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rispacooper Jan. 20th, 2009 11:50 am)
rispacooper Jan. 20th, 2009 11:50 am)Author: Rispacooper
For: Psych
Summary: Seven (seven????) in the Slutty Boys ‘Verse. People asked for Shawn and Lassi’s first date. This is the best I could do. I call it emotional smut. Shawn is a closet romantic. Lassi is a closet freak.
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Some language and some naughty bits exposed. Lots of mushy thoughts.
Disclaimer: Not mine at all. Title from the song by the Divinyls.
Thanks, Kittie, the song choice really is sort of perfect. Heh.
“So that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up wrestling with an armed suspect in a batch of stir-fried squid?”
Vick’s voice is dry and business-like, but Shawn’s still pretty sure she’s holding back a laugh. Judging from the slight twitch that Shawn sees in Lassi’s lanky-yet-sexy frame out of the corner of his eye, Lassi must be pretty sure too.
Shawn almost shoots him a look, but since Lassiter isn’t speaking, the Chief is directing her curiosity at him.
“I still don’t understand how you happened to be at the same restaurant. Especially this one, I’ve never even heard of this place.” Jules scrunches up her nose to ask, and it’s a total coincidence that Shawn and Lassi turn their heads at the same time to stare at her. The same way it’s a coincidence that they both happened to be here, which, yeah, really isn’t a coincidence at all.
Lassi reacts first, being the action-over-words type, and ignores her to face the Chief again. He’s probably going to go with the whole coincidence thing anyway, when he does finally decide to speak again. He hasn’t said a word to anyone in the last ten minutes and he hasn’t said anything to Shawn since he’d shoved Shawn into a bathroom with one large hand half an hour ago and ordered him to “Stay back, Spencer, and try to stay quiet for once in your miserable life”.
He hadn’t really looked at Shawn either since then. Not once. He had plenty of looks for the first officers on scene, for the Chief, for Jules, even for the suspect, but Shawn hadn’t even caught a hint of a glimpse of a glance in his direction. And every time he does say something, he can see Lassiter tense up, which isn’t good, since Lassiter’s jaw was already clenched so hard he could have used it to crack walnuts.
Anyone watching would think that Lassiter didn’t like him. It was a little disheartening, considering the way the evening had started, with, you know, Lassi actually showing up.
“No,” Lassiter answers the Chief finally. The fact that it’s just the one word is probably not a good sign. Shawn is also pretty sure, despite Carlton’s never having been in the military, that Lassi is standing at attention, with his chin up. That can’t be good either. But it’s not his fault this time, really it isn’t.
This time he does dare a look over. It only takes a second to see that Lassi’s jaw is still tight and that his hands are in fists at his sides. Shawn moves in his direction even though he shouldn’t, and catches the Chief’s notice at the same time that Lassi stands so straight it’s like someone shoved a pole up his ass.
First rule once he figures out what is going on in Carlton’s head: nothing gets shoved up that tight-looking ass without Shawn’s say so. Though the first rule is a very distracting rule. Maybe it shouldn’t be first, more like the second, and the first can be all black suits for Carlton, all the time. Except for when he’s naked, which would be like an addendum thing to the first rule, though then the rules are getting complicated, when the ultimate point of them should just be that Shawn owns Lassiter until such time as he no longer wants Lassiter to play in his sandbox.
Which, yeah, seems like a strange thing to want even now after countless, horrifying conversations with Gus about this exact thing—conversations no less horrifying for Gus, judging from Gus’ constant and immature attempts to make himself throw up—and too-numerous-to-recall-now jerk off fantasies.
The Chief gives Shawn a longer, harder look and Shawn yanks his eyes off Carlton and sucks in a breath, the lies and the truth already intermingling at the forefront of his brain, years of evasion experience coming in handy just when he needs it.
“No, the squid wrestling happened after. Toward the end really. You should have seen it, Lassi almost had this guy pinned until he slipped on the pile of squid heads…” Oh no. Shawn can feel his mouth twitching upward, because Lassi had wrestled a guy in a big pile of squid and rice. He looks over again and coughs at the sight of about a hundred grease stains along the back of Lassi’s suit, and the bits of rice still clinging to his pants…the tentacle dangling from one ear. He looks up just in time to see Karen—the Chief—bite her lip as she stares at the very same tentacle.
Jules makes a noise. It might be a cough, if you were being generous, and also slightly deaf, and had never heard a stifled giggle before in your life.
Lassi breathes out, long and slow and loud. The restaurant workers are continuing to serve customers, but Shawn can hear the Chief clear her throat even over their noise. She has to do it twice before she can straighten out that hint of a smile. Lassi just breathes out again and curls his hands into tighter fists.
Neither of them really seems to appreciate the workers’ calm, considering that there had been two men in handcuffs in here just a few minutes ago, and that there were several cops taking up space near the entrance.
“Perhaps we need to take this from the top.”
“Exactly! I’m only too happy to,” Shawn jumps all over the chance to distract himself, and the Chief, from Lassi’s…situation, though the smell isn’t helping. He didn’t even get a chance to order any pineapple fried rice and Lassi smells like dinner. No matter how pissed Lassi gets, Shawn is still ordering something before he leaves. Though maybe he ought to tip very, very well.
“See, the suspect was working as a busboy at the restaurant, and my eye—Eye Number Three, that is of course—was drawn to all his negative energy and I went over to Lassi here…”
“When I arrived at the restaurant the busboy was at my table. When I sat down, I moved my jacket and my badge and gun were clearly visible. The busboy—the suspect—flinched and ran to the back.” Lassiter butts right into his speech, using a flat voice that Shawn had last heard in a Seventies cop movie, like any minute now Lassi was going to pull out a .44 and go Dirty Harry on the whole restaurant.
Chief Vick leans back instantly at his tone and crosses her arms, something that reads patience and disbelief at the same time. Though it shouldn’t, Lassi’s statement was probably true. Shawn hadn’t been there for the very beginning, and okay, yes, Lassi could blame him for the being late part. But it had only been a few minutes, and after all, Shawn clearly wasn’t the only one who had worried about what to wear tonight.
“I assumed he was probably an illegal, as many restaurant workers are, but I still found something in the suspect’s manner suspicious.”
Yes he had. He’d talked about it for two minutes straight after Shawn had arrived and sat down. People usually accused Shawn of talking too much. This time Shawn had arrived, only a minute late, possibly five, to find Lassiter already there, wearing a black suit jacket Shawn had never seen before, and fiddling with a glass of water—only the first and most obvious of the half a dozen tells that had radiated anxiety.
Which was stupid because he’d looked good. Nervous, but good. Anxious was a nice look on Lassi. Not nearly as good as turned on or pissed off Lassi, and no where near as amazing as Lassi had looked, just sitting there and fidgeting and waiting for Shawn, oblivious to Shawn pausing in the doorway to study him.
Lassi.
The name had just…shot through him when he’d seen Lassi sitting there, which is incredibly sappy and Gus’ soap operas must be rubbing off on him. It had most likely just been surprise making him feel so…stunned and out of breath… Not that Shawn hadn’t fully expected Lassi to show up; if he said he was going to do something then he did it. Carlton is a reliable type, just like Gus, always there when you need them to be. If you want someone there, which maybe Shawn had wanted all along even if he hadn’t known it, because he’s pretty sure that not seeing Lassi there might have sent him running as far from Santa Barbara as he could get.
Sure, Shawn gives outstanding head, but Carlton didn’t even like him most of the time. Sometimes he even thinks Carlton hates him, times like right now when he can’t even get a hint that Lassiter is anything but royally embarrassed and furious at being embarrassed. And he knows Carlton doesn’t trust him, at least not much, because when he had looked up and seen Shawn there his face had frozen in genuine surprise. Genuine, like the unfakeable kind, real, dilated pupils, flushed skin, soft mouth.
Surprise that had quickly turned into a scowl at his being late, and that had made his name jump out again, right in front of Shawn’s eyes, and he’d been smiling and dancing forward, because of a scowl.
Come to think of it, he kind of still wants to run. Somewhere very, very far away. But he’d have to get something to eat first, and say goodbye to Gus, and Jules, and then Lassi would be stuck here explaining this all to the Chief, and Lassi is a horrible liar, couldn’t keep anything off his face, not even surprise.
So Shawn has to stay, it’s just that simple.
Besides, Lassi had bought a new suit for this, a black one. Dark, just like Shawn had asked him to.
Lassiter looks good in black, his suit sleek and shiny, his tie rich enough with blues and purples that Gus could have picked it out. Shawn would almost feel underdressed for the first time in his life in his unbuttoned dress shirt and his white t-shirt, even though both of them are clean and wrinkle-free, and he knows he looks good in green and also he knows that Lassi disapproves of his clothes, and how it makes him scowl even more.
Carlton had been waiting for him, and maybe there had been that sick, falling feeling in his stomach but seeing Lassi had made it ease a little, enough for him to smile and clear his throat and get Lassiter’s blue eyes up to his face.
He’d stopped to watch Lassiter’s eyes travel quickly up and down over him. When he had finally swallowed Shawn had been able to smile again and plop down in his seat.
“I…Spencer…you…” Lassiter had started, standing up as though Shawn was a lady—which of course if he were female he so would be—then sitting down. “You’re actually here.” If possible, Lassiter had managed to put volumes of disapproval into his tone. Which would have totally sucked if it hadn’t obviously been a cover for how much he’d been sitting there and fretting in his Lassi way. Though the lack of trust was really getting annoying; Shawn had never done anything but help the Lass—well yes and have a bit of fun at the same time, but mostly helping. And standing someone up…that was just cruel.
So all he had said was “So are you, Lassipants,” and then enjoyed the wide-eyed alarm on Lassi’s face before Lassi had abruptly frowned and twisted around to look toward the kitchen.
“I…Did that guy seem weird to you?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Lassiter is going on to the Chief, and the shamefully poor quality to his lies brings Shawn right back into the moment. “But when Spencer…when I saw that Spencer had…when he was also at the restaurant, I asked Spencer if he could…”
Shawn perks up, waiting for Lassiter to admit that he had wanted him to do something psychic. Jules makes a little noise like she gets it too and when Shawn tries to direct a grin her way, actually catches Lassiter’s eyes blazing at him.
Shawn grins anyway out of reflex, his heart beating just a little faster.
“Do a little detecting?” The Chief finishes carefully and Shawn’s grin falls. Carlton, being Carlton, sighs a little and looks back at her before he gives a nod. The Chief’s smile gets bland. Really, it’s like the blandest tribute to blandness ever and all sorts of warnings go off in Shawn’s head, like six car alarms at once, like that moment of silence where he’s still halfway in/halfway out of his bedroom window, right before Henry’s hand lands on his shoulder. He forces his attention back to Vick just in time. “…It’s an incredible coincidence that the both of you happened to be at that restaurant at the same time to catch an international diamond smuggler.”
Her voice has gone dry again. Shawn holds her gaze and does his best not to visibly react. The fact that this should also keep her from noticing how pale Lassiter suddenly gets is just another coincidence. Not that the first one is really a coincidence either. Which she obviously suspects. But suspicion isn’t proof, and that’s what’s important. Henry could never prove anything either. Almost never. Okay, he’d proved it once in a while, but only when Shawn had been younger and careless.
He resurrects his grin and makes it even wider, then spreads his arms like he’s going to hug the world. Even the restaurant workers pause for a moment to stare at him.
“Almost like it was prearranged,” Vick muses softly, then taps her finger against her mouth. She is definitely suspicious. Lassi twitches again, but considering the way Shawn has everyone’s eyes on him, he doesn’t think they noticed.
“What can I say? I must have been drawn there.” Shawn throws in some jazz hands and uses the opportunity to glance over at Lassi again. Lies work best with some truth in them and big, loud distractions are the best kind of distractions. But when his voice rises, Lassiter looks at him again, and the blue eyes fixed on him are wide and scared, and not in the sexy, “you are not about to jump me in the closet, Spencer,” way.
Shawn has a sinking feeling he’s going to be dealing with a miffed Lassi later. Possibly even more than miffed. That excited feeling he’d had earlier just feels like panic now, and he spins away from Lassiter and gets even louder, loud enough to make the Chief put out a hand and give him the universal mom gesture for “quiet down”.
“Anyway, so I had to go to the little boy’s room while I was waiting on my food and I happened to catch a glimpse of the guy that Carlton would just not shut up about.”
Okay, that’s almost true, except he hadn’t actually had to pee. It was more like he’d had to do something that wasn’t running and wasn’t sitting still. Gus’ rules hadn’t said anything about making conversation, and even Shawn knew sex talk was out on a first date, unless it was naughty, naughty innuendo, and the busboy incident had seemed to be bothering Carlton, and all of Shawn’s attempts at leering insinuations had met with frowns or, worse, a red face.
Then of course, there had been the fact that Lassiter just kept staring at him and occasionally starting a sentence without actually finishing one. Faced with that level of awkward, the bathroom had seemed a good choice.
“So…” Had been the first one. Shawn had been tapping out Rihanna’s newest single on the table and eyeing the slight sheen to the white shirt Carlton had worn with his new suit. The shirt was new too, if Shawn wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t. It fit Carlton almost snugly, and really, where was Carlton getting his fashion advice? Anyone other than Jules and Shawn might have to say something about it.
He’d thought about saying something at the time, but Carlton had been alternating furious stares between the table, and his hands, and Shawn, and the waiter, and the back where the busboy had gone. And while Shawn had meant to be teasing, all the tension coming off Carlton had said that maybe teasing hadn’t been the way to go, and then there had been the fact that if Carlton hadn’t gotten dressed with Jules’ help, whose help had it been?
So he’d sat up gratefully at Lassi’s single word, and Carlton had leaned in.
“I had a case today…” Shop talk. Shawn had been trying to keep his expression from looking too eager when Lassiter had abruptly scowled. “No.” His cough had been forceful. “I’m not…it’s not...” Lassi had shut up after that, and after a moment of waiting with no result, Shawn had leaned back again. It really was a nice tie; he would have noticed if Lassi had worn it before. Well, he would have noticed any tie, but he would have taken time to study Lassiter in a tie like this one.
“Spencer….I….” Lassi had tried again a moment later, then knocked back his finger of scotch the second their waiter set it on the table and ordered another one. He’d twitched to find Shawn sitting there looking at him, though Shawn still wasn’t clear on where exactly he would have vanished to unless Lassi really thought he had superpowers, and then pushed the empty glass away.
“Spencer you…” Lassi had begun in a quiet voice, but glancing up and seeing Shawn’s careful smile had seemed to take all the gentle right out of him. He’d cleared his throat and pulled at his collar.
The slightly disheveled look on him…not distracting at all. Though it had taken Shawn a moment to focus on Lassiter’s new conversational attempt. Which had just been the first attempt, tried again. Lassi’s dating skills sucked, and if Shawn had been able to think of anything to say that wouldn’t have pissed Lassiter off, he might have remarked on that. But that had definitely been included in the piss-Lassi-off category. “That guy didn’t look familiar? I swear I’ve seen him before.”
“Lass, I didn’t see him,” Shawn had pointed out and reached out to touch the new suit that Lassi had probably just bought for this. A date suit. A date with Shawn Spencer suit. A suit that was making the whole no-sex-on-the-first-date thing seem like a very stupid idea no matter how many Gus lectures he’d had to sit through. Black and blue and white to go with Lassiter’s black hair and blue eyes and white skin and it was almost like he’d wrapped himself up like a big JCPennys bon bon for Shawn to unwrap.
That was the purpose of a date. He could hear Gus’ voice even now, even with Gus safely at home and waiting with his cell in his lap, half-worried, half-grossed out about Shawn dating Lassiter at all. You study your present, shake it around a bit, try to see past all the fancy wrapping to figure out what you’ll be getting later if you’re very good.
Which doesn’t really work when you’ve already seen some of the present you’ll be getting later and all you’re thinking about is removing the wrapping. Also, Shawn always knows what’s getting, and he wants this, and he wants it now.
Though even with Shawn’s hand on his sleeve, Lassiter hadn’t seemed to notice any of the long, heated come-fuck-me stares. He never had, really. If his wife had been this obvious and Lassiter had still stayed this focused on his cases, it was no wonder how that had ended.
Of course, she probably just hadn’t been obvious enough. If Lassiter hadn’t been a cop, and if Shawn hadn’t really, really loved the rice here, he would have tried a lap dance to get his point across. Lassi seemed to like those. They could always talk cases later. Once he had Lassi’s attention.
“Maybe on a wanted notice…” Lassi had gone on, looking down once at Shawn’s hand on his arm and then quickly pulling back his arm. When his eyes had come up, Shawn had made sure to pout at him. Lassi’s momentary stillness had totally been worth it. “Probably ought to…” There had been a small, quiet minute, and then when Shawn had given Lassi a stare that could have melted iron bars, Carlton had blinked. And turned an especially brilliant shade of pink. Brighter than salmon. Almost a rose.
“I was…I shouldn’t…That is…Victoria always said… This is a da...” He’d shut up just as abruptly as before and scowled down at his hands before grunting. “You watch the news last night? I mean…you watch…um…Friends?”
Shawn couldn’t help laughing, especially when it had made Carlton scowl.
“Lass, Friends ended like over a year ago. Two years ago. Maybe even three.”
“HowthehellwouldIknowthat?” The mumbling had been low and quiet and just when Shawn had finally deciphered it, Lassiter had snapped at him. “What the hell do you want to talk about then, Spencer?”
“Mr. Spencer?” The Chief’s voice sounds exactly like Mrs. Fester’s—Mrs. Lester’s—in the fifth grade when she’d asked him a question knowing that Shawn hadn’t been listening.
Shawn snaps out of his daydreaming—which really is careless of him even if he knows how to get away with it—and lifts his eyebrows just enough to indicate that of course he’s been listening. He doesn’t look over at the reason for his carelessness, especially since Lassi is busy not looking at Shawn again.
“So you caught a glimpse of him and just…knew…he was a diamond smuggler?” Even having worked with him, the Chief sounds dubious of Shawn’s claim. Which wasn’t bad, since it was a lie after all; it had been more than a glimpse. It had been two glimpses.
“No, he wasn’t the diamond smuggler, Chief. The busboy was his accomplice. The smuggler was working as a chef.” Lassiter steps forward just when Shawn is about to, and Shawn shoots him a look but Lassiter is speaking and staring right at Vick. Which means Vick has to look back at Lassiface, and that’s interesting, in a gallant but unnecessary rescue kind of way, unless Lassi is just doing it to make sure Shawn doesn’t embarrass him anymore. Then it’s considerably less gallant and more irritating. And anyway if Lassi is Gallant, that makes Shawn Goofus, and that is just ridiculous…well that is just…insulting…and bad…and a misrepresentation of Highlights magazine.
On the other hand, possibly the only thing more entertaining than frustrated Lassiter is Lassiter trying to be calm when he’s still really frustrated. Except of course that he’s frustrated at Shawn most likely, and if he’s planning on throwing Shawn against any walls, he really ought to do it soon, because even greasy and covered in squid, that suit is doing things to Shawn’s brain. And that he’d always secretly wanted Goofus to mess Gallant up a little.
The accomplice had expensive shoes on for a busboy and had stepped into the alley in the back to talk on a Blackberry. Really, the fact that he’d been more than a busboy had been so obvious even Lassipants had noticed. Probably noticed the shoes on some level, and it had probably been what had been nagging at him the whole time he’d been supposed to be on a date with Shawn.
Luckily, Shawn didn’t mind cop talk, at least not much, especially not when there was a chance he’d have something to solve and wow Lassi with. And there was always the fun of distracting Lassi when the man was trying to be serious.
Of course, when he’d told Lassi that—just the first part because he really isn’t Goofus—he’d gotten a look, that look, like Lassi didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to argue now. Then Lassi had argued with him anyway, leaning in to point a finger at him and grunt. “You’re probably just sniffing around for more cases for you and Guster.”
Shawn’s carefully constructed look of shock and outrage had made Lassi snort, and really focus on him for the first time since Shawn had sat down. Shawn had made a mental note; when lap dances and blow jobs were not an option, talking about a case and pissing Lassi off was still an effective means of getting his attention no matter how much Gus says that annoying someone is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do on a date.
Though Lassiter must have learned the same rules of dating that Gus had; his interpretation of two people who like each other eating dinner and not discussing cases or fighting with each other was just…incredibly strict…and totally unrealistic…and unfair…and completely impossible for someone like…Carlton…to follow.
“Nonetheless, Spencer, according to you, this is…” The fever pitch in Lassi’s voice had dropped a bit to finish, his face staying pink, “…a date.”
“According to that suit, this is a date…” Shawn had tossed back, smiling, because nobody did frustrated, pinched off glares like Lassi. He clearly had not been expecting that answer. But really, like Shawn was going to argue when it had taken him a week to get up the nerve to get Lassiter to ask him out. When Shawn had just blinked back in response, Lassi had made a face like someone had been twisting his underwear from behind. Then he’d looked down again and his scowl had actually faded away for the half a second it took for Lassi to remember that he was Lassi. “You couldn’t have worn a suit?”
Roughly translated, that probably meant Lassi thought he looked nice, and wasn’t pleased about admitting it.
“Aw, Carlton, you look good too. That suit new? Even the cut’s not bad. And the black…with your coloring…Kind of a winter, aren’t you? Well it’s good, not that I mind all the blue all the time, but this…is approaching smoking hot.”
Shawn really doesn’t know what he’s done to get the look distrustful looks from Lassiter so often. Honestly, the storage closet incident had been for the man’s own good; he’d been far too tense that day.
Lassiter had just given him the same fierce frown he had aimed back at Shawn after pushing his way out of the closet. “Spencer, I swear to God, if you are messing with me…”
“And that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up in a brawl in a pile of rice and squid?” The Chief is getting impatient, and her sharp glare says she knows Shawn’s holding something back. Of course, she could aim that at everyone just on the off chance that she’s right. Henry had been a master at that one.
“Well no,” Shawn jumps back in when Lassiter opens his mouth, “that’s when Lassi…”
“That’s when Spencer here decided he had to use the restroom.” Lassi flings out a hand to silence him and it’s so surprising that Shawn actually does shut up for a second. Though it could be from the commanding stare that Lassiter turns to give him, the “I’m the Head Detective and I’m in charge here, Spencer” look.
Shawn lets out a loud sigh and leans toward Lass at that, audience or not. Lassiter actually blinks back at him, obviously confused, before he quickly turns back to the Chief. He tugs at his collar a moment later.
Lassiter had picked out that suit himself, it turned out, though he had admitted—under the pressure of Shawn’s hand creeping up his leg under the table—to asking Jules if he ought to try a darker color. Then he had swatted Shawn’s hand away.
“What the hell kind of dates do you usually go on anyway, Spencer?” he’d finally demanded, tugging at his collar and then pulling loose the knot of his tie with one slender finger, the exact way he had torn away the tie Hornstock had been wearing.
Shawn goes still the way he had then, lets his hands fall down. Nobody is looking at him at the moment anyway, they are watching Lassiter try to bullshit his way to the part where he finally arrests both suspects. He’s going to have to skip over a lot. Like shoving Shawn into that bathroom and leaning closer to whisper into his ear, or how Shawn had done something, not necessarily stupid, but maybe not his brightest move, by bringing up something again that he knew he shouldn’t have talked about.
“I think the question is what kind of dates have you been going on, Lassi?” He had tried smirking but then Lassi’s eyes had fixed on him and one look at the scorching blue and Shawn had suddenly known with greater than ninety percent certainty that their first date was about to also be their first fight. Because he hadn’t really smirked much at all, and his voice had done this weird trembling thing that gave entirely too much away, because he knew exactly what kind of dates Lassi had been going on, and after blurting it out at that strip club, Lassi knew that he knew.
Mentioning exes on a first date…even Shawn knew that was a bad idea. Even Lassiter probably knew it was a bad idea, and he had horrible luck with dates. Except for with H-stock, where things had progressed to hot, dirty monkey-lovin’ a whole lot faster than they had for Lassiter and Shawn, which might have been why he’d asked, not that Shawn was going to examine the cold, unsettled feeling in his stomach that came up every time he even thought about Hornstock.
H-stock was his friend, and a decent attorney. He even had good hair now. There’s absolutely no reason for Shawn to wish that he’d fall down one of those open drain things and spend his life trapped in the sewers and become King of the Alligators.
Though he had pulled out his phone under the table to ask Gus what those things were called.
“What the crap does that mean?” Lassiter had managed to keep his voice down, but he’d grabbed Shawn’s arm without a single guilty glance around the room to see who had been watching. It had been Shawn’s turn to pull his hand away and then wave it around airily.
The feeling in his stomach? Totally just hunger. And he’d been so hungry that when Gus had texted back “manholes” he hadn’t even laughed once.
“I just meant it didn’t seem to take long for you and H-stock to find what you had in common,” Shawn had answered as lightly as he could, and then recalled in HD quality imagery Lassiter fucking Hornstock in that office.
He had been the one who should have been close to puking considering how tight his gut had felt. But Lassi had been the one to flinch.
“That’s low even for you, Spencer,” he’d bit out finally, his voice low and rough, close enough to his sex voice for Shawn to shiver, close enough to “That’s right, Spencer, beg me,” that Shawn still goes all weak and then close to hard just thinking about it.
The obvious answer had never even once occurred to him, and once it had, he really should have been afraid, that was just a little on the obsessive side and Lassi already had some tendencies toward stalker. But even right now with the Chief glaring at them and Jules all adorably confused, he is seriously thinking about begging just to let Lassi know it was okay.
Creepy, yes, but he’d sent a stripper over to see the same scene played out again, so… so…what? This was exactly the sort of realization that required Gus’ input. But the only way he’d had to ask Gus had been to answer all the buzzing texts Gus had been leaving on his phone that said things like “wth shawn?” and “so?” and “y r u talking about manholes?” and then “never mind. don’t tell me.”
“I have to use the little boys room,” Shawn had announced, jumping to his feet and heading straight to the back before his brain could do more than register the way Carlton’s shoulders had slumped and his face had gone blank.
It was the same look on his face now, devoid of all possible emotion as he answers the Chief, lying outright now, or maybe not, saying he had been relieved to see Spencer go.
Except he hadn’t been, or his cop instincts had kicked in
Lassiter had reached out to grab him.
“Don’t, Spencer.” The hand on his wrist had stopped him more than Lassi’s tone, though the quiet timbre in Lassi’s voice was definitely chill-inducing, a naughty sort of way. Except that Shawn’s heart had already been beating too fast, and Lassiter had looked serious and he had let go the moment Shawn had swung back to face and flashed a grin.
“Don’t what?” Batting his eyelashes, a move Shawn had never really understood anyway, hadn’t seemed to work on Lassiter.
He glanced around, but then leaned forward and really, with the black suit, it had been all Shawn could do not to stare into deep, bright eyes. Not that he had tried very hard.
“You’re about to lea…” Carlton had cut himself off and turned back to the table, taking another drink of scotch. When he had turned back his eyes had been very, very blue and Shawn had been considering sitting back down and even apologizing, which, totally weird, when his phone had buzzed in his pocket again.
“And that must be Guster. Some emergency going to call you away?” Lassiter had remarked sharply and ignored Shawn’s frown. Lassiter could not be expecting Shawn to run, just because Shawn always ran, just because he’d been wanting to since the moment he’d first realized that he’d wanted to play Good Cop, Bad Cop with Lassi, just because he had sat outside the restaurant on his motorcycle and thought about going to visit his mom instead of coming inside. A drive across country would be nice this time of year.
But he had come inside, and he’d followed Lassi around, and the Psych office was still there, and even Lassiter should see something that obvious.
“What? Psh. No. Of course not, I…” Admitting that he had needed Gus to know what to do was still out of the question. “Are you trying fierce interrogation techniques on me, Lass? Cuz that’s sexy, but we can play that game later.” He had leaned back down, letting his lips graze Lassiter’s ear, forcing Lassi to look at him and holding his gaze and then had spoken as seriously as he could. “But right now I have to make tinkle.”
Lassiter had blinked once at his whispered, only-partly-true confession, going still, and Shawn had ducked away before Lassi could say anything, like maybe point out that he was still lying, even if it was for the cause.
Then he’d rushed toward the bathroom. Which is next to the kitchen, and the alleyway out back.
Honestly, Scout’s Honor, cross his heart, he’d had no idea what he’d been running into.
“And when I got to the bathroom, I just got this flash…sparkles! Shine! Bling! Bling-bling like nobody even says anymore, except possibly middle-aged cops like Lassi here.”
In the kitchen, which he hadn’t been able to resist peeking into, there had been three chefs, but only one of them looking over his shoulder every few seconds, and hinky hadn’t even begun to describe the guy.
Lassi’s gut feeling about their busboy hadn’t been all nerves. Shawn had shoved his phone back in his pocket and forgotten all about the restroom.
Playing lost customer and getting close had let him see that that guy had had a Blackberry, the new model, the not-even-on-the-market-yet model, though he’d been wearing the kind of cheap sports shoes that were more practical for being on his feet in a dirty kitchen all day, as Shawn had learned about during his one week as a fry cook
He had also had tattoos in what looked like Klingon—revealed to be Dutch after Shawn had snapped a picture and sent it to Gus—and a face Shawn had seen on cable news a few months back, and on several notices at the station since then. The kind of face Interpol was looking for. The Feds. Not the kind of face someone expects to see at a known-only-to-the-locals Thai restaurant. He hadn’t even known international diamond smugglers could cook.
No wonder Lassi hadn’t instantly placed them as smuggler and smuggler’s accomplice.
So he’d text-discussed it with Gus and they had mutually agreed that he ought to hide in the bathroom and call Lassiter.
“So after some discussion, Lassifer Lopez and I decided that the situation was worth looking into.” He’s not sure if it’s the new nickname or the outright lie that makes Lassi look at him again. “What? Stretching a little? You’re right, Lass, I feel like that one might be stretching.”
“If you could please get to the point, Mister Spencer, I have to get home by nine.”
“Right, well, Lassi had picked up in the middle of his “Paint It Black” ringback—he must really be into sitars or something—and we consulted on the best course of action.”
“Spencer.” Lassi had not sounded surprised at his call, just tired, sad. Which, since he was Lassiter, meant he had sounded ticked. “Cat on fire? Your grandmother up a tree?”
“Actually, my grandmother wouldn’t call me if she was stuck up a tree, something about how irresponsible I am…and no, I’m calling because I just got some total vibes telling me that you might be right about that busboy being up to no good.”
“What?” Sometimes Lassi was a little slow. To be fair though, that’s exactly what the Chief says, when Shawn relays that part of the conversation to her.
“I think there are some very bad men working in this restaurant. This is not good, and not just because they are going to be arrested and then there won’t be anyone to make my dinner and all I had for lunch was leftover noodles and a stale fortune cookie.”
For one moment, Lassiter had just breathed out.
“How bad?” Lassiter had wondered after that pause, and with his whole psychic explanation ready, it had still taken Shawn a second to realize that Lassiter hadn’t asked for an explanation of anything.
“Not good. I’m not sure if they were moldy or if that was just tofu,” he’d said anyway, for the sake of his reputation and then went on over the sound of Lassiter grinding his teeth.
Closing his eyes, Shawn can recite the Interpol notice word for word. But to Lassi, and to the Chief and Jules, he just says something about stolen property, smuggling, and the bright red hands of dirty, dirty murderers.
“Goddamn it, Spencer!” Lassi had exploded immediately, as hopped up and excited as he always got over a potential arrest. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?” Lassiter had demanded and then growled again before Shawn could have managed an answer anyway. Really, Lassiter’s growl had been almost sweet. “Well don’t. Where are you?”
“So Spencer hid in the bathroom and I called O’Hara before proceeding to the kitchen.” Lassiter interrupts Shawn’s pleasant trip down memory lane, still completely in professional cop mode.
Hid. Shawn snorts so the Chief and Jules will know that that part is a lie. He would never hide while Lassi and Jules took out the bad guys. Well, hardly ever.
Sure, yes, Lassi had ordered him to stay put, breathing hard and obviously tense—his “this could be dangerous, you idiot, just…stay where you are,” before hanging up had not left a lot of wriggle room—and so Shawn had stayed where he was. For about a minute. And then when it had still been quiet and Lassi hadn’t shown up or called him back, Shawn had opened the door and poked his head out.
The very second he had Lassi’s hand had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt and shoved him right back in.
Carlton had had his gun in his other hand too, ready for action, and he was doing that whole fierce-clenching teeth thing with his eyes narrowed that was just so…hot. Though really, gun…on a date…unless he’d just come over from the station, that was a little weird.
On the other hand, he’d been going on a date with Shawn, fake psychic extraordinaire, and the gun had turned out to be useful, and again, hot, so maybe it was alright after all. More than alright. Maybe Lassi was turning psychic too.
Putting his hand on Lassi’s waist…and then his ass…that had been reflex. How had he been supposed to know that Lassi would give a little girly shriek of surprise and then the busboy would turn the corner and see a cop with a gun and freak out and start yelling and then everyone in the kitchen would start to run for it?
Then Shawn had had to run for cover and also pull out his phone to make sure Jules brought some more cops with her, and also keep an eye on the two guys in the kitchen who weren’t worried about their immigration status because there’s no way Lassi could track two of them without backup.
Tripping the running busboy so he fell into the bathroom and then leaning—okay, crouching to protect himself from any potential gunfire—against the door to keep him there, that had been one thing, watching bowls of partially-cooked food go flying and then seeing the diamond smuggler and Lassi both land on their asses on the floor and scramble for Lassi’s now-greasy gun…priceless.
Tense, but also priceless, from what he had seen in between ducking and pressing against the bathroom door and trying to silence his cell phone when Gus had giving up on texting and called him to find out what was going on with his date and the slightly embarrassing sounds of the ringtone had had chosen the week before to embarrass Gus had drawn everyone’s eyes to him. Then the other guy, the real smuggler, had used Lassiter’s hesitation to reach for the gun and Lassi had grabbed a metal bowl and clocked him with it and then sort of skidded to a stop on his stomach. Like he’d been on a Slip-N-Slide. A Slip-N-Slide made of squid parts.
First Highlights magazine and now this. One more childhood memory hopelessly corrupted.
“So Mr. Spencer informed you that he suspected the man, and when you went into the back, they were somehow alerted to that fact that you were police…” The Chief sums it all up with a doubtful little lift to one eyebrow.
“Somehow.” There it is again, that low, threatening quality in Lassiter’s voice. Shawn peeps over and tries a grin. The glare isn’t really what he wanted to see, but at least Lassiter is looking at him. Just like with the Dollhouse case, somehow Lassi is going to blame that fight on him, when Lassiter was the one always jumping in to wrestle guys to the ground.
Really, he’s starting to think Lassi has been gayer than Seacrest this whole time.
“And squid wrestling and general chaos ensued…I see.”
“To be fair, it wasn’t really squid wrestling. I mean, he wrestled in the squid, not with it.” Which, as an image, is possibly the grossest ever. And it makes him think of that horse thing in Star Wars that Han had cut open and shoved Luke into. Gus will know what it’s called. “I have the video on my phone, if that helps.”
“Be quiet, Spencer!” Lassiter gives up on professional to snarl at him right as Jules hops forward to see it. She jumps back at his tone and Vick’s other eyebrow goes up. Lassiter clears his throat and seems set to ignore the fact that he totally fails at sounding reasonable. He looks away from Shawn right as Shawn is about to explain that he’d just been helping gather evidence by recording the scuffle and emailing it to Gus with the subject header “Youtube?”. One hint of that glare and Shawn lets his jaw snap shut. “That’s when I apprehended the suspect, yes.”
And oh yes, of course there's a Part Two. Like I can do anything in less than a million words.
For: Psych
Summary: Seven (seven????) in the Slutty Boys ‘Verse. People asked for Shawn and Lassi’s first date. This is the best I could do. I call it emotional smut. Shawn is a closet romantic. Lassi is a closet freak.
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Some language and some naughty bits exposed. Lots of mushy thoughts.
Disclaimer: Not mine at all. Title from the song by the Divinyls.
Thanks, Kittie, the song choice really is sort of perfect. Heh.
“So that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up wrestling with an armed suspect in a batch of stir-fried squid?”
Vick’s voice is dry and business-like, but Shawn’s still pretty sure she’s holding back a laugh. Judging from the slight twitch that Shawn sees in Lassi’s lanky-yet-sexy frame out of the corner of his eye, Lassi must be pretty sure too.
Shawn almost shoots him a look, but since Lassiter isn’t speaking, the Chief is directing her curiosity at him.
“I still don’t understand how you happened to be at the same restaurant. Especially this one, I’ve never even heard of this place.” Jules scrunches up her nose to ask, and it’s a total coincidence that Shawn and Lassi turn their heads at the same time to stare at her. The same way it’s a coincidence that they both happened to be here, which, yeah, really isn’t a coincidence at all.
Lassi reacts first, being the action-over-words type, and ignores her to face the Chief again. He’s probably going to go with the whole coincidence thing anyway, when he does finally decide to speak again. He hasn’t said a word to anyone in the last ten minutes and he hasn’t said anything to Shawn since he’d shoved Shawn into a bathroom with one large hand half an hour ago and ordered him to “Stay back, Spencer, and try to stay quiet for once in your miserable life”.
He hadn’t really looked at Shawn either since then. Not once. He had plenty of looks for the first officers on scene, for the Chief, for Jules, even for the suspect, but Shawn hadn’t even caught a hint of a glimpse of a glance in his direction. And every time he does say something, he can see Lassiter tense up, which isn’t good, since Lassiter’s jaw was already clenched so hard he could have used it to crack walnuts.
Anyone watching would think that Lassiter didn’t like him. It was a little disheartening, considering the way the evening had started, with, you know, Lassi actually showing up.
“No,” Lassiter answers the Chief finally. The fact that it’s just the one word is probably not a good sign. Shawn is also pretty sure, despite Carlton’s never having been in the military, that Lassi is standing at attention, with his chin up. That can’t be good either. But it’s not his fault this time, really it isn’t.
This time he does dare a look over. It only takes a second to see that Lassi’s jaw is still tight and that his hands are in fists at his sides. Shawn moves in his direction even though he shouldn’t, and catches the Chief’s notice at the same time that Lassi stands so straight it’s like someone shoved a pole up his ass.
First rule once he figures out what is going on in Carlton’s head: nothing gets shoved up that tight-looking ass without Shawn’s say so. Though the first rule is a very distracting rule. Maybe it shouldn’t be first, more like the second, and the first can be all black suits for Carlton, all the time. Except for when he’s naked, which would be like an addendum thing to the first rule, though then the rules are getting complicated, when the ultimate point of them should just be that Shawn owns Lassiter until such time as he no longer wants Lassiter to play in his sandbox.
Which, yeah, seems like a strange thing to want even now after countless, horrifying conversations with Gus about this exact thing—conversations no less horrifying for Gus, judging from Gus’ constant and immature attempts to make himself throw up—and too-numerous-to-recall-now jerk off fantasies.
The Chief gives Shawn a longer, harder look and Shawn yanks his eyes off Carlton and sucks in a breath, the lies and the truth already intermingling at the forefront of his brain, years of evasion experience coming in handy just when he needs it.
“No, the squid wrestling happened after. Toward the end really. You should have seen it, Lassi almost had this guy pinned until he slipped on the pile of squid heads…” Oh no. Shawn can feel his mouth twitching upward, because Lassi had wrestled a guy in a big pile of squid and rice. He looks over again and coughs at the sight of about a hundred grease stains along the back of Lassi’s suit, and the bits of rice still clinging to his pants…the tentacle dangling from one ear. He looks up just in time to see Karen—the Chief—bite her lip as she stares at the very same tentacle.
Jules makes a noise. It might be a cough, if you were being generous, and also slightly deaf, and had never heard a stifled giggle before in your life.
Lassi breathes out, long and slow and loud. The restaurant workers are continuing to serve customers, but Shawn can hear the Chief clear her throat even over their noise. She has to do it twice before she can straighten out that hint of a smile. Lassi just breathes out again and curls his hands into tighter fists.
Neither of them really seems to appreciate the workers’ calm, considering that there had been two men in handcuffs in here just a few minutes ago, and that there were several cops taking up space near the entrance.
“Perhaps we need to take this from the top.”
“Exactly! I’m only too happy to,” Shawn jumps all over the chance to distract himself, and the Chief, from Lassi’s…situation, though the smell isn’t helping. He didn’t even get a chance to order any pineapple fried rice and Lassi smells like dinner. No matter how pissed Lassi gets, Shawn is still ordering something before he leaves. Though maybe he ought to tip very, very well.
“See, the suspect was working as a busboy at the restaurant, and my eye—Eye Number Three, that is of course—was drawn to all his negative energy and I went over to Lassi here…”
“When I arrived at the restaurant the busboy was at my table. When I sat down, I moved my jacket and my badge and gun were clearly visible. The busboy—the suspect—flinched and ran to the back.” Lassiter butts right into his speech, using a flat voice that Shawn had last heard in a Seventies cop movie, like any minute now Lassi was going to pull out a .44 and go Dirty Harry on the whole restaurant.
Chief Vick leans back instantly at his tone and crosses her arms, something that reads patience and disbelief at the same time. Though it shouldn’t, Lassi’s statement was probably true. Shawn hadn’t been there for the very beginning, and okay, yes, Lassi could blame him for the being late part. But it had only been a few minutes, and after all, Shawn clearly wasn’t the only one who had worried about what to wear tonight.
“I assumed he was probably an illegal, as many restaurant workers are, but I still found something in the suspect’s manner suspicious.”
Yes he had. He’d talked about it for two minutes straight after Shawn had arrived and sat down. People usually accused Shawn of talking too much. This time Shawn had arrived, only a minute late, possibly five, to find Lassiter already there, wearing a black suit jacket Shawn had never seen before, and fiddling with a glass of water—only the first and most obvious of the half a dozen tells that had radiated anxiety.
Which was stupid because he’d looked good. Nervous, but good. Anxious was a nice look on Lassi. Not nearly as good as turned on or pissed off Lassi, and no where near as amazing as Lassi had looked, just sitting there and fidgeting and waiting for Shawn, oblivious to Shawn pausing in the doorway to study him.
Lassi.
The name had just…shot through him when he’d seen Lassi sitting there, which is incredibly sappy and Gus’ soap operas must be rubbing off on him. It had most likely just been surprise making him feel so…stunned and out of breath… Not that Shawn hadn’t fully expected Lassi to show up; if he said he was going to do something then he did it. Carlton is a reliable type, just like Gus, always there when you need them to be. If you want someone there, which maybe Shawn had wanted all along even if he hadn’t known it, because he’s pretty sure that not seeing Lassi there might have sent him running as far from Santa Barbara as he could get.
Sure, Shawn gives outstanding head, but Carlton didn’t even like him most of the time. Sometimes he even thinks Carlton hates him, times like right now when he can’t even get a hint that Lassiter is anything but royally embarrassed and furious at being embarrassed. And he knows Carlton doesn’t trust him, at least not much, because when he had looked up and seen Shawn there his face had frozen in genuine surprise. Genuine, like the unfakeable kind, real, dilated pupils, flushed skin, soft mouth.
Surprise that had quickly turned into a scowl at his being late, and that had made his name jump out again, right in front of Shawn’s eyes, and he’d been smiling and dancing forward, because of a scowl.
Come to think of it, he kind of still wants to run. Somewhere very, very far away. But he’d have to get something to eat first, and say goodbye to Gus, and Jules, and then Lassi would be stuck here explaining this all to the Chief, and Lassi is a horrible liar, couldn’t keep anything off his face, not even surprise.
So Shawn has to stay, it’s just that simple.
Besides, Lassi had bought a new suit for this, a black one. Dark, just like Shawn had asked him to.
Lassiter looks good in black, his suit sleek and shiny, his tie rich enough with blues and purples that Gus could have picked it out. Shawn would almost feel underdressed for the first time in his life in his unbuttoned dress shirt and his white t-shirt, even though both of them are clean and wrinkle-free, and he knows he looks good in green and also he knows that Lassi disapproves of his clothes, and how it makes him scowl even more.
Carlton had been waiting for him, and maybe there had been that sick, falling feeling in his stomach but seeing Lassi had made it ease a little, enough for him to smile and clear his throat and get Lassiter’s blue eyes up to his face.
He’d stopped to watch Lassiter’s eyes travel quickly up and down over him. When he had finally swallowed Shawn had been able to smile again and plop down in his seat.
“I…Spencer…you…” Lassiter had started, standing up as though Shawn was a lady—which of course if he were female he so would be—then sitting down. “You’re actually here.” If possible, Lassiter had managed to put volumes of disapproval into his tone. Which would have totally sucked if it hadn’t obviously been a cover for how much he’d been sitting there and fretting in his Lassi way. Though the lack of trust was really getting annoying; Shawn had never done anything but help the Lass—well yes and have a bit of fun at the same time, but mostly helping. And standing someone up…that was just cruel.
So all he had said was “So are you, Lassipants,” and then enjoyed the wide-eyed alarm on Lassi’s face before Lassi had abruptly frowned and twisted around to look toward the kitchen.
“I…Did that guy seem weird to you?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Lassiter is going on to the Chief, and the shamefully poor quality to his lies brings Shawn right back into the moment. “But when Spencer…when I saw that Spencer had…when he was also at the restaurant, I asked Spencer if he could…”
Shawn perks up, waiting for Lassiter to admit that he had wanted him to do something psychic. Jules makes a little noise like she gets it too and when Shawn tries to direct a grin her way, actually catches Lassiter’s eyes blazing at him.
Shawn grins anyway out of reflex, his heart beating just a little faster.
“Do a little detecting?” The Chief finishes carefully and Shawn’s grin falls. Carlton, being Carlton, sighs a little and looks back at her before he gives a nod. The Chief’s smile gets bland. Really, it’s like the blandest tribute to blandness ever and all sorts of warnings go off in Shawn’s head, like six car alarms at once, like that moment of silence where he’s still halfway in/halfway out of his bedroom window, right before Henry’s hand lands on his shoulder. He forces his attention back to Vick just in time. “…It’s an incredible coincidence that the both of you happened to be at that restaurant at the same time to catch an international diamond smuggler.”
Her voice has gone dry again. Shawn holds her gaze and does his best not to visibly react. The fact that this should also keep her from noticing how pale Lassiter suddenly gets is just another coincidence. Not that the first one is really a coincidence either. Which she obviously suspects. But suspicion isn’t proof, and that’s what’s important. Henry could never prove anything either. Almost never. Okay, he’d proved it once in a while, but only when Shawn had been younger and careless.
He resurrects his grin and makes it even wider, then spreads his arms like he’s going to hug the world. Even the restaurant workers pause for a moment to stare at him.
“Almost like it was prearranged,” Vick muses softly, then taps her finger against her mouth. She is definitely suspicious. Lassi twitches again, but considering the way Shawn has everyone’s eyes on him, he doesn’t think they noticed.
“What can I say? I must have been drawn there.” Shawn throws in some jazz hands and uses the opportunity to glance over at Lassi again. Lies work best with some truth in them and big, loud distractions are the best kind of distractions. But when his voice rises, Lassiter looks at him again, and the blue eyes fixed on him are wide and scared, and not in the sexy, “you are not about to jump me in the closet, Spencer,” way.
Shawn has a sinking feeling he’s going to be dealing with a miffed Lassi later. Possibly even more than miffed. That excited feeling he’d had earlier just feels like panic now, and he spins away from Lassiter and gets even louder, loud enough to make the Chief put out a hand and give him the universal mom gesture for “quiet down”.
“Anyway, so I had to go to the little boy’s room while I was waiting on my food and I happened to catch a glimpse of the guy that Carlton would just not shut up about.”
Okay, that’s almost true, except he hadn’t actually had to pee. It was more like he’d had to do something that wasn’t running and wasn’t sitting still. Gus’ rules hadn’t said anything about making conversation, and even Shawn knew sex talk was out on a first date, unless it was naughty, naughty innuendo, and the busboy incident had seemed to be bothering Carlton, and all of Shawn’s attempts at leering insinuations had met with frowns or, worse, a red face.
Then of course, there had been the fact that Lassiter just kept staring at him and occasionally starting a sentence without actually finishing one. Faced with that level of awkward, the bathroom had seemed a good choice.
“So…” Had been the first one. Shawn had been tapping out Rihanna’s newest single on the table and eyeing the slight sheen to the white shirt Carlton had worn with his new suit. The shirt was new too, if Shawn wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t. It fit Carlton almost snugly, and really, where was Carlton getting his fashion advice? Anyone other than Jules and Shawn might have to say something about it.
He’d thought about saying something at the time, but Carlton had been alternating furious stares between the table, and his hands, and Shawn, and the waiter, and the back where the busboy had gone. And while Shawn had meant to be teasing, all the tension coming off Carlton had said that maybe teasing hadn’t been the way to go, and then there had been the fact that if Carlton hadn’t gotten dressed with Jules’ help, whose help had it been?
So he’d sat up gratefully at Lassi’s single word, and Carlton had leaned in.
“I had a case today…” Shop talk. Shawn had been trying to keep his expression from looking too eager when Lassiter had abruptly scowled. “No.” His cough had been forceful. “I’m not…it’s not...” Lassi had shut up after that, and after a moment of waiting with no result, Shawn had leaned back again. It really was a nice tie; he would have noticed if Lassi had worn it before. Well, he would have noticed any tie, but he would have taken time to study Lassiter in a tie like this one.
“Spencer….I….” Lassi had tried again a moment later, then knocked back his finger of scotch the second their waiter set it on the table and ordered another one. He’d twitched to find Shawn sitting there looking at him, though Shawn still wasn’t clear on where exactly he would have vanished to unless Lassi really thought he had superpowers, and then pushed the empty glass away.
“Spencer you…” Lassi had begun in a quiet voice, but glancing up and seeing Shawn’s careful smile had seemed to take all the gentle right out of him. He’d cleared his throat and pulled at his collar.
The slightly disheveled look on him…not distracting at all. Though it had taken Shawn a moment to focus on Lassiter’s new conversational attempt. Which had just been the first attempt, tried again. Lassi’s dating skills sucked, and if Shawn had been able to think of anything to say that wouldn’t have pissed Lassiter off, he might have remarked on that. But that had definitely been included in the piss-Lassi-off category. “That guy didn’t look familiar? I swear I’ve seen him before.”
“Lass, I didn’t see him,” Shawn had pointed out and reached out to touch the new suit that Lassi had probably just bought for this. A date suit. A date with Shawn Spencer suit. A suit that was making the whole no-sex-on-the-first-date thing seem like a very stupid idea no matter how many Gus lectures he’d had to sit through. Black and blue and white to go with Lassiter’s black hair and blue eyes and white skin and it was almost like he’d wrapped himself up like a big JCPennys bon bon for Shawn to unwrap.
That was the purpose of a date. He could hear Gus’ voice even now, even with Gus safely at home and waiting with his cell in his lap, half-worried, half-grossed out about Shawn dating Lassiter at all. You study your present, shake it around a bit, try to see past all the fancy wrapping to figure out what you’ll be getting later if you’re very good.
Which doesn’t really work when you’ve already seen some of the present you’ll be getting later and all you’re thinking about is removing the wrapping. Also, Shawn always knows what’s getting, and he wants this, and he wants it now.
Though even with Shawn’s hand on his sleeve, Lassiter hadn’t seemed to notice any of the long, heated come-fuck-me stares. He never had, really. If his wife had been this obvious and Lassiter had still stayed this focused on his cases, it was no wonder how that had ended.
Of course, she probably just hadn’t been obvious enough. If Lassiter hadn’t been a cop, and if Shawn hadn’t really, really loved the rice here, he would have tried a lap dance to get his point across. Lassi seemed to like those. They could always talk cases later. Once he had Lassi’s attention.
“Maybe on a wanted notice…” Lassi had gone on, looking down once at Shawn’s hand on his arm and then quickly pulling back his arm. When his eyes had come up, Shawn had made sure to pout at him. Lassi’s momentary stillness had totally been worth it. “Probably ought to…” There had been a small, quiet minute, and then when Shawn had given Lassi a stare that could have melted iron bars, Carlton had blinked. And turned an especially brilliant shade of pink. Brighter than salmon. Almost a rose.
“I was…I shouldn’t…That is…Victoria always said… This is a da...” He’d shut up just as abruptly as before and scowled down at his hands before grunting. “You watch the news last night? I mean…you watch…um…Friends?”
Shawn couldn’t help laughing, especially when it had made Carlton scowl.
“Lass, Friends ended like over a year ago. Two years ago. Maybe even three.”
“HowthehellwouldIknowthat?” The mumbling had been low and quiet and just when Shawn had finally deciphered it, Lassiter had snapped at him. “What the hell do you want to talk about then, Spencer?”
“Mr. Spencer?” The Chief’s voice sounds exactly like Mrs. Fester’s—Mrs. Lester’s—in the fifth grade when she’d asked him a question knowing that Shawn hadn’t been listening.
Shawn snaps out of his daydreaming—which really is careless of him even if he knows how to get away with it—and lifts his eyebrows just enough to indicate that of course he’s been listening. He doesn’t look over at the reason for his carelessness, especially since Lassi is busy not looking at Shawn again.
“So you caught a glimpse of him and just…knew…he was a diamond smuggler?” Even having worked with him, the Chief sounds dubious of Shawn’s claim. Which wasn’t bad, since it was a lie after all; it had been more than a glimpse. It had been two glimpses.
“No, he wasn’t the diamond smuggler, Chief. The busboy was his accomplice. The smuggler was working as a chef.” Lassiter steps forward just when Shawn is about to, and Shawn shoots him a look but Lassiter is speaking and staring right at Vick. Which means Vick has to look back at Lassiface, and that’s interesting, in a gallant but unnecessary rescue kind of way, unless Lassi is just doing it to make sure Shawn doesn’t embarrass him anymore. Then it’s considerably less gallant and more irritating. And anyway if Lassi is Gallant, that makes Shawn Goofus, and that is just ridiculous…well that is just…insulting…and bad…and a misrepresentation of Highlights magazine.
On the other hand, possibly the only thing more entertaining than frustrated Lassiter is Lassiter trying to be calm when he’s still really frustrated. Except of course that he’s frustrated at Shawn most likely, and if he’s planning on throwing Shawn against any walls, he really ought to do it soon, because even greasy and covered in squid, that suit is doing things to Shawn’s brain. And that he’d always secretly wanted Goofus to mess Gallant up a little.
The accomplice had expensive shoes on for a busboy and had stepped into the alley in the back to talk on a Blackberry. Really, the fact that he’d been more than a busboy had been so obvious even Lassipants had noticed. Probably noticed the shoes on some level, and it had probably been what had been nagging at him the whole time he’d been supposed to be on a date with Shawn.
Luckily, Shawn didn’t mind cop talk, at least not much, especially not when there was a chance he’d have something to solve and wow Lassi with. And there was always the fun of distracting Lassi when the man was trying to be serious.
Of course, when he’d told Lassi that—just the first part because he really isn’t Goofus—he’d gotten a look, that look, like Lassi didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to argue now. Then Lassi had argued with him anyway, leaning in to point a finger at him and grunt. “You’re probably just sniffing around for more cases for you and Guster.”
Shawn’s carefully constructed look of shock and outrage had made Lassi snort, and really focus on him for the first time since Shawn had sat down. Shawn had made a mental note; when lap dances and blow jobs were not an option, talking about a case and pissing Lassi off was still an effective means of getting his attention no matter how much Gus says that annoying someone is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do on a date.
Though Lassiter must have learned the same rules of dating that Gus had; his interpretation of two people who like each other eating dinner and not discussing cases or fighting with each other was just…incredibly strict…and totally unrealistic…and unfair…and completely impossible for someone like…Carlton…to follow.
“Nonetheless, Spencer, according to you, this is…” The fever pitch in Lassi’s voice had dropped a bit to finish, his face staying pink, “…a date.”
“According to that suit, this is a date…” Shawn had tossed back, smiling, because nobody did frustrated, pinched off glares like Lassi. He clearly had not been expecting that answer. But really, like Shawn was going to argue when it had taken him a week to get up the nerve to get Lassiter to ask him out. When Shawn had just blinked back in response, Lassi had made a face like someone had been twisting his underwear from behind. Then he’d looked down again and his scowl had actually faded away for the half a second it took for Lassi to remember that he was Lassi. “You couldn’t have worn a suit?”
Roughly translated, that probably meant Lassi thought he looked nice, and wasn’t pleased about admitting it.
“Aw, Carlton, you look good too. That suit new? Even the cut’s not bad. And the black…with your coloring…Kind of a winter, aren’t you? Well it’s good, not that I mind all the blue all the time, but this…is approaching smoking hot.”
Shawn really doesn’t know what he’s done to get the look distrustful looks from Lassiter so often. Honestly, the storage closet incident had been for the man’s own good; he’d been far too tense that day.
Lassiter had just given him the same fierce frown he had aimed back at Shawn after pushing his way out of the closet. “Spencer, I swear to God, if you are messing with me…”
“And that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up in a brawl in a pile of rice and squid?” The Chief is getting impatient, and her sharp glare says she knows Shawn’s holding something back. Of course, she could aim that at everyone just on the off chance that she’s right. Henry had been a master at that one.
“Well no,” Shawn jumps back in when Lassiter opens his mouth, “that’s when Lassi…”
“That’s when Spencer here decided he had to use the restroom.” Lassi flings out a hand to silence him and it’s so surprising that Shawn actually does shut up for a second. Though it could be from the commanding stare that Lassiter turns to give him, the “I’m the Head Detective and I’m in charge here, Spencer” look.
Shawn lets out a loud sigh and leans toward Lass at that, audience or not. Lassiter actually blinks back at him, obviously confused, before he quickly turns back to the Chief. He tugs at his collar a moment later.
Lassiter had picked out that suit himself, it turned out, though he had admitted—under the pressure of Shawn’s hand creeping up his leg under the table—to asking Jules if he ought to try a darker color. Then he had swatted Shawn’s hand away.
“What the hell kind of dates do you usually go on anyway, Spencer?” he’d finally demanded, tugging at his collar and then pulling loose the knot of his tie with one slender finger, the exact way he had torn away the tie Hornstock had been wearing.
Shawn goes still the way he had then, lets his hands fall down. Nobody is looking at him at the moment anyway, they are watching Lassiter try to bullshit his way to the part where he finally arrests both suspects. He’s going to have to skip over a lot. Like shoving Shawn into that bathroom and leaning closer to whisper into his ear, or how Shawn had done something, not necessarily stupid, but maybe not his brightest move, by bringing up something again that he knew he shouldn’t have talked about.
“I think the question is what kind of dates have you been going on, Lassi?” He had tried smirking but then Lassi’s eyes had fixed on him and one look at the scorching blue and Shawn had suddenly known with greater than ninety percent certainty that their first date was about to also be their first fight. Because he hadn’t really smirked much at all, and his voice had done this weird trembling thing that gave entirely too much away, because he knew exactly what kind of dates Lassi had been going on, and after blurting it out at that strip club, Lassi knew that he knew.
Mentioning exes on a first date…even Shawn knew that was a bad idea. Even Lassiter probably knew it was a bad idea, and he had horrible luck with dates. Except for with H-stock, where things had progressed to hot, dirty monkey-lovin’ a whole lot faster than they had for Lassiter and Shawn, which might have been why he’d asked, not that Shawn was going to examine the cold, unsettled feeling in his stomach that came up every time he even thought about Hornstock.
H-stock was his friend, and a decent attorney. He even had good hair now. There’s absolutely no reason for Shawn to wish that he’d fall down one of those open drain things and spend his life trapped in the sewers and become King of the Alligators.
Though he had pulled out his phone under the table to ask Gus what those things were called.
“What the crap does that mean?” Lassiter had managed to keep his voice down, but he’d grabbed Shawn’s arm without a single guilty glance around the room to see who had been watching. It had been Shawn’s turn to pull his hand away and then wave it around airily.
The feeling in his stomach? Totally just hunger. And he’d been so hungry that when Gus had texted back “manholes” he hadn’t even laughed once.
“I just meant it didn’t seem to take long for you and H-stock to find what you had in common,” Shawn had answered as lightly as he could, and then recalled in HD quality imagery Lassiter fucking Hornstock in that office.
He had been the one who should have been close to puking considering how tight his gut had felt. But Lassi had been the one to flinch.
“That’s low even for you, Spencer,” he’d bit out finally, his voice low and rough, close enough to his sex voice for Shawn to shiver, close enough to “That’s right, Spencer, beg me,” that Shawn still goes all weak and then close to hard just thinking about it.
The obvious answer had never even once occurred to him, and once it had, he really should have been afraid, that was just a little on the obsessive side and Lassi already had some tendencies toward stalker. But even right now with the Chief glaring at them and Jules all adorably confused, he is seriously thinking about begging just to let Lassi know it was okay.
Creepy, yes, but he’d sent a stripper over to see the same scene played out again, so… so…what? This was exactly the sort of realization that required Gus’ input. But the only way he’d had to ask Gus had been to answer all the buzzing texts Gus had been leaving on his phone that said things like “wth shawn?” and “so?” and “y r u talking about manholes?” and then “never mind. don’t tell me.”
“I have to use the little boys room,” Shawn had announced, jumping to his feet and heading straight to the back before his brain could do more than register the way Carlton’s shoulders had slumped and his face had gone blank.
It was the same look on his face now, devoid of all possible emotion as he answers the Chief, lying outright now, or maybe not, saying he had been relieved to see Spencer go.
Except he hadn’t been, or his cop instincts had kicked in
Lassiter had reached out to grab him.
“Don’t, Spencer.” The hand on his wrist had stopped him more than Lassi’s tone, though the quiet timbre in Lassi’s voice was definitely chill-inducing, a naughty sort of way. Except that Shawn’s heart had already been beating too fast, and Lassiter had looked serious and he had let go the moment Shawn had swung back to face and flashed a grin.
“Don’t what?” Batting his eyelashes, a move Shawn had never really understood anyway, hadn’t seemed to work on Lassiter.
He glanced around, but then leaned forward and really, with the black suit, it had been all Shawn could do not to stare into deep, bright eyes. Not that he had tried very hard.
“You’re about to lea…” Carlton had cut himself off and turned back to the table, taking another drink of scotch. When he had turned back his eyes had been very, very blue and Shawn had been considering sitting back down and even apologizing, which, totally weird, when his phone had buzzed in his pocket again.
“And that must be Guster. Some emergency going to call you away?” Lassiter had remarked sharply and ignored Shawn’s frown. Lassiter could not be expecting Shawn to run, just because Shawn always ran, just because he’d been wanting to since the moment he’d first realized that he’d wanted to play Good Cop, Bad Cop with Lassi, just because he had sat outside the restaurant on his motorcycle and thought about going to visit his mom instead of coming inside. A drive across country would be nice this time of year.
But he had come inside, and he’d followed Lassi around, and the Psych office was still there, and even Lassiter should see something that obvious.
“What? Psh. No. Of course not, I…” Admitting that he had needed Gus to know what to do was still out of the question. “Are you trying fierce interrogation techniques on me, Lass? Cuz that’s sexy, but we can play that game later.” He had leaned back down, letting his lips graze Lassiter’s ear, forcing Lassi to look at him and holding his gaze and then had spoken as seriously as he could. “But right now I have to make tinkle.”
Lassiter had blinked once at his whispered, only-partly-true confession, going still, and Shawn had ducked away before Lassi could say anything, like maybe point out that he was still lying, even if it was for the cause.
Then he’d rushed toward the bathroom. Which is next to the kitchen, and the alleyway out back.
Honestly, Scout’s Honor, cross his heart, he’d had no idea what he’d been running into.
“And when I got to the bathroom, I just got this flash…sparkles! Shine! Bling! Bling-bling like nobody even says anymore, except possibly middle-aged cops like Lassi here.”
In the kitchen, which he hadn’t been able to resist peeking into, there had been three chefs, but only one of them looking over his shoulder every few seconds, and hinky hadn’t even begun to describe the guy.
Lassi’s gut feeling about their busboy hadn’t been all nerves. Shawn had shoved his phone back in his pocket and forgotten all about the restroom.
Playing lost customer and getting close had let him see that that guy had had a Blackberry, the new model, the not-even-on-the-market-yet model, though he’d been wearing the kind of cheap sports shoes that were more practical for being on his feet in a dirty kitchen all day, as Shawn had learned about during his one week as a fry cook
He had also had tattoos in what looked like Klingon—revealed to be Dutch after Shawn had snapped a picture and sent it to Gus—and a face Shawn had seen on cable news a few months back, and on several notices at the station since then. The kind of face Interpol was looking for. The Feds. Not the kind of face someone expects to see at a known-only-to-the-locals Thai restaurant. He hadn’t even known international diamond smugglers could cook.
No wonder Lassi hadn’t instantly placed them as smuggler and smuggler’s accomplice.
So he’d text-discussed it with Gus and they had mutually agreed that he ought to hide in the bathroom and call Lassiter.
“So after some discussion, Lassifer Lopez and I decided that the situation was worth looking into.” He’s not sure if it’s the new nickname or the outright lie that makes Lassi look at him again. “What? Stretching a little? You’re right, Lass, I feel like that one might be stretching.”
“If you could please get to the point, Mister Spencer, I have to get home by nine.”
“Right, well, Lassi had picked up in the middle of his “Paint It Black” ringback—he must really be into sitars or something—and we consulted on the best course of action.”
“Spencer.” Lassi had not sounded surprised at his call, just tired, sad. Which, since he was Lassiter, meant he had sounded ticked. “Cat on fire? Your grandmother up a tree?”
“Actually, my grandmother wouldn’t call me if she was stuck up a tree, something about how irresponsible I am…and no, I’m calling because I just got some total vibes telling me that you might be right about that busboy being up to no good.”
“What?” Sometimes Lassi was a little slow. To be fair though, that’s exactly what the Chief says, when Shawn relays that part of the conversation to her.
“I think there are some very bad men working in this restaurant. This is not good, and not just because they are going to be arrested and then there won’t be anyone to make my dinner and all I had for lunch was leftover noodles and a stale fortune cookie.”
For one moment, Lassiter had just breathed out.
“How bad?” Lassiter had wondered after that pause, and with his whole psychic explanation ready, it had still taken Shawn a second to realize that Lassiter hadn’t asked for an explanation of anything.
“Not good. I’m not sure if they were moldy or if that was just tofu,” he’d said anyway, for the sake of his reputation and then went on over the sound of Lassiter grinding his teeth.
Closing his eyes, Shawn can recite the Interpol notice word for word. But to Lassi, and to the Chief and Jules, he just says something about stolen property, smuggling, and the bright red hands of dirty, dirty murderers.
“Goddamn it, Spencer!” Lassi had exploded immediately, as hopped up and excited as he always got over a potential arrest. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?” Lassiter had demanded and then growled again before Shawn could have managed an answer anyway. Really, Lassiter’s growl had been almost sweet. “Well don’t. Where are you?”
“So Spencer hid in the bathroom and I called O’Hara before proceeding to the kitchen.” Lassiter interrupts Shawn’s pleasant trip down memory lane, still completely in professional cop mode.
Hid. Shawn snorts so the Chief and Jules will know that that part is a lie. He would never hide while Lassi and Jules took out the bad guys. Well, hardly ever.
Sure, yes, Lassi had ordered him to stay put, breathing hard and obviously tense—his “this could be dangerous, you idiot, just…stay where you are,” before hanging up had not left a lot of wriggle room—and so Shawn had stayed where he was. For about a minute. And then when it had still been quiet and Lassi hadn’t shown up or called him back, Shawn had opened the door and poked his head out.
The very second he had Lassi’s hand had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt and shoved him right back in.
Carlton had had his gun in his other hand too, ready for action, and he was doing that whole fierce-clenching teeth thing with his eyes narrowed that was just so…hot. Though really, gun…on a date…unless he’d just come over from the station, that was a little weird.
On the other hand, he’d been going on a date with Shawn, fake psychic extraordinaire, and the gun had turned out to be useful, and again, hot, so maybe it was alright after all. More than alright. Maybe Lassi was turning psychic too.
Putting his hand on Lassi’s waist…and then his ass…that had been reflex. How had he been supposed to know that Lassi would give a little girly shriek of surprise and then the busboy would turn the corner and see a cop with a gun and freak out and start yelling and then everyone in the kitchen would start to run for it?
Then Shawn had had to run for cover and also pull out his phone to make sure Jules brought some more cops with her, and also keep an eye on the two guys in the kitchen who weren’t worried about their immigration status because there’s no way Lassi could track two of them without backup.
Tripping the running busboy so he fell into the bathroom and then leaning—okay, crouching to protect himself from any potential gunfire—against the door to keep him there, that had been one thing, watching bowls of partially-cooked food go flying and then seeing the diamond smuggler and Lassi both land on their asses on the floor and scramble for Lassi’s now-greasy gun…priceless.
Tense, but also priceless, from what he had seen in between ducking and pressing against the bathroom door and trying to silence his cell phone when Gus had giving up on texting and called him to find out what was going on with his date and the slightly embarrassing sounds of the ringtone had had chosen the week before to embarrass Gus had drawn everyone’s eyes to him. Then the other guy, the real smuggler, had used Lassiter’s hesitation to reach for the gun and Lassi had grabbed a metal bowl and clocked him with it and then sort of skidded to a stop on his stomach. Like he’d been on a Slip-N-Slide. A Slip-N-Slide made of squid parts.
First Highlights magazine and now this. One more childhood memory hopelessly corrupted.
“So Mr. Spencer informed you that he suspected the man, and when you went into the back, they were somehow alerted to that fact that you were police…” The Chief sums it all up with a doubtful little lift to one eyebrow.
“Somehow.” There it is again, that low, threatening quality in Lassiter’s voice. Shawn peeps over and tries a grin. The glare isn’t really what he wanted to see, but at least Lassiter is looking at him. Just like with the Dollhouse case, somehow Lassi is going to blame that fight on him, when Lassiter was the one always jumping in to wrestle guys to the ground.
Really, he’s starting to think Lassi has been gayer than Seacrest this whole time.
“And squid wrestling and general chaos ensued…I see.”
“To be fair, it wasn’t really squid wrestling. I mean, he wrestled in the squid, not with it.” Which, as an image, is possibly the grossest ever. And it makes him think of that horse thing in Star Wars that Han had cut open and shoved Luke into. Gus will know what it’s called. “I have the video on my phone, if that helps.”
“Be quiet, Spencer!” Lassiter gives up on professional to snarl at him right as Jules hops forward to see it. She jumps back at his tone and Vick’s other eyebrow goes up. Lassiter clears his throat and seems set to ignore the fact that he totally fails at sounding reasonable. He looks away from Shawn right as Shawn is about to explain that he’d just been helping gather evidence by recording the scuffle and emailing it to Gus with the subject header “Youtube?”. One hint of that glare and Shawn lets his jaw snap shut. “That’s when I apprehended the suspect, yes.”
And oh yes, of course there's a Part Two. Like I can do anything in less than a million words.
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This! This is Shawn talking!
And this: “y r u talking about manholes?” and then “never mind. don’t tell me.” is so, so very Gus.
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(Also, Shawn blindfolds Lassiter so that he can remember what he heard during the blackout, but I think that Shawn's popsicle slurping sounds would probably have distracted Lassiter quite a bit.)
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“So that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up wrestling with an armed suspect in a batch of stir-fried squid?”
I read that line. I read it again. I pictured that...and I knew this story would be good!(Not that any of your stories were bad, quite the opposite.)
There were so many great situations in there ...the chief's dry comments, Lassie's and Shawn's increasing frustration with this slapstick first date...
And, wow, you - again - combined fun with extremely hot sexiness. In the end, I was hanging on the edge of my seat, thinking, "Go home, and finally DO IT!" Therefore, I can't wait for the sequel.
P.S.: Would you mind if I borrowed your icon? I don't know how to make one myself, and "Lassie Did a Bad Bad Thing" was just too good.
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I really, really wish I had Shawn's video of the stir-fry wrestling. How awesome would that be?
Re: A friend of mine made it for me. Her name is beelikej. Or judith. Just credit her if you use it. :)