Fic, Psych, "All Over the Guy" PG-13 Shawn/Lassiter fluff-ish

[rispacooper]

Title: All Over The Guy
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, established relationship (sort of)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Kinky references and bitchy not quite ex-wives
Summary: Victoria shows up looking for a booty call. Shawn is *not* having it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. And also, I haven’t actually *seen* the episode with Victoria, but I’ve seen enough episodes to feel confident of her inherent evol. Anyway, this is AU, clearly, so whatever.
Author’s Notes: This might seem like it’s in the Slutty Boys ‘Verse, but it’s NOT. It just involves a similar kink.
A Desert Eagle is like...a really big gun. *wink*

I’m beginning to think dlasta and I were separated at birth, because my Slutty Boys ending reminded her of an evil plot bunny that’s been haunting her for months now. This is an attempt to bring that bunny to life. As such, most of the beginning is her exact words and prompts and everything else still features much of her cunning, wicked, naughty brain. I hope it's what you wanted, girl.







It takes Shawn a whole minute to realize that the delivery guy is actually a girl and then to get that if she is delivering something, she isn’t doing it right. Shawn had once delivered Vietnamese take out in San Francisco for half a week and he’d figured out the formula quickly. Get in, get the money, get out. This girl seems to not be getting the final, crucial part of the job—the getting out so Shawn can go back to screwing Lassi part.

A full minute and he’s just grasping that. Which means that not only is he slow, but while he’s been distracted by thoughts of bun cha and Lassi-sex, some woman has been talking to Carlton for almost four whole minutes.

Shawn can’t remember a time when nearly fully clothed fumbling left him this stupid. When any kind of fumbling had left him this stupid really, but the partially clothed part is just embarrassing now that he thinks about it. He still has his pants on. Nobody is naked, hadn’t even been close, and he’d already been grunting incoherently and yelling Lassiter’s name like Lassi had been on the final lap of “Supermarket Sweep”.

Sure, there were extenuating circumstances of the bondage kind, and the Lassi being hot kind, but still, an unprecedented situation nonetheless.

Try though he might—for all of a second, but still, he does try—he can’t think of any reason why he should be that affected. Unless of course he considers the teeny tiny fact that he’d realized a few days ago, exactly two months into officially dating Carlton Lassiter, into finally getting Carlton Lassiter to date him, that in a small, squiggly, squishy place somewhere in his chest there’s a warm, burning spot with ‘Carlton’ stamped all over it, and that according to Gus, it’s love.

For love, it still feels a lot like sex, except that it’s there even when Carlton isn’t around, when Shawn just thinks about him, and when they are doing the nude, naughty bunny hop it just gets stronger, until all of him is warm and burning and squiggly and squishy and he can’t really think at all beyond getting Carlton just as breathless and out of control.

Still, Shawn angles himself up off the bed, deliriously awesomely romantic sex haze or no deliriously awesomely romantic sex haze, Lassiter can’t expect Shawn to stay here, tied up on the bed if he’s not around to enjoy it, or to at least promise that Shawn will enjoy it later. And really, Shawn thinks as he starts to wriggle around, he is supposed to be naughty!Shawn in this scenario so he’s really just making sure the games continue. He’s being bad for the good of all.

The tie is surprisingly easy to pry loose from his wrists and the bedpost. As a sign of Lassiter’s tender sensibilities, only faint redness remains, and it must be love, because seeing that the hint of red is already starting to fade makes Shawn sigh. Thankfully, no one is around to witness his sad display. And he recovers quickly, pulling his shirt back down and adjusting his hard on before tiptoeing closer to eavesdrop—to investigate.

There’s no tantalizing scent of Hawaiian pizza in the air so it’s not an overly flirty new delivery girl. Shawn narrows his eyes, strains to catch more than the even, measured way the strange woman is speaking. He doesn’t know the speech pattern. It’s not Jules or Chief Vick or anybody else female that Shawn knows that Carlton knows. And something about her tone is annoying. Or maybe it’s just what she’s saying.

“…Mind if I use the little girls’ room, Carlton? Too much coffee, you know how it is.”

Ah. Shawn nods wisely, the old “let me use your bathroom so I can get inside your house and try to get into your pants” trick. That helps, even if he suddenly wants to dig his fingers into the woman’s face the way that one guy claws his face off in “Poltergeist”. For one thing, that’s an old trick, his dad might have used that one, and for another, this is an adult woman who calls it the “little girl’s room” so she’s not only older, but trying to sound younger.

And Carlton… Carlton! Shawn’s sex-fogged mind is starting to finally wake up for real. Her saying Carlton definitely narrows the field of candidates. There aren’t that many people calling Lassiter Carlton.

Lassiter’s silence at that speaks volumes but Shawn can still smell the defeat in the air. It’s not like Lassi can tell her to pee on the lawn or anything. Well he could, but he won’t. His man is far too classy, Shawn decides, silently snapping his fingers, with attitude.

“Sure…” Lassi pauses, breathes out, and Shawn imagines him pinching his nose or rubbing his forehead, both awkward Carlton body language that screams growing frustration and possible embarrassment. “But I need to…get back to work…so you can’t stay.” Shawn perks up, all for this idea. Lassiter should absolutely get back to “work” right now and get rid of her by any means necessary.

“All work and no play, makes a dull boy, Carlton.” She flirts! Shawn’s instantly back in the mood for Jerry Springer cat-fighting, that warm, burning, squishy place getting bigger and hotter and squishier until he can finally control it again, breathe in and think. She flirts, but she flirts badly, so it’s not all bad. Kind of good really, since she flirts like a woman who’s never had to really try and Shawn flirts with years of practice.

Of course, if she doesn’t have to flirt, then that means she’s probably smoking hot. Shawn is drawn closer at the thought, creeping down the short hall.

“I should have known you’d be working, even this late.” For a moment, the light, smooth tone she’s going for cracks, and underneath it, Shawn can tell that the thought of Carlton working has her probably-tasteful panties in a twist. He doesn’t know why—Lassiface’s job is ridding the city of criminals. People generally regard that as a good thing. Especially when he whips out the handcuffs.

“I…” Lassi starts, stops, and Shawn has picture the frown, has to hope that Lassi is glancing back toward the bedroom, where he left Shawn tied to the bed so he can talk to some woman who’s mad at him for being a cop. Maybe she isn’t a fan of the cuffs.

Whatever her problem is, she recovers quickly, too quickly, maybe even quicker than Shawn could have.

“But then if you changed, you wouldn’t be my Carlton.” So what if she sucks at flirting, she’s still got that slinky, possessive tone of voice down perfectly.

Shawn swallows, and feels the first touch of cold to the secret Carlton place. Then he rallies, since after all, she had evidently left “her” Carlton before. And now she was here for some skanky late night booty call, knowing Carlton is too polite to throw ladies out, thinking Carlton would take her back, would be desperate enough to take her back like this.

There’s a moment of silence after that, like Carlton is confused, or hurt, or just stumped as to what to do. There’s a small, evil voice that sounds a lot like Henry telling Shawn that maybe Lassi isn’t worried about getting her out of here, maybe he needs to get Shawn out of here. Maybe he wants to get back with his older, possessive, tasteful panties woman.

“… This is…different…from the old place. The sofa doesn’t match the drapes, and the kitchen needs to be remodeled, but that’s easily fixed.” She’s been to Carlton’s old house. Enough to remember the décor. She’s either a decorator—which he doubts—or the one who originally decorated it. Shawn’s candidate list just dropped to two people, both Carlton’s exes. His heart hurts.

Though he still rolls his eyes until he can’t anymore when she moves, a long coat or dress rustling, her heels not once sticking in the carpet. He doesn’t know how he knows she has heels on, but she does, he’s not wrong on this one.

“Oh, these are new? I like them!” She’s a little too enthusiastic, a little too obvious. He could almost sympathize; it’s difficult to keep flirting and trying for Carlton’s attention and be subtle at the same time. Carlton doesn’t respond well to subtle. Carlton responds to groping hands and blatant innuendo and—weirdly—full body tackles.

Also, Shawn knows that those lithographs on the wall were a gift type thing from Jules for Lassiter’s last birthday and Lassiter only put them on the wall because he had nothing else to put there and at least they didn’t make him blind. And also because Jules might have been hurt and Lassipants might be gruff but never mean, even after Jules’ first birthday gift of a convict party at Carlton’s old house.

“Yes, they’re a gift from my partner.” Even Lassiter’s voice is stiff. Ha, take that! Shawn pumps his fist in victory. It’s a little football and manly, but there’s some sort of game going on here, so it feels appropriate.

“Oh.” At her wounded, wobbly note of surprise, Shawn edges a little closer to the front room. “…Are you seeing her?” It’s impressive how she works her voice. It’s haughty and sad, desperate and all but vibrating with need. It says “you are breaking my heart and I will cry, cry, cry unless you take it back”. Shawn couldn’t have done it better.

It’s not a comfortable feeling, figuring out that Lassi falls for manipulators, knowing that a few months ago it might have worked on Lassiter. It could still be working, Shawn can’t tell without seeing Carlton’s face. But he sounds indignant, probably on Jules’ behalf.

“Of course not. I’m training her!” And he’s most likely turning red. Though he could have been red from the start; since he’d ordered the pizza and then proceeded to tie Shawn to his bed—after a lot of manipulating/urging on Shawn’s part—Shawn had made him answer the door with his shirt unbuttoned and his fly partly undone.

He still had the undershirt on, was still decent despite the raging, obvious hard on, but every time they played embarrass the delivery boy, Carlton acted like he’d answered the door naked, coming back to the bedroom with a blush spreading down his neck and a mouth full of gruff, awesome swear words to growl into Shawn’s skin.

Which Shawn enjoys the way other people enjoy football, so maybe he manipulates Lassi, but it’s for the sake of good and not evil.

“That is so good to hear.” She lets out a sigh, actually sounds happy. If only it were real. “Listen…” She pauses and Shawn imagines her stepping forward, eyes up, shy and hesitant. Nobody wearing heels to a late night booty call can be that shy and be convincing. Carlton might fall for it anyway. He’s way too trusting.

“Carlton...” she says, like she has a right to that name when clearly it’s Shawn’s now, which she would have known if she’d stuck around. “I’ve been thinking…” Right on schedule, Shawn thinks, something different flaring up in his chest, something harder, hotter, because she had left and Shawn had stayed for over three years now, three years, and for once in his life he had no intention of going anywhere.

“We should try again. I think...”

Shawn is not a fighter despite managing to give Gus a black eye twice in third and fourth grade in two separate and tragic dancing accidents. The times had been hard and parachute pants hadn’t been for everybody.

But that doesn’t mean that Shawn won’t fight over his man. The—and this is not a word Shawn uses often—bitch can have changed her mind all she likes but Shawn did not go through all the trouble of seducing Lassiface so some hoochie could enjoy the fruits of his labor. It’s his pineapple, damn it!

There is only one way to deal with this. Or at least, one way that instantly springs to mind.

It might be slightly lame for a man his age—not that he’s old, not at all—and the sex kitten is not exactly Shawn’s specialty but the situation calls for the big guns. It’s time to shock and awe, and maybe—without Gus around—he can admit that he’s no model, but he’s still hot enough to have gotten Lassi in the first place.

Shawn pulls off his shirt and tugs down his still open jeans. He’s almost as impatient as Lassi had been doing the same thing just a few minutes ago. He flushes all over at the memory, Carlton’s big hands sliding beneath his boxers to drive him crazy, Carlton staring down at him like Shawn stretched out under him was the best thing since hot wings, beer, and picture in a picture.

He doesn’t need a fluffer; that thought is enough to have little Shawn back in the game, and his boxers really aren’t hiding much at this point. He’s still tanned from his trip to the salon last week, his hair is still perfect disarranged, and his cuticles are well-moisturized. Some lip gloss and he’d make a good twink, not that Shawn is a twink, he’s the love of Lassiter’s life and it’s time she learned that.

Though he does suck in his stomach in a little for extra definition, making him sort of a cross between a porn star and sex kitten, which is just what he wants. Then he fixes a wide smile on his face and walks out into the living room.

“Actually, I’m seeing someone…” Carlton is saying right as Shawn emerges, a shining, half-naked, sexed-up man muffin, obviously there to do Carlton’s bidding and show this woman the door.

Lassi stops when he sees Shawn, and Shawn stops when he sees her.

She’s hot. Smoking hot as predicted. And more than that too. Yes she’s older, but it’s not so much older as mature and knowing. She’s professional, smart, in a long, sleek black trench coat tied at her slender waist, covering up what is probably lingerie. She has on sheer, black stockings, silk, with the seam up the back, and expensive heels with straps around the ankles and red soles that say “come fuck me” more than they say “just got off work”.

Her skin is clear and close to porcelain, her hair down and shining and dark, her makeup perfect and if not professionally applied, than at least professionally taught.

This is a woman who orders her lattes extra hot with no foam and doesn’t tip because the baristas would never dare spit in her drink. Carlton would do whatever she asked, not that she would ask. She’d demand, and call it a suggestion.

Shawn blinks, then swings his gaze to the man in question. His man. He barely resists the urge to snap his fingers again.

Carlton is staring at Shawn, all warmth and a sigh that relaxes his shoulders until his eyes dip down. Shawn’s just recovering from the double shock of laying eyes on Lassi’s ex and seeing a look of relief on Carlton’s face at seeing Shawn when Lassi’s big blue eyes get even bigger and bluer and his face turns an alarming shade of pink.

If Shawn were into honesty right now, he might admit to a small moment of his own embarrassment. Here Lassi is looking to Shawn for rescue and Shawn is half-naked and hard in front of a woman who doesn’t need to be naked to arouse anybody. He can almost feel Henry wanting to smack him on the back of the head.

Carlton will know his new look is deliberate, somehow not so trusting for Shawn; he always suspects Shawn is up to something possibly felonious. That Shawn usually is is hardly the point. The point is, as always, that Lassi likes catching him and punishing him for it so Shawn makes it his business to be bad as much as possible without being actually, truly bad.

And anyway, it’s more fun that way.

Though now naughty!Shawn might not have been the best idea. Shawn looks back over and finds himself under observation, open fly, red wrists and all. It’s a lot like a look from his father actually, in that instead of making him want to cover up, Shawn wishes he’d come out here completely naked just to get a reaction. He’s not quite ashamed of the impulse, but Lassi would be, so he doesn’t make a move toward his jeans.

“Carlton?” their uninvited guest asks coolly a moment later, and Lassi jerks his head up, toward her, away from Shawn. Even out of the corner of his eye, Shawn can see the tension in Lassi’s shoulders, that even though he’d responded to her, he’s still shooting anxious looks in Shawn’s direction. Clearly expecting…something…some sort of psychic fit or a scene or an explosion of name-calling and slap fights.

With her looking at Shawn like that, acting like that to Lassiter, Shawn’s tempted. But even Shawn doesn’t take twinks seriously—maybe it’s the name—and he needs this woman to take him seriously so that when he kicks her out, she’ll accept it.

When she lifts her head in a faint, contemptuous challenge, reading his mind maybe, Shawn can see one black lace strap, fine lace, expensive. La Perla. Probably some sort of corseted top, the kind of thing she thinks is racy, the kind of thing she thinks she’s irresistible in.

She probably is. Of course, Shawn doesn’t even need to get fully undressed to get Carlton’s pistol packin’, and racy for them these days is more along the lines of public indecency and fuzzy cuffs, possibly toys that make fun vibrating noises when he hides them in Carlton’s desk. But the La Perla sends a definite message, one that says she’s here for a booty call first and maybe another try at a relationship second, but that the relationship will be on her terms, and that she’s not above toying with Lassi’s emotions to get either one. La Perla even says why, not that she knows that.

Shawn keeps his smile, turns to face her and ignores the gulp of air from Carlton that says he’s surprised to find Shawn behaving himself. Shawn would be hurt by that, but he likes surprising Lass, and anyway, he’s a little surprised at himself too.

But then, he’s facing Victoria Lassiter. She of the cranky, jerk father in his stupid, privileged, restricted club and all that money. The woman who had walked out and left Lassiter to fend for himself when anyone can see that the man didn’t know what was good for himself half the time, and would work until he dropped unless someone forced him to have fun—real fun, not just Reenactment fun, though that also had its moments. The woman who had dragged Carlton through marriage counseling and couples therapy and then let him dangle for almost two years without ever actually serving him with divorce papers. Even Shawn’s mom hadn’t done that.

It was like she’d been keeping Lassi on hold, just in case.

“Seeing ‘someone’? I thought you were over this, Carlton.” Victoria takes her eyes off Shawn for a moment and fixes Lassi with a look that convicted murderers wouldn’t have tried. But the fact that she knows that Carlton rides the bi-train actually throws Shawn for a moment until she goes on; no wonder a half-naked and attractive man in Carlton’s house hadn’t been that much of a shock for her. Or perhaps her model Terminator hadn’t been programmed for feelings. “…After all that work we did to help you.”

Just why it had taken Shawn so long to seduce Lassipants is suddenly coming in loud and clear.

“Is this another phase?” Victoria’s pitch perfect again, as sympathetic as she’d been about the couch not matching the curtains, as though this was just one more thing to offer to help fix in order to worm her way back into Carlton’s life.

Shawn isn’t used to this much anger, isn’t really used to anger at all, really, so the red cloud in his mind is new, as distracting as the squishiness of his Carlton place. He’s not psychic, just smart, smarter than she is maybe, because his bossy, grouchy Carlton is bossy because Shawn likes it, because Shawn had figured out ages ago that Carlton will do anything to make his partner happy, like put up ugly pictures on his wall, or answer the door with an erection no matter how embarrassed he is, or make sure that Shawn comes first, every time, unless Shawn gets a chance to go down on him. And he’d lived for years with a woman who was still acting like that wasn’t good enough.

Shawn’s not psychic, doesn’t need to be. Because he’s smart enough to get that. Just like he gets that Victoria is the one crawling back here, not the other way around.

“Hi,” he says suddenly, brightly, and they both focus on him. He could button his pants, but there’s that whole impulse control thing he doesn’t really feel like working on, so he leaves his jeans on, but still unbuttoned as he steps forward with one hand out. “I’m Shawn Spencer. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

So it’s not quite his real voice. So what? It’s even enough, calm, charming. It says “I’m not the one barging in here, you are but I’ll be an adult about it”. Which is…definitely strange. As strange as Shawn having to come to Lassi’s rescue. It’s usually the other way around, and by usually, he means it’s always the other way around.

But Carlton lets out a small breath behind him, so obviously it’s okay with him. More than okay. Shawn smiles, a real smile, which makes Carlton’s hot wife narrow her eyes.

“And you’re the ex…or wait, I suppose, not the ex.” Okay so some bitchy of his own slipped in there. He hasn’t once started in with any Avril Lavigne songs about girlfriends or Salt’N’Pepa hits threatening to take her man. Carlton can hardly hold a little bitchiness against him.

Nonetheless, he can still hear the whispered, “Spencer” at his back. So can Victoria; it’s her turn to smile.

“That’s right. I’m his wife,” she agrees and maybe it’s because Shawn isn’t used to being in love, but it’s really, really difficult to hold still and not jump Carlton in front of her to show her how wrong she is.

Not that Shawn is a wife. Sure, okay, he’s the bottom, clearly, but that doesn’t make him the wife, necessarily. For example, Victoria is a wife, and Shawn seriously doubts she was ever on bottom.

Normally, he’d say all of that out loud, to get a reaction, or possibly for a distraction, but he’s being mature here, for Carlton, so he just thinks it. About bottoming specifically…and maybe he hums a little bit of “If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night)”. He can’t help his interest in diverse musical genres.

“Um…” Carlton jumps forward finally, and Shawn is pleased to feel that lanky body coming up close behind him. It could be for support, though Shawn has a feeling that he’s being used a shield. Then Carlton’s hands come tentatively to rest at his waist and he decides he’s willing to go with along with the whole human shield, protecting his fair Carlton from the clutches of the Victoria dragon, thing. He stops humming. Carlton’s fingers tighten on him for a moment.

That he can’t figure out, doesn’t want it to be a warning to behave, wants it to be a “thank you”. He still isn’t sure, until Carlton growls softly at him.

“Lose your shirt somewhere, Spencer?” The grunt is surprising, but familiar, and Shawn can’t help his usual reaction. He leans back with a grin, shivers at the heat spreading out from Carlton’s fingers. Bare skin is always a good idea.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Carlton?” Victoria’s smooth voice actually makes Shawn jump. Carlton’s fingers come away from him, then immediately settle back. Shawn can forgive him for it; after all, he’d probably obeyed this woman without thinking for years. It’s a hard habit to break and Carlton likes rules.

He also likes Shawn, hopefully. If he doesn’t…

“Sorry.” Shawn blinks, playing up just how breathless he suddenly is, striving to be as apologetic as possible just to drive home how much he really isn’t. “I forgot you were there.”

“This is Shawn, we…work together.” It’s not encouraging that Lassi stammers on that part. Or that Shawn is now just a coworker. Shawn lifts his head away, cold again, wishing for his shirt back. It would have been more fun to have come out as a twink after all, since that’s apparently what he was, according to Lassi.

He opens his mouth at the sharp pain in his middle, ripping right through the Carlton place as though broken hearts mean literally hearts torn in two.

“Actually…” Shawn starts in the most stereotypical, flaming voice he can manage and then shivers when Carlton’s hands slide around to his stomach. His arms are warm, strong, and Shawn has a suspicion that now Lassi thinks he’s protecting Shawn.

“…We’ve been dating for a while now,” Carlton finishes quietly and maybe he is. Protecting Shawn that is. Maybe Lassi is Kyle and Shawn is Sarah Connor and Lassi is going to do what he has to do…preferably without fulfilling the curse of Michael Biehn characters dying in every film...even though he’s obviously terrified of his wifey.

“I’m Victoria,” his wife completes the introduction and Shawn shrugs, annoyed at being dragged out of his cheesy hotel room sex fantasy.

“I know.” Shawn sighs at just how obvious that deduction was. Maybe he looks like a sex kitten, but it’s about time she learned she’s dealing with more than just a pretty face, flawless hair, and a nice ass.

“I’d like a moment with my husband...” She doesn’t ask. Another prediction turning out correct. Shawn was batting a thousand…or whatever the high score…thing…is in baseball. Whatever. The point being, the game is clearly his so far.

But demanding or not, her smooth voice has cracked a little again. She’s probably frustrated even if she’s not embarrassed to be caught mid-booty call in that trench, heels, and lingerie. Though why would she be, even Shawn can see how hot she is. A few months ago, he might have even chased her for a while.

She smooths her hands down the sides of her coat, emphasizing her curves and expressing impatience at the same time. Annoying for two reasons—she still doesn’t see Shawn as a threat, and she’s frustrated because she hadn’t expected winning Carlton back to be this much work.

Aw. Shawn can almost feel sorry for her. She should have known better, should have worked for Lassiter in the first place. Lassi works so hard for everyone else. For her. Even for Shawn. His ex has him stuttering, but he’s still there at Shawn’s back.

The last thing Shawn wants is to leave her alone with Lassi. That has disaster written all over it. And by disaster, he means Lassi agreeing to give their marriage one more try—again—and Shawn left out in the cold, without anymore bondage games or embarrassing the delivery boy scenes or long arms wrapped around him like now.

And he can’t call Gus or Henry for advice, though he knows that Gus’ advice is more likely to tell him he has to trust Lassiter or their relationship doesn’t mean anything, and his father’s will be something about how it’s up to Carlton and Victoria to say when their marriage is over. Which suck, and aren’t helpful.

What he wants is to once again grab Carlton and rub his scent all over him—the way the zoo tour guide had informed him at age nine that cats do to claim ownership. It might be weird, but at least he won’t be peeing on him. Speaking of which, Victoria seems to have forgotten her urgent need to pee. And people call Shawn a liar.

He is a liar. But Carlton had liked him anyway, like maybe he’d worked with Shawn enough to see something beyond that. Something he liked even more than impressive observational skills and quick deductions and constant references to the Eighties. Shawn has no idea what it is, but he swallows, and then makes a move to step away.

“I’ll just go get a drink.” Being mature sucks and Henry is still telling him not to be rude. “Anybody else want one? Lassif...Carlton? Bit…Victoria?” Being mature really sucks. There’s only thing that could cheer him up now—aside from naked Lassi—and no way is Victoria getting some of his Trader Vic’s piña colada mix. Not ever.

“Actually…” Lassi’s hands curl around his waist and pull him back. “…Shawn and I were busy.” The words rumble through Shawn’s chest. He knows that rumble. It’s a “don’t make me arrest you” rumble. Lassi getting close to the end of his patience, and his manners were strained at best. Maybe he would tell her to pee on the lawn.

Forget piña coladas. And long walks in the rain. Shawn likes this, feels a small, reviving thump in the region of his heart.

“I can see that.” Victoria huffs as though they’d invited her here to witness this, when, hello? they’d ordered a pizza for that.

“And yet you’re still here,” Shawn points out, smirking despite everything. “Singles scene not going well?” Habits really are hard to break.

“Spencer…” Lassiter warns him again, not as quietly this time, and Victoria’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows suddenly arch up in a look that is best described as belonging to a Disney villain.

“Wait, Shawn Spencer?” she wonders, smooth and unruffled again, just barely amused. “The Department’s “psychic”? The one in the papers?” She tosses her long, sleek hair and shakes her head. “Carlton…really.”

“Psychic detective,” Shawn corrects at the slight pause in conversation, his voice maybe a little smaller than it should be.

“And a good one,” Carlton grunts. It’s one of those few moments that Gus so loves, when Shawn’s so lost he can’t even flail.

He’s just starting to think that his brain is still being slow from all the fooling around and illfreakynana that should have been taking place right now when Carlton grunts again.

“His methods might be unorthodox.” Lassi says “unorthodox” like it means “batshit insane” and Shawn’s too busy gaping to object. “But if you look at our arrest record and solve rate, you’d see how gifted he is.” Carlton stops, and Shawn pictures his short nod. “Surprisingly.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for his mumbo jumbo, Carlton?” Victoria gives Shawn a once-over and then turns away from him to only speak to Carlton. “Dad was right, you always were gullible.”

“Now just a minute,” Carlton’s voice rises for the first time in about fifteen minutes. Shawn’s still frozen, couldn’t turn to look at him even if he wanted to. “Shawn has actually helped your precious father on a case and I didn’t hear your father complaining—at least not for much longer than he usually complains.”

Shawn is pretty sure his eyes are wide and his mouth is open. He closes it for the sake of his reputation and the whole all-knowing psychic thing.

“My father is a successful, smart man!” Victoria starts again, cracks showing all over the place now. Carlton’s body is so tight with tension or anger that Shawn can feel it humming against his skin, burning hot.

“You could tell me Shawn is a liar and a con artist right now and I’d still tell you that in three years he’s been with the SBPD he’s been more than helpful. He’s even risked his life to save my partner’s and despite the fact that he’s clearly unsuited to dangerous situations…” Shawn frowns but still can’t seem to speak, “…he’s still stuck around, which is more than I can say for you.”

“I should have known it would come down to your police work.” Victoria yanks hard on the belt to her trench coat, showing off her nails and perfect cuticles of her own. “You were always happier with that than with me, trudging through the streets for your cases instead of advancing your career, bringing home files when our friends were over for dinner.”

“They were your friends, and I won’t apologize for doing my job.” Anymore, Shawn silently adds, since he has a feeling Carlton had spent hours in therapy doing just that.

Then he turns around and plasters himself to Carlton’s side. And really, he’d be adding a “yeah” or “take that” or maybe a “neener neener” but his mouth is busy kissing along Carlton’s throat and his lower body has gone tight and hot and throbbing and stiff. His chest is squishy and burning.

He can barely stand to be this close to Carlton and not be naked. He’s never wanted to hit that so much in his life. He really doesn’t care if Victoria’s there or not.

Being a cop’s wife is hard, he knows that, but he’s got two less than perfect examples to learn from and a Lassiter who’ll do anything to make him happy. The least he can do is try to do the same.

Besides, he’s part of that police work. And smarter than she is. Maybe not prettier, but there’s a tie in that bedroom with his name on it.

He gets one leg around Carlton and enjoys the choked, startled sound of Carlton swearing. The skin under his mouth is hot, like Carlton is blushing. But he’s not pushing Shawn away, that’s the important thing. In fact his hand pets down Shawn’s back until Shawn purrs.

“Shawn?” Lassi asks carefully anyway, and Shawn opens his eyes, stretches as shamelessly as any Bunny wanting a new car from Heff. Victoria is staring at him, eyes wide, an unattractive shade of red in her cheeks. She blushes splotchy. Probably would cry that way too, if she were capable of human emotion.

She’s just standing there, silently fuming, like the fact that she’s angry is supposed to be enough to make them beg for forgiveness. If she’d really wanted Carlton back, she’d be trying to scratch Shawn’s eyes out right about now.

“Dating these days is harder work than she’d thought it would be. Sure, she’s hot and rich, but she’s in a town full of rich, hot women.” Shawn thinks about waving his hands or closing his eyes to indicate a vision, decides to look directly at her. He wants to see every twitch. She deserves it. “There’s really not enough there to keep their interest, especially once they meet dear old dad—though I have father issues of my own.” He adds that last part just to be fair. Henry has ruined more than one potential relationship.

“Sure,” he goes on, running a hand under Carlton’s undershirt and enjoying the small, surprised yelp. He has yet to be pushed away. Carlton has to know that will only make him keep going. Interesting. “…You could always become a cougar, but college-age boys are not the types you can bring over for dinner with your friends. They’re really not about conversation.”

“What is this?” Victoria snaps, not nearly as sleek as before. Her hand yanks on the belt again and he knows she’s self-conscious about what’s underneath it. This is quite the blow to her pride. Shawn’s never enjoyed watching someone squirm so much. Wait until he tells Gus he can be ruthless after all.

“Sh.” Shawn wrinkles his nose at her. “Psychic at work.”

“Shawn…” Lassi tries, with his first name this time. Little Shawn twitches in his pants, right against Lassi’s leg. Lassiter shuts up.

“What you need is a good, respectable man who won’t cause too much fuss. And, let’s be honest, that Desert Eagle in his pants is better than any plastic water pistols, right?” To emphasize his point, Shawn pats the big gun in question. Pats… Strokes… Whatever.

This time Lassi does grab his hand, but he only puts it back on his chest. Shawn shrugs, accepts the relocation.

“Sure he doesn’t buy flowers and he forgets dates and he dresses up in Civil War clothes.” Shawn shakes his head. “But he’s on my speed dial next to Gus, and Jules, and Henry. Because he’s there.”

“You thought he’d be there for you too. Like always. It’s why you put on that La Perla and why you came over here with your little story about having to pee. You’re desperate and…”

“That’s enough, Shawn.” Carlton’s voice in his ear says Shawn’s done. Since Shawn is mature now, or something, Shawn actually shuts up, though she doesn’t deserve it. Lassi is too nice.

Well, in his way, he’s too nice. But it’s a good thing, otherwise he might have shot Shawn long ago, and then Shawn would never have gotten to suck his neck, like he’s doing now.

Lassi’s breath starts coming faster.

“Well,” Victoria says, stopping as though Lassi is going to say something here, save her. Shawn drops his hand back to the Desert Eagle and this time Carlton grunts, doesn’t stop him.

“Uh…Victoria…” Carlton puffs, fingers skating down Shawn’s back, inching toward the low waist of his jeans. Shawn obediently rubs himself against Lassiter’s hip. “Shawn and I were just…”

The door slamming shut behind her cuts him off.

Huh, Shawn thinks, dizzily, guess she had some feelings after all. He should really feel bad about that. Later. After sex and pizza and then more sex.

“She’s gone,” Carlton sounds stunned. Not that his hands have stopped their wandering.

“She is?” Shawn peeks up, frowns through the warm, fluffy cloud in his brain at the door, the space now empty of heels and fancy lingerie. “Ding dong, the witch is…”

“Shawn.” Carlton’s voice is thick; he has to swallow to keep talking.

With effort, Shawn holds himself still, then lifts his head. Lassi blushes pretty. A nice even pink. He clears his throat roughly once or twice and Shawn blinks.

He really does think slower when they’re like this. It takes him a whole half a minute to realize that Lassiter isn’t angry with him for sex kitten!Shawn or upset about the psychic thing. No, Lassiter is embarrassed that Shawn saw him like that with his soon-to-be ex-wife. Or maybe just embarrassed to have his feelings spelled out like that.

Shawn frowns, knowing that worries Lassiter but needing to clear his head and think about everything he had told his wife, and everything he hadn’t. Everything he’d said in body language alone.

“I know,” he says at last, feeling like he’s blushing, only on the inside. He wriggles to match the need to move and Carlton licks his lips. He’s tense, even with Victoria gone. More with Victoria gone, because he’s worried about Shawn’s reaction. As though he doesn’t get just how smart and mature Shawn really is. How much Lassi hopes he is.

“…You couldn’t have done that without your amazing Shawn man-muffin," he finishes, then grins.

Though he might have to have a talk with Lassi about the lying, con artist thing some time soon.

“Pretty full of yourself, Spencer,” Lassi immediately grunts, pushing out a small, relieved breath, and Shawn leans back, twisting in his arms like a hungry, little kittie. Not his specialty doesn’t mean he’s still not good at it.

“Guess I can’t behave,” Shawn offers. No point in hiding anything, he’s already mostly resisted all urges to make a fool of himself—and Carlton--in front of the man’s wife. If that’s not a declaration announcing the existence of his Carlton spot, he doesn’t know what is. “You’ll have to do something about that.”

Carlton’s hand slides down to his ass, his palm flat, fingers spread. Shawn shivers even if his pants are still on, wonders how far he can go with naughty!Shawn before the pizza guy shows up.

And by go, he means stay, because he’s not going anywhere, and judging from the cannon pushing into Shawn’s thigh and the pleased curse words rumbling beneath his ear, neither is Lassi.

“My pineapple,” Shawn sighs, snapping his fingers once with attitude, and ignores Carlton’s pause and confused look. After a second, Carlton just gives up, goes back to what he’d been doing when all of this had started; playing embarrass the delivery boy and driving Shawn so crazy he can’t even think the word “psychic”.

Who cares if he thinks slower? He doesn’t need to think around Lassiter if he doesn’t want to, Lassi had said so, before a witness.

And anyway, it’s more fun that way.


The End