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Title: The Best Policy In Bed
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, Lassiter/other
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, sex talk.
Summary: Jealous Shawn is forced to realize what is damn obvious to everyone else. AKA: The crossover that is not a crossover.
Length: about 43,000 words. Oh yeah, I got a little carried away.
Disclaimer: The characters from Psych aren't mine. Alan Taylor belongs to me, but I still feel the need to disclaim him somehow anyway.
As he hadn't eaten, he was a little woozy by the time he broke into...let himself into...Lassie's house. The cameramen were gone, as was Lassie, so Shawn had poked around while eating a spoonful of peanut butter that did nothing for his quaking stomach, noting that there was only Lassie's stuff in the bedroom, though there were two Vuitton bags still in his bathroom and one suitcase against the wall in his living room. All of Lassie's hidden guns were still hidden, but his service piece was gone. He'd gone to the range. Which could mean he was upset or just that it was Wednesday.
Shawn had laid down on Lassie's couch to wait. The reporters were most likely where Alan was, or just gone, period. Lassie might have one or two idiots still trailing them, risking their lives the longer they bugged him. Shawn considered that too, about an hour later, as the door opened and Lassie realized someone was in his house.
Even with a paper bag of groceries in his hand, he managed to reach for his gun before he realized it was Shawn. Shawn barely kept himself from springing up like a duck in a carnival shooting contest, but he did smile to cover that flutter that had nothing to with fear of being shot.
Lassie was in a suit. Seriously, he needed to be made to understand days off.
“You can't help being bad ass, can you?” he asked as Lassie's gaze swept over him. Lassie took a deep breath, but then snorted. He took his hand off his gun, then hesitated before closing the door.
“Spencer?” Lassie wondered warily, glancing around before staring right at him again. It made Shawn even more nervous to be on his back and studied. Anyway, the last time he'd been on this couch, he'd been being threatened and called Lassie's “former lover”. Former. Not cool. He sat up.
“There's that Head Detective at work,” he replied in what he tried to think wasn't a snippy, smug tone of voice, and it really was habit, and he truly had meant it to be teasing. Lassie didn't seem to think so. He scowled.
“I'd ask what you're doing here, but I don't think I care to know. Just leave. I'm tired.”
“Tired?” He wasn't going to ask about why Lassie was missing out on sleep. He wasn't going to be smart about what he already knew, or get mad and say anything else stupid. If he tried, he was pretty sure he could control himself for a solid five minutes. That was his record. Maybe it was easier when handcuffed.
He hopped up and then pretended not to notice the glare or uncertain look when he stepped closer to peer into Lassie's grocery bag. Single person food again. Frozen food. Small portions. New bottle of scotch. Someone had a case of the mopeys. The question was, about what?
Though Shawn's thinking, as always, started to pick up just like his pulse and breathing, because he was close to Lassie. He shifted. “Is that dinner in there?” Okay, so he sounded openly hopeful. He could blame that on hunger.
“I'm really not in the mood for...your shenanigans tonight, Spencer.” Lassie wasn't moving away. Shawn hadn't been shot. Good signs so far. What had Gus said? He so had not killed the Sweetness with Doritos.
“Lassie, please, I am weak with hunger. I have lived off a diet of snack chips and misery—Slurpees—for a week now. I promise no shenanigans as long as you feed me.” He crossed his heart and tried to express “famished” through facial expression alone.
“You want to stay for dinner? You're here to have dinner with m...” Lassie's voice broke, then he coughed. He was looking fierce. Shawn meant that in every possible way. Despite that, as always, he scooted closer. As always, Lassie stood his ground. Of course, that just could mean that Lass was a real life bad ass who never backed down. It might have nothing to do with Shawn.
But Shawn was pretty sure that Alan wouldn't have bothered with him if Lassie didn't feel something. And since that was the only option that didn't inspire flat out terror, he was going with that.
“I was worried about you, all alone with your suits and your scotch and Betty and Veronica,” Shawn said at last, since Lassie wanted an explanation. Lassie's mouth tightened.
“Their names are Priscilla and Lisa-Marie.” Lassie took the guns hidden in his bathroom very seriously. And yet he had wondered why one time Shawn had referred to him as Tackleberry for a month. “And you don't need to worry about me, Spencer. I haven't been dumped, and I'm not going to off myself because I'll be living alone again.”
He stalked forward into the kitchen, not seeming to notice that Shawn immediately trailed after him. He didn't ask how Shawn knew what he knew either. Lass had been studying up. Shawn really, really wanted to ask why. Too bad that just wasn't the way he worked.
He came to a stop about an inch away from Lassie and stood at his shoulder while Lassie unpacked his groceries. Lassie shopped at TJ's. He pulled out frozen taquitos, then stopped. Shawn stared into his face, using all his experience to seem innocent and not like he was an inch away from grinding on Lassie like a stripper pole the moment Lassie gave the okay.
“Spencer?” Lassie said. Shawn wondered if he knew he was whispering. “You smell like peanut butter,” he was accusing, but not exactly surprised. “You didn't.”
“I used a spoon!” Shawn protested. You use your fingers to eat someone else's peanut butter one time...
“You have this habit of breaking into my house, Spencer.”
“You noticed. I was wondering if you had.” There was no point in faking ignorance this time, but his honesty must have surprised Lassie anyway; he reared back and blinked, and then gave Shawn a puzzled look before he randomly grabbed something, milk, and put it in the fridge. He stopped by the oven on his way back, flicking it on to preheat.
“It would have been hard not to,” Lassie murmured, then snapped. “I'm not stupid. You left plants everywhere. And dirty Roo-prints.” He poked a finger in the air. Shawn mock-rubbed his shoulder as though it had connected.
“Did you just say Roo-prints?” He couldn't help it, he smiled.
“Oh shut up,” Lassie grumbled, then got out a cookie sheet and some foil, for his taquitos, as Shawn had not officially been invited to share them yet. He stuck out his lower lip. He didn't think that counted as a shenanigan.
“Well you never asked about them.” Ooh Lassie bought Jo-Jo's. Shawn reached for the box. Lassie grabbed it back.
“Can't trust you to open things properly,” he sneered, but neatly opened the cardboard flap without tearing it. “And wash your hands.”
“You wash your hands. You're the one who was handling guns all afternoon.” Shawn headed over to the sink. “You didn't ask, I figured you didn't mind.”
Lassie paused again. Shawn wondered if he was being frowned at again too.
“What was there to ask about?” he said finally. “You thought my house was boring or I was lonely and Guster talked you out of getting me a blow up doll.”
“That is so not true.” It hadn't been a blow up doll. It had been a robotic dog. No way was a piece of plastic getting any of that Lass. “Anyway, the plants are still alive...barely. The place needed them.”
Of course, Lass had to go and make a big deal out of that.
“I don't need you to redecorate my house or liven up my life, Spencer.”
Yes you do. Shawn didn't say it, but he did make the mistake of looking over. Lassie's jaw was clenched. Boy he was angry. Shawn didn't get it, he just wanted Lassie to be happy and that's why he broke in. It wasn't like he took anything. Much.
Lassie's nostrils were actually flaring. And as this made Shawn panicked and uncertain, he swallowed that annoying squeak and held up the box of Jo-Jo's. “Cookie?”
“Those...are dessert.” Lassie blinked, nostrils no longer flare-y. He reached out, then hesitated. He didn't say a word about Shawn offering him his own cookies.
“So?” Shawn shrugged. “Have some dessert before dinner and what is with the serious face? You...” He didn't know what to say, but pulled back the box and stared inside. “It's not breaking a rule, Lass. Just...” He inhaled, then pulled out a cookie. “Just...”
He popped it into Lassie's mouth, barely letting his fingertips touch Carlton's lips before pulling his hand away. He was painfully aware that it wasn't exactly a goose liver pâte sandwich with the crusts cut off. Shawn hadn't even paid for it. He shoved a cookie in his mouth too so there was no chance he'd say that out loud and listened to Lassie crunch his Jo-Jo.
“Guess you miss Alan already, huh?” He spoke around the cookie anyway, swallowed the crumbs dry. He put down the box, then wiped his hands on his jeans.
“I'm not talking about that, Spencer.” The warning in Lassie's voice was diminished when he snatched the box and immediately ate another cookie like Shawn was going to take them away from him.
“I...Alan isn't that bad. I mean, he seemed cool. Uh, smart.” It was about all Shawn could manage, but he said it. It totally counted. Lassie stared hard at him, startled, with crumbs around his mouth, then shook his head. He pushed the box away.
“I'm not talking about Alan with you right now, Spencer,” he repeated, but with new emphasis that made Shawn pause. It was a lot like getting pushed away at the station, how Shawn would have have Lassie between him and the desk, or at a crime scene with his hand almost down Lassie's pants, and Lassie would be breathing hard and staring hotly at him and then he'd growl, “Not here, Spencer” “Not here,” frowning when Shawn would step back and disappear. As though...
Maybe the Sweetness had been broken this whole time. Shawn focused back on Lassie again, wondering how dopey he must look to make Lassie look concerned for half a second.
“Why not?” He was too quiet, he knew that. It would have been a misstep with anyone else, but he wanted to be quiet now, quiet like he'd been with Lassie on that stakeout. “Maybe you should. Everyone keeps telling me honesty is the best...well...” He stopped to scratch his nose at Lassie's incredulous look, “...it's why I'm here.” Okay, panic. Panic. He reached and then stuffed a handful of cookies in his face. “You...um...are the only one that can help me,” he mumbled.
Lassie went still, then abruptly turned to shove food in his cabinets. “I did not just hear that,” he said to himself, and Shawn quickly swallowed. It was slightly painful. He tried to interrupt, but Lass turned before he could. “You're asking me to talk to you about relationships? I don't think I want to...”
His voice was tiny and not bad ass at all. Like it hurt to talk. Shawn knew that feeling, aside from how he'd just swallowed three half-eaten cookies, dry. His feet moved him forward. Lassie immediately turned to the sink to wash his hands.
“Lass.” Wow. It just came out. “You are the only one I can ask. Trust me.” Anyway, he'd asked everyone else.
“Why?” That could have meant anything. Lassie was really lathering up his hands.
“Because...” Shawn waved around, which Lassie couldn't see. He scooted closer again, got a sideways glance. Lassie's face was scrunched. “Because you know about...love stuff.” Those shoulders went up. “Because you're bad ass.” Because just one time around this block was driving Shawn crazy.
“There's no need to make fun of me,” Lassie muttered stiffly, turning off the water.
“Dude! I am not making fun of you! You're so bad ass sometimes that I can't even...” Shawn got loud, then quiet, then handed Lassie a paper towel. He wasn't sure which thing made Lass turn toward him with a startled Lassie-in-the-headlights look. Lassie cleared his throat three times. Then blinked.
Okay. Shawn felt dizzy. Quiet was good, but honesty worked better. Much, much better. Okay.
He looked down, shifted, looked up, then to the side. The urge to keep pressing the button was just too strong, no matter how scared he was.
“I'm glad you aren't moving to L.A.” He really hadn't been enjoying that he'd go chasing through an airport after Lassie, making a bigger fool of himself.
“I...” Lassie closed his mouth, then opened it again. “...don't know why you keep insisting that would happen.”
“Yeah right. Now who's faking? As though Alan isn't amazing and couldn't make you do anything. With his hair and his suits and his eyes and that body...”
“That's enough, Shawn.” And back to cranky Lassie. “You really thought I'd leave?” He folded up the paper grocery bag, then ripped open the taquitos and dropped all of them onto the foil. Shawn tried to perk up at that.
“I've been known to make the occasional mistake,” he admitted in a small voice of his own. Then added, “Hey!” when Lassiter laughed. Laughed. The laughter stopped when Shawn stepped over to wipe crumbs from around Lassie's mouth. Lassie just frowned and watched him.
“You have good taste in cookies.” Small-scale honesty wasn't that bad. When the oven beeped, and Lassie turned with a jumpy motion to put in their taquitos, Shawn stared at Lassie's back. “And you look good in suits but I'd love to see you out of them.”
It was no worse than anything else he'd ever said to Lass, he was pretty sure. Just the same, Lassie slammed the oven door closed and then didn't move.
“...And in some jeans or something.” A minor chickening out should be allowed. But Lassie's shoulders went down, then he set the timer on his oven and turned.
“I know it's not your thing, Spencer, but I happen to like suits.”
“Lass, I...” Really like them too. Harry Belafonte it was hard to do this. But hurt was all over Lassie's face and Alan was wrong, sometimes it was awful being around someone like Lass, someone whose face showed everything that Shawn felt inside. Shawn's heart thumped just looking at him. “I... Remember that time when you handcuffed me to your steering wheel?”
As always, when Shawn said something even he knew was random, Lassie seemed taken aback but wary. Then he sighed. Which meant yes, yes he did. “...That was nice,” Shawn added.
“Fetish of yours?” Lassie sneered, but faintly. His eyes were so hot and some word that was like stormy and violent and really awesome, especially considering they were talking about those silent, shared five minutes. Cookies churned in Shawn's stomach. Then it was that silent again.
“I liked it. It was...” Restful made him edgy, normally. But this had been...he might have stayed, even without handcuffs. No, he would have. “It made the flip flops stop even though my heart was still racing.” It was almost too much. “And stuff.”
Lassie scratched this time. “Let me guess. Too much sugar?” His sneer still lacked its usual sneeriness. Shawn jumped.
“Are you going to let me do this?” He gave up with a tiny, completely justified howl. Come on, Lassie had to see where he was going here. Lassie's chin went up, proving Shawn right.
“If it doesn't take all night.” Lassie crossed his arms and leaned back. Like he was waiting. Shawn frowned.
“Just because you're experienced at it...” he started.
“It never gets easier.” Lassie shot him right down. He was so mean. Shawn rubbed at his poor stomach.
“Okay, that's...horrifying.”
“Tell me about it.” Lassie gave a soft snort.
“Wow... Wait!” Lassie... “You knew? I...” He was so missing something here. Lassie studied him for a moment, his expression careful and sort of blue, like a sad blue, like The Blues, and then he went to a cabinet and pulled out a glass. He set it out without putting any ice or scotch in it—the other possible ending to this—and then leaned back against the oven.
Shawn could breathe. He could. “I like the smell of your shampoo.” He couldn't. Too much honesty. This had to be too much. And Lassie wouldn't stop staring. That the expression in his eyes was familiar didn't matter.
“That's obvious.” Was that a rumble? Shawn hoped that was a rumble. Lassie gestured at his house. “As obvious as the plants.” There were...a lot of things to say to that.
“And you...why... why don't you take me seriously?” He'd been squashed. He was squashed. And sort of broken. Again. He'd been trying, and at the thought he felt a hot spark, like he was getting pissed. Again. For the second time in one day. It was a record too.
He had a feeling only Lass could do this to him.
“I could ask you that.” A trace of anger was in Lassie's voice too, but he waved again. “All you do is make fun of me or...wind me up.” His blush was almost distracting, but his look was direct. “Then walk away.”
“Me? You never...!” There he was, getting upset again. Hurt and angry and so frustrated he could burst. He wanted to blast the crap of out Paper Man. He needed his Xbox. He settled for passing his hands through the air, in front of Lassie's face. “You never... Henry... I don't know any other way to... I never meant it like...Lassie. But you never...”
Because Lassie was the marrying type, he frowned harder and sighed. Something about it made Shawn focus, really focus, narrowing his attention and letting the strange, bad feelings slip away. Lassie looked at him, everything all over his face. He was so tired and sad.
“Spencer, a month ago you announced you wanted to marry burritos.”
“Hmm real ones or fast food ones? Doesn't matter, they're all good.” He couldn't help it. Lassie wasn't amused. His sad moony Lassie expression changed to a glare that was all defiance. Oh right, the humor thing. Shawn thought about Alan, for once without that sickening turning in his stomach.
He slid closer and spoke to Lassie's tie. He gulped. “Burritos mean nothing to me. Except as food.” He watched Lassie's chest move as he breathed out, how it stopped when Shawn kept talking. “You though, Lass. You...um... You...” Words. He had to get them out. Also some air in. He wanted to reach into his pocket except Lassie was right there in front of him and not moving, and what did he have to do, rent a billboard? “Come on, Lassie, I am like on a platter here!”
“...You gonna kiss me or what?” He refused to think that he sounded pouty. He had a feeling he looked pouty enough. He glanced up, then froze.
“You really are a horrible psychic.”
“Alan says I'm good--”And then wow, wow oh man, wow, Lass was kissing him. He didn't realize he'd jumped forward, pounced on, bounded toward Lassie until Lass hit the oven with a little grunt. Then it was heat and better than he'd imagined and suck on that, Slater, not-slow kissing. Hungry kissing. Fast and a little desperate, because oh yeah, he'd been waiting years and it was so much better than he'd thought. Good, great, awesome. He was shaking and sick and yet all the flip flopping tummies in the world weren't going to make him stop.
It was hot.
Lassie made noises. Serious, fierce noises, and pulled Shawn closer, and that close, it turned out, the wild flailing heart thing didn't get better, it got worse, but whoa did Shawn not mind. Hot, hot. This could not get any hotter. His hands went everywhere. Lassie allowed it, moaning a little into his mouth with each grope, and “Not here” had clearly just meant “Yes! Yes! But not at the station” this whole time. He felt stupid and dizzy and turned on and flushed with heat and things Made of Good and when Lassie finally, finally pulled away to breathe, Shawn leaned back in.
“That was hot.” He was not even kidding. Lassie turned red. Pink, Shawn realized, yeah a little slow here, was half-assed at best. Red was the real deal.
“That's the oven,” Lassie rumbled. Dude. Shawn had to grope him some more. “Shawn... It's hot.”
“Yeah you are.” No one was there to hear him sound like an idiot. It was cool. He thought he'd pulled off a light, teasing tone pretty well for a man who'd have problems walking right now. But Lassie arched an eyebrow, and then turned his head. He would also be having some trouble in the walking department, not that Shawn would going to let him try. “What?”
Sue him. The Sweetness did not work when there wasn't blood in his brain. Lass turned back to him with a frown. “You still think I'm joking!” He was shocked. He was outraged. He was...still holding back a little. But Lassie hadn't said it either.
That knocked the air right out of him. “This is not—this is only partly about groping rights, Lass!” he insisted and oh, wow, Carlton turned those eyes on him. The ones Shawn had seen before. Many times before now that he thought about it. Like Lassie was asking. Or telling Shawn something. It was how he must have looked when he'd been telling Shawn to make it worth it, to aim for...
Right. Saying it like an adult. No bells and whistles. Making it not a waste of time. Personal and direct action. The best policy. This was his chance. Not being a coward.
Aiming for the heart. All that stuff.
His gaze fell to Lassie's shoulder, then Lassie's chest. He leaned in until he was frowning against Lassie's day off suit and he couldn't see those eyes and his voice was a muffled whisper at best.
“I...”
He swallowed. Lassie's fingers tightened in his hair for one second and then slid down, stroking his neck, and Shawn was warm again, breathing again. It did work in the movies, sometimes.
“I love you.” He only took the one shot, but he felt like he should have worn the vest after all. His chest ached. He almost stumbled back, all kinds of weak and woozy. He wasn't even sure he'd said it out loud. He'd probably gone silent, or squeaked again, or maybe he'd fainted from lack of nutrients and he was dreaming this only then he realized his mouth was still moving and he was talking. Saying like...oh...everything ever until Lassie stopped him because not even Lassie needed to know what Shawn thought about when he was trying to get rid of morning wood.
“That's enough.” He refused to consider that Lassie was laughing at him. Or how he hadn't said it back even though Lassie's rumbling voice had meant—Rock the boat, work the middle—that Lassie had heard it all and had liked it. “Spencer...Shawn.” Lassie coughed a second later. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“I just poured my heart out and you're talking about food?” Shawn pulled back enough to give a gasp that neither of them believed. Lassie snorted. Shawn scratched his nose, using Lassie's coat. Then he nodded because his nerves were finally, finally, calming down and Lassie was warm and close and not going anywhere, and also he loved Shawn back and had forever and everyone else had seen that already, even Alan. “Okay,” he agreed, because he so wasn't going anywhere either. “I could use a nosh.”
Too many episodes of The Nanny for him clearly.
Lassie snorted, then laughed. Shawn did his best to seem offended.
........
Maybe it was the way he was walking on sunshine, but the station felt different when Shawn walked in. Gus didn't seem to notice, but then Gus was focused on getting a case. They had been out of work for a while now, since the Alan case had been non-existent and Shawn had spent most of the past week holed up in Lassie's house doing things to and with Lassie.
Like eating taquitos straight from the oven and learning that Lassie's answer to burned fingers was to put them in his mouth and suck on them, and then realizing that all those times Shawn had felt on Lassie's face—and his mouth—at the station must have driven Lassie crazy because he'd groaned around Shawn's sore, sensitive fingertips until all Shawn had been able to do was babble something about taquitos and piña coladas, then flail around, smacking the counter and sending sizzling hot Mexican food flying all over the kitchen right before he'd withdrawn his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, kissing Lassie feverishly and crushing him against that oven. Lassie had kissed him back.
Taquitos and sex and Lassie. Shawn was in love.
Well, he'd been in love before. But now he was in love. And people actually believed him when he said it/told them about it in great detail/made strangers blush.
It was hard not to, even though, as Gus had said yesterday, everyone at the gas station did not need to know that if Lass fell asleep sitting up, his mouth dropped open and he drooled a little. Or the way he growled when Shawn was direct and said things like, “Yeah, right there,” or yelled out his name for the neighborhood to hear...if Shawn had any neighbors at his crappy apartment. Or how when Shawn had gone out to get donuts, Lassie had woken up and called him, so adorably anxious that Shawn had left him and so unable to pretend otherwise that Shawn had brought him back some chocolate milk to instruct him in the proper way to dip a plain cake donut.
He let out a long, pleased sigh at the memory, even if Lassie hadn't appreciated Shawn's chocolate milk and breakfast treat combo. He of course had been about coffee and donuts with sprinkles. Amateur. If only Shawn had had more time to school him. It was a shame the honeymoon was over and Lassie had had to come back to work today.
Okay, Lassie had been getting antsy to get back to work. It was his calling after all. Shawn wasn't bothered by that, whatever Gus said. Shawn had just...had to come into the station today. He had to work to keep himself in the Tivo-and-smoothie lifestyle to which he was accustomed. And this was his calling too, maybe. Probably. Definitely.
Cops were waving to him, smiling to see him in the station again, maybe even giving him knowing looks as they went out for their shifts. Like he was kind of one of them, or at least, a semi-reliable sidekick that they trusted with their cases. Also like they suspected where he'd been spending his free time, which was slightly puzzling, since it wasn't like Lassie would announce it and Shawn had been totally subtle.
Sure, he'd groped Lass here and in public repeatedly. And talked loudly about intimate things. And blindfolded him. But as obvious as those things were, normal people usually missed them. Of course, according to Drimmer, the station had thought they'd been together...and broken up...already.
And...the officers at the station didn't seem to mind that too much either, even if the ladies weren't looking the friendliest right now. If anyone did mind—who didn't mind only because Shawn had possibly taken their candy bar away—they were smart enough not to do anything about it. Lassie might make their lives a living nightmare, put their names in a little book, make sure they behaved themselves, 24/7.
Shawn would have to persuade Lassie otherwise. That was an odd thing to consider, though he could do distractions. And as Lass had discovered over the weekend, maybe Shawn wasn't a TV star, but he was awesome in bed.
He could do that. If he had to. He didn't think it would be a pain. He'd be around anyway, so it shouldn't be difficult to keep Lass busy.
He smiled back at everyone, smiled wider to imagine nice, distracting Lassie techniques. It would be like his visions, only perhaps naked. And private.
Okay, yeah, they trusted him here, just like Gus had said. They trusted him enough to not care about the details of how he did what he did, as long as he did it. And here he'd put all this effort into the bells and whistles. Okay, some effort...
...Okay he made up his visions on the spot.
So. He had a calling, for sure. This was what Lassie felt, had felt his whole life. And had wanted Shawn to feel too, even with the ways Shawn had embarrassed him while doing it.
Man, he hadn't thought he get any higher on his love cloud. At the moment he had no complaints about Lassie at all, not even the work thing anymore, though he'd pouted last night when Lassie had gotten all jaunty and perky as he'd set out a suit to wear this morning.
Lassie would have wanted to work even if he'd been with Alan. So it was okay...and Shawn would keep telling himself that until the fluttery butterflies in his stomach stopped needing Pepto. Which would be the moment when he saw Lassie again. In public. In the station. And Shawn could really be sure that both of these things that he loved could play nice together.
Gus had assured him that it would be fine. Also that his hair looked perfect, that green looked almost as good on him as blue, and there was no possible way Lassie had gotten sick of him yet.
The “yet” was both hurtful and alarming. Gus had spouted out something else about when the being in love went away and turned into regular old love and how Shawn shouldn't be scared when that happened either, even if movies never showed that part, because it was still good, but Shawn had stopped listening because by then they'd been at the station and he hadn't seen Lassie since early that morning.
He knew Lassie was here. He knew Lassie loved him, had known it for sure from the moment they'd made it to Lassie's bedroom—which Lassie had shared with Alan—and Shawn had said, “Yeah, Lassie like that. Make me forget. Make me forget Alan was ever here,” on his back with Lassie's fingers pressing in intimate places, and then added, “Except I won't. I never forget anything, Lass. Lass, I never forget,” on some kind of gasping and horny and loving honest streak, and Lassie had stopped and stared at him for a moment before hitching him up and bending down and being so, so good that Shawn had lost his mind, then his voice, then consciousness.
Which sounded cooler than “fainted” and less desperate than “put into a Lassie love coma”.
He couldn't even begin to imagine what Alan's “one complaint” about Lassie had been. Unless of course it was the fact that Carlton let things slip in bed, like, “Shawn, Shawn” and “love you”. Or the way he responded to every little hint in ways he never did at the station, reading Shawn like he was psychic, and how he nearly lost control when Shawn went down on him.
And how gentle he was. Lassie was gentle afterward. It was...kind of girly, but so far Shawn hadn't felt like complaining.
He didn't know why he was freaking out now, but he was, bouncing a lot as he made it to the bullpen—where Lassie's desk was unoccupied. Shawn squinted and looked around, but there was no sign of his funny Lassie valentine. Or of Jules for that matter.
There was a cupcake on Lassie's desk, and a card that said “Welcome back.” Both from Jules, judging from the sprinkles. No one else had marked Lassie's absence, which made sense, since Lassie had been respected but not exactly popular before his famous boyfriend, but Shawn frowned anyway.
Just because Lassie got embarrassed about scenes didn't mean that people couldn't have shown him they'd missed him. He was never going to know about the womens bathroom dirty talk but something face to face would have been nice. Maybe there had been manly back slapping and stuff when he'd first arrived.
He slid closer, then paused with his ass just hovering at the edge of Lassie's desk. Lassie desk was pristine. Everyone leaving it untouched was something. A mark of respect. The kind of subtle gesture Lass would appreciate. Shawn parked his butt on it, wiggling to push back the in/out trays. It was the kind of gesture that Shawn appreciated.
It was what he always did, though suddenly he was uncertain. Maybe he should try subtle now too. Before he could move, Buzz was coming over from the coffee area.
“Hey, Guys! Haven't seen you around.” He so never got the obvious, or noticed how Gus hesitated then agreed.
“Yeah...Shawn's been...busy.”
“Detective Lassiter's back today too.” Buzz took that as his cue to launch into the news. Shawn did his best to look interested. It wasn't hard. He really was, even if he'd already known that particular fact.
“Oh really?” Gus played innocent really well too. Buzz nodded.
“I thought he'd be crankier, I mean, well he's always...I... He's a great detective but sometimes he...”
“Can get a little too involved?” Gus filled in for him. Shawn scratched his nose. Buzz looked relieved, then went on.
“Yeah, and the thing is...” Buzz stopped to look left and right. Shawn leaned closer. “The thing is...he must have gotten dumped or something. Because according to everyone Alan Taylor is back in Hollywood. But I swear to you, Detective Lassiter smiled at me this morning...until I spilled coffee on his shoes.”
“Smiled?” Gus glanced at Shawn. Shawn felt a smile growing on his face too and controlled it with an unappreciated effort. Then he hopped back to his feet and put a hand to his head.
“I wouldn't worry about it Buzz. I have a feeling he's already moved on.” The smile slipped back out. He decided to ignore how Gus rolled his eyes, but ruined his cool by leaning in until he was almost against Buzz' side. “Did he really smile?” he wondered in a hushed voice and Gus spoke up.
“Oh my God, Shawn. You know you sound fourteen, right?”
“Shut up, Gus. This is my Jake Ryan moment. Let me enjoy myself.” Shawn waited patiently for Buzz' nod, then stepped back to park his butt on Lassie's desk again.
“That doesn't excuse you wearing that 'Team Lassie' shirt I know you're having made.” Gus crossed his arms. “Fourteen,” he declared firmly.
“Shawn!” Jules' called out right as Shawn was working on getting indignant about Gus calling Lassie a Chester-Molester. Sure, Lass was older, but he was hardly a creepy child-toucher. Shawn was just naturally youthful.
And if that meant waking up from his love coma around midnight and finding Lassie not in the bedroom with him and awake and obviously still worried about something, and then deciding to reassure Lass the only way he knew how—with a box of cookies and cartoons on the couch—then youthful had its perks.
Of course, waking again to sunlight and the sound of Lassie's phone ringing and realizing it was Alan calling to make sure they were decent before he came back to pick up his stuff hadn't been nearly as awesome. Also he'd been stiff and sore in bad ways and Lassie had looked suspiciously from his phone to Shawn as though suspecting that Shawn and Alan had had some sort of conspiracy before giving up and letting Shawn drag him up to share a shower.
Shawn reconsidered the lost moment. It was too bad Lass had given up. He was getting better and better at working outside that trapezoid every day. Shawn was pleased to think it was due to his influence. Another few years and Lassie might be close to being as awesome as Shawn was.
Though he'd need all the time with Lass he could get, which meant no more unsupervised Alan visits, like that morning, when Shawn had left to change clothes and see Gus and brag to/thank his dad until Henry had kicked him out in disgust...and to give Lassie some alone time with Alan. He hadn't liked it but Lassie had insisted, because for some reason, he still didn't get that Alan already knew everything about how Shawn and Lassiter had been together for booty shenanigans.
They were the only shenanigan Lassie found acceptable. Shawn had re-learned that when he'd patiently waited for as long as he could possibly stand it and also gotten tired of trying to peer in Carlton's windows from the trees across the way to spy on Carlton and Alan, and had gone to his apartment to call Carlton, demanding that Lassie had to come save him from mountain lions and coyotes which he had heard were coming down from the mountains.
Lassie, even doubting him, had been there in under fifteen minutes. Alan had been nowhere in sight, and Shawn had cut off the stream of snarling and swear words by yanking him inside as he'd paused to catch his breath and pinning him to the wall to demonstrate just how much he'd missed him in the hours they'd been apart.
Afterward, panting and wiping his mouth and collapsing on the floor, he'd listened to Lassie listing why he shouldn't make false emergency calls and how he'd nearly had a heart attack and if Shawn...if Shawn loved him he shouldn't do that. The “if” had stung a little, but then he'd fallen to the floor too and made sure Shawn wasn't capable of lying...or speaking much at all...and Shawn had started to see his point.
“What if I lied to you now, Shawn?” he'd muttered, mouth soft, words sharp and Shawn had tried to tell him that he'd know any lie before Lassie could ever say it out loud, but Lassie interrogated in bed too, pressed down and in and used that mouth like a naughty man who'd played Bad Cop one too many times, and ordered Shawn to admit the truth.
Or at least had taken Shawn's, “...I just wanted...” and “...Alan...” and “...Don't leave...” to mean things that Shawn still squirmed to think about.
He put his hands to his face until he realized he was hot all over. Jules. He focused.
Jules looked happy to see him. He couldn't take it. He bounced over to her too. She'd missed Lass too, she'd understand.
“Jules! What's the word about Lassie in the ladies room today?” She'd just come from there, she'd know.
“Shawn!” He couldn't decide if her blush was embarrassment about the ladies room itself or what had been said in the ladies room. He waved a finger at her.
“If you don't tell me I'll just go find out for myself.”
“He will.” Gus had his back. Jules' eyes got big, then she frowned playfully at him and changed the subject.
“Where have you been anyway? Without Lassiter around it was quiet enough, but...” She stopped at how Shawn went still, then blinked at her. Then he smirked. He couldn't help it.
“Oh my God,” she echoed Gus, who promptly said, “Thank you.” As though Shawn was acting crazy just to mess with him. Shawn was acting crazy because he felt amazing and the world had to know.
“Jules!” he exclaimed. He honestly couldn't help it. It wouldn't have taken an Alan Taylor to read his facial expressions and body language. It wouldn't even have taken a Shawn Spencer. “Jules, whatever was said in there, they don't even know the half of it.”
“Really?” Intrigued like a good girl should be, she ducked her head for more only to snap it up at the familiar rumble echoing down the hall toward them. Shawn looked over too, watched Lassie as he walked alongside the Chief and looked over some file with her. Lassie had worn the black suit, with a light blue shirt. Shawn liked it despite himself. He wondered what Lass thought of his green shirt.
But Lassie was at work, so he ought to control himself. If only that was the way he worked.
Hopefully Lassie had meant it when he'd said he'd gotten used to it.
“Lassie!” he sang out and both Lassie and the Chief stopped. Lassie's eyes went right to him. So did Vick's, but Shawn wasn't concerned with her. He was currently all about the warm, adoring—or at least not-furious—blue sweeping over him and then stopping at his face, and Lassie staring back into his eyes in a way that was awesome and probably too long so that even normal people—and possibly even Buzz—should have seen it and read it for what it was.
It was how Lassie looked at him every day. Like Shawn was irritating but awesome and Lass wasn't quite sure what to do with him but he was open to suggestions. Shawn had a few. His heart felt like he was standing in the middle of a party where the DJ really liked songs with bass.
Then the Chief said something that made Carlton flinch, but they both started walking again, heading in Shawn's direction.
He thought Lassie approved of his green shirt.
Gus put a hand on his arm, just for a moment. Shawn tried to nod, to show that he could contain himself and the massive surge of happy good sexy lovey times inside him. He knew he could, if he had a good enough reason.
Lassie went to his desk, looked it over like Shawn had taken something, which he might have back in the day, and probably would have to do again, but for now, Shawn's only objective was the man himself, so it was still clean. He wondered what Lass would have done if he had taken something. Hopefully what he'd always done, drag Shawn somewhere, get in his face, and then end up doing whatever Shawn said anyway.
He knew more about that entailed now. And just what Lassie was willing to do for him as long as he was honest and direct and asked for it. It was the sexiest...the greatest...
He let out a sigh.
Gus made another gagging noise. Shawn slapped his arm. Gus slapped his.
Oblivious, or acting like it, Lassie only moved to the edge of the group. The Chief was speaking.
“Nice to see you back as well, Mr. Spencer,” she greeted him, carefully bland. “Mr. Guster.”
“Guster.” Lassie greeted Gus too. But his rumbly, short, intimate, “Spencer” made Jules grin. Shawn grinned back at her.
“Did you have a case for us?” Thank Starsky and Hutch that Gus could be businesslike right now.
“As a matter of fact I do...” The Chief's smile was more distant, if approving. “It will be nice to have my team back,” she went on, before adding some more stuff that was more about work than trying to make Shawn feel as dumb as he'd felt the other day when Henry had opened his door, taken one look at him, and said, “So I take it went well, kid?”
Shawn covered by looking over at Lassie, who was looking at him before he remembered to turn his head and at least pretend he was listening to the Chief. The line was between his eyes, but he was standing straight and his mouth wasn't nearly as tight as it used to be.
He could have been happy just to be wearing his badge and gun again. Or his pink ears could be saying that Shawn might also have something to do with how he was seriously not-frowning today. There was really only one way to be sure.
And with that, Shawn closed his eyes and walked over, tripping over Lassie's feet and enjoying the soft swear and grumble of surprise before Lassie caught him. Shawn immediately turned, putting his face to Lassie's shoulder. Then he opened his eyes.
Everyone was looking at them. He could hear Lassie's gasping and put his hands up so he could feel it too.
Lassie's breath was damp against his fingers, and nearly as hot as the body supporting him. And, fyi, there was no oven in sight. Lass was just that hot hot hot.
Lassie was breathing hard. His cheeks were raspy—he needed a better moisturizer. But his hair was that same surprisingly soft and coconutty delight that it had been for the past few days. Shawn petted it and then dropped his hands to Lassie's face again, that mouth, right as Lassie recalled himself enough to shut it and scowl at him.
Shawn could have gone for the candy bar, but Carlton was a firm believer in eating candy in private. A very firm believer. Shawn would have to be content with playing with the wrapper while in public. He was surprisingly fine with that. Also Lassie was holding a file that could be related to whatever the Chief might ask Shawn to look into.
The volume in the station was dropping and dropping fast. Lassie's cheeks felt like they were burning. It wasn't the same thing as TV cameras, but it was probably just as embarrassing to him. But he wasn't pushing Shawn off.
Shawn smiled at Jules and Buzz and then shifted a bit more, pulling at Lassie's collar so that hint of a hickey would be visible to everyone. Now he felt better about having to let go. His stomach was on a roller coaster, but Lassie's heart was thundering.
“Is this a vision, Mr. Spencer?” He wasn't exactly surprised at the question from the Chief, but Lassie jumped.
“No.” The thing about being honest, he'd noticed, was that it had the strangest effect on people when used properly. It was enough to make him consider it in the future.
The Chief blinked. Jules beamed. Buzz looked like Shawn had blown his mind. Gus sighed. Shawn felt warm all over.
Lassie squeaked. Poor Carlton; he probably had something stuck in his throat.
It broke the mood enough for Jules to lift her chin and look around at the people obviously watching them.
“All right, that's enough. Give me back my partner, Shawn. You've got something to discuss with the Chief. In her office.”
“Yes, come along, Mr. Spencer. And try to remember that this is a police station,” the Chief reminded him, still smiling carefully and not even attempting to scold Lassie, though she did add, “We've had enough excitement for a while, haven't we, Detective?” to make Lassie jump again and nod. A few of the people watching stifled giggles.
Shawn couldn't wait to slip into the ladies room now.
The Chief moved away, toward her office, and Gus followed her, waving at Shawn to follow. He sighed, but moved to do it since he did like money for his smoothies, then grinned when Lassie's hand yanked at his shirt to pull him back.
It was just for a second, just another moment to enjoy the feel of Lassie being close, for Lassie's hands to barely pass over him, for the station to see that Lassie liked Shawn too, but it was awesome. Way better than Lassie just tolerating Shawn's hands on him, or any other public declaration of affection. He didn't want Shawn to go. Shawn didn't want to go. It put smoothies and pineapple to shame.
His good mood was only somewhat spoiled when Lassie reached out and took back the folder that Shawn had stolen—borrowed—from him during his touchy-feely session.
Shawn twisted to face him, all sorts of his body parts suddenly frustratingly close to Lassie's body parts. He didn't comment on the folder, though he did shrug in a, “What did you expect?” kind of way. Lass wrinkled his nose and remained unimpressed. Shawn waited a beat, then blinked, then set to work straightening already straight lapels and patting down Lassie tie. Those silk-blends were all his now. Kind of like the look Lass gave him. Annoyed and turned on and embarrassed and a bunch of other things that Shawn was choosing to classify as so in love he couldn't see straight and it would take his determined junior partner to get him moving again.
“Not at work...” Lassie whispered, and it was more like pleading than yelling, now that Shawn thought about it. More like, unlike when anybody else did it, Carlton couldn't control himself when Shawn was this close. “Shawn...” Lass whispered, and Shawn leaned in, had to. It was an uncontrollable, automatic reaction of his own.
“Carlton!” Jules snapped, just like Shawn had predicted. He looked away, at everyone else watching. Even the ones pretending they weren't. Lassie was not happy, clearly, so Shawn stepped back to give his sexy man beast his space. He'd made it clear enough to everyone for one day, or at least for one morning.
That he, Shawn Spencer, was butt-crazy in love with Carlton Lassiter. And that Lassie loved him too.
Also that Shawn was the hottest fake psychic around, on TV or otherwise.
That was the truth, and everyone knew honesty was the best policy.
The End
Back to Part One
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, Lassiter/other
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, sex talk.
Summary: Jealous Shawn is forced to realize what is damn obvious to everyone else. AKA: The crossover that is not a crossover.
Length: about 43,000 words. Oh yeah, I got a little carried away.
Disclaimer: The characters from Psych aren't mine. Alan Taylor belongs to me, but I still feel the need to disclaim him somehow anyway.
As he hadn't eaten, he was a little woozy by the time he broke into...let himself into...Lassie's house. The cameramen were gone, as was Lassie, so Shawn had poked around while eating a spoonful of peanut butter that did nothing for his quaking stomach, noting that there was only Lassie's stuff in the bedroom, though there were two Vuitton bags still in his bathroom and one suitcase against the wall in his living room. All of Lassie's hidden guns were still hidden, but his service piece was gone. He'd gone to the range. Which could mean he was upset or just that it was Wednesday.
Shawn had laid down on Lassie's couch to wait. The reporters were most likely where Alan was, or just gone, period. Lassie might have one or two idiots still trailing them, risking their lives the longer they bugged him. Shawn considered that too, about an hour later, as the door opened and Lassie realized someone was in his house.
Even with a paper bag of groceries in his hand, he managed to reach for his gun before he realized it was Shawn. Shawn barely kept himself from springing up like a duck in a carnival shooting contest, but he did smile to cover that flutter that had nothing to with fear of being shot.
Lassie was in a suit. Seriously, he needed to be made to understand days off.
“You can't help being bad ass, can you?” he asked as Lassie's gaze swept over him. Lassie took a deep breath, but then snorted. He took his hand off his gun, then hesitated before closing the door.
“Spencer?” Lassie wondered warily, glancing around before staring right at him again. It made Shawn even more nervous to be on his back and studied. Anyway, the last time he'd been on this couch, he'd been being threatened and called Lassie's “former lover”. Former. Not cool. He sat up.
“There's that Head Detective at work,” he replied in what he tried to think wasn't a snippy, smug tone of voice, and it really was habit, and he truly had meant it to be teasing. Lassie didn't seem to think so. He scowled.
“I'd ask what you're doing here, but I don't think I care to know. Just leave. I'm tired.”
“Tired?” He wasn't going to ask about why Lassie was missing out on sleep. He wasn't going to be smart about what he already knew, or get mad and say anything else stupid. If he tried, he was pretty sure he could control himself for a solid five minutes. That was his record. Maybe it was easier when handcuffed.
He hopped up and then pretended not to notice the glare or uncertain look when he stepped closer to peer into Lassie's grocery bag. Single person food again. Frozen food. Small portions. New bottle of scotch. Someone had a case of the mopeys. The question was, about what?
Though Shawn's thinking, as always, started to pick up just like his pulse and breathing, because he was close to Lassie. He shifted. “Is that dinner in there?” Okay, so he sounded openly hopeful. He could blame that on hunger.
“I'm really not in the mood for...your shenanigans tonight, Spencer.” Lassie wasn't moving away. Shawn hadn't been shot. Good signs so far. What had Gus said? He so had not killed the Sweetness with Doritos.
“Lassie, please, I am weak with hunger. I have lived off a diet of snack chips and misery—Slurpees—for a week now. I promise no shenanigans as long as you feed me.” He crossed his heart and tried to express “famished” through facial expression alone.
“You want to stay for dinner? You're here to have dinner with m...” Lassie's voice broke, then he coughed. He was looking fierce. Shawn meant that in every possible way. Despite that, as always, he scooted closer. As always, Lassie stood his ground. Of course, that just could mean that Lass was a real life bad ass who never backed down. It might have nothing to do with Shawn.
But Shawn was pretty sure that Alan wouldn't have bothered with him if Lassie didn't feel something. And since that was the only option that didn't inspire flat out terror, he was going with that.
“I was worried about you, all alone with your suits and your scotch and Betty and Veronica,” Shawn said at last, since Lassie wanted an explanation. Lassie's mouth tightened.
“Their names are Priscilla and Lisa-Marie.” Lassie took the guns hidden in his bathroom very seriously. And yet he had wondered why one time Shawn had referred to him as Tackleberry for a month. “And you don't need to worry about me, Spencer. I haven't been dumped, and I'm not going to off myself because I'll be living alone again.”
He stalked forward into the kitchen, not seeming to notice that Shawn immediately trailed after him. He didn't ask how Shawn knew what he knew either. Lass had been studying up. Shawn really, really wanted to ask why. Too bad that just wasn't the way he worked.
He came to a stop about an inch away from Lassie and stood at his shoulder while Lassie unpacked his groceries. Lassie shopped at TJ's. He pulled out frozen taquitos, then stopped. Shawn stared into his face, using all his experience to seem innocent and not like he was an inch away from grinding on Lassie like a stripper pole the moment Lassie gave the okay.
“Spencer?” Lassie said. Shawn wondered if he knew he was whispering. “You smell like peanut butter,” he was accusing, but not exactly surprised. “You didn't.”
“I used a spoon!” Shawn protested. You use your fingers to eat someone else's peanut butter one time...
“You have this habit of breaking into my house, Spencer.”
“You noticed. I was wondering if you had.” There was no point in faking ignorance this time, but his honesty must have surprised Lassie anyway; he reared back and blinked, and then gave Shawn a puzzled look before he randomly grabbed something, milk, and put it in the fridge. He stopped by the oven on his way back, flicking it on to preheat.
“It would have been hard not to,” Lassie murmured, then snapped. “I'm not stupid. You left plants everywhere. And dirty Roo-prints.” He poked a finger in the air. Shawn mock-rubbed his shoulder as though it had connected.
“Did you just say Roo-prints?” He couldn't help it, he smiled.
“Oh shut up,” Lassie grumbled, then got out a cookie sheet and some foil, for his taquitos, as Shawn had not officially been invited to share them yet. He stuck out his lower lip. He didn't think that counted as a shenanigan.
“Well you never asked about them.” Ooh Lassie bought Jo-Jo's. Shawn reached for the box. Lassie grabbed it back.
“Can't trust you to open things properly,” he sneered, but neatly opened the cardboard flap without tearing it. “And wash your hands.”
“You wash your hands. You're the one who was handling guns all afternoon.” Shawn headed over to the sink. “You didn't ask, I figured you didn't mind.”
Lassie paused again. Shawn wondered if he was being frowned at again too.
“What was there to ask about?” he said finally. “You thought my house was boring or I was lonely and Guster talked you out of getting me a blow up doll.”
“That is so not true.” It hadn't been a blow up doll. It had been a robotic dog. No way was a piece of plastic getting any of that Lass. “Anyway, the plants are still alive...barely. The place needed them.”
Of course, Lass had to go and make a big deal out of that.
“I don't need you to redecorate my house or liven up my life, Spencer.”
Yes you do. Shawn didn't say it, but he did make the mistake of looking over. Lassie's jaw was clenched. Boy he was angry. Shawn didn't get it, he just wanted Lassie to be happy and that's why he broke in. It wasn't like he took anything. Much.
Lassie's nostrils were actually flaring. And as this made Shawn panicked and uncertain, he swallowed that annoying squeak and held up the box of Jo-Jo's. “Cookie?”
“Those...are dessert.” Lassie blinked, nostrils no longer flare-y. He reached out, then hesitated. He didn't say a word about Shawn offering him his own cookies.
“So?” Shawn shrugged. “Have some dessert before dinner and what is with the serious face? You...” He didn't know what to say, but pulled back the box and stared inside. “It's not breaking a rule, Lass. Just...” He inhaled, then pulled out a cookie. “Just...”
He popped it into Lassie's mouth, barely letting his fingertips touch Carlton's lips before pulling his hand away. He was painfully aware that it wasn't exactly a goose liver pâte sandwich with the crusts cut off. Shawn hadn't even paid for it. He shoved a cookie in his mouth too so there was no chance he'd say that out loud and listened to Lassie crunch his Jo-Jo.
“Guess you miss Alan already, huh?” He spoke around the cookie anyway, swallowed the crumbs dry. He put down the box, then wiped his hands on his jeans.
“I'm not talking about that, Spencer.” The warning in Lassie's voice was diminished when he snatched the box and immediately ate another cookie like Shawn was going to take them away from him.
“I...Alan isn't that bad. I mean, he seemed cool. Uh, smart.” It was about all Shawn could manage, but he said it. It totally counted. Lassie stared hard at him, startled, with crumbs around his mouth, then shook his head. He pushed the box away.
“I'm not talking about Alan with you right now, Spencer,” he repeated, but with new emphasis that made Shawn pause. It was a lot like getting pushed away at the station, how Shawn would have have Lassie between him and the desk, or at a crime scene with his hand almost down Lassie's pants, and Lassie would be breathing hard and staring hotly at him and then he'd growl, “Not here, Spencer” “Not here,” frowning when Shawn would step back and disappear. As though...
Maybe the Sweetness had been broken this whole time. Shawn focused back on Lassie again, wondering how dopey he must look to make Lassie look concerned for half a second.
“Why not?” He was too quiet, he knew that. It would have been a misstep with anyone else, but he wanted to be quiet now, quiet like he'd been with Lassie on that stakeout. “Maybe you should. Everyone keeps telling me honesty is the best...well...” He stopped to scratch his nose at Lassie's incredulous look, “...it's why I'm here.” Okay, panic. Panic. He reached and then stuffed a handful of cookies in his face. “You...um...are the only one that can help me,” he mumbled.
Lassie went still, then abruptly turned to shove food in his cabinets. “I did not just hear that,” he said to himself, and Shawn quickly swallowed. It was slightly painful. He tried to interrupt, but Lass turned before he could. “You're asking me to talk to you about relationships? I don't think I want to...”
His voice was tiny and not bad ass at all. Like it hurt to talk. Shawn knew that feeling, aside from how he'd just swallowed three half-eaten cookies, dry. His feet moved him forward. Lassie immediately turned to the sink to wash his hands.
“Lass.” Wow. It just came out. “You are the only one I can ask. Trust me.” Anyway, he'd asked everyone else.
“Why?” That could have meant anything. Lassie was really lathering up his hands.
“Because...” Shawn waved around, which Lassie couldn't see. He scooted closer again, got a sideways glance. Lassie's face was scrunched. “Because you know about...love stuff.” Those shoulders went up. “Because you're bad ass.” Because just one time around this block was driving Shawn crazy.
“There's no need to make fun of me,” Lassie muttered stiffly, turning off the water.
“Dude! I am not making fun of you! You're so bad ass sometimes that I can't even...” Shawn got loud, then quiet, then handed Lassie a paper towel. He wasn't sure which thing made Lass turn toward him with a startled Lassie-in-the-headlights look. Lassie cleared his throat three times. Then blinked.
Okay. Shawn felt dizzy. Quiet was good, but honesty worked better. Much, much better. Okay.
He looked down, shifted, looked up, then to the side. The urge to keep pressing the button was just too strong, no matter how scared he was.
“I'm glad you aren't moving to L.A.” He really hadn't been enjoying that he'd go chasing through an airport after Lassie, making a bigger fool of himself.
“I...” Lassie closed his mouth, then opened it again. “...don't know why you keep insisting that would happen.”
“Yeah right. Now who's faking? As though Alan isn't amazing and couldn't make you do anything. With his hair and his suits and his eyes and that body...”
“That's enough, Shawn.” And back to cranky Lassie. “You really thought I'd leave?” He folded up the paper grocery bag, then ripped open the taquitos and dropped all of them onto the foil. Shawn tried to perk up at that.
“I've been known to make the occasional mistake,” he admitted in a small voice of his own. Then added, “Hey!” when Lassiter laughed. Laughed. The laughter stopped when Shawn stepped over to wipe crumbs from around Lassie's mouth. Lassie just frowned and watched him.
“You have good taste in cookies.” Small-scale honesty wasn't that bad. When the oven beeped, and Lassie turned with a jumpy motion to put in their taquitos, Shawn stared at Lassie's back. “And you look good in suits but I'd love to see you out of them.”
It was no worse than anything else he'd ever said to Lass, he was pretty sure. Just the same, Lassie slammed the oven door closed and then didn't move.
“...And in some jeans or something.” A minor chickening out should be allowed. But Lassie's shoulders went down, then he set the timer on his oven and turned.
“I know it's not your thing, Spencer, but I happen to like suits.”
“Lass, I...” Really like them too. Harry Belafonte it was hard to do this. But hurt was all over Lassie's face and Alan was wrong, sometimes it was awful being around someone like Lass, someone whose face showed everything that Shawn felt inside. Shawn's heart thumped just looking at him. “I... Remember that time when you handcuffed me to your steering wheel?”
As always, when Shawn said something even he knew was random, Lassie seemed taken aback but wary. Then he sighed. Which meant yes, yes he did. “...That was nice,” Shawn added.
“Fetish of yours?” Lassie sneered, but faintly. His eyes were so hot and some word that was like stormy and violent and really awesome, especially considering they were talking about those silent, shared five minutes. Cookies churned in Shawn's stomach. Then it was that silent again.
“I liked it. It was...” Restful made him edgy, normally. But this had been...he might have stayed, even without handcuffs. No, he would have. “It made the flip flops stop even though my heart was still racing.” It was almost too much. “And stuff.”
Lassie scratched this time. “Let me guess. Too much sugar?” His sneer still lacked its usual sneeriness. Shawn jumped.
“Are you going to let me do this?” He gave up with a tiny, completely justified howl. Come on, Lassie had to see where he was going here. Lassie's chin went up, proving Shawn right.
“If it doesn't take all night.” Lassie crossed his arms and leaned back. Like he was waiting. Shawn frowned.
“Just because you're experienced at it...” he started.
“It never gets easier.” Lassie shot him right down. He was so mean. Shawn rubbed at his poor stomach.
“Okay, that's...horrifying.”
“Tell me about it.” Lassie gave a soft snort.
“Wow... Wait!” Lassie... “You knew? I...” He was so missing something here. Lassie studied him for a moment, his expression careful and sort of blue, like a sad blue, like The Blues, and then he went to a cabinet and pulled out a glass. He set it out without putting any ice or scotch in it—the other possible ending to this—and then leaned back against the oven.
Shawn could breathe. He could. “I like the smell of your shampoo.” He couldn't. Too much honesty. This had to be too much. And Lassie wouldn't stop staring. That the expression in his eyes was familiar didn't matter.
“That's obvious.” Was that a rumble? Shawn hoped that was a rumble. Lassie gestured at his house. “As obvious as the plants.” There were...a lot of things to say to that.
“And you...why... why don't you take me seriously?” He'd been squashed. He was squashed. And sort of broken. Again. He'd been trying, and at the thought he felt a hot spark, like he was getting pissed. Again. For the second time in one day. It was a record too.
He had a feeling only Lass could do this to him.
“I could ask you that.” A trace of anger was in Lassie's voice too, but he waved again. “All you do is make fun of me or...wind me up.” His blush was almost distracting, but his look was direct. “Then walk away.”
“Me? You never...!” There he was, getting upset again. Hurt and angry and so frustrated he could burst. He wanted to blast the crap of out Paper Man. He needed his Xbox. He settled for passing his hands through the air, in front of Lassie's face. “You never... Henry... I don't know any other way to... I never meant it like...Lassie. But you never...”
Because Lassie was the marrying type, he frowned harder and sighed. Something about it made Shawn focus, really focus, narrowing his attention and letting the strange, bad feelings slip away. Lassie looked at him, everything all over his face. He was so tired and sad.
“Spencer, a month ago you announced you wanted to marry burritos.”
“Hmm real ones or fast food ones? Doesn't matter, they're all good.” He couldn't help it. Lassie wasn't amused. His sad moony Lassie expression changed to a glare that was all defiance. Oh right, the humor thing. Shawn thought about Alan, for once without that sickening turning in his stomach.
He slid closer and spoke to Lassie's tie. He gulped. “Burritos mean nothing to me. Except as food.” He watched Lassie's chest move as he breathed out, how it stopped when Shawn kept talking. “You though, Lass. You...um... You...” Words. He had to get them out. Also some air in. He wanted to reach into his pocket except Lassie was right there in front of him and not moving, and what did he have to do, rent a billboard? “Come on, Lassie, I am like on a platter here!”
“...You gonna kiss me or what?” He refused to think that he sounded pouty. He had a feeling he looked pouty enough. He glanced up, then froze.
“You really are a horrible psychic.”
“Alan says I'm good--”And then wow, wow oh man, wow, Lass was kissing him. He didn't realize he'd jumped forward, pounced on, bounded toward Lassie until Lass hit the oven with a little grunt. Then it was heat and better than he'd imagined and suck on that, Slater, not-slow kissing. Hungry kissing. Fast and a little desperate, because oh yeah, he'd been waiting years and it was so much better than he'd thought. Good, great, awesome. He was shaking and sick and yet all the flip flopping tummies in the world weren't going to make him stop.
It was hot.
Lassie made noises. Serious, fierce noises, and pulled Shawn closer, and that close, it turned out, the wild flailing heart thing didn't get better, it got worse, but whoa did Shawn not mind. Hot, hot. This could not get any hotter. His hands went everywhere. Lassie allowed it, moaning a little into his mouth with each grope, and “Not here” had clearly just meant “Yes! Yes! But not at the station” this whole time. He felt stupid and dizzy and turned on and flushed with heat and things Made of Good and when Lassie finally, finally pulled away to breathe, Shawn leaned back in.
“That was hot.” He was not even kidding. Lassie turned red. Pink, Shawn realized, yeah a little slow here, was half-assed at best. Red was the real deal.
“That's the oven,” Lassie rumbled. Dude. Shawn had to grope him some more. “Shawn... It's hot.”
“Yeah you are.” No one was there to hear him sound like an idiot. It was cool. He thought he'd pulled off a light, teasing tone pretty well for a man who'd have problems walking right now. But Lassie arched an eyebrow, and then turned his head. He would also be having some trouble in the walking department, not that Shawn would going to let him try. “What?”
Sue him. The Sweetness did not work when there wasn't blood in his brain. Lass turned back to him with a frown. “You still think I'm joking!” He was shocked. He was outraged. He was...still holding back a little. But Lassie hadn't said it either.
That knocked the air right out of him. “This is not—this is only partly about groping rights, Lass!” he insisted and oh, wow, Carlton turned those eyes on him. The ones Shawn had seen before. Many times before now that he thought about it. Like Lassie was asking. Or telling Shawn something. It was how he must have looked when he'd been telling Shawn to make it worth it, to aim for...
Right. Saying it like an adult. No bells and whistles. Making it not a waste of time. Personal and direct action. The best policy. This was his chance. Not being a coward.
Aiming for the heart. All that stuff.
His gaze fell to Lassie's shoulder, then Lassie's chest. He leaned in until he was frowning against Lassie's day off suit and he couldn't see those eyes and his voice was a muffled whisper at best.
“I...”
He swallowed. Lassie's fingers tightened in his hair for one second and then slid down, stroking his neck, and Shawn was warm again, breathing again. It did work in the movies, sometimes.
“I love you.” He only took the one shot, but he felt like he should have worn the vest after all. His chest ached. He almost stumbled back, all kinds of weak and woozy. He wasn't even sure he'd said it out loud. He'd probably gone silent, or squeaked again, or maybe he'd fainted from lack of nutrients and he was dreaming this only then he realized his mouth was still moving and he was talking. Saying like...oh...everything ever until Lassie stopped him because not even Lassie needed to know what Shawn thought about when he was trying to get rid of morning wood.
“That's enough.” He refused to consider that Lassie was laughing at him. Or how he hadn't said it back even though Lassie's rumbling voice had meant—Rock the boat, work the middle—that Lassie had heard it all and had liked it. “Spencer...Shawn.” Lassie coughed a second later. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“I just poured my heart out and you're talking about food?” Shawn pulled back enough to give a gasp that neither of them believed. Lassie snorted. Shawn scratched his nose, using Lassie's coat. Then he nodded because his nerves were finally, finally, calming down and Lassie was warm and close and not going anywhere, and also he loved Shawn back and had forever and everyone else had seen that already, even Alan. “Okay,” he agreed, because he so wasn't going anywhere either. “I could use a nosh.”
Too many episodes of The Nanny for him clearly.
Lassie snorted, then laughed. Shawn did his best to seem offended.
Maybe it was the way he was walking on sunshine, but the station felt different when Shawn walked in. Gus didn't seem to notice, but then Gus was focused on getting a case. They had been out of work for a while now, since the Alan case had been non-existent and Shawn had spent most of the past week holed up in Lassie's house doing things to and with Lassie.
Like eating taquitos straight from the oven and learning that Lassie's answer to burned fingers was to put them in his mouth and suck on them, and then realizing that all those times Shawn had felt on Lassie's face—and his mouth—at the station must have driven Lassie crazy because he'd groaned around Shawn's sore, sensitive fingertips until all Shawn had been able to do was babble something about taquitos and piña coladas, then flail around, smacking the counter and sending sizzling hot Mexican food flying all over the kitchen right before he'd withdrawn his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, kissing Lassie feverishly and crushing him against that oven. Lassie had kissed him back.
Taquitos and sex and Lassie. Shawn was in love.
Well, he'd been in love before. But now he was in love. And people actually believed him when he said it/told them about it in great detail/made strangers blush.
It was hard not to, even though, as Gus had said yesterday, everyone at the gas station did not need to know that if Lass fell asleep sitting up, his mouth dropped open and he drooled a little. Or the way he growled when Shawn was direct and said things like, “Yeah, right there,” or yelled out his name for the neighborhood to hear...if Shawn had any neighbors at his crappy apartment. Or how when Shawn had gone out to get donuts, Lassie had woken up and called him, so adorably anxious that Shawn had left him and so unable to pretend otherwise that Shawn had brought him back some chocolate milk to instruct him in the proper way to dip a plain cake donut.
He let out a long, pleased sigh at the memory, even if Lassie hadn't appreciated Shawn's chocolate milk and breakfast treat combo. He of course had been about coffee and donuts with sprinkles. Amateur. If only Shawn had had more time to school him. It was a shame the honeymoon was over and Lassie had had to come back to work today.
Okay, Lassie had been getting antsy to get back to work. It was his calling after all. Shawn wasn't bothered by that, whatever Gus said. Shawn had just...had to come into the station today. He had to work to keep himself in the Tivo-and-smoothie lifestyle to which he was accustomed. And this was his calling too, maybe. Probably. Definitely.
Cops were waving to him, smiling to see him in the station again, maybe even giving him knowing looks as they went out for their shifts. Like he was kind of one of them, or at least, a semi-reliable sidekick that they trusted with their cases. Also like they suspected where he'd been spending his free time, which was slightly puzzling, since it wasn't like Lassie would announce it and Shawn had been totally subtle.
Sure, he'd groped Lass here and in public repeatedly. And talked loudly about intimate things. And blindfolded him. But as obvious as those things were, normal people usually missed them. Of course, according to Drimmer, the station had thought they'd been together...and broken up...already.
And...the officers at the station didn't seem to mind that too much either, even if the ladies weren't looking the friendliest right now. If anyone did mind—who didn't mind only because Shawn had possibly taken their candy bar away—they were smart enough not to do anything about it. Lassie might make their lives a living nightmare, put their names in a little book, make sure they behaved themselves, 24/7.
Shawn would have to persuade Lassie otherwise. That was an odd thing to consider, though he could do distractions. And as Lass had discovered over the weekend, maybe Shawn wasn't a TV star, but he was awesome in bed.
He could do that. If he had to. He didn't think it would be a pain. He'd be around anyway, so it shouldn't be difficult to keep Lass busy.
He smiled back at everyone, smiled wider to imagine nice, distracting Lassie techniques. It would be like his visions, only perhaps naked. And private.
Okay, yeah, they trusted him here, just like Gus had said. They trusted him enough to not care about the details of how he did what he did, as long as he did it. And here he'd put all this effort into the bells and whistles. Okay, some effort...
...Okay he made up his visions on the spot.
So. He had a calling, for sure. This was what Lassie felt, had felt his whole life. And had wanted Shawn to feel too, even with the ways Shawn had embarrassed him while doing it.
Man, he hadn't thought he get any higher on his love cloud. At the moment he had no complaints about Lassie at all, not even the work thing anymore, though he'd pouted last night when Lassie had gotten all jaunty and perky as he'd set out a suit to wear this morning.
Lassie would have wanted to work even if he'd been with Alan. So it was okay...and Shawn would keep telling himself that until the fluttery butterflies in his stomach stopped needing Pepto. Which would be the moment when he saw Lassie again. In public. In the station. And Shawn could really be sure that both of these things that he loved could play nice together.
Gus had assured him that it would be fine. Also that his hair looked perfect, that green looked almost as good on him as blue, and there was no possible way Lassie had gotten sick of him yet.
The “yet” was both hurtful and alarming. Gus had spouted out something else about when the being in love went away and turned into regular old love and how Shawn shouldn't be scared when that happened either, even if movies never showed that part, because it was still good, but Shawn had stopped listening because by then they'd been at the station and he hadn't seen Lassie since early that morning.
He knew Lassie was here. He knew Lassie loved him, had known it for sure from the moment they'd made it to Lassie's bedroom—which Lassie had shared with Alan—and Shawn had said, “Yeah, Lassie like that. Make me forget. Make me forget Alan was ever here,” on his back with Lassie's fingers pressing in intimate places, and then added, “Except I won't. I never forget anything, Lass. Lass, I never forget,” on some kind of gasping and horny and loving honest streak, and Lassie had stopped and stared at him for a moment before hitching him up and bending down and being so, so good that Shawn had lost his mind, then his voice, then consciousness.
Which sounded cooler than “fainted” and less desperate than “put into a Lassie love coma”.
He couldn't even begin to imagine what Alan's “one complaint” about Lassie had been. Unless of course it was the fact that Carlton let things slip in bed, like, “Shawn, Shawn” and “love you”. Or the way he responded to every little hint in ways he never did at the station, reading Shawn like he was psychic, and how he nearly lost control when Shawn went down on him.
And how gentle he was. Lassie was gentle afterward. It was...kind of girly, but so far Shawn hadn't felt like complaining.
He didn't know why he was freaking out now, but he was, bouncing a lot as he made it to the bullpen—where Lassie's desk was unoccupied. Shawn squinted and looked around, but there was no sign of his funny Lassie valentine. Or of Jules for that matter.
There was a cupcake on Lassie's desk, and a card that said “Welcome back.” Both from Jules, judging from the sprinkles. No one else had marked Lassie's absence, which made sense, since Lassie had been respected but not exactly popular before his famous boyfriend, but Shawn frowned anyway.
Just because Lassie got embarrassed about scenes didn't mean that people couldn't have shown him they'd missed him. He was never going to know about the womens bathroom dirty talk but something face to face would have been nice. Maybe there had been manly back slapping and stuff when he'd first arrived.
He slid closer, then paused with his ass just hovering at the edge of Lassie's desk. Lassie desk was pristine. Everyone leaving it untouched was something. A mark of respect. The kind of subtle gesture Lass would appreciate. Shawn parked his butt on it, wiggling to push back the in/out trays. It was the kind of gesture that Shawn appreciated.
It was what he always did, though suddenly he was uncertain. Maybe he should try subtle now too. Before he could move, Buzz was coming over from the coffee area.
“Hey, Guys! Haven't seen you around.” He so never got the obvious, or noticed how Gus hesitated then agreed.
“Yeah...Shawn's been...busy.”
“Detective Lassiter's back today too.” Buzz took that as his cue to launch into the news. Shawn did his best to look interested. It wasn't hard. He really was, even if he'd already known that particular fact.
“Oh really?” Gus played innocent really well too. Buzz nodded.
“I thought he'd be crankier, I mean, well he's always...I... He's a great detective but sometimes he...”
“Can get a little too involved?” Gus filled in for him. Shawn scratched his nose. Buzz looked relieved, then went on.
“Yeah, and the thing is...” Buzz stopped to look left and right. Shawn leaned closer. “The thing is...he must have gotten dumped or something. Because according to everyone Alan Taylor is back in Hollywood. But I swear to you, Detective Lassiter smiled at me this morning...until I spilled coffee on his shoes.”
“Smiled?” Gus glanced at Shawn. Shawn felt a smile growing on his face too and controlled it with an unappreciated effort. Then he hopped back to his feet and put a hand to his head.
“I wouldn't worry about it Buzz. I have a feeling he's already moved on.” The smile slipped back out. He decided to ignore how Gus rolled his eyes, but ruined his cool by leaning in until he was almost against Buzz' side. “Did he really smile?” he wondered in a hushed voice and Gus spoke up.
“Oh my God, Shawn. You know you sound fourteen, right?”
“Shut up, Gus. This is my Jake Ryan moment. Let me enjoy myself.” Shawn waited patiently for Buzz' nod, then stepped back to park his butt on Lassie's desk again.
“That doesn't excuse you wearing that 'Team Lassie' shirt I know you're having made.” Gus crossed his arms. “Fourteen,” he declared firmly.
“Shawn!” Jules' called out right as Shawn was working on getting indignant about Gus calling Lassie a Chester-Molester. Sure, Lass was older, but he was hardly a creepy child-toucher. Shawn was just naturally youthful.
And if that meant waking up from his love coma around midnight and finding Lassie not in the bedroom with him and awake and obviously still worried about something, and then deciding to reassure Lass the only way he knew how—with a box of cookies and cartoons on the couch—then youthful had its perks.
Of course, waking again to sunlight and the sound of Lassie's phone ringing and realizing it was Alan calling to make sure they were decent before he came back to pick up his stuff hadn't been nearly as awesome. Also he'd been stiff and sore in bad ways and Lassie had looked suspiciously from his phone to Shawn as though suspecting that Shawn and Alan had had some sort of conspiracy before giving up and letting Shawn drag him up to share a shower.
Shawn reconsidered the lost moment. It was too bad Lass had given up. He was getting better and better at working outside that trapezoid every day. Shawn was pleased to think it was due to his influence. Another few years and Lassie might be close to being as awesome as Shawn was.
Though he'd need all the time with Lass he could get, which meant no more unsupervised Alan visits, like that morning, when Shawn had left to change clothes and see Gus and brag to/thank his dad until Henry had kicked him out in disgust...and to give Lassie some alone time with Alan. He hadn't liked it but Lassie had insisted, because for some reason, he still didn't get that Alan already knew everything about how Shawn and Lassiter had been together for booty shenanigans.
They were the only shenanigan Lassie found acceptable. Shawn had re-learned that when he'd patiently waited for as long as he could possibly stand it and also gotten tired of trying to peer in Carlton's windows from the trees across the way to spy on Carlton and Alan, and had gone to his apartment to call Carlton, demanding that Lassie had to come save him from mountain lions and coyotes which he had heard were coming down from the mountains.
Lassie, even doubting him, had been there in under fifteen minutes. Alan had been nowhere in sight, and Shawn had cut off the stream of snarling and swear words by yanking him inside as he'd paused to catch his breath and pinning him to the wall to demonstrate just how much he'd missed him in the hours they'd been apart.
Afterward, panting and wiping his mouth and collapsing on the floor, he'd listened to Lassie listing why he shouldn't make false emergency calls and how he'd nearly had a heart attack and if Shawn...if Shawn loved him he shouldn't do that. The “if” had stung a little, but then he'd fallen to the floor too and made sure Shawn wasn't capable of lying...or speaking much at all...and Shawn had started to see his point.
“What if I lied to you now, Shawn?” he'd muttered, mouth soft, words sharp and Shawn had tried to tell him that he'd know any lie before Lassie could ever say it out loud, but Lassie interrogated in bed too, pressed down and in and used that mouth like a naughty man who'd played Bad Cop one too many times, and ordered Shawn to admit the truth.
Or at least had taken Shawn's, “...I just wanted...” and “...Alan...” and “...Don't leave...” to mean things that Shawn still squirmed to think about.
He put his hands to his face until he realized he was hot all over. Jules. He focused.
Jules looked happy to see him. He couldn't take it. He bounced over to her too. She'd missed Lass too, she'd understand.
“Jules! What's the word about Lassie in the ladies room today?” She'd just come from there, she'd know.
“Shawn!” He couldn't decide if her blush was embarrassment about the ladies room itself or what had been said in the ladies room. He waved a finger at her.
“If you don't tell me I'll just go find out for myself.”
“He will.” Gus had his back. Jules' eyes got big, then she frowned playfully at him and changed the subject.
“Where have you been anyway? Without Lassiter around it was quiet enough, but...” She stopped at how Shawn went still, then blinked at her. Then he smirked. He couldn't help it.
“Oh my God,” she echoed Gus, who promptly said, “Thank you.” As though Shawn was acting crazy just to mess with him. Shawn was acting crazy because he felt amazing and the world had to know.
“Jules!” he exclaimed. He honestly couldn't help it. It wouldn't have taken an Alan Taylor to read his facial expressions and body language. It wouldn't even have taken a Shawn Spencer. “Jules, whatever was said in there, they don't even know the half of it.”
“Really?” Intrigued like a good girl should be, she ducked her head for more only to snap it up at the familiar rumble echoing down the hall toward them. Shawn looked over too, watched Lassie as he walked alongside the Chief and looked over some file with her. Lassie had worn the black suit, with a light blue shirt. Shawn liked it despite himself. He wondered what Lass thought of his green shirt.
But Lassie was at work, so he ought to control himself. If only that was the way he worked.
Hopefully Lassie had meant it when he'd said he'd gotten used to it.
“Lassie!” he sang out and both Lassie and the Chief stopped. Lassie's eyes went right to him. So did Vick's, but Shawn wasn't concerned with her. He was currently all about the warm, adoring—or at least not-furious—blue sweeping over him and then stopping at his face, and Lassie staring back into his eyes in a way that was awesome and probably too long so that even normal people—and possibly even Buzz—should have seen it and read it for what it was.
It was how Lassie looked at him every day. Like Shawn was irritating but awesome and Lass wasn't quite sure what to do with him but he was open to suggestions. Shawn had a few. His heart felt like he was standing in the middle of a party where the DJ really liked songs with bass.
Then the Chief said something that made Carlton flinch, but they both started walking again, heading in Shawn's direction.
He thought Lassie approved of his green shirt.
Gus put a hand on his arm, just for a moment. Shawn tried to nod, to show that he could contain himself and the massive surge of happy good sexy lovey times inside him. He knew he could, if he had a good enough reason.
Lassie went to his desk, looked it over like Shawn had taken something, which he might have back in the day, and probably would have to do again, but for now, Shawn's only objective was the man himself, so it was still clean. He wondered what Lass would have done if he had taken something. Hopefully what he'd always done, drag Shawn somewhere, get in his face, and then end up doing whatever Shawn said anyway.
He knew more about that entailed now. And just what Lassie was willing to do for him as long as he was honest and direct and asked for it. It was the sexiest...the greatest...
He let out a sigh.
Gus made another gagging noise. Shawn slapped his arm. Gus slapped his.
Oblivious, or acting like it, Lassie only moved to the edge of the group. The Chief was speaking.
“Nice to see you back as well, Mr. Spencer,” she greeted him, carefully bland. “Mr. Guster.”
“Guster.” Lassie greeted Gus too. But his rumbly, short, intimate, “Spencer” made Jules grin. Shawn grinned back at her.
“Did you have a case for us?” Thank Starsky and Hutch that Gus could be businesslike right now.
“As a matter of fact I do...” The Chief's smile was more distant, if approving. “It will be nice to have my team back,” she went on, before adding some more stuff that was more about work than trying to make Shawn feel as dumb as he'd felt the other day when Henry had opened his door, taken one look at him, and said, “So I take it went well, kid?”
Shawn covered by looking over at Lassie, who was looking at him before he remembered to turn his head and at least pretend he was listening to the Chief. The line was between his eyes, but he was standing straight and his mouth wasn't nearly as tight as it used to be.
He could have been happy just to be wearing his badge and gun again. Or his pink ears could be saying that Shawn might also have something to do with how he was seriously not-frowning today. There was really only one way to be sure.
And with that, Shawn closed his eyes and walked over, tripping over Lassie's feet and enjoying the soft swear and grumble of surprise before Lassie caught him. Shawn immediately turned, putting his face to Lassie's shoulder. Then he opened his eyes.
Everyone was looking at them. He could hear Lassie's gasping and put his hands up so he could feel it too.
Lassie's breath was damp against his fingers, and nearly as hot as the body supporting him. And, fyi, there was no oven in sight. Lass was just that hot hot hot.
Lassie was breathing hard. His cheeks were raspy—he needed a better moisturizer. But his hair was that same surprisingly soft and coconutty delight that it had been for the past few days. Shawn petted it and then dropped his hands to Lassie's face again, that mouth, right as Lassie recalled himself enough to shut it and scowl at him.
Shawn could have gone for the candy bar, but Carlton was a firm believer in eating candy in private. A very firm believer. Shawn would have to be content with playing with the wrapper while in public. He was surprisingly fine with that. Also Lassie was holding a file that could be related to whatever the Chief might ask Shawn to look into.
The volume in the station was dropping and dropping fast. Lassie's cheeks felt like they were burning. It wasn't the same thing as TV cameras, but it was probably just as embarrassing to him. But he wasn't pushing Shawn off.
Shawn smiled at Jules and Buzz and then shifted a bit more, pulling at Lassie's collar so that hint of a hickey would be visible to everyone. Now he felt better about having to let go. His stomach was on a roller coaster, but Lassie's heart was thundering.
“Is this a vision, Mr. Spencer?” He wasn't exactly surprised at the question from the Chief, but Lassie jumped.
“No.” The thing about being honest, he'd noticed, was that it had the strangest effect on people when used properly. It was enough to make him consider it in the future.
The Chief blinked. Jules beamed. Buzz looked like Shawn had blown his mind. Gus sighed. Shawn felt warm all over.
Lassie squeaked. Poor Carlton; he probably had something stuck in his throat.
It broke the mood enough for Jules to lift her chin and look around at the people obviously watching them.
“All right, that's enough. Give me back my partner, Shawn. You've got something to discuss with the Chief. In her office.”
“Yes, come along, Mr. Spencer. And try to remember that this is a police station,” the Chief reminded him, still smiling carefully and not even attempting to scold Lassie, though she did add, “We've had enough excitement for a while, haven't we, Detective?” to make Lassie jump again and nod. A few of the people watching stifled giggles.
Shawn couldn't wait to slip into the ladies room now.
The Chief moved away, toward her office, and Gus followed her, waving at Shawn to follow. He sighed, but moved to do it since he did like money for his smoothies, then grinned when Lassie's hand yanked at his shirt to pull him back.
It was just for a second, just another moment to enjoy the feel of Lassie being close, for Lassie's hands to barely pass over him, for the station to see that Lassie liked Shawn too, but it was awesome. Way better than Lassie just tolerating Shawn's hands on him, or any other public declaration of affection. He didn't want Shawn to go. Shawn didn't want to go. It put smoothies and pineapple to shame.
His good mood was only somewhat spoiled when Lassie reached out and took back the folder that Shawn had stolen—borrowed—from him during his touchy-feely session.
Shawn twisted to face him, all sorts of his body parts suddenly frustratingly close to Lassie's body parts. He didn't comment on the folder, though he did shrug in a, “What did you expect?” kind of way. Lass wrinkled his nose and remained unimpressed. Shawn waited a beat, then blinked, then set to work straightening already straight lapels and patting down Lassie tie. Those silk-blends were all his now. Kind of like the look Lass gave him. Annoyed and turned on and embarrassed and a bunch of other things that Shawn was choosing to classify as so in love he couldn't see straight and it would take his determined junior partner to get him moving again.
“Not at work...” Lassie whispered, and it was more like pleading than yelling, now that Shawn thought about it. More like, unlike when anybody else did it, Carlton couldn't control himself when Shawn was this close. “Shawn...” Lass whispered, and Shawn leaned in, had to. It was an uncontrollable, automatic reaction of his own.
“Carlton!” Jules snapped, just like Shawn had predicted. He looked away, at everyone else watching. Even the ones pretending they weren't. Lassie was not happy, clearly, so Shawn stepped back to give his sexy man beast his space. He'd made it clear enough to everyone for one day, or at least for one morning.
That he, Shawn Spencer, was butt-crazy in love with Carlton Lassiter. And that Lassie loved him too.
Also that Shawn was the hottest fake psychic around, on TV or otherwise.
That was the truth, and everyone knew honesty was the best policy.
Back to Part One
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