Fic: “Truth or Dare" by momonoki - PG-13 - Lassiter/Spencer 4/5
“Truth or dare, Spencer.”
“Truth.”
“Okay, this goes back to what I asked before.” Shawn rolled his eyes at this. Lassie would never let it go, would he?
“I’d really like to know how you know where all the clues are. How did you know the evidence we need is in this room? And don’t say any of that ridiculous “it came from the spirits” mumbo-jumbo. Honestly, I’d like to know.” Lassiter’s smile wasn’t kind-it was dangerous.
“Um, well, I gotta say the spirits are a little insulted by your lack of faith…” Shawn loved playing with fire.
“Spencer.”
“Seriously, I am a psychic. It’s hard to explain how tight this bond is between me and the spirit world. I can’t provide any empirical proof of that,” because it doesn’t exist, Shawn continued to himself. “BUT, what I can tell you is how to awaken yourself to the psychic realm. Follow me down the rabbit hole, Lassilicious.”
“Oh, please.” Lassiter rolled his eyes.
“Just hear me out, Lassie. This is the truth. You gotta freakin’ relax, man. You’re so uptight all the time. Although,” Shawn leaned forward to get a little closer to Lassiter, and reached out to lightly finger the detective’s striped tie, “I think part of your problem is the tie. For one, no offense, but it’s kinda fugly. Are you colorblind or something? Two, it’s so tight it’s probably cutting off the oxygen supply to your head.” Lassiter shrank a little at Shawn’s touch, and in indignation defiantly pushed the psychic’s hands away from his person. Then the detective made a show of tightening his tie even more just to spite him.
“Dude, it’s just a suggestion. Loosen that up-or maybe lose it altogether-and maybe you can loosen up too. That’s the first step. The next step is that you really gotta open your eyes and ears to see and hear amazing things you might not notice at first. But of course, don’t forget about using your other senses, too. For example, never, ever underestimate the value of licking stuff,” Shawn said, sticking his tongue out and pretending to lick erotically at the air, at which Lassiter looked a little sick. “If you do that, the spirits will guide you to what it is that you seek.”
“I’m not buying any of this, so you can just stop right there,” Lassiter held up one hand, covering his eyes with the other. The tongue bit had apparently been too much. Shawn bit back a giggle when he thought that Lassiter probably wouldn’t be able to un-burn that out of his retinas for a while. “If you don’t feel like telling me what’s really going on, then I’ll pass on another helping of your crap.” Lassiter crossed his arms obstinately.
“Well, if you’re gonna be a party pooper,” Shawn said, delighted to continue the references to excrement, “I guess it’s my turn then. Truth or dare, Lassifras?”
“Dare.”
“Since you refused to let it go, then I won’t either. I dare you to at least try, just TRY, to call upon the spirits and figure out what I’m thinking. Right now,” Shawn beckoned, as if inviting the detective to dance. Wouldn’t that be the day...
“What? But I don’t believe in any of that crap--” Lassiter protested.
Shawn raised a finger. “Hey, it’s like pineapple upside down cake, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Although, I wouldn’t be the first to tell you that baking one in an Easy Bake Oven isn’t the best idea,” he acknowledged. “Anyway, this is a dare. So you better make like Nike and just do it.” Shawn suddenly cringed. Did he really just make a reference to Nike? “Damn, that sounded bad even to me.”
“But I don’t know the first thing about talking to ghosts or whatever...”
“Then just try to focus as sharply as you can. The spirit guidance will come later. What can you tell me about, I don’t know, me right this second?”
Lassiter sneered. “You’re unshaven as always, dressed like a college kid even though you’re what, 30? Try wearing a nice dress shirt for a change. With a tie.” He wore a small grin of victory.
“Ouch, that stung a little. But yeah, that’s good. But you can do a whole lot better. Let the spirits envelop you and really, really focus.”
Lassiter shifted a little closer to Shawn so that he was about a foot in front of him, leaned forward, and began to really scrutinize him. Shawn knew that he might look scruffy but he also knew he smelled Zestfully clean at least-he had taken a shower this morning. He hoped Lassiter would pick up on that at least. For a moment, Lassiter was staring for some reason at Shawn’s pair of Converses, then quickly skipped over his legs and crotch (uncomfortable much?) and found solace in staring at Shawn’s T-shirt. Then, finally, Lassiter was examining his face, looking more and more ill at ease by the second. Shawn’s watched him playfully, a mischievous smirk tugging at his mouth. Utterly flustering the detective? Mission Accomplished. Lassiter was so close to him that Shawn could see himself reflected in the detective’s blue eyes. He stared deeper and deeper, until they both seemed to be on the edge of something that neither of them could cross. Lassiter had reached the point of no return, it seemed, when he suddenly blurted out:
“This isn’t working, Spencer! Focus on what? On how you’re trying to freak me out?” Lassiter distractedly wiped at his brow, as if exhausted. Did he work up a sweat just by looking at me? Shawn wondered. Am I that good? Then, with a fresh look of determination, Lassiter was right back in the game.
“It’s my turn anyway. Truth or Dare?”
“Dare.”
“I can pull the same stunt as you. I dare you to prove, once and for all, that you’re psychic by telling me what I’m thinking.” Lassiter looked smug.
“Hey, no fair, you copied mine!” Shawn whined. He was sick of “proving” he was psychic, but maybe, just maybe, if he was reading this whole situation correctly, it could work to his advantage.
“I already know your whole ‘psychic’ song and dance is a just a crock. I’m just interested in seeing what you’d do to try and prove it. In front of me and just me. Not O’Hara-and definitely not the Chief, who seems to buy into pretty much everything you tell her. So what do your ‘spirits’ say I’m thinking, Spencer?” Lassiter challenged. Oh no, he didn’t, Shawn thought, a little miffed. Time to put my game face on.
Shawn shifted so that he was sitting next to Lassiter, and narrowing his eyes, focused keenly on him. The detective was sitting with his arms resting on his knees. At first glance, he looked fairly relaxed, which was amazing for someone who took the art of grumpiness to a whole new level. As usual, Lassiter’s suit was clean and free of wrinkles; he was cleanly shaved and not a single salt and peppery hair was out of place. He was basically the picture of what the Man looked like-admittedly, not an image Shawn generally liked, as he wasn’t one to respect authority, but there was something a little, well, different about Lassiter. Although Lassiter was always perfectly professional, and though Shawn liked to pick on him for it, he would be lying if he said he didn’t find the grumpy head detective incredibly attractive. Sometimes Shawn would look at Lassiter in all his professional, uptight glory and he would get this insane urge to jump him, drag him off to some random empty office or bedroom, and mess him up good. Yank that tie off, muss up his hair, rough him up so much he’d put the wrinkles back in that annoyingly perfect, starched suit, eventually leaving them both sweaty, exhausted and deliciously unprofessional. That would show him. But all of this, fantasy and reality included, was based on information Shawn knew already, and he wouldn’t be a great fake psychic detective if he didn’t zoom in to see what was really going on at this very second.
Shawn focused in on the detective’s long, big hands. The knuckles were white and Lassiter kept fidgeting, as if in nervous anticipation. Lassiter never fidgeted when he was interrogating his suspects, so apparently being in here was a hell of a lot more stressful to him than questioning potentially dangerous criminals. Noting this, Shawn very slowly let his eyes wander upwards. Lassiter’s face and neck were a little flushed, a little redder than usual. It wasn’t particularly hot in the closet; it was actually a bit cold. Shawn then met the detective’s eyes. For once, the detective’s steely gaze wasn’t so angry and suspicious; instead his gaze was surprisingly soft and even a bit darker, tinged with an emotion Shawn couldn’t quite place. Shawn would have examined a bit further, but Lassiter wasn’t able to keep eye contact with him for over 3 seconds. He kept looking down a bit, at something else on Shawn’s face, and each time he licked his lips a bit, as if he was imagining an amazing, succulent coffee with his customary three creams, four sugars.
“Wow, Lassie. The spirits have spoken. And I gotta say I’m flattered.” Being stuck in here with Lassie-face was a golden opportunity, and Shawn decided right then and there he wasn’t about to waste it.
“What the hell are you talking about, Spencer?” Lassiter looked startled.
“The spirits are telling me that right now, all you can think about is kissing this scruffily handsome, unshaven 30-something year old.” Either Shawn had hit the jackpot or had merely pissed the detective off. Either way, Lassiter turned crimson. A jolt of simultaneous excitement and fear went through Shawn’s body. He’d either end up exploring the detective in ways he’d only dreamed of…or he’d end up dead. Which would it be?
“And w-why would the s-spirits say something like that?” The detective stammered. Apparently Shawn had hit the jackpot. Maybe he wouldn’t die today.
“They just know these things. They know, and they’ve told me all about it. So, Lassie, I dare you to do something about it.” Shawn stared hard at Lassiter.
“Y-you didn’t ask me Truth or Dare.” Lassiter tried, perhaps in hopes to get out of it on a technicality. He wasn’t chickening out, was he?
“I already know the truth, so all that’s left is the dare. So do something.” Shawn cocked his head to the side, a small, flirty smile curling at his lips.
The detective stared back at the fake psychic. This time, his gaze was unwavering and his voice was calm. “I’m gonna ask you two favors, Spencer.”
“Go ahead, Detective.”
“One, close your eyes. Two, shut up.”
Shawn obeyed for once, and shut his eyes. He could hear Lassiter creep a little closer, until he could feel the detective’s breath on his face. It smelled like Lassiter’s favorite mix of creams and sugars with the bit of coffee in it. The man must have insane cavities, Shawn thought, although the few times he’d seen him crack a grin it was like looking at a Crest commercial. But regardless, he couldn’t help but think that he’d like to taste Mr. Coffee Breath. He waited. A few seconds passed, feeling like hours. Nothing happened. Shawn waited about a minute longer, and then tentatively opened one eye.
Unfortunately, Lassiter had chickened out-he had scooted as far as possible from Shawn into the farthest corner of the closet, and seemed incredibly interested in his bigger-than-average shoes. Then he noticed Shawn looking at him from across the closet.
“What are you looking at?” He asked defensively. “I did the dare. You said to do something, so I did.”
“What you did was run away! Wasn’t exactly what I expected.” Lassiter looked crestfallen, so Shawn amended, “But it’s okay.”
“W-What did you think I was gonna do?” Shawn noted again the small, shy stammer in Lassiter’s voice. And again, Lassiter wasn’t able to look him in the eye. Shawn couldn’t help but inwardly chuckle at how bashful the usually intimidating detective was acting. It was kind of cute, in a bizarre sort of way.
“C’mere, Lassie,” he smiled warmly, patting the floor next to him. Slowly, Lassiter inched closer until they were sitting side by side.
Apprehensive, Lassiter gave Shawn a vulnerable, sidelong glance. Seeing the quiet but intense heat in that look was all the permission Shawn needed. He pounced.
In seconds Shawn had grabbed the detective by his shoulders and was furiously kissing him. At first, Lassiter stiffened at Shawn’s advance, but he relaxed and began to respond to Shawn’s wild, sloppy kisses with his own firm, slow ones. Shawn realized he was going too waaay too fast (dammit, that probably just made him seem like some horny teenager), so he slowed down a little to match Lassiter’s pace. Their kissing became slower, a little more hesitant, with little pauses in between each kiss. At each pause, Lassiter would give Shawn this desperate look that demanded, “Do it, Spencer!” while simultaneously begging, “Pleaaassee, Shawn;” each time Lassiter gave him that look Shawn felt like wildfire was coursing through his veins. Shawn was straddling Mr. Not-So-Grumpypants now, and unlike that one time in the past, this time Lassiter didn’t seem to mind in the least that Shawn was occupying his lap; by running his fingers through Shawn’s hair and pulling him closer, Lassiter was actively encouraging it. As they made out not unlike adolescent partygoers playing “Seven Minutes in Heaven," Shawn tugged insistently at Lassiter’s shirt, trying to loosen it. He tugged a little too hard, sending a button flying, but Lassiter was too focused on Shawn’s mouth to even notice. His long, nimble fingers traveled down Shawn’s back, eventually ending at his jean-clad bottom. They were both getting pretty close to the shedding clothes stage when a voice suddenly shouted Lassiter’s name. Shawn imagined that the detective might have been pleased given their present situation, but sadly it wasn’t Shawn who uttered it. It came from outside the closet door.