Fic: Five Times With A Belt
Five Times With A Belt
Shawn/Lassiter | 7500 | PG13
Five times Shawn is caught with Lassiter's belt and one time when no one made assumptions.
One
Gus had abandoned Shawn at Henry’s. Meaning he doesn’t get the chance to convince his dad to run him over to his apartment so he can get dressed, call Lassiter, and have him pick him up so he has time to sooth him on the drive over. No, Lassiter gets to drive himself all alone in that gigantic red car with only his thoughts of doubt swimming around in his head. Shawn is sure that there are doubts. He remembers the way the detective’s face paled when he suggested dinner at his father’s. They had been together for two months and had managed to keep it under the radar, but Shawn Spencer was not an under the radar type of guy. He was, by all means, over the top. This was his way of doing what he could.
Gus had known even before Lassiter knew. Jules was still in the dark but she was slowly coming into the light. The Chief didn’t have time to notice anything unless it was an unsolved case. Shawn deducted the next available person to shed the light on was his dad. He needs other places besides his tiny apartment and Lassiter’s only slightly bigger apartment to canoodle. He’s a loving guy, he needs places to gush.
He does not feel like gushing right now.
“Shawn, what is this about?”
“I told you. I invited a friend over for dinner.”
“You don’t invite people over to dinner.”
“Uh, Gus?” He says with his best duh voice.
“No, Gus was never invited. He just came in attached to your hip and has had a space at the dinner table ever since. People just follow you in through that door and I have to feed them!”
He waits until Henry is done with his rant, “It’s different this time.”
“Is this a special friend?”
He watches his dad take off his apple oven mitts and scoffs at it, “Yes, Dad, a special friend. About as special as you owning oven mitts with fruit on them.” Which, considering, isn’t that far off.
“Whatever, Shawn. You know I hate surprises.”
“You just hate my surprises. And it’s not a surprise. I told you a week in advance, hey, I’m bringing someone to dinner.”
“But not who!”
“Well,“ the doorbell cuts him off, “You get to find out soon. Now, actually.”
He rushes to the door leaving his father calling out to him from the kitchen. He opens it to reveal a very nervous, almost green Lassiter holding a bottle of wine.
“If you clutch that any harder, it’s going to break.”
Lassiter’s eyes widen in horror.
“It’s a joke. I was joking,” Shawn tries to correct his mistake, and God does he hate Gus. He knows this would have been much easier if he had been able to stop at home, change into a pair of his tightest jeans and had the fifteen minutes it takes to drive over here with Lassie to calm him down. Maybe twenty five if blow jobs were needed. “Here, give me the bottle. You just remember to breathe and don’t lock your knees.”
Lassiter looks like he’s trying very hard to remember to do those two things while Shawn pulls him into the house. He’s hoping he can get at least another minute to calm Lassie down but his Dad walks in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel with peaches on it.
“What is it with you and fruit?” Shawn asks.
“Detective Lassiter,” Henry ignores his son, “What a pleasure. When Shawn said he was bringing a friend for dinner I didn’t know he meant you.”
“Friend?” Lassiter looks to him for help but Shawn can’t really give it to him. Instead he offers Lassiter a seat. The detective looks at him like he’s afraid to leave Shawn’s side, but he puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him down.
“Look Dad,” he holds up the bottle, “Wine. Why don’t you go put it in the kitchen?”
“Why don’t you, Shawn? You’re the one holding it.”
Shawn purses his lips at his failed attempt to get whatever alone time he can with Lassiter. He sends the detective a sympathetic look and gets a petrified one in return. He turns and goes into the kitchen, anyway. He hears Henry try to start up a conversation but nothing from Lassiter. Christ, he’s too nervous to talk. He looks around the kitchen and figures if he can’t help Lassie, the next best thing would be alcohol.
“Hey, can I get you,” he walks in and sees his dad at the wet bar, “Anything to drink.”
“I’ve got that covered, Shawn. You might think otherwise but I do know how to be a good host.”
“Oh, no doubt in that. I’ve seen you work a room, Dad. In heels.”
Henry stops walking over to give Lassiter his drink to turn around and give Shawn a look. Shawn sees it in his peripheral; he’s too focused looking at Lassiter to see if the jokes are helping. The detective is eyeing the drink like an addict who needs a fix.
“But, I think you’d have to pay to see that one,” he amends.
“Shawn, leave the man alone,” he hands Lassiter the drink; “Lord knows how you weaseled him into spending a night with you.”
“See, that’s the thing. I-“ he stops as he watches Lassiter take the drink from his father’s hand and toss it back. Henry follows his line of vision and watches with the same look as Shawn.
The detective finishes with a big gulp then looks between father and son. His face goes from pale green to pink and then to red.
“That was whiskey,” his dad says as Lassiter starts to turn crimson, “Good whiskey.”
The detective starts to cough.
“Uh, bathroom,” Shawn supplies.
Lassiter stands up, holds his throat and runs in the direction of the hallway.
“What are you doing?!” Shawn turns to his Dad then goes after the detective.
“What am I doing? What is he doing downing good whiskey like that!” His dad shouts after him.
“Lassie?” Shawn knocks on the door, nudging it open with each soft tap.
Lassiter is still coughing and red in the face. Shawn invites himself in and rubs his back, “I know you can’t hold your liquor, but that was only one drink.”
“One drink of fire,” he hears over the running water.
He can’t help his smile, “I can’t believe you just downed an eighty dollar glass of whiskey like it was a two dollar shot.”
Lassiter stands up straight, “Eighty dollars?!”
“Or something like that. You know I’m not good with money,” he puts a hand on each of his shoulders, “Hi.”
Lassiter looks like he’s about to explode before he slumps under Shawn’s hands and sighs, “Hi.”
“You’re like Christmas. First you were green, now you’re red.”
“Green?”
“When you first walked in the door, yeah. Good news though: the red is going down.”
“The burn is starting to quell slightly,” he rubs his throat and looks at Shawn, “Really green or sort of green?”
“Like Oscar the Grouch green. Sort of pukey,” he grins, satisfied with his accurate comparison, “Good thing it’s my favorite color.”
Lassiter groans.
“Hey, why are you so nervous?” Shawn finally asks. “It’s just my Dad.”
“Yeah but,” he tries, “it’s your dad!”
“You’ve met him before. I mean how many times have you gone fishing with the guy? A lot, right? So you already know him!”
“But I don’t know him as,” he hesitates then rolls his eyes, at Shawn for insisting that they use proper terms and at himself for complying, “your boyfriend.”
Shawn settles his internal squee at the word and at Lassiter using it, “Well, it’s not going to be that different. Except for me. I have a feeling the stories you hear are going to get a lot more embarrassing.”
A small smile appears on his face, “Embarrassing? I didn’t think you could be embarrassed.”
“My father manages to make it happen,” he says, very unhappy about the fact, “But if that’s what it takes for you to loosen up, then I will be subjected to awful narratives of my youth. You really do need to loosen up.”
“I’m trying but. This is worse than when I met Tori’s parents.”
Shawn stiffens. It’s his go-to reaction whenever the wife is mentioned.
“Hey, no,” Lassiter knocks his hands off his shoulders and grabs Shawn’s biceps, “No, not worse as in its worse being with you. Worse as in I want Henry to continue to like me. I knew stepping foot into the Parker house they would always hate me and never think I was good enough. I just wanted approval. I don’t want approval here. I want him to still invite me out fishing, no matter how controlling he is. I want to be invited to every Friday dinner from here on out, okay? The consequences of me messing up are worse.”
Shawn swallows, relaxed under the detective’s hands like he usually is, “I think you just want to get laid tonight, laying all that stuff on me. Laying it on thick, too.”
“Maybe. Do you believe me?” He holds his gaze, something Shawn hates in times like these and usually looks away and cracks a joke. But this time he stares back and nods.
“I believe you.”
Belief is a big thing between them, since a lot of Shawn is lying and a lot of Carlton is justice and truth. One of the many obstacles they have to hurdle. But Shawn likes to take life on as it comes at him, and right now he has a mellowed out Lassie in his father’s bathroom.
“Come on, you just stopped being red, let’s loosen you up,” he moves his hands to undo the top buttons on Lassiter’s shirt.
“What are you-“
“I think you’re making it worse by not being able to breathe with this buttoned all the way up to your neck. Come on, show some bush!”
“Shawn,” he warns and tries to brush his hands away but the first two buttons are already undone. He sighs.
“Much better,” Shawn rests his hand on the exposed skin and really wishes he could have provided calming blow jobs earlier tonight, “Now, let’s make your pants not go up to your nipples.”
“Shawn!”
He smiles and runs his hand down Lassiter’s chest aiming for his belt. He dodges the protesting hands and get’s the buckle undone when he hears another voice call his name.
“Shawn!”
He turns to look at his dad, his fingers holding onto Carlton’s belt, “Yes?”
“What are you doing?” Henry is standing in the hallway, looking very disapproving of the situation.
“I’m trying to take off Lassie’s pants,” Shawn does another version of the duh voice.
“No sex in the bathroom, Shawn!” His father flails with his apple oven mitts on.
“Since when is that a rule?” he shoots back.
He places his hands on his hips, “Since junior year when I caught you in here with your teacher.”
“You had sex with your teacher?” Lassiter seems to come out of his panic to ask the question with an awed and judgmental tone of voice.
“Not sex. He walked in before I could get past second base,” Shawn rolls his eyes.
“You spilled wine on her shirt. On purpose,” his father provides.
“How do you think I got to second base?” he says with a smirk.
“You had sex with your teacher?!” Lassiter says, appalled and a little angry.
“No, no home runs! Just some fondling! Besides, she was just a substitute.”
“You were underage!” He exclaims, slapping Shawn’s hands away from his belt and stepping back.
“She was only like twenty five! And she was only there for the two months my regular teacher was out. What substitute teacher comes over for dinner to discuss a student’s progress anyway? She was practically throwing up a sign that said, ‘Shawn, please spill wine on my shirt and ravish me in the bathroom.’ She wanted it!”
“You were seventeen, what did you know about ravishing?” His dad crosses his arms.
“Well,” Shawn starts then stops, “Not much. But only because you interrupted!”
“And I’m interrupting again. Dinner’s ready,” with that he turns and leaves.
After a few moments of silence, Lassiter finds his voice, “Your dad thinks we were trying to have sex in his bathroom with the door open.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t think I’m very smart. But if I remembered to close the door when I was a teenager, I would remember to do it now. And lock it since that was the obvious flaw last time.”
“Shawn, I’m stuck on the sex in your dad’s house right now,” Lassiter says, frustrated.
“I know you are. But some other time,” he pats his cheek, “He said dinner’s ready.”
“Shawn!”
“Lassie, I think you’re missing the point here.”
“Am I?” Lassiter says, upset that Shawn can’t take anything seriously for even a second.
“My dad is worried about us soiling his bathroom, not the fact that you’re my,” what did his dad say earlier? “Special friend.”
Lassiter’s frown goes neutral, “Oh.”
Shawn waits for him to catch on, “Yeah.”
“Oh,” his face goes from neutral to smiling.
“And you know what? I think he’s just glad I’m of age this time,” he grabs his hand and turns off the bathroom light, “Come on, Lassie. Let’s go eat the best salmon you’ll find on the coast of Santa Barbara.”
“You know, salmon don’t actually-“ his explanation is cut off by Shawn’s lips, “Yeah, okay. Let’s eat.”
Two
Shawn contemplates throwing himself down the stairs because that’s an entrance. But he already has enough bruises from his last revelation and decides to step down the stairs regularly but then swoon when he gets to the bottom. He follows through with his plan but is met with no acknowledgements. No rushing to his side, no gasps, and, the most unfortunate, no yelling or demands of what he’s doing there. He opens an eye to see why all the attention isn’t focused on him. One of the reasons is there isn’t any attention to focus. The shooting range is empty besides one person. The other reason is because of who that person is.
Shawn prides himself by always being able to get under the detectives skin, so he can’t give up this early in the game. Surely swooning gets to him. He sits up and then faints again, but nothing. He opens both eyes and can still see the rigid stance of the detective. Feet planted firmly, legs spread slightly, arms tight and head cocked. As hot as that may be, Shawn needs attention.
“Lassie!”
The detective continues to shoot at the target. Shawn rolls his eyes and stands up. He brushes off his butt and walks closer. He zooms in on the green earplugs in the detectives ears. Oh, how could he not have noticed that? A tap on the shoulder would get Lassie’s attention but that isn’t good enough for Shawn. Where’s the fun in that? Once behind him and still unnoticed, he blows gently at the hairs on the detective’s neck.
Lassiter finishes firing then rubs a hand down the back of his neck. He starts reloading another round and Shawn blows lightly again. He cocks the gun and raises his arm and Shawn goes to step forward again but is instead thrust backwards into a wall. He lets out an oomph then looks down at the gun pressed under his jaw.
“Hey, Lassie.”
“Spencer, I have a gun in my hand. What were you thinking?”
“Oh man, I guess I wasn’t. The spirits act without my permission sometimes,” Shawn pretends to be dazed. He runs a hand down Lassiter’s cheek, “Lassie, are you there? It’s me, Margaret.”
Lassiter rolls his eyes and lowers his gun but keeps Shawn pressed against the wall, “What do you want?”
“I have a lead on the case,” Shawn snaps back into reality, “The stolen diamonds case.”
“It was the husband, Spencer. The wife was cheating on him, he stole the diamonds he gave her, he got caught, he’s in jail. End of story.”
“Is it ever really that easy?”
“Sometimes, it is. That’s what we in the business call an open and shut case.”
“I’m not so sure of that. The spirits are in a frenzy.”
“Tell the spirits they can kiss my ass. The case is closed.”
“The spirits are not ass people. It does nothing for them. I on the other hand-“
“Spencer, get out of my sight,” Lassiter goes to turn around but Shawn yanks him back by his collar and pulls him forward.
“What’s this?” Shawn asks then switches to his woman voice, “Pool Boy! Oh, Pool Boy, my husband is such a baddy. Let’s make love right now!”
“Spencer,” Lassiter growls.
Shawn grins, “Yes, you beast!” He begins undoing the detective’s belt.
“Spencer, stop!” Lassiter tries to stop him with his one hand not holding the gun.
“You’re the only one who understands me, Pool Boy. If my husband weren’t around you would be the only one for me,” Shawn stops, “What if we were to run away together? Leave all this behind?”
“What?” Lassiter momentarily forgets that Shawn is trying to take off his pants and focuses.
“Oh, it’s just, I can’t leave my husband or I don’t get any of the money. That’s all the bastard has is money and he’s so selfish with it; he can’t even stand to buy me real diamonds! But I know a way that we can get real ones.” He grins and goes back to undoing the button on the detective’s pants.
“The diamonds weren’t real? The one we found on him was.”
Shawn unzips his zipper, “Pool Boy, I’m not dumb. Of course I’d plant a real one on him. Those silly cops need to think he stole them so I can get new, real ones. Then you and I can run away to the beaches of Cabo and bask and make love in the sand all day long!” With a flourish, he yanks the belt out from its loops.
“The pool boy?” Lassiter asks, to clarify.
“Detective!” O’Hara comes running down the stairs, “We can’t find the wife and the pool boy- Oh my God!”
She stops and surveys the scene in front of her.
“The husband was right. She was having an affair but he didn’t steal the diamonds!” The detective shouts at his partner, waving the gun around while he talks.
“Um, am I interrupting something?”
“What?” He looks down at his unbuttoned pants and Shawn holding his belt.
Shawn regains consciousness and looks around bewildered, “Oh, hey Jules.”
“Hi Shawn,” she says, confused.
Shawn turns towards the detective, “Whoa!” he says when he looks down, pretending to be surprised at how far he got (he has to admit, he is sort of surprised). “Guess we got a little carried away.”
Lassiter picks his jaw up from the floor and begins buttoning his pants.
“So soon?” Shawn pouts.
The detective zips his zipper and snatches his belt back, all the while glaring daggers at the psychic.
“So I just wanted to tell you that. Sorry to interrupt,” Jules spins on her heel and makes a hasty retreat.
“No problem! Knock next time!” Shawn shouts after her but is pinned against the wall.
“Spencer-“
“Another round? You know, the spirits are gone. It’s just you and me now, but I wouldn’t mind being conscious this time.”
With a glare and a shove, Lassiter stomps off. Shawn waits until he is up the stairs to do a little victory dance that he saw and touched the detective’s underwear. Gus so owes him fifty bucks.
Three
Shawn slides down the stall and kicks his feet out in front of him. He scrambles to unwind the belt and get it straight; he only has a short amount of time before Lassiter realizes where he is. The detective is by the book, so he would go to the obvious places first. Obvious would be the closet, interrogation room, or bathroom. But Shawn does not go by the book. Which is why he chose to hide in the woman’s bathroom. It’ll take Lassie awhile to stop and think like Shawn Spencer Psychic Extraordinaire but as soon as he does, he’ll know exactly where to find him. His main concern is Lassie but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get recruits to start looking for him and the piece of property he stole.
For the record, Shawn didn’t steal the belt. He found it in a bag by the detective’s desk. True, he was looking for it and true, he had to go through a couple of drawers to find it but Shawn should get credit for knowing Lassiter well enough to know he keeps spare accessories in his office drawer.
The belt unfurls before him and he rolls up his sleeves. He knows that the man they got a call on this morning didn’t die from an over dose. Having never done drugs with a needle, though, he just needs to make sure the angle is off like he thinks it is. Once his sleeve is up over his shoulder he takes the belt and wraps it around his bicep. He puts the strap in his teeth like he’s seen in the movies and pulls. It’s at that moment that O’Hara walks in. Shit, Lassiter did recruit.
“Shawn!”
When she yells it echoes off the walls. Crap, this means that Lassiter is going to be here even sooner than he expected. Well, he only needs a few more minutes to make sure anyway. He pulls out the needle he stole when he went to Gus’s work and hovers with it above his arm.
O’Hara rounds the corner and spots him, “No, Shawn, don’t!”
He figures the only way he’s going to get out of this is the way he gets out of everything these days and that is to have a psychic vision.
“No, who are you?” he makes his voice gruff, but paranoid; “I don’t know you.”
“Shawn, please stop. It’s me, O’Hara.”
“I know you! You- you’re. You stay away from me you killer!”
“Shawn please!” Behind her, Lassiter rushes in with the Chief at his heels. Oh yay, an audience.
“Mr. Spencer?” The Chief questions.
“He needed my belt for heroin!?” Lassiter exclaims, more pissed than worried.
“No, no! Please don’t, please-“ he stops and lets his body go lax against the wall.
“Oh, God, Shawn!” O’Hara rushes to his side and wipes at his forehead. “Shawn?”
“Jules?” His eyes flutter open, “How did I get here?”
“You stole Lassiter’s belt and ran into the bathroom. Oh, Shawn, I didn’t know you had a problem!”
He looks down at his arm, “Oh no. No, I don’t-“
“Mr. Spencer, I think we need to call a doctor,” the Chief says.
“No! I know now. The spirits were channeling that recent overdose guy!”
“Terry Green?” Lassiter asks.
“Yes! He didn’t OD. He was murdered.”
“He’s right,” Jules turns to look at them, “When I walked in he thought I was here to hurt him.”
Shawn acts like he just noticed the needle in his arm, “Oh God,” he pulls it out, “He couldn’t have stuck the needle in himself. Someone else did it for him to set up the scene.” He peeks up at the Chief.
“Detectives, reexamine this case,” she says with narrowed eyes, “Are you sure you’re alright, Mr. Spencer?”
“Yes, Chief. I’m fine,” he nods.
“Great, can I have my belt back?” Lassiter asks, not at all concerned with Shawn’s well being.
“Sure, Lassie. Sorry about the whole stealing thing. The spirits go a little klepto sometimes.”
Jules stands up while Shawn undoes the belt from his arm which was going numb. Lassiter sticks out his hand and Shawn puts the belt in it. He rolls his eyes and switches the belt to the other hand and offers it again.
Shawn blinks up at him before he takes Lassiter’s hand and is hoisted up, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he stalks out of the bathroom. Shawn watches him go with awe in his eyes. He hears a small sigh and turns to see Jules smiling. It’s contagious.
Next: http://ps-noir.livejournal.com/3000.html#cutid1
Shawn/Lassiter | 7500 | PG13
Five times Shawn is caught with Lassiter's belt and one time when no one made assumptions.
One
Gus had abandoned Shawn at Henry’s. Meaning he doesn’t get the chance to convince his dad to run him over to his apartment so he can get dressed, call Lassiter, and have him pick him up so he has time to sooth him on the drive over. No, Lassiter gets to drive himself all alone in that gigantic red car with only his thoughts of doubt swimming around in his head. Shawn is sure that there are doubts. He remembers the way the detective’s face paled when he suggested dinner at his father’s. They had been together for two months and had managed to keep it under the radar, but Shawn Spencer was not an under the radar type of guy. He was, by all means, over the top. This was his way of doing what he could.
Gus had known even before Lassiter knew. Jules was still in the dark but she was slowly coming into the light. The Chief didn’t have time to notice anything unless it was an unsolved case. Shawn deducted the next available person to shed the light on was his dad. He needs other places besides his tiny apartment and Lassiter’s only slightly bigger apartment to canoodle. He’s a loving guy, he needs places to gush.
He does not feel like gushing right now.
“Shawn, what is this about?”
“I told you. I invited a friend over for dinner.”
“You don’t invite people over to dinner.”
“Uh, Gus?” He says with his best duh voice.
“No, Gus was never invited. He just came in attached to your hip and has had a space at the dinner table ever since. People just follow you in through that door and I have to feed them!”
He waits until Henry is done with his rant, “It’s different this time.”
“Is this a special friend?”
He watches his dad take off his apple oven mitts and scoffs at it, “Yes, Dad, a special friend. About as special as you owning oven mitts with fruit on them.” Which, considering, isn’t that far off.
“Whatever, Shawn. You know I hate surprises.”
“You just hate my surprises. And it’s not a surprise. I told you a week in advance, hey, I’m bringing someone to dinner.”
“But not who!”
“Well,“ the doorbell cuts him off, “You get to find out soon. Now, actually.”
He rushes to the door leaving his father calling out to him from the kitchen. He opens it to reveal a very nervous, almost green Lassiter holding a bottle of wine.
“If you clutch that any harder, it’s going to break.”
Lassiter’s eyes widen in horror.
“It’s a joke. I was joking,” Shawn tries to correct his mistake, and God does he hate Gus. He knows this would have been much easier if he had been able to stop at home, change into a pair of his tightest jeans and had the fifteen minutes it takes to drive over here with Lassie to calm him down. Maybe twenty five if blow jobs were needed. “Here, give me the bottle. You just remember to breathe and don’t lock your knees.”
Lassiter looks like he’s trying very hard to remember to do those two things while Shawn pulls him into the house. He’s hoping he can get at least another minute to calm Lassie down but his Dad walks in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel with peaches on it.
“What is it with you and fruit?” Shawn asks.
“Detective Lassiter,” Henry ignores his son, “What a pleasure. When Shawn said he was bringing a friend for dinner I didn’t know he meant you.”
“Friend?” Lassiter looks to him for help but Shawn can’t really give it to him. Instead he offers Lassiter a seat. The detective looks at him like he’s afraid to leave Shawn’s side, but he puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him down.
“Look Dad,” he holds up the bottle, “Wine. Why don’t you go put it in the kitchen?”
“Why don’t you, Shawn? You’re the one holding it.”
Shawn purses his lips at his failed attempt to get whatever alone time he can with Lassiter. He sends the detective a sympathetic look and gets a petrified one in return. He turns and goes into the kitchen, anyway. He hears Henry try to start up a conversation but nothing from Lassiter. Christ, he’s too nervous to talk. He looks around the kitchen and figures if he can’t help Lassie, the next best thing would be alcohol.
“Hey, can I get you,” he walks in and sees his dad at the wet bar, “Anything to drink.”
“I’ve got that covered, Shawn. You might think otherwise but I do know how to be a good host.”
“Oh, no doubt in that. I’ve seen you work a room, Dad. In heels.”
Henry stops walking over to give Lassiter his drink to turn around and give Shawn a look. Shawn sees it in his peripheral; he’s too focused looking at Lassiter to see if the jokes are helping. The detective is eyeing the drink like an addict who needs a fix.
“But, I think you’d have to pay to see that one,” he amends.
“Shawn, leave the man alone,” he hands Lassiter the drink; “Lord knows how you weaseled him into spending a night with you.”
“See, that’s the thing. I-“ he stops as he watches Lassiter take the drink from his father’s hand and toss it back. Henry follows his line of vision and watches with the same look as Shawn.
The detective finishes with a big gulp then looks between father and son. His face goes from pale green to pink and then to red.
“That was whiskey,” his dad says as Lassiter starts to turn crimson, “Good whiskey.”
The detective starts to cough.
“Uh, bathroom,” Shawn supplies.
Lassiter stands up, holds his throat and runs in the direction of the hallway.
“What are you doing?!” Shawn turns to his Dad then goes after the detective.
“What am I doing? What is he doing downing good whiskey like that!” His dad shouts after him.
“Lassie?” Shawn knocks on the door, nudging it open with each soft tap.
Lassiter is still coughing and red in the face. Shawn invites himself in and rubs his back, “I know you can’t hold your liquor, but that was only one drink.”
“One drink of fire,” he hears over the running water.
He can’t help his smile, “I can’t believe you just downed an eighty dollar glass of whiskey like it was a two dollar shot.”
Lassiter stands up straight, “Eighty dollars?!”
“Or something like that. You know I’m not good with money,” he puts a hand on each of his shoulders, “Hi.”
Lassiter looks like he’s about to explode before he slumps under Shawn’s hands and sighs, “Hi.”
“You’re like Christmas. First you were green, now you’re red.”
“Green?”
“When you first walked in the door, yeah. Good news though: the red is going down.”
“The burn is starting to quell slightly,” he rubs his throat and looks at Shawn, “Really green or sort of green?”
“Like Oscar the Grouch green. Sort of pukey,” he grins, satisfied with his accurate comparison, “Good thing it’s my favorite color.”
Lassiter groans.
“Hey, why are you so nervous?” Shawn finally asks. “It’s just my Dad.”
“Yeah but,” he tries, “it’s your dad!”
“You’ve met him before. I mean how many times have you gone fishing with the guy? A lot, right? So you already know him!”
“But I don’t know him as,” he hesitates then rolls his eyes, at Shawn for insisting that they use proper terms and at himself for complying, “your boyfriend.”
Shawn settles his internal squee at the word and at Lassiter using it, “Well, it’s not going to be that different. Except for me. I have a feeling the stories you hear are going to get a lot more embarrassing.”
A small smile appears on his face, “Embarrassing? I didn’t think you could be embarrassed.”
“My father manages to make it happen,” he says, very unhappy about the fact, “But if that’s what it takes for you to loosen up, then I will be subjected to awful narratives of my youth. You really do need to loosen up.”
“I’m trying but. This is worse than when I met Tori’s parents.”
Shawn stiffens. It’s his go-to reaction whenever the wife is mentioned.
“Hey, no,” Lassiter knocks his hands off his shoulders and grabs Shawn’s biceps, “No, not worse as in its worse being with you. Worse as in I want Henry to continue to like me. I knew stepping foot into the Parker house they would always hate me and never think I was good enough. I just wanted approval. I don’t want approval here. I want him to still invite me out fishing, no matter how controlling he is. I want to be invited to every Friday dinner from here on out, okay? The consequences of me messing up are worse.”
Shawn swallows, relaxed under the detective’s hands like he usually is, “I think you just want to get laid tonight, laying all that stuff on me. Laying it on thick, too.”
“Maybe. Do you believe me?” He holds his gaze, something Shawn hates in times like these and usually looks away and cracks a joke. But this time he stares back and nods.
“I believe you.”
Belief is a big thing between them, since a lot of Shawn is lying and a lot of Carlton is justice and truth. One of the many obstacles they have to hurdle. But Shawn likes to take life on as it comes at him, and right now he has a mellowed out Lassie in his father’s bathroom.
“Come on, you just stopped being red, let’s loosen you up,” he moves his hands to undo the top buttons on Lassiter’s shirt.
“What are you-“
“I think you’re making it worse by not being able to breathe with this buttoned all the way up to your neck. Come on, show some bush!”
“Shawn,” he warns and tries to brush his hands away but the first two buttons are already undone. He sighs.
“Much better,” Shawn rests his hand on the exposed skin and really wishes he could have provided calming blow jobs earlier tonight, “Now, let’s make your pants not go up to your nipples.”
“Shawn!”
He smiles and runs his hand down Lassiter’s chest aiming for his belt. He dodges the protesting hands and get’s the buckle undone when he hears another voice call his name.
“Shawn!”
He turns to look at his dad, his fingers holding onto Carlton’s belt, “Yes?”
“What are you doing?” Henry is standing in the hallway, looking very disapproving of the situation.
“I’m trying to take off Lassie’s pants,” Shawn does another version of the duh voice.
“No sex in the bathroom, Shawn!” His father flails with his apple oven mitts on.
“Since when is that a rule?” he shoots back.
He places his hands on his hips, “Since junior year when I caught you in here with your teacher.”
“You had sex with your teacher?” Lassiter seems to come out of his panic to ask the question with an awed and judgmental tone of voice.
“Not sex. He walked in before I could get past second base,” Shawn rolls his eyes.
“You spilled wine on her shirt. On purpose,” his father provides.
“How do you think I got to second base?” he says with a smirk.
“You had sex with your teacher?!” Lassiter says, appalled and a little angry.
“No, no home runs! Just some fondling! Besides, she was just a substitute.”
“You were underage!” He exclaims, slapping Shawn’s hands away from his belt and stepping back.
“She was only like twenty five! And she was only there for the two months my regular teacher was out. What substitute teacher comes over for dinner to discuss a student’s progress anyway? She was practically throwing up a sign that said, ‘Shawn, please spill wine on my shirt and ravish me in the bathroom.’ She wanted it!”
“You were seventeen, what did you know about ravishing?” His dad crosses his arms.
“Well,” Shawn starts then stops, “Not much. But only because you interrupted!”
“And I’m interrupting again. Dinner’s ready,” with that he turns and leaves.
After a few moments of silence, Lassiter finds his voice, “Your dad thinks we were trying to have sex in his bathroom with the door open.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t think I’m very smart. But if I remembered to close the door when I was a teenager, I would remember to do it now. And lock it since that was the obvious flaw last time.”
“Shawn, I’m stuck on the sex in your dad’s house right now,” Lassiter says, frustrated.
“I know you are. But some other time,” he pats his cheek, “He said dinner’s ready.”
“Shawn!”
“Lassie, I think you’re missing the point here.”
“Am I?” Lassiter says, upset that Shawn can’t take anything seriously for even a second.
“My dad is worried about us soiling his bathroom, not the fact that you’re my,” what did his dad say earlier? “Special friend.”
Lassiter’s frown goes neutral, “Oh.”
Shawn waits for him to catch on, “Yeah.”
“Oh,” his face goes from neutral to smiling.
“And you know what? I think he’s just glad I’m of age this time,” he grabs his hand and turns off the bathroom light, “Come on, Lassie. Let’s go eat the best salmon you’ll find on the coast of Santa Barbara.”
“You know, salmon don’t actually-“ his explanation is cut off by Shawn’s lips, “Yeah, okay. Let’s eat.”
Two
Shawn contemplates throwing himself down the stairs because that’s an entrance. But he already has enough bruises from his last revelation and decides to step down the stairs regularly but then swoon when he gets to the bottom. He follows through with his plan but is met with no acknowledgements. No rushing to his side, no gasps, and, the most unfortunate, no yelling or demands of what he’s doing there. He opens an eye to see why all the attention isn’t focused on him. One of the reasons is there isn’t any attention to focus. The shooting range is empty besides one person. The other reason is because of who that person is.
Shawn prides himself by always being able to get under the detectives skin, so he can’t give up this early in the game. Surely swooning gets to him. He sits up and then faints again, but nothing. He opens both eyes and can still see the rigid stance of the detective. Feet planted firmly, legs spread slightly, arms tight and head cocked. As hot as that may be, Shawn needs attention.
“Lassie!”
The detective continues to shoot at the target. Shawn rolls his eyes and stands up. He brushes off his butt and walks closer. He zooms in on the green earplugs in the detectives ears. Oh, how could he not have noticed that? A tap on the shoulder would get Lassie’s attention but that isn’t good enough for Shawn. Where’s the fun in that? Once behind him and still unnoticed, he blows gently at the hairs on the detective’s neck.
Lassiter finishes firing then rubs a hand down the back of his neck. He starts reloading another round and Shawn blows lightly again. He cocks the gun and raises his arm and Shawn goes to step forward again but is instead thrust backwards into a wall. He lets out an oomph then looks down at the gun pressed under his jaw.
“Hey, Lassie.”
“Spencer, I have a gun in my hand. What were you thinking?”
“Oh man, I guess I wasn’t. The spirits act without my permission sometimes,” Shawn pretends to be dazed. He runs a hand down Lassiter’s cheek, “Lassie, are you there? It’s me, Margaret.”
Lassiter rolls his eyes and lowers his gun but keeps Shawn pressed against the wall, “What do you want?”
“I have a lead on the case,” Shawn snaps back into reality, “The stolen diamonds case.”
“It was the husband, Spencer. The wife was cheating on him, he stole the diamonds he gave her, he got caught, he’s in jail. End of story.”
“Is it ever really that easy?”
“Sometimes, it is. That’s what we in the business call an open and shut case.”
“I’m not so sure of that. The spirits are in a frenzy.”
“Tell the spirits they can kiss my ass. The case is closed.”
“The spirits are not ass people. It does nothing for them. I on the other hand-“
“Spencer, get out of my sight,” Lassiter goes to turn around but Shawn yanks him back by his collar and pulls him forward.
“What’s this?” Shawn asks then switches to his woman voice, “Pool Boy! Oh, Pool Boy, my husband is such a baddy. Let’s make love right now!”
“Spencer,” Lassiter growls.
Shawn grins, “Yes, you beast!” He begins undoing the detective’s belt.
“Spencer, stop!” Lassiter tries to stop him with his one hand not holding the gun.
“You’re the only one who understands me, Pool Boy. If my husband weren’t around you would be the only one for me,” Shawn stops, “What if we were to run away together? Leave all this behind?”
“What?” Lassiter momentarily forgets that Shawn is trying to take off his pants and focuses.
“Oh, it’s just, I can’t leave my husband or I don’t get any of the money. That’s all the bastard has is money and he’s so selfish with it; he can’t even stand to buy me real diamonds! But I know a way that we can get real ones.” He grins and goes back to undoing the button on the detective’s pants.
“The diamonds weren’t real? The one we found on him was.”
Shawn unzips his zipper, “Pool Boy, I’m not dumb. Of course I’d plant a real one on him. Those silly cops need to think he stole them so I can get new, real ones. Then you and I can run away to the beaches of Cabo and bask and make love in the sand all day long!” With a flourish, he yanks the belt out from its loops.
“The pool boy?” Lassiter asks, to clarify.
“Detective!” O’Hara comes running down the stairs, “We can’t find the wife and the pool boy- Oh my God!”
She stops and surveys the scene in front of her.
“The husband was right. She was having an affair but he didn’t steal the diamonds!” The detective shouts at his partner, waving the gun around while he talks.
“Um, am I interrupting something?”
“What?” He looks down at his unbuttoned pants and Shawn holding his belt.
Shawn regains consciousness and looks around bewildered, “Oh, hey Jules.”
“Hi Shawn,” she says, confused.
Shawn turns towards the detective, “Whoa!” he says when he looks down, pretending to be surprised at how far he got (he has to admit, he is sort of surprised). “Guess we got a little carried away.”
Lassiter picks his jaw up from the floor and begins buttoning his pants.
“So soon?” Shawn pouts.
The detective zips his zipper and snatches his belt back, all the while glaring daggers at the psychic.
“So I just wanted to tell you that. Sorry to interrupt,” Jules spins on her heel and makes a hasty retreat.
“No problem! Knock next time!” Shawn shouts after her but is pinned against the wall.
“Spencer-“
“Another round? You know, the spirits are gone. It’s just you and me now, but I wouldn’t mind being conscious this time.”
With a glare and a shove, Lassiter stomps off. Shawn waits until he is up the stairs to do a little victory dance that he saw and touched the detective’s underwear. Gus so owes him fifty bucks.
Three
Shawn slides down the stall and kicks his feet out in front of him. He scrambles to unwind the belt and get it straight; he only has a short amount of time before Lassiter realizes where he is. The detective is by the book, so he would go to the obvious places first. Obvious would be the closet, interrogation room, or bathroom. But Shawn does not go by the book. Which is why he chose to hide in the woman’s bathroom. It’ll take Lassie awhile to stop and think like Shawn Spencer Psychic Extraordinaire but as soon as he does, he’ll know exactly where to find him. His main concern is Lassie but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get recruits to start looking for him and the piece of property he stole.
For the record, Shawn didn’t steal the belt. He found it in a bag by the detective’s desk. True, he was looking for it and true, he had to go through a couple of drawers to find it but Shawn should get credit for knowing Lassiter well enough to know he keeps spare accessories in his office drawer.
The belt unfurls before him and he rolls up his sleeves. He knows that the man they got a call on this morning didn’t die from an over dose. Having never done drugs with a needle, though, he just needs to make sure the angle is off like he thinks it is. Once his sleeve is up over his shoulder he takes the belt and wraps it around his bicep. He puts the strap in his teeth like he’s seen in the movies and pulls. It’s at that moment that O’Hara walks in. Shit, Lassiter did recruit.
“Shawn!”
When she yells it echoes off the walls. Crap, this means that Lassiter is going to be here even sooner than he expected. Well, he only needs a few more minutes to make sure anyway. He pulls out the needle he stole when he went to Gus’s work and hovers with it above his arm.
O’Hara rounds the corner and spots him, “No, Shawn, don’t!”
He figures the only way he’s going to get out of this is the way he gets out of everything these days and that is to have a psychic vision.
“No, who are you?” he makes his voice gruff, but paranoid; “I don’t know you.”
“Shawn, please stop. It’s me, O’Hara.”
“I know you! You- you’re. You stay away from me you killer!”
“Shawn please!” Behind her, Lassiter rushes in with the Chief at his heels. Oh yay, an audience.
“Mr. Spencer?” The Chief questions.
“He needed my belt for heroin!?” Lassiter exclaims, more pissed than worried.
“No, no! Please don’t, please-“ he stops and lets his body go lax against the wall.
“Oh, God, Shawn!” O’Hara rushes to his side and wipes at his forehead. “Shawn?”
“Jules?” His eyes flutter open, “How did I get here?”
“You stole Lassiter’s belt and ran into the bathroom. Oh, Shawn, I didn’t know you had a problem!”
He looks down at his arm, “Oh no. No, I don’t-“
“Mr. Spencer, I think we need to call a doctor,” the Chief says.
“No! I know now. The spirits were channeling that recent overdose guy!”
“Terry Green?” Lassiter asks.
“Yes! He didn’t OD. He was murdered.”
“He’s right,” Jules turns to look at them, “When I walked in he thought I was here to hurt him.”
Shawn acts like he just noticed the needle in his arm, “Oh God,” he pulls it out, “He couldn’t have stuck the needle in himself. Someone else did it for him to set up the scene.” He peeks up at the Chief.
“Detectives, reexamine this case,” she says with narrowed eyes, “Are you sure you’re alright, Mr. Spencer?”
“Yes, Chief. I’m fine,” he nods.
“Great, can I have my belt back?” Lassiter asks, not at all concerned with Shawn’s well being.
“Sure, Lassie. Sorry about the whole stealing thing. The spirits go a little klepto sometimes.”
Jules stands up while Shawn undoes the belt from his arm which was going numb. Lassiter sticks out his hand and Shawn puts the belt in it. He rolls his eyes and switches the belt to the other hand and offers it again.
Shawn blinks up at him before he takes Lassiter’s hand and is hoisted up, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he stalks out of the bathroom. Shawn watches him go with awe in his eyes. He hears a small sigh and turns to see Jules smiling. It’s contagious.
Next: http://ps-noir.livejournal.com/3000.html#cutid1