me like that and I break his face. But for fifty bucks I'd be willing to look the other way."

"So if I understand you correctly," Lassiter said, his voice even and calm, "you're threatening us with violence, but if we give you fifty dollars you'll let us go?" He turned to Drinky. "How about you? Are you in on this?"

"Yeah." The heavy-set man licked his lips. "Make it a hundred." The young men were smug and self-assured, but Lassiter's voice had an edge to it that Shawn had only heard him use at work. If they hadn't been so drunk they might have sensed that Lassiter wasn't frightened or compliant.

"Let me get my wallet," Lassiter said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his badge. "I'm detective Carlton Lassiter with the Santa Barbara Police and you are under arrest for violation of the California penal code, section 518." He grabbed Sideburns, twisted his arm, and pressed him against the wall of the bar. The perp tried to push away and Lassiter used the man's arm to lever him back, hard, then pulled a pair of handcuffs from the back of his pants.

"Dude, why do you even have handcuffs today?" Shawn asked him.

"What?" Lassiter shrugged. "They go with the belt and the holster." He pulled out a second set of cuffs and turned to the other perp. The true nature of his situation finally dawning, Drinky turned and attempted to flee the scene, but misjudged his manoeuvrability and ricocheted off a lamppost, tripped over a fire hydrant, then took a header into the sidewalk. Shawn held up his iphone.

"Awesome! I got that whole thing he just did. This is so going up on Youtube!" He turned to Lassiter. "It's not brutality if he did that to himself, right?" Lassiter pulled the drunken man to his feet, handcuffed his arms behind his back, then seated him on the sidewalk beside his friend. Drinky's face had some road rash, but overall he was less injured than Lassiter felt he deserved.

"I am charging you both with extortion," he continued, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense." He turned to Shawn, who was reviewing the video of his would-be attacker doing a concrete nosedive.

"I just emailed it to Gus," Shawn explained. "He's going to make it into a screensaver for me."

"Call Russell," Lassiter said. "I have to report a non-jurisdictional arrest right away and I have no idea where the station is around here."

Russell arrived in a squad car and helped smooth the transfer of custody to the SFPD officer.

"You're sure you want to charge them?" Russell asked. "It means you'll have to drive back to San Francisco for the court case."

"I'm glad to," Lassiter said. Testifying in court was just part of the job.

"You're aware that you'd have to testify about why these guys were harassing you."

"I'm not ashamed of being with Shawn," Lassiter said. "These guys deserve to go to jail and I'm happy to help put them there."

"You always were a little justice-happy," Russell said. "Hell, you made more arrests today than I did."

"I'm not trying to show you up here, Russ.," Lassiter said. He paused, then added, "It was just…the way Shawn looked. I had to do something."

"How's that?" Russell looked at Lassiter with a measured gaze.

"He looked scared," Lassiter said. "He shouldn't have to look scared."

Russell laughed. "I hate to break it to you Carlton, but given what the two of you do for a living, he's going to look scared lots of times."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Lassiter said.

After lunch Russell led Lassiter into his home office. His face wore a serious expression and Lassiter steeled himself for another lecture on how doomed his relationship was.

"So, Carlton," Russell asked, leaning forward in his armchair, "You're out at work?"

"Yeah," Lassiter replied, thinking of the nightmare that had erupted around the time of the Drimmer trial. "You could say that." If being outed and then nearly killed by a crazy person counts.

"Well you are or you aren't. Which is it?"

"I am. My Chief knows, my partner knows, some of the guys on the gang unit know. I don't come into work wearing a rainbow sash and a tiara, but I have Shawn's picture on my desk." He squared his shoulders and looked Russell in the eye. "I'm not hiding anything if that's what you're getting at. Why?"

Was Russell going to turn this into a contest too? he wondered. If so, it wasn't a fair contest. He hadn't even been attracted to men until Shawn. Russell had him beat by decades already.

"You should join the Golden State Peace Officer's Association," Russell said. "It's for gay cops."

"I don't really join groups." Lassiter lied. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You do civil war re-enactments," Shawn said, entering the office with two mugs of coffee. "They're a group." He handed a mug to Lassiter, perched on the wide upholstered arm of the chair, and draped an arm across Lassiter's shoulders.

"We've got over four hundred members," Russell said.

"Then you don't really need me, do you?" Lassiter pointed out. He sipped at the coffee and wondered where Russell was going with this. The last time he'd checked, Russell didn't count him as really gay. For that matter, he wasn't entirely sure he counted himself as gay. He rested a hand on Shawn's leg, acknowledging that what they did together almost every night was pretty gay.

"We need everyone." Russell's voice took on a serious tone. "We've got to promote policing as a viable career for gay men. Even here, where we make up over twenty percent of the city, we've only got twenty-five gay men on the force. That's barely over one percent."

"Oh Russ, are you making your numbers speech again?" Eric asked, entering with coffee for the two of them. He turned to Lassiter. "He'd make a terrible bookkeeper. His numbers are artificially low. He's only counting the out gay men. And he's completely ignoring the lesbians. They're actually over-represented in the department."

"The lesbians don't count," Russell said gruffly.

"I'm sure they appreciate your support," Eric said sarcastically.

"I mean I pretty much assume all the female cops are lesbians," Russell said. "What straight woman wants to become a cop?"

"They made a police officer Barbie," Shawn said. "She didn't have gun or handcuffs but she came with a gold lamé princess dress to wear while accepting her awards for bravery." Noticing the odd looks he was receiving from Russell and Lassiter, he added, "What? Barbie's a role model."

"Relax, Russ," Eric said, sitting on a nearby ottoman. "It takes time to get the numbers up."

"We've had out officers for over thirty years," Russell complained. "How long are we supposed to wait?"

"Thirty years?" Lassiter was surprised.

"Sure," Russell said. "Rudi Cox was an openly gay Sheriff's Deputy in 1976."

"Rudi Cox?" Shawn laughed. "Sounds like a porno name. He lowered his voice. "Sheriff Rudy Cox, laying down the law."

"You're talking about a cultural hero," Russell warned him.

"All the more reason that he should be able to get busy with the townfolk," Shawn said.

"So will you join?" Russell asked. "I can email you the application forms."

"I'll think about it," Lassiter said. Even if he didn't join—and he didn't think he would—he appreciated the offer. Russell wouldn't have asked if he still viewed his relationship with Shawn as a phase. Lassiter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. If Russell could acknowledge that what he and Shawn had was real, maybe he could too.

Shawn excused himself and returned with two wrapped packages.

"I got you something," Shawn said to Russell. "It's a thank-you for putting us up all weekend."

Russell untied the bow and opened the small red box. Nestled inside was a vintage brass call box key and police whistle.

"Thanks, Shawn," Russell said, gazing at them in wonder. "These are really nice."

"Those are nice," Lassiter said. "You know, I'd like something like that."

"Then you'll have to wait for our anniversary," Shawn said. "And this one's for you," he passed the second box to Eric, who unwrapped it deftly. Russell leaned over and looked into the box.

"It's a rock." Russell looked confused.

"It's not a rock," Eric said, offended. "It's a Sumerian cuneiform accounting tablet." He drew in a gasp of breath and gazed lovingly at the rock. "Oh! It's an entry for 29 gur of barley from 2200 BCE. It's an example of one of the first double entry bookkeeping systems in the world."

"Since when do you read cuneiform?" Russell asked.

"I don't," Eric held up a tiny piece of cardboard. "I'm reading the card that comes with it."

"Where did you get that?" Lassiter asked Shawn.

"A guy in Iraq sold it to me on ebay."

Lassiter closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you aren't buying looted treasure from Iraq."

"What? No. It's a replica, dude!" Shawn threw his arms wide. "I can't afford to buy real looted treasure. On my salary? Please!"

"That was really nice of you," Lassiter said as they were undressing for bed.

"They're awesome guys," Shawn said. "And before we got all interrupted by drunken yahoos earlier today, I think you were going to give me a present." He closed his eyes and put his hands out.

Lassiter pulled the case from the drawer where he'd hidden it earlier that evening. "I did get you something," he said. "We can exchange it if it doesn't fit." Your finger. Or your plans for this relationship.

He removed his own ring from the box and handed it over. Shawn opened the case and stared into it, his expression thoughtful.

"Do you like it?" Lassiter asked.

"What is it?" Shawn was looking at him with an expression Lassiter had usually only seen him use when they were on a case. It was the way he looked when he was thinking really carefully, weighing all the evidence his eidetic memory had collected for him.

"They called it a promise ring," Lassiter said. "I got one for me too. I think it, uh, says we're together."

Shawn smiled. "That sounds adorably high school. I feel like I'm in a John Hughes movie." Shawn removed the ring from the box and tried it on. "You're definitely one of the hot richies. Our love is forbidden by social custom, which just makes it that much hotter."

"I'll take your word for it," Lassiter said. "So you'll wear it?"

Shawn held his hand out and scrutinized the ring, which fit him surprisingly well. "I like it," he said. "It's like a wedding ring with training wheels."

"That's one way to view it," Lassiter said.

"Put yours on," Shawn said. "I want to see it on your hand."

Lassiter did so and Shawn held their hands together, comparing the rings. The image was more arresting than Lassiter had expected. It brought up a strange mix of affection and loyalty and desire and, if he were honest about it, a bit of possession. He liked the idea of people seeing his ring on Shawn's hand. It was like Shawn's picture on his desk—unapologetically clear.

"This is awesome," Shawn said. "I feel like one of the Wonder Twins." He ran his hand down Lassiter's chest, and looked up from beneath heavy lids. "Now how about seeing if I can turn you into an animal? A really loud animal."

"We discussed this already," Lassiter said. "It's disrespectful to do that in someone's house."

"Come on," Shawn begged. "We've got your reputation to think about. Make it so loud that I blush when we walk down the hall to breakfast tomorrow."

Lassiter wet his lips. "I don't know if sex could ever be loud enough to make you blush," he said. "You're shameless, Spencer."

"Fine." Shawn sighed. "How about desperately quiet sex then? But if we make visiting Russ and Eric a regular thing we'll have to invest in a ballgag. I think I swallowed half my pillow last night." Shawn slipped a hand inside the waistband of Lassiter's pajamas, "Because the things you do make me want to-"

"I get it," Lassiter cut in. He removed his pajamas, wondering why he still bothered buying the damn things, given how often his nights ended this way.

They were in bed only a few moments when they heard the unmistakable sounds of sexual activity filtering through the wall. Shawn looked at him with "I told you so" written all over his face.

It suddenly occurred to Lassiter that Russell was doing this to show him up. This loud sex was clearly an attempt to establish himself as some sort of gay alpha male. Fine, he thought, If that's how he's going to be. I'll be damned if he's going to win this one.

"That sounds like a challenge, Lassie," Shawn said, his shining eyes reflecting back the blue of the bedspread. "Do you still feel the same about loud sex in the guest room?"

Lassiter sat up in the bed, and pulled Shawn roughly toward him. "What do you think?"

Shawn straddled him and then his mouth was on his neck kissing and biting him. Lassiter groaned, not bothering to stifle the sound, and arched his hips forward. He leaned forward, running his lips lightly across Shawn's mouth, while his hands coursed over his thighs. He loved feeling the muscles move in Shawn's back and abdomen as he kneeled over him, slowly grinding his ass against Lassiter's erection.

"That feels amazing," Lassiter said, "You feel amazing." Through the wall came a wavering cry of pleasure.

"Oh, you just wait, Lassie." Shawn tilted sideways, almost over the side of the bed, rummaged around in his discarded jeans, and came back up with lube and a condom. Not for the first time, Lassiter found himself amazed at how flexible Shawn was. He tore open the condom and rolled it quickly onto Lassiter's cock. Shawn continued stroking with one hand while he used his free hand and his teeth to open the package of lube. He spread the thick liquid down Lassiter's erection and then shifted his hand to his own body, stretching himself with his fingers. From the next room could be heard the sounds of panting, interspersed with swearing.

Lassiter grasped Shawn's hard-on in his fist and pumped it slowly, enjoying the feel of the tight flesh against his palm. "Take your time," he said, "It's not a race."

"You obviously missed the part where our hosts just challenged us to a gay swordfight," Shawn said. "It's round one of the Great San Francisco Fuck-Off." He paused. "Wait, that sounded so much better in my head."

Lassiter let out a low moan. "If you keep grinding against me like that," he said, "We're going to lose this one by default."

Lassiter swore as he entered Shawn, the positon making him feel tighter than usual. Shawn lowered himself onto Lassiter and didn't hold back the sounds of his pleasure at the sensation of being stretched and full. Lassiter began to push his hips forward, tentatively. Taking the cue, Shawn moved up and down, setting a faster pace than Lassiter had expected.

The squeal of metal and the thump of a headboard against plaster began to join the moans filtering through the wall as their hosts' activity became more spirited.

"Don't hold back, Lassie," Shawn said in between panting breaths. "You heard that challenge as clearly as I did." Never one who had trouble vocalizing, Shawn launched himself into a raucus torrent of obscenities and endearments.

"Shawn," Lassiter gasped. As much as he wanted to keep up his end of the contest, Shawn's movements were pushing him beyond the capacity for speech. Shawn clenched, and swiveled his hips and Lassiter felt his body surrendering to the rush of orgasm. His muscles locked and spasmed and he let out a groan that seemed to have begun in his toes and encompassed his every limb. He caught only snippets of what Shawn was shouting, but could have sworn he heard "Iceman," and something that sounded suspiciously like "buzz the tower."

When he opened his eyes again Shawn was coming into his fist and across his chest. Shawn collapsed against him, sweaty and exhausted.

"That was disturbingly close to that all-cop orgy I was talking about," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Lassiter laughed. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, because tomorrow morning is going to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life."

"Really?" Shawn held up his left hand and wiggled his ringed finger. "Even now that you've practically made an honest man out of me?"

"Honest is not one of the words I usually associate with you, Spencer." Lassiter slid a hand along his jaw and kissed him, hard and deep. He pulled back and glanced at the ring again. "But I'm willing to work on that."